Beka runs away from the snake thing this time but has only gotten out the first syllable of Serik's name before it closes in on her anyway.
Being on fire is definitely a major inconvenience and ruining his whole day, but it doesn't seem to be actually killing him.
...and there's something oddly... Serik-like in the flavour of his thoughts, now that they're both present to be compared.
...uh what the fuck? Yeah, he definitely recognizes the feel of that emotional state, and he is confused and vaguely concerned and would really like to find out what the fuck. (But if Beka would rather he just kill the guy already he can do that instead.)
He spends half a minute healing from a pile of charred bones, which is not a super pleasant activity, and he's all set to do something vengeful immediately afterward—
—but then he sees Serik, and the look on his face and the way he's holding Beka, and the sheer casual confidence on display makes him instinctively certain that he would lose that fight if he started it. So he marshals his temper and asks, "Is she yours?"
(Even the way he thinks about Beka being Serik's is Serik-like. It's like they're the inverse of twins, two of the same mind in different bodies.)
Sovarith is starting to be a little unsettled too, and he doesn't even have the advantage of telepathy! There's just - something weirdly familiar about the way this stranger moves, looks, acts.
"Well, you can have her back, then," he says, a little warily. (If this stranger is really as much like him as it seems, and really as powerful as it seems, then he's probably going to conquer Shadow Mountain and there's not much Sovarith can do to stop him.)
"I could conquer it, I suppose." Snuggle. "I'm not much of a conqueror, but there's something to be said for not leaving great big horrible torture mountains lying around where somebody might fall into them."
"What I really want to know," he says, "is why you are exactly like me right down to the giggles except for being a completely different species."
"We can't be all that alike if you call yourself 'not much of a conqueror'," he says uneasily.
"Sure it is. And I'm much better off this way. I would've missed out on so much if my orf had shown up on my mountain and I'd tortured her instead of giving her flowers."
Beka, dear, could you please send him— and he remembers what it felt like the first time he saw her smile.