my heart never stops beating for you; ivar

[Augusta]

the night is my companion, and solitude my guide.

‘Why don’t you come see it?’

His voice is gentle and soft in her ear, warm against the delicate white hairs.

Leave the forest? she muses to herself, gaze falling downcast as thoughts swirl in her mind, staring into the crystal clear waters that ripple delightfully between their legs. She had never thought about it before, and for a moment her heart aches for her shadow - what if he cannot find her? He is surely to return and be searching for her in the copse of trees that she calls her home, not in Loess. She presses her lips together firmly - torn between the longing of being with another, and her loyalty to her shadow.

‘You’d like it.’

She does not know why, but she believes him. Augusta barely notices the firmness of his voice (or perhaps perceived it as confidence or that he has taken a liking to her), or the way that his embrace tightens ever so slightly. She lifts her head from beneath the strong curvature of his muscular neck (though she did not care to realize he allowed her to do so) to view him with her storm-grey eyes. A soft curve of a smile appears on the charcoal of her lips, a bit sheepishly, and she gives him a tiny nod. “I want to see it, Ivar.”

Once again she finds herself enveloped with him again, her eyes closing as he lips at a few stray locks of her dark mane. Her own muzzle traces the black and white marbling on his chest delicately, quietly, almost secretly - as if no one was to know she was with another.

“I’ll follow where you lead.”

Maybe always.

@[Ivar]

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take Ivar’s lack of curiosity about the future goes hand-in-hand with his disinterest in dwelling on the past. The black and white creature does not pause to think of what Augusta might have in the forest. A family, she has said, but Ivar disregards them. They might be able to find her, but they won’t be able to stop him. The ties of family have been murky for the kelpie for years now; he has not seen a relative since he was a yearling. He has been making a replacement, he has recently realized. Ivar plans to add Augusta to that unit, the band of mares that the stallion has gathered to him in Loess. He finds her intriguing and so will keep her near, available whenever he has need. Perhaps they can talk of Sylva together, of what they remember of their childhoods before the forest had burnt for Gryffen’s misdeeds. “Let’s go then.” He responds, meeting her grey gaze for a moment before she returns to their embrace. There is a satisfying sense of achievement as he nibbles gently at the line of her shoulder, pausing to tug playfully at a strand of her dark mane. He pulls away lest she retaliate, brown eyes alight with amusement. Around them, the thick morning fall is fading, eased by the rising sun. It will soon grow dreadfully warm, the heat of midsummer on the common lands. Loess is no cooler, but the water that flows from the springs is far cooler than this meandering river, warmed by the volcanic heat of the Tephran volcanoes and the sun. “Perhaps you’ll like it enough to stay.” He says it so casually, as though he does not mind either way. That at least is true. She might like it enough to stay, or she might not. She will stay regardless, of course, because that is what Ivar would like. king of loess minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus