In the sweltering and brooding darkness (a foreboding darkness, one that even Skandar finds drawing chills up and down his spine), he becomes a beacon for her. She is pleased, he thinks, because he is sure he would know if she wasn’t. It is hard to tell what makes her happy, but he has found that discovering her dislikes were far easier and expected. He doesn’t think that he exactly seeks her approval, but moreso that he desires the subtle way she seems fascinated by him. He wonders, if she had the power, would she literally pick his brain apart to see what makes him the way he is? He doesn’t wonder long, for he already knows the answer would be yes.
Aela’s images that cross his mind are familiar - he had seen them (he thinks) moving within the shadows, more apt to announce their presence by sound than by sight. Their shape is a complicated one, as it seems that each of them is different than the rest and Skandar briefly wonders if they are merely shadow-versions of themselves, dark and twisted demons that are as rare as Aela and himself. He does not know the golden girl’s thoughts on the creatures - only that she is thinking of them - but he (and perhaps it is their length of knowing each other) can tell that her memory is merely that; there is no request within the image and even so, Skandar finds his molten lips twitching thoughtfully. Could he live amongst them, undetected?
In a new breath of a moment, Aela shows him the tree. This, unlike before, is not a suggestion. Without hesitation and with the subtle cracking of his skin, he breaches out to lead her there in the pitch black of this endless night.
Together they stand before the tree itself and though Skandar knows nothing of the previous Dominus or her abilities, he remembers quite vividly seeing her swallowed into the earth. So he eyes the tree intently, tilting his glowing head towards Aela, wondering what it is she has brought them here to do. Only a few silent moments pass before she reveals her intent: blood on stone, feeding magic.
Understanding immediately, Skandar snorts sharply which causes steam to rise from his nostrils while tiny droplets of lava spurt with it.
Perhaps it would make her angry (not necessarily what he thinks to do, but that he hadn’t asked permission), but it did not stop him. He does not think twice - Aela will bleed for the tree and receive her reward first. This thought is accompanied by another: it would be him who does it.
His bright orange eyes deepen into a glowing scarlet, a soft hum vibrating with its sudden glow. The intensity of it makes his lava-laced body pale in comparison as he fixates his gaze on the slop of her golden shoulder. In barely a breath of a moment and with a gentle furrowing of his brow, two red beams of light shoot from his eyes, searing into her skin in one single spot.
When he blinks, the beam disappears and it takes a few moments for the darkened world to adjust once again. Skandar still crackles and burns but it is dim; fading. His lips twitch as the cracks of orange disappear and close, the sound of fluttering skin signaling him reverting back to his star-studded shape. His mane and tail, however, remain flames - small and close to his neck, crackling and spitting.
He watches as the ruby red of her blood drips down her leg, cutting through the gold bands around her knee and slicing through the soft white of her ankles, staining her. He takes a single step to the side, allowing her the space to let her blood drip onto the tree’s roots that grip tightly beneath the grey stone.
skandar
@[Aela]