11-15-2018, 10:24 PM
bottom of the deep blue sea
She will always be able to find him, know his scent, feel him. He can dress up in any sort of frock, play the king, be the lover, sing a troubadour's song but Isobell would always know him.They are one in the same, he is her maker, and she is his curse.
The moonstone and obsidian mare cuts through stone and vegetation alike. She is focused upon the scent of her stallion and intended to find the man amongst a slew of whores. He tended to abide his time nestled between moistened thighs whenever Isobell took it upon herself to chase the moonlight for days, moths, years at a time. She expected no different and in time had learned to accept it was her own doing but she powerless to heed the call of the wild.
She returns now with a steel to her silver eye, glinting, watching. Crashe and Kaliope (both aged to two) are keeping stride easily. They are both devastatingly beautiful, the boy a sharp black and white like his mother and the girl a of smoke and mirror like Ivar had been so long ago. Crashe leads just ahead of his mother with a handsome head, keen eye and pricked ears as Kali trails at his hip, nudging playfully at the serious young stallion. Isobell has kept them close, away from the havoc, guiding them in the ways of the hunt and survival. The young man is without the kelpie shift but he wields a power far more dangerous. He is an animator.
Kali had been blesses with the kelpie curse. She was fearless and sometimes reckless in the water, often feeding on the thrill of the hunt rather than for nourishment. She would be a dangerous mare one day with her budding beauty and ravenous hunger. Isobell knows the girl will once day be stronger and more dangerous than she.
Just at Isobell's shoulder is Lothbrok. He is a strong four year old, a man in his own right, kelpie by birth and just as handsome as Ivar had been when he was young and charming. The young stallion is a spitting image of when I var had first met Isobell, grullo and pale ivory, just as handsome and suave. He minds his siblings closely for his mother, nipping at them occasionally when they grew to wild or loud.
Mist, Isobell's younger sister, the dragon princess hugs her other side close. She is delicate and wide eyed, the world intimidating and feral to her. Isobell had taken charge of the three year old when she had left Nerine in the absence of her mother, to follow Isobell, sweet and gentle in a world full of splintered words and filmy lies. Isobell had determined that she would guide the young dragon mare till it was time for her to venture out on her own.
The pewter eyed mare moved across the exposed sandbars with the brood. They twins kick up the sand, tormenting each other relentlessly, as Lothbrok watches over his mother's shoulders carefully. Mist remains quiet and curled at the kelpie mare's hip. The scent of Ivar saturates the land and the pull of her heart exposes him in the thickness of the humid environment. Isobell halts, hesitant, on the edge of the isle. The others follow suit and fall quiet as Isobell scents the air further. She waits, breathing, nostrils wide before calling with a sweet tone, melodic and gentle on the warm winds for the leader of the land.
She knows he would answer, he had to.