Ichor
it came from somewhere in the stars
Ichor doesn’t bother with much of the events that unfold in Loess.
How can she? They don’t pertain to her. Ivar has his collection and she exists as part of it. A small odd part but part of it nonetheless. To the point that she roams the land during the night when she is most active and tends to forgo the day in favor of uselessness and napping.
It is her moth nature that makes her weak in the face of sunlight unless she buries herself in the depths of a hot spring but sometimes that seems to give a horse or two a fright to encounter the moth-mare staring up at them from the deeps of a heated pool with her only gills a-flutter. So she’s given up on that. Best not to frighten his pretties and his subjects alike lest she lose the only home she’s ever known besides the wide swatch of river that cut through the meadow.
Winter is upon them, making others restless and rendering her next to useless. She is mostly moth after all from the bottom of her six legs (four in the front and two in the back) to the tips of the antennae sprouting from the top of her somewhat equine head. Throw in a moth’s proboscis that can unfurl from her mouth, the flaking scales that comprise her skin and the large wings of an atlas moth that clamp tight to her sides and she is one hell of a sight to see! That is without mention of the large compound eyes set in that long horse face or the gills that seem at odds with the rest of her.
Gills that came from her lamprey-horse mother.
The rest - all the moth bits and pieces, those came from her moth-horse father whom she bore more than just a passing resemblance to. Ichor was but a smaller more feminine version of him spat from the slick hairless loins of the lamprey-mother who gave her nothing but love and the gills to remember her by. But to think of her family is to think sad thoughts and Ichor banishes those from her brain as best as she can because she has felt the loss of them - lots of sisters, mostly, and her parents, as keen as the prick of a thorn in her skin.
So winter leaves her sluggish on the slopes of Ivar’s immense but sparsely populated home. Except that she is roused from her near frozen stasis by need which translates itself into hunger. So off Ichor goes in search of nourishment but finds a pretty black mare nestled beneath the trees in a good bit of grass that Ichor cannot eat - her mouth is not designed like theirs to masticate the grass into food. She needs flowers to suckle from and had hoped that she might find a late bloom or two amidst the grass but disappointment is the beast that claws at her gut even as she chokes out an apology to the unknown black mare.
“Sorry to have disturbed you.” and she begins to back up in all manner of haste.
@[Trissy]