02-10-2019, 05:16 PM
Light from the waxing moon is enough to see by, but the heavy clouds that drift across it draw long shadows in the deep water where Ivar swims. The shoals of the island resort are not as familiar to him as those of his own and he moves more slowly through the tepid water than he might. The kelpie keeps close to the surface as he swims, trusting what little light there is. Soon there will be none, he knows, for these dark clouds are the kind that herald a storm.
He reaches the shore just as the first peal of thunder sounds. It cracks across the sea again as he moves farther onto the beach, and the piebald stallion turns in knee-deep water to watch a thin finger of lightening stretch across the horizon. Somewhere below it on the dark horizon is his own island, shrouded by the night. His midnight decision to take a trip to the neighboring territory had been spontaneous, and now that he is here he is not quite sure why.
His lavender mares no longer come to the beach when he calls, and his interest in the topography of islands is negligible. There is plenty of prey on Ischia, after all and his trips to the Island Resort have grown increasingly infrequent as time has worn on. Castile’s failure to hold the land hadn’t been enough to inspire a visit, though Ivar is undeniably curious as to what sort of creatures had driven out dragons. The Covelings, he suspects, the lavender family that are bound together by more than blood.
Rolling his tricolored shoulders, the sea creature steps out of the water He doesn’t shake himself dry, but rather lets the water drip in rivulets down his scaled sides. The tail and fins that had propelled him through the water have faded into a far more equine shape. His head is a little too long and his teeth a little too sharp, but the sapphire stallion is impossibly handsome in spite of that promise of violence – or perhaps because of it.
@[Luster]
He reaches the shore just as the first peal of thunder sounds. It cracks across the sea again as he moves farther onto the beach, and the piebald stallion turns in knee-deep water to watch a thin finger of lightening stretch across the horizon. Somewhere below it on the dark horizon is his own island, shrouded by the night. His midnight decision to take a trip to the neighboring territory had been spontaneous, and now that he is here he is not quite sure why.
His lavender mares no longer come to the beach when he calls, and his interest in the topography of islands is negligible. There is plenty of prey on Ischia, after all and his trips to the Island Resort have grown increasingly infrequent as time has worn on. Castile’s failure to hold the land hadn’t been enough to inspire a visit, though Ivar is undeniably curious as to what sort of creatures had driven out dragons. The Covelings, he suspects, the lavender family that are bound together by more than blood.
Rolling his tricolored shoulders, the sea creature steps out of the water He doesn’t shake himself dry, but rather lets the water drip in rivulets down his scaled sides. The tail and fins that had propelled him through the water have faded into a far more equine shape. His head is a little too long and his teeth a little too sharp, but the sapphire stallion is impossibly handsome in spite of that promise of violence – or perhaps because of it.
@[Luster]