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 The shifting in seasons has not gone unnoticed in Loess, but the piebald stallion has had plenty to keep him occupied. The gathering of a harem has been his most excellent idea; Ivar has not had to leave Loess in months. All of his needs are met within the hilly kingdom, and since the turning of the leaves those needs have become disproportionately carnal. The women are plentiful and willing, and for the first time in months Ivar is able to forget Isobell. She had been far too frequent a visitor to his thoughts, bidden or not. Now though, with the leaves tinted with gold and fire and plenty to distract him, Ivar is finally able to push her to the back of his mind. The stallion is enjoying her absence entirely. He’s able to better focus on other things, like the giggling roan mare ahead him. He’s already had his way with her, and is now simply enjoying the physical satisfaction of chasing her through the hills. Perhaps he’ll take her again when he catches her, he thinks, or perhaps he’ll chase her all the way to the sea and truly satisfy his hunger. He does not get a chance to make the choice. Instead, they are interrupted by someone appearing over the next hill. The weak autumn sunlight reflects off the moonstone of scales, and Ivar experiences the strangest sensation. It’s as though his physical heart has suddenly relocated to his belly, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar weight where it does not belong. Ivar’s companion looks back at him in confusion when he draws up short, but he sends her away with one last possessive sweep of his muzzle across her ample hindquarters. He turns back to Isobell more slowly than he wants to, his dark eyes taking in the seawater the still drips from her mane. She is lovelier than he remembered, but he does not let himself move from where he stands. She’s made it all this way from Nerine; she can make it the last few paces. “Queen Isobell,” he greets her, a polite nod of his head that clashes with the hunger in his eyes. The kelpie is perfectly poised when he asks: “I assume you’re here on kingdom business?” His question is genuine; he refuses to allow himself think that she might be here for something else. Perhaps she’ll try to seduce him into allowing Loess to serve as a subkingdom of Nerine, he thinks; Ivar wouldn’t object to that sort of politics at all. Underhanded and ethically questionable have always been his favorite category of fun activity. king of loess minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus