[open] To Be Alone Or Not?

[Gale]

@Aela
@Nerica

i hear the wicked get no rest, but when you do ---------- i hope you dream of me The brindle stallion is quiet, drinking in constant barrage of emotions from the spotted mare. She is continuously angry, something that he finds as puzzling as it is delightful. The strange mare is entirely alone, seemingly defenseless save her hooves and teeth, but she continues to make demands of him as though he might follow the directions to turn around and head back to Aela. Give up the way her anger augments his power? Move nearer to Aela’s whose smug satisfaction drains him as much as Nerica feeds him? He would never. Gale scowls as his golden sister moves nearer, his handsome face twisting into dark expression. He turns to look at her and a lock of his pale forelock hangs over his face. It has grown long, but he can still stare at her through it with eyes the same shade as their grandmother’s. His dance with lightning, miniscule bolts that flicker across his skin and illuminate the way that the shadows at Gale’s feet have begun to rise higher and twine about his legs. His expression doesn’t change, not even as he feels Nerica’s surprise at his position, or her distrust and suspicion when she thinks of royalty. She feels such a wide variety of things, and only this keeps him still, keeps him from leaping at them both. The brindle stallion turns his eyes back to the appaloosa mare only when she looks at him, and then continues to inspect her while she pointedly looks away and apologizes for her earlier lack of manners. This is quickly becoming boring. Gale’s hind legs tense, and just before he lowers himself into a crouch to leap for Nerica’s throat, Aela sucks all of the emotions out of the air. Nerica responds by standing still, but the soulless thing that inhabits the brindle stallion is far less fearful. He snarls, raising a foot to turn. When he puts it down, the hoof has become a talon, and as his hind end pivots to fully put himself between the appaloosa mare and his sister, those feet have become pawed. The brindle creature now wears the shape of a griffin, standing as tall at the shoulder now as he had as a horse. The sudden stillness of his magic is nearly as disconcerting as the way his body had moved entirely of its own volition. Something is Wrong. He wants to leap for her, but is suddenly wary. A pointed blue ears swivels to catch any sound from the horse behind him as he says, his voice low and soft and deadly: “Give them back, Aela.” GALE