could i use you as a warning sign - anyone

[Ivar]

Ichor is a strange thing, but she is far from the strangest thing that Ivar has found. There are fish with bulbous eyes that make hers seem minuscule, and a freakish little brown duck-rat in the far south that seems much more odd than a moth-horse. She is still recognizably equine, and that is all the kelpie needs.

The champagne mare admits her disadvantage and Ivar grins in response, as amused by her rusty swimming skills as he is by the idea that there was ever a time when he does not have the advantage. Ivar has had the upper hand since their first meeting, though his internal confusion as to wether or not she was prey has leveled the field more than he might have suspected.

She should be prey, with her thin skin and hot blood, but she slips beneath the surface as easily as Ivar does, breathing the water as easily as if it were air. Far from graceful beneath the water, the kelpie still watches Ichor with a curious sort of wonder. She does not look as though she belongs beneath the water. Yet as the kelpie swims forward and circles beneath her, his scaled white muzzle reaches out for the gills at the side of her neck.

His touch lingers, because he had seen the way she’d glanced away at his touch before. It occurs to him as his lips slide down the muscle of her neck and shoulder, that Ichor had still been rather young when he’d brought her back. Had that been the reason for his disinterest in hunting her? He considers a handful of methods to answer the question, but none  seem quite right.

Might as well get the daisy, he decides.

In a moment, anyway. He still waits to see how she’ll react to his inquisitive touch.


look at her being all brave and bold lol
@[Ichor]

[ichor]

If only she knew that she wasn’t the strangest thing he’s seen by far! That some part of her was horse still and thus, recognizable. It might have done her some good. Laid some fears to rest. Conquered just a little bit of that loneliness that kept her aloof from others besides him (and two mares he’d once added to his collection that she had taken a shine to - Kindred and Trissy). 

But Ichor doesn’t know. Doesn’t really assume either. She is content in her loneliness without him there because she has the moths in the night that act like she is their queen under the moon (or a priestess, a go-between) and she has the flowers and plants all of the time. Until it snows and the world is dead and empty. Except now is hardly the time to think of such things as she reacquainted herself with swimming much to his amusement. 

He’d always had greater skill at it than she had. Probably because Ichor had been born but very nearly always fended for herself. The lamprey-mother had done her best to ensure her child’s survival but they’d had no way of knowing if her gills would sustain her underwater since she was more moth than anything else. It puts her at a disadvantage that he exploits easily and laughingly but she sees it always as a challenge to swim after him and dive just as deep. Only she may never ever swim in the sea - it’s always been the river for them and Ichor almost wouldn’t have it any other way.

The river was their place. 

Beneath the river, she is clumsy in his domain. Here, he is more at home than she will ever be. Ichor can practically sense the joy that sings from every scaly fiber of him as he swims circles all around her, both above and under. Then she loses sight of him though currents are disrupted by his movement. Which causes further surprise as his touch registers at her gills.

They ripple as water still flows over them. Such delicate fluttering against his nose and what is all the more surprising is that Ichor doesn’t pull away. She hangs in a state of suspension, only making small careful adjustments of her six legs when she has to. Her head angles so that one black buggy eye can focus on him as his mouth moves down to her shoulder. She’s not sure what prompted the touch but she enjoyed it for what it was - him, inquisitive, exploratory.

Neither of them seems to be all that intent on moving and Ichor forgets the not-daisy he’d offered to get. There’s only the river and them. 

@[Ivar] now she’s all like, he touched me eeeeeee!!!! haha

[Ivar]

I V A R promising everything i do not mean

Her hide feels strange beneath his inquisitive touch, neither hair nor scales. Ivar presses at it curiously, feeling the warmth against his cool nose, and then glances back to meet Ichor's gaze. She is watching him too, Ivar finds, quiet and still as she allows him to inspect her without complaint. Ivar does like that - when women are meek and willing - and he smiles contentedly before drifting to the surface. The yellow flowers are just out of reach from the water. The kelpie stretches, but realizes he must climb onto the bank to reach them, and does so. It is easy enough to snap through a branch with a few flowers on it, and Ivar holds it carefully in his sharp teeth. The kelpie dangles it over the water and Ichor, smiling around the sour-tasting greenery. "Come and get it," he teases, his voice muffled. Ivar doesn't understand the appeal of the flowers, they seem small and unappealing. Of course, the kelpie has a long-rooted distrust of flowers in general, borne from an unfortunate incident with a hibiscus in childhood. Ichor would probably like those flowers, he thinks, with their bright petals in a rainbow of colors.

I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .