She is angry at his absence and angry at his presence.
He wonders if she knows he would let that anger burn him into nothingness if she decided that it would be so.
But he says nothing, does nothing. Even when she steps towards him, disbelief in her melodic voice (an unfamiliar sound in the humid air, luscious and flowing) as she heightens herself, gazing down at him with something like scrutiny. Even then, he merely watches her, silent and listening; that has been what he’s done for years in the dark, how the monsters hunted. But in his silence, he is poised, ready, and waiting - as if they were the young children they used to be in the forest alighting the world on fire with their dastardly hopes and dismal dreams.
Only Aela would recognize that same fire simmering in his irises and even now, he sees the embers pulsing in hers.
Each memory she brings to him is bright and bold; forceful and relentless, solemn and purposeful reminders of where she has led them (led him) so far. He is aware of this, and how it is always she that puts everything into motion. He would not have returned to her if she had not.
He snorts gruffly in response to the flash of memories, that same warped movement of his skin rippling across both shoulders and fluttering to his haunches. Her gaze lingers hungrily at his throat and he lets her, his own calculating stare sweeping over her studiously, noting each difference between the girl he had left behind and the woman that stands before him now. She reaches for him (a hesitant gesture, slow and methodical) and Skandar can feel his eyes instinctively glowing, the discernable sound of heat building in his irises now a humming threat.
“You have made sure I cannot forget you,” comes the deep sound of his voice, low and sliding like a hiss through his teeth. A confession, maybe, but moreso a truth.
The violent glow of red in his eyes dies with Aela’s failure to move further, especially when her eyes drift from his jugular and rest sharply on his. He remains still as stone, save for the subtle twitch of his lips as the breath of her whisper just barely brushes the shimmering skin of his throat.
“Do I have to rip it from you?” Skandar growls, but remains unmoving. “Tell me.”
skandar
@[Aela]