Any.

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The click of her teeth across his scales is a satisfying counterpoint to her steamy breath, and Ivar’s dark eyes half-close in pleasure. The stallion gives a quiet hmph of surprise as her teeth click closed at the base of his throat, but he does not jump or pull away. He only watches more curiously as she moves beside him, as she throws her weight into him. At that he chuckles, stepping to the side as she has so clearly requested. Strange, lovely, and seemingly strong-willed as well. Ivar’s penchant for finding the women most likely to give him trouble does not seem to have lessened with the turning of the new year, but the kelpie has hope that this one might be different. She is a no one here, not a queen, not an ambassador. There will be no one to speak up for her, to care much about what happens to her. Still, he decides as he reaches over and slides his pale muzzle down the crest of her neck: she will be good for more than decorating the ocean floor. She might end up there –they all will, eventually – but the contempt in her dark eyes as she looks back at him suggest that he might enjoy the act of putting her there far more than he usually does. Her quip – that she will see if she likes what he has to offer – is met with an amused twist of his handsome face. She will, he knows, and even if she does not, she will adjust. She is his now, after all, and she will stay where he tells her. There is no reason to force the issue – not now, anyway – and the black and white creature is eager to enjoy this momentary distraction from the issues that await him in Loess and Nerine. He steps back only so that he can nip at her rump, driving her forward in a most primal manner. He is the decision-maker but she is the Chooser-of-Ways; such is the way of stallions and their leading mares. Ivar has already given another that title, of course, but Heda need not know how he passes his time away from her side. She will take him back regardless of his actions away from her; she is warm and sweet and too-forgiving. Isobell too will gnash her teeth and fling stinging barbs, but as Ivar watches the dark mare ahead of him with her fluid stride and strong back, he does not mind much at all. Ivar is glad that Isobell had spurned him earlier in the day, he realizes; had she not, he would not be here, with this newest mare to keep. He’ll have to thank her, he decides; perhaps he’ll give Nerine the first daughter Trissy bears him. That thought has him nipping a little harder at her thigh, driving her north and toward the sea. He’ll show her Ischia, he decides, the island where someday she’ll rest round and content, and pass the time by telling him stories. Then they’ll find Loess, and the hills of wildflowers and springs. king of loess minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus

EVERYONE IS SCREAMING AGGGGHHHHH