Her expression turns feral as the water starts to reach up her legs. The magic in her veins answers back with water-snakes, lily-pads, and will-o-the-wisps. It's the first time since she's been on the island that she has missed her own magic. Her skin feels too alive with the rising water. It feels like an electric cage, a storm over the ocean, a beast rousing from hibernation. “Perhaps.” She says to the furious look in Morrighan's face that rests so, so easily on the other mare's face.
It's telling, that ease of violence, on her painted skin. Thana can read it as well as a poem, a bit of bone beneath skin, a fire banked, a wolf leaping off a cliff. It is something she's heard before, that roaring of wrath, in the place between sleeping and dreaming. The shadows of her horn fade as the sun dips behind an island floating across the sky like a cloud.
The howling of the packs turns to song, to cacophony, to a melody Thana can hear drops of blood and tattered flesh in. Eligos answers them back, his own braying more sand-beast than wolf. Every inch of Thana's skin starts to itch. Every organ in her form starts to hunger for things that have nothing to do with mares unable to step beyond the dregs of the mortal coil and look.
Eligos dissolves back into the grass-forest, his running form nothing more than a whisper of sand far below the roaring of the violet waters and the braying pack. Thana moves to follow him, surrendering to the siren call of the wild magic and it's monsters. She pauses, only once, with the water and the water-snakes clinging to her legs. “Go home Morrighan.” Sunlight catches on her teeth in drops of almost-golden. “The island is not for you.” Thana lifts her head to the sun, the islands, the grass reaching out like bark around them. She bellows to the hunting things, the magic things, the things living in her skin.
And when she starts to run the blades of grass scrapping along her sides starts to soothe that furious itch rising with the sound of the pack.
@Morrighan
