12-15-2018, 12:38 PM
She does not seem to care that he is there at all, and Ivar watches with curious golden eyes as the black mare passes him without a greeting, moving to stand in the waves as though he was no more interesting than a palm tree.
Being ignored is not a frequent occurrence for the kelpie and if she had hoped it might dissuade him she is unfortunate enough to suffer the very opposite. While Ivar is undoubtedly vain, that is not his main motivation as he turns to watch the scarred mare. There is the smell of sickness about her, and the dried blood around her mouth that flakes off into his clear sea suggest the same. Ivar has long ago decided he must be immune to the Plague, probably due to the fact that he's no more horse than he is sea creature. He's wrong, of course, but who would correct him?
"If you came to get away from the Plague, you're at the wrong island." He tells her. In the distance, the Island Resort is a green spot no larger than the size of his hoof, nearly two miles away. It is safe from infection, he knows, but it is also populated by strangers. "Unless you meant to come to Ischia?"
The questions seem harmless, as does the way he lingers on the sand rather than pursue her into the water. He cannot change the charm of his tone or the hungry way his eyes flick across her figure, but nor is he as dangerous this afternoon as he might have been on any other. He's fed recently, after all, his belly full and the blood rinsed away much as she does.
"I'm Ivar," He adds.
@[Synapse]
Being ignored is not a frequent occurrence for the kelpie and if she had hoped it might dissuade him she is unfortunate enough to suffer the very opposite. While Ivar is undoubtedly vain, that is not his main motivation as he turns to watch the scarred mare. There is the smell of sickness about her, and the dried blood around her mouth that flakes off into his clear sea suggest the same. Ivar has long ago decided he must be immune to the Plague, probably due to the fact that he's no more horse than he is sea creature. He's wrong, of course, but who would correct him?
"If you came to get away from the Plague, you're at the wrong island." He tells her. In the distance, the Island Resort is a green spot no larger than the size of his hoof, nearly two miles away. It is safe from infection, he knows, but it is also populated by strangers. "Unless you meant to come to Ischia?"
The questions seem harmless, as does the way he lingers on the sand rather than pursue her into the water. He cannot change the charm of his tone or the hungry way his eyes flick across her figure, but nor is he as dangerous this afternoon as he might have been on any other. He's fed recently, after all, his belly full and the blood rinsed away much as she does.
"I'm Ivar," He adds.
@[Synapse]