i need nothing to travel the sea
Like the ebb-and-flow of the tides, Rivuline dances between savagery and domestication.
She had raised herself in the territory of predatory sharks and poisonous fish. As she got older, she often worked with a slick hunter to catch prey they could both feast on, and the surface of the ocean would color itself a deep shade of red while the floor of the ocean would be sprinkled with unwanted pieces of bone. The underwater world could be a place full of cunning and sharpness, and Rivuline had quickly learned how to survive with her own sort of predatory tendencies.
With her first steps onto land, Rivuline had entered an entirely different world. She is still learning their differences, though it is mostly through scenting the borders where she does and observing meetings through the underbrush of the forest. She has remained in the background, unsure of their regal ways. On some days, she craves their tameness. Rivuline wonders how it would feel to allow control to permeate her decisions. On other days, she rebels the thought of it so passionately that the beachfront is scattered with half-eaten bodies and she craves sinking her teeth into the throat of anyone who dares getting close to her.
The seafoam tobiano feels loose on the day scales-and-salt drifts into her nostrils. The morning sunlight has soaked into her shoulders, leaving her with a peaceful feeling she connects with a pleasant nap drifting between lazy undercurrents. Rivuline gracefully moves away from her patch of sun in a forest clearing to head closer to the scent. For all her wilderness, the stark contrast of her pale blues and greens against the deeper shades of the forest are a sight to see.
She waits on the edge of the treeline, allowing the cool mist to curl around her shoulders and across her cheeks. The stranger is already upon the shore, decorated with colors and attributes that speak of her lineage and homeland. Every muscle in Rivuline’s body stands at attention; she is as still as a statue aside from the singular, harsh flick of her tail against her mud-splashed heels.
When she finally breaks away from the trees to move down the bank, there is a feral glint in her eyes. “Who are you?” The peacefulness of Rivuline’s morning is broken by this intruder swimming right onto her shore. As she comes to a halt, the seafoam mare’s ears lace into the thick dreads of her multicolored mane. “Why are you here?”
@[Nilam]