11-02-2017, 10:27 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
There it is again. That odd sensation that is neither murderous nor lustful. Ivar’s range of emotion is rather minimal – rage, desire – and the odd pressure in his chest is neither of those. They remain, of course, the duo behind his existence, but they are softened somehow. Were they drowned in the water, he wonders? This is an entirely new situation for him, after all – perhaps the world below the surface is as different from dry land as it is a world beyond the stars. When she swims past him, Ivar stops, allowing her to take the lead. Ichor’s back is within reach, and Ivar reaches out to let his muzzle brush over it as she passes him. His mouth is half open, his sharp teeth revealed but harmless. It would be easy to take her, he knows, to drain the life from her as she moans in ecstasy beneath him. He could, and there is no denying that part of him still wants to, but he does not. That little part is what makes him unsure, what makes him hesitate. Not prey, he knows, but also not kelpie. If she were the latter, he’d have known. There is no denying the recognition of his own kind, but Ichor is not it. She is something in between, something that defies the two categories that define the parameters of Ivar’s entire existence. She is almost past him now, and he shakes the weight of thought from his mind with a physically shake of his head. The tangled dreads of his mane drift in the water around him as he moves forward, closer to the bend in the river and the unknown. |