Moonspear wobblin' around in your high-heeled shoes

A tongue came washing over him, full of warmth there and gone as fast as he could blink; he batted uselessly at her for it, missing the mark and complaining only to be silenced—plucked from the safety at her side and deposited somewhere else entirely. Not the first, nor the last, but disorienting all the same.

He blinked furiously, trying to master new sight and gain focus.

It did not come easily nor as swift as he would have liked, but the adjustment of his surroundings left him hushed for a spell as he focused in on the looming darkness of Alya, and the blinding white light of the denmouth afar. Altair squinted at her, unable to find those fine details, and was soon distracted by his equally dark-haired sister.

She was an easier, smaller target to go for, even in spite of being hinged between his mother’s outstretched limbs. He found his feet beneath him and rose unsteadily; the earth seemed to lurch violently at this change too, but Altair would not be deterred in worming his way towards Mira. She would have plenty of time to react, at least.