The electric arches diminish and cease, but the taste of magics sits heavy on her tongue. It smells of blue and the deep night sky, looks like action, like current, like storm. She watches in wonder as the bronze form descends, inhales him and decides he does not smell of a god, but rather something mortal, something real and whole. His magic is not vast enough, does not consume her as the Sun Lord's did... but it is still strong, and she shudders beneath the weight of it, swallows down the power, and forces the storm in her veins to subdue.
Onyx gaze does not leave the stag; for some reason he feels safe, stirs in her a memory of closeness, of security. She wonders if he is from the Edge, if he knows her mother; she remembers a meeting, remembers a war, remembers so little to have forgotten so much. A name sits uneasy at the tip of her tongue, not quite prepared to make itself known; but the girl is patient, and she waits for it to appear, mind still occupied with the pulsating power, the magic which pushes against muscle and mass.
The black and red stallion does not enter her thoughts, not until he shatters the still with his abrasive voice and crass accusation. She startles and blinks, turning to him; dark eyes meet red and she wonders, why? Why question beauty, throw insult at grace? Can he not see the majesty of the power he holds? She sees crimson crescent and large, leathery wings; this male is nothing she has ever seen, but remnants of wraith shapes peer into her thoughts. The sharp bite of ire rises in her throat, and with it the threatening swell of the storm; she swallows and shudders, the hair on her spine rising with shock. I won't lose control, I won't lose control...
She finds the deep voice softening, soothing; it reminds her of the Earth God, trembles through her bones. She leans into the sound without hearing the words, struggling to hold onto the world, and as they continue to bicker she does not respond, not until a word darts into her ears and shakes her resolve, jolts her awake. "Kaj!" she repeats, eyes wide with revelation, memories finally fitting into a picture, a place. Thoughts of a home where her family reigned, remnants of sunlight darting through trees. You knew my mother, she wants to confess...
...but the deep words are lost beneath the dancing of sparks, an electric spatter which jumps from her hide, cracking the air as she loses control, sputtering and laughing as a child on the wind. She gasps and cries out, frustration ringing with fear; at her hooves a boy in black appears, holding her, biting her, calming her down. Breathe, coaches Natraj, and she listens, focuses, forces fresh air into narrow lungs, until the tiny storm dissipates and fades, and she is left in the rain.
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