"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
She must work harder to keep up, match his speed, to show that despite the tension that was so thick it threatened to suffocate her, she must push on. They are a pair, a blur of white and black, shapeshifting and mutating into one cell.
Reverse the process, make them whole.
Her chest is sore, the breaths are a moan with jagged little edges but she refuses to slow. Her throat would be raw in the morning by the judge of the raspy exhales from between her pretty dark lips. Occasionally she lifts the sooty lashes to eye her companion, her competition. The greenery flies past and even when he threatens to leave her behind with his larger leg span, she still pushes on with a silly belly full of laughter trailing behind just like the white and black of her tail.
The woman nearly rams against Ivar's hind end, balking into a dirt flinging crow hop, as they enter Loess. It was beautiful in the ways that Nerine was. There was much more greenery here and the birdsong replaced the shriek of gulls. She can smell the fresh rain and it makes her giddy. 'Are here finally?" Her breath is hot as she closes the space between her lips and the fine trace of his scaled next, looking up with excited eyes and a coy girlish smirk.
The white of her pelt is wet and muddy but she doesn't care as curiosity burns bright within her silver eyes. The woman reaches to press her nose to his shoulder in a silent gesture of thankfulness despite the tender places where his kiss still lingered on her hip, the tingle where he dared to steal a taste her womanhood...
Isobell forces that all away as Loess distracted her thoughts from the touch of is mouth, the threat of his teeth. She moves to create the space between them, a drinking pool not far off, to seek a bit of water to cool her burning throat. Isobell does not wait for him nor does she look back. She knows he will follow.
i'll wait for you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
10-17-2017, 07:40 AM (This post was last modified: 10-18-2017, 07:16 AM by kahzie.)
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The race she gives him is exhilarating, but it is not a challenge. Isobell is a young mare in her prime, but Ivar is as young, taller, and has been building his speed and stamina through daily training. He does enjoy it though, the way they swallow the ground beneath them with long strides, the way the land rushes by in a blue of green and growing gold. Her laughter echoes along side him, and he has reached across now and again to bump her shoudler with his muzzle, the motion never detracting from his speed or attempting to slow her own.
They arrive, and it seems he has read the weather incorrectly. The storm clouds have rolled over Loess already, and the hills sparkle and glisten with fresh rainfall. It reminds him of the tale of a dragon guarding a hord of jewels, and he looks down at Isobell to see how she is reacting.
Ivar finds her already looking up at him, then her lips on his neck. He’d think it as friendly as his contact during their race, but there is a coyness in her smile. The desire to press, to find out exactly how much she’ll stand behind her coquettish look is still present, he finds. He’d thought perhaps being in Loess would dull it, and so he is grateful that her heaving sides and his own shortness of breath are enough to dull a need for yet more physical exertion.
“Careful, kitten.” He replies as she presses her damp nose to the pale scales of his shoulder, “You don’t want the Queen to think you’ve got your eye on her lover.”
Ivar greatly enjoys when Heda is possessive (it makes reassuring her all the more worthwhile), and the too-daring part of him wonders if Isobell will be the same. He wants it to be so, he realizes as he watches her head toward the water; he wants see those silver eyes alight with green envy. Perhaps it will make her reconsider her rebuff of his previous temptation. Perhaps it will send her running into someone else’s embrace. That image has him smiling as he trails after her toward the water. Not the embracing, exactly, but rather the idea of watching the light fade from some poor fellow’s eyes for the crime of touching what did not belong to him.
The piebald horse steps up beside the mare, lowering his head to the water to drink. When his thirst is sated, he wades in a few more feet. Ivar bucks out in Isobell’s direction, drenching her already damp coat in a spray of water as he spins around to face her with a wicked grin
She can barely hear his warning over the rapid echo of her beating heart, a steady hum of blood in her heard but she does not miss it entirely. Silver eyes cannot hope but to roll at his small remark. "The queen's lover, eh?" She does all but laugh. "So you have settled down with a jealous woman?" A smirk slides all too easily over her lips. Isobell cannot hide the look of woe she has for the handsome man. There would be a lot of heads to roll over the painted stallion but Isobell's would not be one of them. She simply flicks her tail at the idea, banishing it away. She would gladly meet this woman with a calm smile and not think twice to Ivar coupling with her. After all, they had perhaps had a close encounter but that hardly enough to tie the princess to Ivar. It took much more than that to win over her favor. Despite the fact that Ivar is pretty and he had been given a taste of what she could offer, she is still regal, calm, and collected above it all. If the man was looking to start a quarrel between two women then he had best look elsewhere. Isobell finds that a jealous woman is a weak woman, having divulged what could be used to make her bend.
Isobell is of the iron blood. She does not bend for any man, for anyone.
She knows that she has planted a seedling with her words and her actions. She knows that Ivar will find this appalling or perhaps appealing. Either way she shakes it off with the shrugs of her pale shoulders after having a drink of the cool waters. She is lifting her head when Ivar wades deeper, mercury filled eyes watch curiously, but in a moment she is soaked to the bone (again). "Ivar!" Her voice is high as a feeble attempt is made to scold him before she joins him in the pool with water parting in white capped waves, legs lifting high with a bright grin dancing across her pretty dark lips.
"How dare you splash the Princess of Nerine?" She snorts at him with all in jest as her right fore hoof lifts, hesitates, and crashes into the water to sink then spray water into his own face. "Gosh! And my poor delicate hooves!" The woman is laughing now in reference to the way the pied stallion had teased her at the river. The silver eyes woman attempts to toss her mane but it is stuck fast and wet against the arch of her two tones neck, her tail floating out behind her like black and white water lily.
i'll wait for you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Isobell is still holding back from him. He can hear the rapid flutter of her heart, smell her autumn readiness, and yet she still rebuffs him. It should not be possible, and yet it happens still. His attempt to stir jealously is tossed away with a quiet laugh, careless and regal.
It’s to be a long game then, Ivar decides.
He will win in the end, he is certain, but it is best to make the path to success as clear as possible. So as he brushes by her to get to the water, he presses a silent command of “want me” into her flesh, one that will fade as soon as they no longer are in contact. This is her first autumn as a woman – let her think that this is simply the way her body responds to a stallion’s touch. She will be disappointed by others, Ivar thinks, whatever soft-eyed boy the iron maiden chooses will never heat her blood in quite the same way.
The idea of Isobell thinking of him while with another is the opposite emotion he’d tried to stir in her with his previous words, but the anticipation of it is enough to have him leaping farther into the small spring. The water splashes up against his scales, ridding them of the grime of travel that falling rain hadn’t quite been able to sweep away. His attempt to drench Isobell goes rather well, and her high-pitched voice brings a delighted grin to his pale face.
He shakes away the water that she splashes at him, telling her that: “Haven’t you heard? The hot springs of Loess are renowned for their luxury. Surely your delicate princess hooves are feeling rather pampered now?” His dark gaze stays fixed on her own for a moment, but he does not stop them from roving. He’s already rather familiar with her pied figure, but the way the water laps at her sides requires a different sort of inspection.
This is why the kelpie has always kept Heda away from the water.
The water isn’t safe.
Water is for hunting and for hurting, but he does not want to hunt Isobell (not in this way, at least). Ivar knows the legends of his kind – that a mate is safe in the water – but Isobell is just a pretty girl. She won’t be safe, and he can’t risk it.
Unconsciously he has taken a few steps closer, unbridled hunger in his gaze (when coupled with the suggested lust and his looks is likely to be a recipe for disaster). He stops rather suddenly, a sharp sigh and a frown on his handsome face.
“Castile is coming to Loess.” He tells her abruptly, the emotion tie to his closest friend acting as a semi-successful lifeline. He will lose Castile if this happens, if he hunts her in the water. “Maybe we should go find him.”
i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
She had been standing with her hooves buried deep in the black sand of the beach, leaning against the wind and letting it tear at the two toned hair with gnarled fingers with lids sliding closed to hide the deep mercury of her eyes as she breathed in the salt and brine of Nerine. It gave her life as it washed over her pelt and cleaned her bright. The sounds her mother's call penetrates the quiet solitude and Isobell is turning instinctively with black granules flinging in a spray that temporarily dots out the hazy sun of autumn.
Mother stands tall and beautiful against the gray of the sea sky and Isobell smiles as she falls near her. Isobell is always amazed at her mother's beauty and her strong will. Ears are tuned forward as she listens to the opinions of the Nerinian residents.
The suggestion for a mock battle is made and Isobell unconsciously stomps her fore hoof in agreement. Surely Father would be there, listening, and sure he would say something. Isobell liked the idea (strangely enough) to test her strengths and limits. She looks to her mother with a wiry smirk.
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The scaled stallion had found safety in this landlocked place. There is no sea here, and so the call is not so strong. He can command it, guide it, direct in more useful ways. The monster is controlled, and Ivar is content.
He had been, at least, and then Isobell had come along.
She reminds him of childhood, of the sea, of safety. More importantly, she does not remind him of Azar.
He is waiting for the surge of need, white-knuckled despite his calm movement. There is a loose curl across her face, and he nudges it away. He waits to control an urge that never comes, and when he pulls away he is looking at Isobell with something that is almost akin to wonder. There are no words for it, and he is left speechless even when she speaks again. Only when she is climbing on to the bank does he come back to himself. The scaled stallion follows her lead, keeping his distance from the dripping mare.
“I’ll uh…go find him.” Ivar says, and without a words slips off into the brush.
kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis
ooc: so I wanted to tie this in with the sylva thread and figured maybe we can end this thread and start another one up with just them post-sylva?
