Lets sing a gay little spring song [Ivar]

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The ground beneath their hooves passes quickly, and the bank of the river fades into the northern hills of Loess. Ivar is entertained by the spotted mare’s talk as they go, though he doesn’t recognize the flower she describes even when she names it. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the names of the flowers. I just like to look at them.” Something come to mind, a memory of a creature that knew such minutiae. “I know someone that might be able to help though. I’ll introduce you to her when we get to Loess.” She has asked about his own preference too, and Ivar takes a moment to consider it. The flora is prolific in Loess; there is not a single fruit that does not grow somewhere on its hills. “The pomegranates.” He finally says. “Those are my favorite. They have nice flowers too, red ones.” As they walk, Kindred gives him a delayed answer to his earlier question. She seems firm in her belief of what she says, and Ivar turns his head to watch her curiously for a moment. Part of it is the season (there is no strong urge to hunt or kill) but a larger part is his distance from the sea. This far onto dry land, the call of the water is little more than a whisper. Ivar has no interest in forcing the issue, and he replies to her statement with an agreeable nod. “Sounds only fair. I’ve no interest in keeping you against your will.” The words are reasonable, fair, and they match the sincerity in his brown eyes. “You’re free to do as you please; whether you want to serve the kingdom or simply live as a herd mare. Both, even.” Ivar cannot fathom any reason why anything but the middle option is appealing, but he knows he will never understand. Women: unhappy unless they’re being told what to do, and then pretend like they don’t enjoy being subservient. None of that is said aloud of course. Instead the thoughts flicker carelessly through his head and he raises his nose, scenting the air as they move deeper into Loess. Somewhere – not terribly far away – is @[Ichor]. He call her with a whinny, and turns back to Kindred as they crest a rocky bluff. “Welcome to Loess,” he says, and reveals the kingdom that sprawls before them. kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis minimal grullo tobiano king of loess