into the sea, you and me
all these years, and no one heard
i love you, let's go

For what could have been a thousand years, her body remained locked under the surface of the sea. They can’t see her here, can’t chase her down and know that she is weak and not meant to be their Sultana when she crawls into the cave made by the crumbling of their land bridge and short-lived wall, another reminder of Gaucho, the man whose shoes she can’t bring herself to fill nor ever will.
Hobgoblin takes to her new rank better than she does. The idea of leading fills him with a glory so strong that he is ravenous, burdening her with immense pride that he has no shame for. For him, they all belong to him by his sharing with Sikeax. His. His prey, his subjects, his to control in her weakness.
Rage drives into the beast at her lack of willingness to step up to the plate with his feelings. She is becoming his burden, and each time he has the chance to sink his teeth into something, to rip it from this world in violence, he thinks of it as her flesh.
It was with pity that she isn’t completely made for permanent sea life, that despite the amount of sea grasses that she can greedly manage into her mouth, her children are not made to live with her and she cannot quench her thirst with every drop of the water encasing her.
Bella is a haunting ghost in her head, reminding her that she is dependent on her. Maybe leadership is destroying her abilities as a parent.
Come on.
The thought of her daughter is nerve wracking, and she cannot take the absence of her winged babe any longer.
The command is nothing but a suggestion that Hobgoblin makes an aggressive lunge at, heightening his hunter’s instinct when the wildlife is becoming accustomed to the new top predator(himself) in this place, and when all available prey flees in a flurry of panic and surprise, she is the next thing to come to mind.
At least she isn’t naive anymore. At least she’s learned to listen to his thoughts during times like these, when she is the most vulnerable and susceptible thing to his power. Changing from seabound to land bound is something usually leaves her reeling and coughing, a heaving mess as her lungs cough up the last of salt water, but today, she buries it in her sorrows as her legs scramble against the pain in her chest and wet sand holds her down.
And as if the hunter has entirely forgotten the hunt, his pursuit is a lazy exchange of bodies, coming out on four legs and a deep heave of his chest as the rate of oxygen exchange lessens, gasping for air in silence. He even looks upon her as if her fears and suspicions aren’t needed, like she’s crazy to believe that he was even just momentarily thinking about ripping her entire hind leg off for sport.
Deep down, he’s smiling to himself, thoroughly pleased.
The desert comes to feel less unforgiving, like Gaucho has taken all of its might with his death, that it has finally come to respect her effort and time poured into it and the people residing within. Or it could just be that she is still soaked to the bone, waterlogged by hours spent underwater without even the thought of returning to the surface.
Whatever it happens to be, the breeze feels colder, harsher, runs deep. She’d do anything for the harshness of the sun that has brought her to this mess.
A ghost comes looking for them in the belly of the beast, or maybe they’re looking for it. Either way, the small, white and winged body is alive in the end, a breathing testament to the plague in the Dragon’s Throat.
For Sikeax, her face is yet another reminder that she failed, a person who has been touched by her inability to keep a dying man from where he would eventually end up regardless of her efforts. For Hobgoblin, she is a ghost of the desert, one he mimics with a smile they can’t see.
She barely even notices the change in his body when the same old sensation runs across her and dives into the moisture in her bones.
Blue eyes meet bi-tones with their oceans filled up with sadness, begging forgiveness. I’m sorry I failed. I’m sorry I’m making you go through what you’re going through.
No matter how hard she tries, she can’t get a single word out. Only drooping ears and an expression that writes novels from her sorrow.
“Sohalia.”
I didn’t mean for him to die. Please, it wasn’t my fault. Please forgive me for something I cannot control.
Had it been any other time, she would have praised herself for remembering the mare’s name. It had been nearly common knowledge for a long time that Sohalia was Gaucho’s mate, and despite her previous ranks as Forger and Sultana, both during the time that Sikeax was a part of the Dragon’s Throat, Sohalia’s name is but a fleeing word attached to a body that makes her think of the dead and of the dead man that she couldn’t save that the ghostly woman had probably loved so strongly at some time(and probably still did).
“How are you?” Pleasantries barely seem to fit the situation given the past circumstances, but she cannot bring herself to come across his death, of what she had done or any of the things that had occurred in the past few weeks. Small talk will have to do, at least for now.

OOC: takes forever to reply because work sucks oops c':
goblin actually goes thro all of his forms in this post! so in order, they are leopard seal, serval and then wendigo at all of the times that his changing is mentioned.