He waited for her, in a land of dark crags and spires of stone. His world of dreams was colorless, stark, but not out of disregard for beauty or a harshness he held not. No, it was because he simply didn't know how to make it beautiful. His dreams were usually far out of his control, he being merely a puppet moving to the script of whatever being defined dreams. The Prince of Bones stood amongst the decaying world, and saw the beauty in it's strangeness.

Hades glided in, his dark wings blotting out the moonlight as he descended towards his bondmate; always were they together, be it in flesh or dream, for they had bonded when Hawke's mind was at it's most vulnerable, and even now it was still difficult to determine where Hawke ended and the owl began. So together they waited, Hawke standing on the brink of a ravine, his wings unfurled to feel the warm air that hissed from the crag.

"Where is she?" His blue eyes scanned the ash and soot world, impaience growing within the boy. So little was their time as Lord and Lady, for almost as quick as the dream began it ended, or at least that was how it felt. Hawke stamped a hoof, signaling his childish temper before he looed to the sky. Perhaps he should find her. Perhaps she had gotten lost somehow on the pathway into his blank canvas of a dream that awaited the one who could help him make it a thing of beauty.

The boy reared, and willed himself to change. Once his hooves hit the ground he was boy no longer, for now he looked as he hoped he would when he grew; Tall dark legs that lead to a muscular chest, thick neck draped with long strands of fine mane. His face was something rough, a bit unfinished in that regard; his features were soft and harsh, sharp and gentle, a mixture of Sohalia's feminine grace and Gaucho's masculine power. Or....at least how the boy pictured it. He reared once more, massing wings thrusting out, the silver undersides a sharp cry against the dark world. From his throat tore a cry that, thanks to the power of dream, made the earth itself tremble.

Here he was no child, no thing to be giggled at by fillies or attacked by demons. Here he was King, here he was Khal, and he would find the one who shared his life and dream, for who else could play with him in this lonely place and create a world entirely their own? The Owl took no heed to this, for he was already growing wise,and knew Hawke's feelings did not mean insult, rather a compliment to how much a part of him the owl was. Hawke lashed the air with his hooves, and then leapt off of the edge without a scrap of fear.

From the owl's feelings he could imagine flught, and fly he did. Thumping of deep bass filled the air as Hawke ascended, head tossed back and mane streaming into the wind. Beneath him the crags and cliffs sped by, the apocalyptic slate awaiting Hawke's creativity, something that always seemed to take a while to kickstart,and usually with the aid of another.