01-26-2019, 09:15 AM
Each day on the island is much like the one before, and not very different from the one that will follow. His metrics for passing time are things like the migratory fish and the growing bellies of the mares who carry his children. There's a good number of them this year - Kellyn, Carwyn, Synapse, even Jhene had finally successfully conceived.
There might be others too, and it is them Ivar is thinking of as he watches the sun set over the ocean. The residents of Ischia he can protect, but he cannot be in multiple places at once. The frustration he feels over this is an unfortunate side effect of his time spent on land; the worry is just as unwelcome. The kelpie far prefers the simplicity of the underwater world, and yet he has voluntarily beached himself for something as silly as a crown.
He snorts in irritation at this reminder of his self-inflicted malcontent; it is difficult at times to remember why he'd done it. As usual, the universe chooses to remind him when he least expects it.
Though the brown shape in the water might be a seal, Ivar knows that they rarely venture this far west. A horse then, swimming toward his island as the evening begins to rise. Rather than enter the water to greet them, the blue and gold kelpie walks down the beach to where he knows the current will carry them. Whomever it is will be weary from the swim, he knows, and a weaker creature is one more easily overpowered.
So changed is she by illness and pregnancy that at first Ivar does not recognize her. The familiar lines of her face are drawn and hollow, and her one slim figure is marred by a belly that bulges impossibly wide despite her visible ribs. The Wishbone that had arrived in Ischia in the fall had not resembled this one much at all; the Plague is the only explanation.
Well, the plague and the carrying of a child that Ivar is sure is his, but surely she is pleased by the latter despite her current state. It hadn't been enough to keep her here as the kelpie had intended, but it was enough to bring her back. That will have to do.
When he draws near, he runs his muzzle down her lusterless mahogany neck, lips at the soft ridge of her shoulder.
“You’ve looked better,” he says without preamble, pulling away to meet Wishbone’s amber eyes with his golden ones. “I suppose now I have to stop putting off stealing one of Island Resorts healers.”
@[Wishbone]
There might be others too, and it is them Ivar is thinking of as he watches the sun set over the ocean. The residents of Ischia he can protect, but he cannot be in multiple places at once. The frustration he feels over this is an unfortunate side effect of his time spent on land; the worry is just as unwelcome. The kelpie far prefers the simplicity of the underwater world, and yet he has voluntarily beached himself for something as silly as a crown.
He snorts in irritation at this reminder of his self-inflicted malcontent; it is difficult at times to remember why he'd done it. As usual, the universe chooses to remind him when he least expects it.
Though the brown shape in the water might be a seal, Ivar knows that they rarely venture this far west. A horse then, swimming toward his island as the evening begins to rise. Rather than enter the water to greet them, the blue and gold kelpie walks down the beach to where he knows the current will carry them. Whomever it is will be weary from the swim, he knows, and a weaker creature is one more easily overpowered.
So changed is she by illness and pregnancy that at first Ivar does not recognize her. The familiar lines of her face are drawn and hollow, and her one slim figure is marred by a belly that bulges impossibly wide despite her visible ribs. The Wishbone that had arrived in Ischia in the fall had not resembled this one much at all; the Plague is the only explanation.
Well, the plague and the carrying of a child that Ivar is sure is his, but surely she is pleased by the latter despite her current state. It hadn't been enough to keep her here as the kelpie had intended, but it was enough to bring her back. That will have to do.
When he draws near, he runs his muzzle down her lusterless mahogany neck, lips at the soft ridge of her shoulder.
“You’ve looked better,” he says without preamble, pulling away to meet Wishbone’s amber eyes with his golden ones. “I suppose now I have to stop putting off stealing one of Island Resorts healers.”
@[Wishbone]