10-02-2017, 03:39 AM
isobell
She feels like she has returned a thousand times to the River. Nothing seemed to ever change much these days. Her brother was off, the dragon prince in all his glory, to mender about with his two-toned eyes and dashing grin that made all the mares go gaga for him. The painted mare misses her brother but he was his own man now with thoughts of leadership and an equal responsibility to fill.
Isobell, on the other hand, had followed her mother. Watching, learning, trying to solidify herself like the iron queen but Isobell is not her mother nor her father. She is the creature that she was birthed. Quiet, observant, a peck of a coy smirk always at the corners of unmarred lips. She has been fortunate to have savored her foalhood before becoming a mare.
The silver eyes are drifting over the tender curves of the River as she feels the warmth of summer upon her dual toned spine, each hoof fall is placed in front of the other till she finds herself rooted at where the cold waters meet the pebbled marked soil. The cold felt good despite the initial feel of shock and dull ache. The Nerine princess, despite the years of passage, remains as youthful and fresh as the very bloom of spring. She had grown though into a refined carving of depth-less onyx and clean marble. Her limbs are no longer too long and her tail too short. A flow of long tassels drift on the soft summer breeze, small droplets of water spray glistening against her skin when she steps into the water. The ugly ducking has become a swan after all.
But wait-
"Isobell!" Her name on the tongue of someone familiar but not her mother nor brother (Father rarely spoke). The woman jerks her head to her left to see a dark mane, scale and skin man, calling her. The lids slit slightly as she strains to think and- "Ivar? Ivar!" Isobell calls with confusion then immediately followed by assurance before she is moving to close the gap between them, a large smile spreading across her tapered lips. "Oh my gosh Ivar!" The mare exclaims with bright excitement. Her mercury eyes observe his growth, the change, his handsome face. Was this really her brother's friend? The colt from her childhood? He is slick, almost damp, and Isobell almost feels as though she wants to go to him for she fears he may have a chill...but it's Summer, right? The mare pushes away the silly thought of being that close to her friend. Why would he catch a chill in winter?
"Oh Nerine is Nerine. Mother still sits the throne and father is still fawns over her as the day they met supposedly." The pied mare laughs softly as those are the stories she was told when her parents met. Despite the way her mother is she knows that Lior always managed to have a hold on her heart. "And you? I haven't seen you in so long Ivar. You should probably be a gentleman and invite me along on these adventures that you and Castile have." A tease in her voice and a glint in her eye (though it may have been some time as well since Ivar saw her brother), Isobell watches him but occasionally forcing herself to keep her attention trained on him and away from the magnetic pull to look him over.
It was simply the oddest thing...she had never noticed the pull of her eyes before...not with anyone but she resists nonetheless against the silent protest to want to be closer to him. Delicate ears train forward as the pewter eyes watch him and eagerly awaiting his reply.
Isobell, on the other hand, had followed her mother. Watching, learning, trying to solidify herself like the iron queen but Isobell is not her mother nor her father. She is the creature that she was birthed. Quiet, observant, a peck of a coy smirk always at the corners of unmarred lips. She has been fortunate to have savored her foalhood before becoming a mare.
The silver eyes are drifting over the tender curves of the River as she feels the warmth of summer upon her dual toned spine, each hoof fall is placed in front of the other till she finds herself rooted at where the cold waters meet the pebbled marked soil. The cold felt good despite the initial feel of shock and dull ache. The Nerine princess, despite the years of passage, remains as youthful and fresh as the very bloom of spring. She had grown though into a refined carving of depth-less onyx and clean marble. Her limbs are no longer too long and her tail too short. A flow of long tassels drift on the soft summer breeze, small droplets of water spray glistening against her skin when she steps into the water. The ugly ducking has become a swan after all.
But wait-
"Isobell!" Her name on the tongue of someone familiar but not her mother nor brother (Father rarely spoke). The woman jerks her head to her left to see a dark mane, scale and skin man, calling her. The lids slit slightly as she strains to think and- "Ivar? Ivar!" Isobell calls with confusion then immediately followed by assurance before she is moving to close the gap between them, a large smile spreading across her tapered lips. "Oh my gosh Ivar!" The mare exclaims with bright excitement. Her mercury eyes observe his growth, the change, his handsome face. Was this really her brother's friend? The colt from her childhood? He is slick, almost damp, and Isobell almost feels as though she wants to go to him for she fears he may have a chill...but it's Summer, right? The mare pushes away the silly thought of being that close to her friend. Why would he catch a chill in winter?
"Oh Nerine is Nerine. Mother still sits the throne and father is still fawns over her as the day they met supposedly." The pied mare laughs softly as those are the stories she was told when her parents met. Despite the way her mother is she knows that Lior always managed to have a hold on her heart. "And you? I haven't seen you in so long Ivar. You should probably be a gentleman and invite me along on these adventures that you and Castile have." A tease in her voice and a glint in her eye (though it may have been some time as well since Ivar saw her brother), Isobell watches him but occasionally forcing herself to keep her attention trained on him and away from the magnetic pull to look him over.
It was simply the oddest thing...she had never noticed the pull of her eyes before...not with anyone but she resists nonetheless against the silent protest to want to be closer to him. Delicate ears train forward as the pewter eyes watch him and eagerly awaiting his reply.
i'll wait for you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea