Offer me that deathless death. Ivar.

[Trissy]

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

His teeth lay claim to her little body, snatching at anything they can reach, and mostly what they hunger for. The Arab twists her ears back obediently, paying the stallion a type of long-forgotten attention - then, in the next instant, she is cantering towards the great expanse of an unknown world, not waiting to find out if the titan is able to keep up. He would have to, if he wanted to keep her - and she knew he did.

The nips guide Trissy in her expedition across the foreign land too, but another man - one with more impulse control, and less boldness - would have found it far more... civilized to walk next to her, and to guide her in conversation, instead of driving her wordlessly as Ivar does now. Does she mind, however? Not at all. In fact, as the two begin to make their way from the Field and across all of Beqanna, Trissy relishes the tandem of their travelling. Feral and unkempt, she enjoys his primal stance as stallion and she as lead mare - it is in her blood, and it is addictive. Her pleasure in the arrangement is tangible.

As the glimmer of the ocean appears on the horizon some time later, Trissy slows from her steady canter - having needed no rests thanks to her condition and breed - and perks her ears behind her once more, maneuvering her lithe black form so that the two now do walk side by side, though the mare leaves a space between them. For everyone one of the mustang's steps, Trissy takes two. Her sides, coated in sweat with steam rising off of them in the cooling evening, heave gently as her breathing subsides. A smile (looking out of place and dark) brushes her lips as she examines how the stallion managed in their sprint though the land. It was telling - and the way his breath came more heavily now was satisfying. She had pulled that from him - and she would pull much more, in time.

"So, tell me." Her voice rings out low and husky, such an oxymoron to her diminutive size. "Are the rules the same as before, or are we crashing in like rogues?" Her tone is easier now, perhaps even with precious shards of humour and rapscallion. Although the kelpie's good looks are persuasive, and his touch beyond tempting, Trissy does not trust him with her gentler ways for those reasons; moreover, she doesn't truly trust him for any particular reason. She obeys him, as he found her first, and laid claim to her figure - but she was in need of guidance in this new land, and that fact was well on its way to changing.

Many more steps lay between the pair and the beginning of the island kingdom, and they walk far more slowly now than they had been before. Her nostrils are flaring, her eyes distracted by the flora and the sunset, too busy absorbing the creations Beqanna spat up to devote all of her attention to the kelpie. Eventually, however, her voice does come wafting back towards the stallion, almost like an afterthought, though he ought to be no fool and know otherwise.

"Now, tell me something about yourself." Her black eyes flash to him, their depths glinting tempestuously. "Or about the others." Her eyes move away; the words are not spoke in vanity or jealousy, nor in passive aggression or self-pity. Instead, the words have returned to their stoic gravity,  and are only simple words from a logical and exacting girl. She expected nothing different from such a devilishly attractive stallion.

"In return, I'll tell you something about myself - or anything that plagues your mind." And there would be so much, she knew; about Before, and about the Beyond. Their journey towards Ischia is nearing its end, but there remains enough time for her to hear his response before they are approached by a perimeter guard - if they allowed themselves to be approached at all.

Trissy

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@[Ivar]

Do you want this thread private or open? I thought private but lmk and I'll change the header accordingly

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take When she begins to run, Ivar follows. The flat lands of the Field pass them in a blur, swallowed by their legs – his as pale as hers are dark. While Trissy’s endurance is built from a life spent wild, Ivar’s training has been more tempered. Taught by a warrior-king, a blade-master, and his own instinct, Ivar is as fit as one would expect the leader of an army to be (even if it is the smallest of Beqanna’s armies). He has no trouble keeping up with Trissy’s bold pace, and when they slow, he is not too prideful to hide his heavy breathing. That would only make it take longer to catch his breath, he knows, and Ivar is unwillingly to sacrifice readiness for vanity. They’ve reached the beach now, and Ivar glances down to Trissy beside him as she speaks. She refers to the rules of before. He knows them, of course – they haven’t changed – but he had not experienced them. This is the only Beqanna that Ivar has ever known, an isolated island away from the world. "Do you take me for a rogue?” replies the stallion with a matching flash of humor. He looks down at her as though the thought is an affront, as though his actions since their meeting have suggested that he is the penultimate gentleman. The setting sun has coincided with low tide, and ahead of them a stretch of sandbars reveals a clear path to the island. Ivar steps into the fetlock deep water without hesitation, glancing back at Trissy in invitation. She asks about him, but her interest is less intriguing than her apparent curiosity about the others. Ivar is accustomed to denial when it comes to the women in his life. Despite his own forthrightness about his intentions, they never seem to want to acknowledge that there are others (no more important than they are, but no less either). The glint of humor she had allowed through is less apparent now, and while Ivar has no qualms with sharing information, he finds that he is reluctant to upset what has become his status quo. How is he to know she is not like the others? “I rule Loess.” he tells her, “My wife gave it to me, and she now serves as the Ambassador. You’ll meet her soon.” There was more to the story of course – that was an oversimplification – but Ivar feels it is enough detail. He wants to know how she will react, how she feels about being one of many (and with some of those many being far more situated in Beqanna than this newcomer was). While Ivar would not wish any of them harm, he does find the image of his favorites meeting Trissy is rather amusing. Isobell would look down the length of her long and lovely nose and find something at fault with her. Heda would cling to his side for reassurance of his affection while doing her best to find a look that would kill. Ivar might not understand their jealously, but to say he does not enjoy it would be false. They have made it across the sandbar, and Ivar climbs on the sand. He has never come to the island at night before , but he looks behind them to where the sun is sinking beyond the mainland. It is a nice sight, and he watches it for a moment before looking back to the black mare. “Your turn.” king of loess minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus

[Trissy]

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

She greets his flash of humour with a delicate nip to the base of his throat, meeting his affronted gaze with one of skepticism and drollness. The intricate ins and outs of socializing begin to return to the mare, the quickness of it exhilarating. Though she makes no response to his ludicrous question, the dull black doubts not for a second the roguishness of this stallion. Perhaps not in the ways of politics, but in other ways? It was preposterous to think of him as a gentleman, at least for long.

The earth underhoof gradually changes to sand, and the black snorts; though she had encountered the sea in her time Beyond, it had always been on cliffs and mountainous edges. The way the sand moves and ripples in response to her weight is both satisfying and disquieting, but she does not dwell on the sensation for long. In the Beyond, all was at leisure to change, as though the Gods had no control over their whims.

Ivar steps into the water confidently, his brown eyes glancing back towards her, inviting. She follows, not having to fake or pretend her own confidence; she splashes into the water, her little legs maintaining a steady pace through the warm shallows. Her eyes skim the surrounding ocean, appreciating the way the sunset reflects off of its gently rolling surface; where she came from, the seas were always angry and tortured - nothing at all like the serenity now surrounding them. She misses the chaos; but for now, the beauty is acceptable.

At his next words, Trissy perks her ears and throws a brow up in his direction. "You may have mentioned your kingship sooner, Ivar." She turns her attention ahead once more, speaking in her regular husk. "And your wife... Something tells me she won't be as happy meeting me, as I will be to meet her." At this, a tiny, almost internalized smile flickers across her face - how devilishly fun. It is not the drama of the meeting that holds allure for the little Arabian, but the discomfort and uprooting it will cause. Havoc? Yes, that's the word.

His refusal to speak further on the topic for the time being is no errant behaviour by Trissy's standards - the handsome stallion has definitely run into problems with this topic before. She had no doubts about that. Instead of pressing him further (as he is more than capable of elaborating should he feel the need to), Trissy continues in silence next him, ready for another response should it come.

In no time at all, they have reached the scentline. Ivar gazes back at the sunset, and after a pause to study the stallion's remarkable face, Trissy does the same. Pinks and yellows streak the very edges of the sky, and as he states that it is her turn, the last slivers of beauty fade. Night sets in.

"I was born to two Queens, of the Forsaken Valley." She begins, her voice low and lacking much passion. "I didn't spend long in the kingdom; one of my mothers died before I was born, and the one who birthed me was lost to grief." Her eyes, which have been scanning Ischia's border, turn slowly to meet his, to hold his, to gauge his reaction. "I was young when I wandered into the mountain range which fenced the back end of the kingdom. That was years ago. It was a desolate place, one that tenders only to the rugged, but which preserved me until I wished to come back." The darkness has sunk further on to them, cloaking the mare in all her feral regalia. "It suited me."

The night swallows.

Trissy

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[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take Ivar grins at her skepticism, amused at how quickly she seems to have formed an opinion of him. She’s not wrong, of course, but Ivar has always enjoyed playing games. He is a master at pretending, after all, but the low laugh in his throat as she nips at his neck is genuine. They wade through the water, a familiar warmth against his legs and belly, and when they reach the sands of Ischia, he turns back to listen to Trissy’s words. He finds his kingship rather uninteresting, and is much more curious about the origins of the black mare. Her retelling lacks any emotion, but Ivar is captivated regardless. The Forsaken Valley. He has heard of the place, knows tales of it, but nothing more. That kingdom had been swept away with all the others, lost beneath the sea. Perhaps one day he’ll find it out there in the water. “It suited me,” she says. “It did,” he agrees. He moves closer, the fading light given him an excuse to do so (though he does not truly need one). “There are mountains here too,” Ivar tells her, thinking of the peaks of Hyaline that are visible on a clear day from anywhere in Loess. “Though they’re quite a bit more habitable than the ones it sounds like you’re used to.” His dark chest brushes against her shoulder as he takes another step closer, and he turns his head to brush away a bit of saltwater that pools on her back. Ivar has been very good, had not glanced back as they crossed the water together. She had arrived whole and unharmed despite swimming with a kelpie. His touch lingers and his chin rests along her back; he allows himself this. There will be more later, after all, and he smiles to himself at the thought of her future encounter with Heda. Perhaps he’ll stay away from Loess for a while, spend the early fall chasing Trissy through Ischia. By the time they return to Loess she’ll be his enough to infuriate Heda, a situation that Ivar will enjoy diffusing almost as much as he will enjoy the initial chase itself. The drifting pattern of his thoughts is indicative of the drifting seasons. It is hard to tell that summer is ending here in tropical Ischia; the weather here is always warm. Certainly warmer than Loess, he thinks with an internal sigh. king of loess minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus

I am sorry this is so late and awkward D: