Wings flap with unbridled ferocity, thrashing about in the air as if the bearer has forgotten how they work. Both of them know that he wears wings better than any of his other forms. He might even do better as a bird of some sort.
But today, Sikeax can’t help but wonder if his rightful place as a Rougarou is coming back around. That one feeling, the kind that you just can’t seem to put your finger on exactly, is almost permanent today. When he almost never changes, today chooses to be the one that challenges that idea; he’s just as fluid as the water, flinging himself through the air as if he’ll master all of his talents within a day’s time.
She doesn’t even like his new form. There’s something about it that makes her skin crawl, as if a thousand bugs have simultaneously began crawling against her hide. Why that? Why of all things…
A giant bat?
Her eyes never leave his body, listening to odd, new noises he puts out in attempts to socialize. He isn’t even as ferocious as he typically is, only weird.
In the end, he does exactly what she expects him to do. His new found weight and constant shifting drains the energy out of him, and when he comes down to greet her, landing on soft paws and built into a body black as night, for once, she has the baby she actually cares for.
The one in her womb doesn’t seem to exist, leading her to  worry even more now. How would the herd look at her if she was indeed pregnant, and the child was born dead, unknowing of the cruel world that she’d let it be brought into it? Would they all look at with cold eyes and hateful stares for a life lost?
It is her baby, and if it comes along dead, then is it not her fault?
Pressure gathers in her gut when her brother’s weight throws itself into her, snuggling into her with a purr she’d hardly expected. He offers her a lot more when she drags her muzzle across his pelt, using his legs to pull himself closer to her stom-
Annoyance.
It flickers like the spark that begins a massive wildfire, threatening with every intention set towards torture. The serval is traded in for the typical Wyvern  when she watches black fur be replaced by silver, leathery wings, large ears made into spikes and quite possibly horns. A hiss slithers out, paired with a forked tongue.
Whatever eye contact she makes with Cera is unintentional. It’s been so long since he’d even cared to speak to her. Did he pay attention to her in the herd meetings, or was she only another face in the crowd, a name upon a list that will lengthen and shorten with the passing of seasons, courtesy of various causes?
She takes a moment to really stare. For once in her life, she isn’t sure as of how to feel about him. He’d always been so kind, so loving and friendly and willing to put up with all the things that she’d done, and after all of the things they’d done together, he seemed to have forgotten and ignored her.
Hobgoblin snarls as her chest clutches and draws tight.
“Bastard.”
But that’s not what Cera is, is he? He almost gave his life up for her. He was her friend, was he not?
There really wasn’t much time to think that over when the person you’re debating trusting or not is standing behind you, having just called out a nickname you barely even hear these days.
She gives in in the end. Cera is her friend, maybe one of the last and only ones she’ll ever have, high up there with Amara because one way or another, they find a way to come back.
“Hey, Cera.”
Please calm down, he’s a friend. Think of Amara. Friend like that.
Getting up feels difficult when she’s been lying on the ground through the night and the majority of the day, wincing when her muscles are sore from their extended misuse. The same old feeling is fast to find itself wrapped about the area around her ears, gripping her dark, dreadlocked mane. Both wings are spread and held close to his body, flaunting his size in case of anything.
“You fuck like Amara?”
We’ve never had sex. Abraham was the only one.
“But baby with both?”
There’s nothing to shut him up with and not much to build a straight face upon when she approaches Cera. If she made a face now, he’d probably think she was crazy, that the depression finally gave her some other mental illness.
“How have things been?”
She can’t even begin to think of a conversation even when she wants to touch him, to see if he’s real like Amara, Hobgoblin and Sameira. The desert could’ve easily gotten to her brain. “I thought you forgot about me.”
Not like anyone else has before.


"If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?"

Sikeax;

i'm missing the beauty in your soul