I am Heaven sent, don't you dare forget
His time in the den had taught him how to watch from afar when he was forced into isolation. He had learned how to observe in the hopes that it might teach him how to be more normal. The change in her expression at his prideful admission to who Aela was to him isn’t missed even when she turns that frown to the flowers. For a moment, that darkness inside him flares as flames dance behind his yellow eyes. Did she not like his mother? How could she not? Aela was strong, wise, and kind and anyone who said otherwise would have to answer to him. He has half a mind to set Sickle’s mane on fire until she tells him the reason behind her frown but then he remembers that she is alone here, without her own family. He knows only a little of her history, mostly that her father was not very nice. It makes him pause, smothers the flames in his eyes, and he decides that maybe she is just sad or jealous. Yes, that seems right. Of course she must be envious that he has a mother like Aela. Of course she must be upset that her own is not here. So he lets it go and moves on.
It is easy to forget his moment of anger when she speaks of home, what it means to her. It helps that she is smiling and no longer frowning too. “A volcano?” He exclaims, no longer upset with her and now fascinated with the landscape she conjures in the telling of Tephra, the images she paints into his mind. “Do you think I can visit you when you go back? Will you show me the volcano and the river of fire?” He asks her genuinely, excitement at the possibilities flickering over his pale face. With a source of flame to pull from, he wonders if a volcano could make him stronger. Maybe that would help him in being terribly powerful the way his mother had told him he could be.
When he steps into the blackened field and brings it back to life through flame, her reaction is exactly what he had hoped for. The flicker of uncertainty that runs along his spine disappears as he grins at her, pleased. He steps from the ashes and moves closer to her, distracted by the way she shines like a crow pulled to glittering objects. His inflamed flowers had reflected off her coat and he sees now the scales covering her skin. His approval is evident when his muzzle reaches for one on her shoulder and boldly brushes against it (feeling quite confident now that she had reacted so well) before his bright yellow eyes meet her mismatched one. “Very cool.” He says to her, before inspecting her new look again. “Like the Prince’s, but different.”
He pauses, looking at her with open curiosity. “Mom says you can shift into all sorts of things. Is that true?”
fyr
@Sickle