05-28-2018, 02:12 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The piebald stallions takes a step back as Isobell heaves herself to her feet. He knows better than to offer help; even if he wants it, Ivar doubts she would take it from him. She had inherited her mother’s infamous strong will, the scaled creature knows, and trying to change her mind when she is in a mood like this is as futile as attempting to halt the tides. The kelpie mare’s reaction to Ivar’s arrival doesn’t seem to have changed his approach, for he follows close behind her as she slips into the river, and runs a reassuring muzzle along her side just before they submerge. There’s not much he can do as she writhes with contractions. This far upriver, there aren’t even dangers to patrol for, and he must settle for drifting quietly and watching the water around him. Lothbrok does the same on the bank overhead, Ivar knows, instinctually protecting a birthing mother. The boy is first, brightly marked like his tobiano parents. Ivar starts to bump him toward the surface, but the colt blinks up at him with wide silver eyes and Ivar can see the flare of his dark nose as he breathes the water as easily as he might air. Rather pleased, Ivar turns back to Isobell, curving his long tail around the boy in such a way that the firstborn is prevented from drifting away in the current. The girl comes next, and Ivar watches wordlessly as his mate mothers their newest children. She is indescribably gentle with them, just as she had always been with Lothbrok. Ivar moves closer in the cool water, and slides his muzzle wordlessly along her scarred withers. (mine) rumbles the kelpie happily, and Ivar’s gentle touch grows warmer as he presses another kiss to Isobell’s neck and then the soft place beside her ear. The black and white stallion half-expects a knee to the chest or a nip (she is not always pleased with his amorous intentions), but he risks it to tell her: “They’re beautiful.” in my dark times, baby this is all i could be |