He stands silently at the edge of the Ruins, chest-deep in the warm water that ripples gently around his silvery form. His blue eyes are fixed on a spot in the distance, though they seem unfocused, foggy with some form of disquiet. Something has changed since his last venture to the Mountain, though he is not entirely sure what it is. Yes, the sudden appearance of a cluster of tentacles at his chin is an obvious answer, but there is something else that he can’t quite put his finger (so to speak) on. He had asked for change in hopes of creating a deeper sense of connection to his lost family, but whatever had occurred just doesn’t feel right.
He is vaguely aware of a shift in the lighting somewhere behind him, but he does not bother to look, for the mystery has too strong of a hold on his attention. Minutes pass as the three orbs of light drift closer and closer and still, the pensive stallion does not see them, even as they cross directly through his line of sight. Two of the orbs continue on their way, seeking to lose themselves in the horizon that he stares so blankly at, but the third lingers, much like someone waiting for the object of their unrequited affection to finally notice them.
And eventually, he does.
He watches curiously as the orb bobs and swirls several yards out, debating whether he should investigate further, for he’s come to realize that there is always more than meets the eye where Beqanna’s magic is concerned. Perhaps because he is already of a mind to find answers for other questions, he begins moving toward the orb. As he wades deeper into the water, his mind automatically commands his body to shift, to exchange awkward legs for more water-friendly grey-black tentacles.
But nothing happens.
He has spent enough time in the water for his limbs to instinctively continue the work needed to propel him forward, but panic rises in his throat as he realizes what is (or isn’t) happening, and he forgets his intentions as the natural motions devolve into erratic thrashing. His muzzle dips beneath the waves as he falters, but the effect is almost immediately calming, as it lets him know that his gills still work properly. However, he becomes acutely aware of a sense of emptiness within him and a need to fill that void begins to consume him. At the same moment, the glowing orb catches his eye once more and as a moth to a flame, he compulsively swims toward it again. It’s irrational and he knows it, but he can’t help but feel that this strange ball of light might hold answers, or at least clues so that he can figure out what the hell is going on.
The tentacles beneath his lower lip move of their own accord, reaching out desperately as he closes in on the orb. As a lone tentacle wraps itself around the orb, he is surprised by its palpability and heat it generates. Disappointment wells in his chest when there is no other immediate response, and he is tempted to hurl the orb from him; and yet, he nestles the orb among the rest of his facial tentacles and turns back toward the shore, which now seems miles away in the absence of the efficiency his shifting had always given him.
