He knows he is no longer among them; no longer pressed into the darkness that once soiled each sacred part of Beqanna. He is alone - once again - but this time, it feels different. There is a rawness that aches, a confusion that fizzles across his burning skin as the realization of his withdrawal from the shadows become clear to him. The young stallion shudders, his body warping between solid and mere darkness, as if he could not decide the form in which he should take. That indiscernible sound - otherworldly, though strangely reminiscent of the creatures that once roamed freely - is loosed from his lips again (painful, frustrated, agonized) and Skandar is sure he is on the brink of collapse. He cannot bring himself into his natural form, especially when daylight sizzles against him and burns brightly against the dark violet of his eyelids.
He knows he must, lest he be lost amongst the shadow forever.
A low hiss comes from the strange shape that is Skandar, twisting and turning angrily in whatever form he can muster - some terrifying mix of muscle and sinew and uncanny darkness.
Like the breaking of a tidal wave, there is a sudden coolness that presses to him like a balm; a memory that he immediately recognizes. He clings to it, helpless and shapeless. Those familiar eyes burn more intensely, laying eerily to rest on a figure that it can finally see. He holds her gaze, hovering in this in-between, hesitating - unsure.
She speaks his name - calling him forth - and the life that once was now starts to resurface.
Shadow flutters and clicks (familiarly so, @[Aela] would notice), much like feathers against one another. The wisps of shadow shudder and then fall still, melting into deep cobalt strewn with brilliant orange and violet. The intensity of his eyes never change, never wavering from hers.
Though he is solid - Skandar through and through - there is a wildness about him that wasn’t there before. The stallion snorts sharply, navy lips rippling into a feral snarl as another guttural sound reverberates in his chest. No action accompanies the sound, however, though his eyes do nothing to hide the fact that they are roving each part of her matured body.
The sun burns, he realizes. He is uncomfortable beneath it’s blazing heat, unused to its intensity. “Not here.” comes the gravel of his voice, dry and unused. Breaking his stare, he turns from Aela to head to the canyons where the mouths of dark caves would shelter him far better.
skandar