Aela looks at @[Skandar] and sees an equal to herself.
Their relationship (friendship?) is pantheon-made; they are young and so they still play at what they will accomplish. But Skandar is star-born (and therefore god-descended) and Aela knows there is something of the divine flowing in her veins. It runs over, pours through her until it comes out glowing around her gilded ankles.
The dark has stayed, though she is unsure why. If there are creatures that run rampant across Pangea, they attract no notice from Aela. (Could they be much different from the wonders that call this place home anyway?) All she knows is that the light from the twinkling stars has paled and somehow the moon and sun have converged into one dark star, morphed into an endless night.
It doesn't upset her. At least, not yet.
Lonely wind plays through the canyons and ravines. The shadows creep along their walls. There are sounds that she has never heard before and so her delicate ears keep listening, keep waiting for the originator of the sound to reveal itself. There are shrills and trills that she has never heard before. There is the sound of stones scuffling and more than once, red dust has stained her pale nostrils in phantom plumes. Things are out there; their world is stirring.
Though she will never think (or say) it, she is grateful that Skandar is so easy to find.
Despite the dark, she knows he is there.
And despite the dark, she can already sense his half-cocked smile.
Skandar becomes the night itself, shifting into obscurity and Aela's blue eyes look for him. She watches, slightly impressed by the way he melts into nothing. What little light there is (and what dim glow comes from her) offers a small glimmer of the shape-maker and her muted gaze watches him shift into something else. Aela refrains from thinking, wondering what form that Skandar might make for himself.
He manifests into her shadow. His shape lingers there (and Aela can't blame him - she is golden and bright and beautiful. It only makes sense that he would seek to settle in the crook of her shadow. It's a compliment that she allows it.)
But then as aspiring gods were apt to do, he rises and transcends. Skandar remakes himself.
Her slender head lifts, peering through the darkness and trying to see where his next shape would take hold. There's a disturbance out there, a wavering presence that she recognizes. It takes all her social skills to still her face; there is nothing there but a neutral expression.
Until her blue eyes reflect the brilliant intensity of the orange eyes staring at her.
(Flame. Fire. Light. The images in her mind come sudden and beaming, blazing across towards Skandar.) Aela waits before the ghost of a smile haunts her pale lips and the silence echoes a dare: was he bold enough to break this supernatural dark?