[mature] bottom of the deep blue sea; ivar

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take “Only to the shore,” replies the scaled stallion, following Isobell up in the water, and then past her until his head breaks the surface of the water. There, a few hundred yards to the south, lie the grey sand beaches of northern Nerine. The kelpie has never been to this part of the kingdom, but he is sure that Isobell knows it well enough. She’ll find her family, say her goodbyes, and return to him and to the sea. “I have some things to take care of in Loess,” he adds, reaching out across the rosy pre-dawn waves to brush his muzzle across Isobell’s shoulder. She is perfect, he knows, and he glides closer in the water, hooking a foreleg across her dark withers and pulling her closer to him. The motion is reminiscent of their all-but-constant couplings beneath the waves, futile attempts to procreate which have done nothing more than make the goal all the more precious. Next fall, Ivar thinks as he presses a salty kiss to the mare’s cheek, and they have all the year to practice. “I’ll wait for you there, and then we can finally see just how far south the ocean goes.” Ivar disentangles himself, pulling away and smiling at the thought of perpetually warm waters. A tropical paradise awaits them, he suspects, one far from Beqanna. They will spend the rest of their days there, sated, happy, surrounded by a gaggle of children’s with Isobell’s bright smile. Ivar nips at her shoulder – a little harder than before – a final squeeze to remind her what she is, whose she is. kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis minimal grullo tobiano king of loess