08-17-2018, 10:01 PM
Her standards for decency are surprisingly abysmal, but the kelpie has ever been adept at subterfuge. Were there a chance he might get away with it, the spotted mare would already be resting on the pale sand, miles below the turquoise surface, where the water meets the sky. There is a chance he might not get away though, and so the mare who would be missed remains safe and dry on the beach where they might be seen.
Still, Ivar finds her interesting, and with the boldness of the magpie whose colors he had once worn, the kelpie steps closer. The piece of driftwood is left forgotten. "I can keep secrets too," Ivar tells her as he closes the space between them with a sapphire blue nose. His warm breath ghosts across her shoulder, only to lift as he tugs away with a stray piece of seaweed between his serrated teeth. It had been tangled in her mane - presumably from her swim - and though Ivar drops it to the sand, he does not move away.
Breckin is looking out to sea now, and Ivar follows her gaze, to where the tall palms of his island are silhouetted by a sinking sun. There are three hundred yards from that shore to this one, and Ivar knows each one as well as he knows the pattern of scales on his forelegs. When she looks back at him (he sees this from the corner of his golden eye) he is still searching the lengthening shadows for movement, and not until she speaks does his turn to meet her gaze.
Better things? He has a mate and newborn foal less than a half mile away, and paramours scattered across the breadth of Beqanna. There are most certainly other things he could be doing, but he's not certain that any of them are better.
The kelpie has always lived in the moment. So it is easy, when she makes a joke of her resistibility, to lean forward and press his nose to the curve of her jaw and this time to leave it there. She smells of the sea and drying blood, with the sharp bite of Nerine beneath them both.
"I want you to come with me," he says, with the softest touch of hypnotic demand.
There are plenty of reasons for the invitation, and his attraction to the freckled mare is not the least of them. Empathy is not one of the reasons, but the jewel-toned kelpie suspects that her recent assessment of him as a decent person might bias her thinking in that direction. He's equally interested in how long it might take Nerine to realize their Advisor is missing, or how interested her love interest might be in getting her back.
Ivar draws away for a moment, only to say: "You said you wanted to clear your mind. While I don't have any waterfalls, I find that western isle fair more interesting than the big island. I'm sure we could find something there to distract you."
@[Breckin]
Still, Ivar finds her interesting, and with the boldness of the magpie whose colors he had once worn, the kelpie steps closer. The piece of driftwood is left forgotten. "I can keep secrets too," Ivar tells her as he closes the space between them with a sapphire blue nose. His warm breath ghosts across her shoulder, only to lift as he tugs away with a stray piece of seaweed between his serrated teeth. It had been tangled in her mane - presumably from her swim - and though Ivar drops it to the sand, he does not move away.
Breckin is looking out to sea now, and Ivar follows her gaze, to where the tall palms of his island are silhouetted by a sinking sun. There are three hundred yards from that shore to this one, and Ivar knows each one as well as he knows the pattern of scales on his forelegs. When she looks back at him (he sees this from the corner of his golden eye) he is still searching the lengthening shadows for movement, and not until she speaks does his turn to meet her gaze.
Better things? He has a mate and newborn foal less than a half mile away, and paramours scattered across the breadth of Beqanna. There are most certainly other things he could be doing, but he's not certain that any of them are better.
The kelpie has always lived in the moment. So it is easy, when she makes a joke of her resistibility, to lean forward and press his nose to the curve of her jaw and this time to leave it there. She smells of the sea and drying blood, with the sharp bite of Nerine beneath them both.
"I want you to come with me," he says, with the softest touch of hypnotic demand.
There are plenty of reasons for the invitation, and his attraction to the freckled mare is not the least of them. Empathy is not one of the reasons, but the jewel-toned kelpie suspects that her recent assessment of him as a decent person might bias her thinking in that direction. He's equally interested in how long it might take Nerine to realize their Advisor is missing, or how interested her love interest might be in getting her back.
Ivar draws away for a moment, only to say: "You said you wanted to clear your mind. While I don't have any waterfalls, I find that western isle fair more interesting than the big island. I'm sure we could find something there to distract you."
@[Breckin]