Anywhere, Aela chimes and if she had spoken the word, it would have come breathless with excitement. And everywhere, she thinks. The filly peers up at her mentor from beneath her cornsilk forelock and her blue eyes widen with all the possibilities that her young mind can imagine (and for a girl as ambitious as Aela, there are many). Tephra with the volcano looming in the distance. Ischia with the beaches of paradise, waiting for a soul to get caught in the tides. (There is Islandres, as well. But she hasn't heard much of it so it remains a haze in her head.) Loess? She wonders because she has never seen the canyon country. What about the other places that claim loyalty to the South?
There is the Pampas, reputed fields full of wildflowers that extend for miles (and Aela who has never seen much use for such things imagines that they might burn it for something more useful, more practical?) Isn't there another territory in the South as well? she asks the Magician, still curiously looking at her.
Aela listens with pricked ears as the painted woman recalls how she was born without traits and her pale lips purse together as her slender head tilts to the side, listening and learning. She can't quite fathom Straia as anything than she is now. The white-splashed filly blinks and for a moment, there are images from another life; another place that she has never seen. Perhaps it's a kingdom that the magical mare intends for them to visit one day.
She dips her head, listening to her mentor explain that Magic is not the thing that makes a horse great. Her eyes widen again briefly in the belief that Straia is made from something stronger than the gift she wields. What is it, then? she asks and quickly tries to contain her Echoes as they rush excitedly forward. Her images flutter away from her in the beat of butterfly wings, dance away in a cacophony of eager heartbeats towards the Dominus as they reemerge in visions of the Magicians and dragonlings as they attacked Nerine.
And then as if Aela could no longer stand the inspiration flowing through her veins, the golden girl shifts her weight from leg to leg with delighted steps. I'll do it, she thinks brightly. I'll travel with you and help Pangea and I'll-, the reminder forces her thoughts to a jolting stop. She goes searching for the word and tries to make it emerge. Nothing comes as the words and the memories swirl together and get lost before they can ever reach her tongue. Her slender head bobs up and down several times in the attempt and Aela's frustration comes surging forward, as quick and angry as a riptide.
Her prancing in place stills and she huffs, disappointed in herself. I'll keep practicing. I'll keep trying and one day, I'll speak like you and Beyza and Kensley. She'll recall this moment in the days ahead; Aela decides that she'll drill herself until she learns this alternative way of communicating. If they couldn't 'speak' like her, she'd learn to talk like them. Determined to this, Aela nods and then smiles shyly to @[Straia]. It doesn't occur to her that she won't accomplish this task (whatever Aela sets her mind to is already a reality). When she does learn to speak, she'll surprise Straia with it.
A surprise and an offering to the Dominus that her confidence in her young protege is not misplaced.
That for the tasks and opportunities her leader means to provide, Aela intends to repay her in every way she can.