03-09-2019, 09:03 AM
"There's not much to get to know," He tells her with a smile, filling the air between them with words rather than drawing nearer himself. He is a patient beast, but no man is immune to the charms of a pretty woman that keeps inching closer.
"I'm a simple creature," Ivar adds as he rises to four feet. The sinuous tail that propels him through the water is no longer anything more than waterlogged hair, and the clawed feet that gripped the seafloor become flat hooves. "I like swimming," he offers, as though that is not a given, and he takes another step nearer so that he can extend a dripping muzzle toward the golden mare. "And pretty women."
Just a little nearer, he says without words, come a little closer.
Loathe to abandon the water, the piebald kelpie will not close the distance between them. The seawater at his knees is still deep enough to drown her - he knows this without conscious thought. He won't (that thought he is more aware of), but he always prefers to know that he could. The taste of autumn on the wind is a brisk reminder that there are - rarely - pursuits more thrilling than a simple hunt. The kelpie is uninterested in the politics that she'd come for the first time, but he has been on dry land enough lately to recall that there are advantages to children beyond increasing the number of kelpies in the sea.
Perhaps Kensa might make a kelpie mother - he has found that women in power tend to be rather good at that. Or perhaps she won't, and would please him more as a piece of his collection.
One way to find out, Ivar knows, and smiles beguilingly at the mare in question.
"Do you like to swim, Kensa?"
@[Kensa]
"I'm a simple creature," Ivar adds as he rises to four feet. The sinuous tail that propels him through the water is no longer anything more than waterlogged hair, and the clawed feet that gripped the seafloor become flat hooves. "I like swimming," he offers, as though that is not a given, and he takes another step nearer so that he can extend a dripping muzzle toward the golden mare. "And pretty women."
Just a little nearer, he says without words, come a little closer.
Loathe to abandon the water, the piebald kelpie will not close the distance between them. The seawater at his knees is still deep enough to drown her - he knows this without conscious thought. He won't (that thought he is more aware of), but he always prefers to know that he could. The taste of autumn on the wind is a brisk reminder that there are - rarely - pursuits more thrilling than a simple hunt. The kelpie is uninterested in the politics that she'd come for the first time, but he has been on dry land enough lately to recall that there are advantages to children beyond increasing the number of kelpies in the sea.
Perhaps Kensa might make a kelpie mother - he has found that women in power tend to be rather good at that. Or perhaps she won't, and would please him more as a piece of his collection.
One way to find out, Ivar knows, and smiles beguilingly at the mare in question.
"Do you like to swim, Kensa?"
@[Kensa]