10-15-2017, 10:13 AM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
He is no skilled zoologist, but the leathery wings that Kraugh had flown away on were familiar. They are not the dragon wings worn by Castile, but rather a more natural version, similar to those of the bats that occupy many of the small caves of Loess. That suspicion is confirmed when a little brown bat suddenly becomes a much larger creature: Karaugh, hanging from the sky on leathery wings. When she lands, Ivar remains where he was standing, one hind leg cocked casually as she comes closer. There is no mistaking the delight in her expression, but Ivar’s pale face remains carefully still. She had been a visiting diplomat a few hours earlier, and while he is now on her turf, there are still some decisions to be weighed. There is no water nearby – that he knows from his childhood – but that seems to matter less than he had originally anticipated. The buckskin mare comes closer, teasing him about an early arrival, and Ivar glances down to where she stands beside him. This time, there is nothing stopping him from looking her over more fully. Her dappled pelt glows with health, and even the muted sunlight does not hide her attractiveness. She is very little like Heda save the buckskin coloring, but Ivar is not thinking of Heda in this moment. She is safe at home, protected and secure, and he must do what is necessary to keep her that way. If that means reaching down to Karaugh, and ghosting his pale mouth just above her shoulder, then so be it. “I wanted to be sure the party would live up to the hype,” he lies, following the curve of her shoulder up to her withers, where he breathes in the familiar scent of Sylva and wanton mare in the tangle of her black mane. She has already offered, but he needs something more than her panting beneath him. Ivar does not have the words to describe that something more, but he had taken it from the soft green pegasus, and he plans to take it from Karaugh as well. She will probably even be willing, but he is still deliberately slow, watching for a reaction. He closes his mouth – sharp-toothed mouth, nothing like his father’s – around the base of her mane, where the flesh is soft and the delicate muscles are so close to the skin. He bites down but does not draw blood, only holds her tightly enough that she could not move away without pain. The hold is brief, but it is a caution and a question, is this really what she wants? He’d not intended to give her a choice, but this close her golden coat looks like Heda’s, and it is enough to soften him – even for a moment. Ivar wants her to squirm, wants her to give him a reason to bite down. He waits instead, uncharacteristically patient. |