10-06-2018, 07:05 AM
Disclaimer: this post contains a (briefly) attempted murder.
He must drift nearer to hear Kyveli over the frothing sea and the claps of thunder, and he drifts vertically in the water with only his neck and shoulders above the surface. Quick flicks of his finned tail keep him afloat and near enough to hear her answer, followed by a request to walk around the main island.
"It's not very interesting over there," He tells her, glancing to the east with his golden eyes. There are too many residents there, Ivar thinks, though the Krakens have grown blessedly silent over the last few months. The reformed Bachelors are too close for comfort, but Kylin refuses to leave Ischia. It is a problem that often grates on Ivar, but he has not yet used hypnosis to force her to relocate. He has some boundaries (though whether they are a result of empathy or simply survival instinct one cannot say) and he must admit that the tropical beaches are an excellent hunting ground.
For a moment, Kyveli looks past him, to the rise of the main land of Beqanna behind Ivar. The kelpie does not follow her line of sight, but rather traces the exposed line of her throat not five feet above him. It would take only an instant, and he'd have her in his jaws. There'd be no time for her to even be frightened, and the darkness would take her.
He doesn't realize he has acted until he can taste the warmth of her pulse against his tongue and feel the sea closing over them. The kelpie instinct is usually not this strong in the summer season, but it seems that some prey is too tempting to resist.
For a long moment he considers keeping her. Perhaps she has inherited her mother's immortal life, and he delights at the idea of a second everlasting possession. She'll be an adult in a few years, and though he's known her since she was a child she is no child of his. The kelpie is vehemently opposed to the habits of the Covelings but does not recognize Kyveli as a blood relation. She is prey, unprotected by the near-equine fondness he has for her mother.
Her blood flavors the salt water, a coppery tang that has him tightening the crocodilian grasp on her neck without thinking. Only when she strikes him does he shake himself from his reverie, ducking away from the hoof that had caused no real damage and swimming up to break the surface.
"Breathe." He tells her, and it is a command as well, his neck below hers in the water, keeping her head afloat. "There was a wave you didn't see." he adds. "It knocked you under and I had to pull you back up again. You know this." The last sentence seals his hypnosis. Kelpies are unable to create memroies, but Ivar has found that the mind of prey is malleable. They often conjure up explanations of their own to fit the narrative Ivar spins them, and he expects this to be no different.
"Perhaps your mother was right, and you are too young to go out on your own." Kylin has said no such thing, but Ivar lies as easily as he breathes.
He must drift nearer to hear Kyveli over the frothing sea and the claps of thunder, and he drifts vertically in the water with only his neck and shoulders above the surface. Quick flicks of his finned tail keep him afloat and near enough to hear her answer, followed by a request to walk around the main island.
"It's not very interesting over there," He tells her, glancing to the east with his golden eyes. There are too many residents there, Ivar thinks, though the Krakens have grown blessedly silent over the last few months. The reformed Bachelors are too close for comfort, but Kylin refuses to leave Ischia. It is a problem that often grates on Ivar, but he has not yet used hypnosis to force her to relocate. He has some boundaries (though whether they are a result of empathy or simply survival instinct one cannot say) and he must admit that the tropical beaches are an excellent hunting ground.
For a moment, Kyveli looks past him, to the rise of the main land of Beqanna behind Ivar. The kelpie does not follow her line of sight, but rather traces the exposed line of her throat not five feet above him. It would take only an instant, and he'd have her in his jaws. There'd be no time for her to even be frightened, and the darkness would take her.
He doesn't realize he has acted until he can taste the warmth of her pulse against his tongue and feel the sea closing over them. The kelpie instinct is usually not this strong in the summer season, but it seems that some prey is too tempting to resist.
For a long moment he considers keeping her. Perhaps she has inherited her mother's immortal life, and he delights at the idea of a second everlasting possession. She'll be an adult in a few years, and though he's known her since she was a child she is no child of his. The kelpie is vehemently opposed to the habits of the Covelings but does not recognize Kyveli as a blood relation. She is prey, unprotected by the near-equine fondness he has for her mother.
Her blood flavors the salt water, a coppery tang that has him tightening the crocodilian grasp on her neck without thinking. Only when she strikes him does he shake himself from his reverie, ducking away from the hoof that had caused no real damage and swimming up to break the surface.
"Breathe." He tells her, and it is a command as well, his neck below hers in the water, keeping her head afloat. "There was a wave you didn't see." he adds. "It knocked you under and I had to pull you back up again. You know this." The last sentence seals his hypnosis. Kelpies are unable to create memroies, but Ivar has found that the mind of prey is malleable. They often conjure up explanations of their own to fit the narrative Ivar spins them, and he expects this to be no different.
"Perhaps your mother was right, and you are too young to go out on your own." Kylin has said no such thing, but Ivar lies as easily as he breathes.