Nyxa
“No.” Bragi says, and the force behind the statement is enough to quiet Nyxa on the matter of swimming. This color is a shade she’s never seen the elder brother wear and for a moment, she wants nothing more than to ferociously meet his declaration with one of her own. But it’s not her place to disagree - not yet, anyways - and so the winged mare stifles her usually sharp tongue in favor of turning her attention to Hod, a stallion she considers more appropriate company anyways. “Adults,” She scorns mentally, “always thinkin’ they know best.”
Hod’s apparent nervousness wipes the thought clean. Nyxa watches him with the curious tilt of her head, trying to unravel the moments inbetween their journey from the field to here. At first appearances the young man had been a bold sort of speaker, firing question after question which Nyxa had gathered and replied to in equal gusto. Now, though? His thoughts are tangled so angrily into themselves that she can’t seem to make sense of the pattern.
She wants to speak, or at the least say something, but Hod is determined to push out the semblance of a sentence so she waits with patience as he shuffles and starts again.
This time the product of his question is a broad smile, lost to the hush of darkness that blankets them both. Nyxa forgets that Bragi is nearby; his mention of going for a walk rouses only the need for Nyxa to say, “Don’t go too far.” as if she’s his dam. Flippantly she turns back to the instigator of the two, (let Bragi think what he wants, Nyxa had her reasons for asking him not to stray) and leans in with hushed reverence so that she and the graying stallion may share quiet words.
“The only thing that lives in Ischia is us, the horses, and hundreds of noisy, colorful parrots.” The growing girl breathes. It was so hard to explain like this, out here in the dark and with nothing to show for what she way saying. “Beware, though …” She whispers softly, the whiskers of her nose brushing just so against the flat plane of Hod’s warm cheek. “There are wolves that roam the island.”
It’s almost too easy to exchange her vocal chords; Nyxa shifts parts of herself that even Bragi couldn’t see with his bare eyes and sends the rumbling tone of quiet growl up through her prey lips. She wants to see if she’ll get a rise out of young ‘Don Juan’ and hopes that the sound unsettles him, for some reason. There’s a part of herself that hopes his interest lies in Ischia alone and not just her - to run with her pack would be no easy feat.
A man could never tame her.
“Don’t worry.” She chirps suddenly, pulling away to leave the salty frigid air between them. “They can be a friendly lot.” Nyxa smiles, mischievously. The shoreline surges, rapidly, pooling up onto the shore with a rush of power that sends the dark waters spilling over Nyxa and Hod’s hooves. With alarm the girl raises an intrepid eye to the boiling sea and watches as the waves return to their home - dragging silt and shells back with them. Without having to see it occur, she knows what will come next. “Bragiiiiiiii!!” She calls out, choosing not to turn or look and instead trusting that he’ll be nearby. “It’s time to go!” She cries with growing excitement, hearing the sucking pull of a vortex just offshore.
Mother was coming.
Wayward daughter of Canaan and Circinae
@[Bragi] @[Hod]