07-27-2017, 12:27 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take At first she had hesitated. They all do, somehow innately aware that something is not quite right about the pied stallion’s intentions. It’s not quite wrong either, however, and Heda caves easily. Joy washes over him again and this time is smile is wider than before. The joy she’s given him and the pleasure of his own triumph are a heady combination. Ivar cannot help his curiosity. While he knows that she’d given in to the hypnosis, the stallion suspects that she might have humored him even without it. He knows his looks alone are a lure enough, and the winged mare is intriguing enough that he is willing to use them to his advantage. “Hypnosis,” he answers. It had taken some time to put a name to it, that odd ability. There’s more to it – the necessity of touch, but he doesn’t elaborate. He is constantly provided with opportunities for physical contact, most of it platonic. A few though, have been more than that, and the curiosity from earlier raises its head again as she murmurs ”Kelpie? That’s something” with a rather distracted air. “It can be fun,” he adds, hoping to assuage what he can only assume is worry over his ability. It would be easy to abuse, he knows, but those are not his intentions, not with Heda. She is a queen in her own right, not a flighty filly from the meadow. She is accustomed to being in control, he should have realized that. Still, he wonders if perhaps she wouldn’t like to let her guard down now and again, to relax and let loose. He could tell her not to worry and she would not, tell her to feel good and she would. She seems ready to explore further and Ivar follows her wordlessly. There is no mention of water, and he wonders if perhaps this land is a dry place. That’s a startling thought for a creature most at ease in black water, but his hooves are equally good on land as at sea. He could adapt. From the corner of his eye, he can see her watching him, and it confirms his suspicion. His eyes trail up the tucked feathers of her wing and the soft yellow line of her neck, stoking the warmth inside his chest. Ivar breaks his stride, ready to press her into the shadows with kisses and let her know exactly how lovely he finds her (political consequences be damned). Before he can though, something darts across his hooves and he freezes. It’s just a mouse, he realizes, but as he stops to look more closely, the same question that Heda asks him is echoing in his own mind. What is it? It’s no field mouse, that’s for sure. At first he thinks it is missing front legs, but at the edge of the path it crouches down and reveals little paws that had been tucked closely to its chest as it leapt with those overly long hind legs. It’s ears, too, are rather impressive for such a tiny animal. “I’ve no idea,” he tells her honestly. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Gerboas are not native to Sylva after all, nor to any of the other lands that he’s visited. Perhaps Loess is the perfect place for them. |