08-18-2019, 10:07 PM
The kelpie’s movements drifts slowly a few feet beneath the surface of the water, the opalescent white scales of his stomach stretched taut over his last meal. Though he has felt the shift from warm sea to cool river, Ivar has not made an effort to guide his drifting. So long as he remains in the water he is home, and his golden eyes drift shut as he dozes beneath the warm autumn sun.
When he wakes, it is to the scrape of stone against his back. The kelpie has drifted into the shallows of the riverbed as he slept, and he rolls to right himself without full waking. He breaches the surface to do so, sapphire head and shoulders rising above the water. The water here is far cooler, a reminder of the seasonal shift on Beqanna’s mainland, and Ivar begins to pull himself back to deeper water with grasping motions of his clawed limbs, eager to return entirely to the water.
Something moves in the corner of his vision and the kelpie stills.
Ivar turns his head toward it, the long sapphire and white dreadlocks of his mane dripping into the slow-moving water of the shallows.
“Breckin,” he says, her name as quick to his lips as the recognition of that familiar pattern of black on white. His voice is rough, forever a contradiction to the rest of him, but there is amusement in his metallic eyes as he takes her in. Amusement and curiosity, for it has been years since their last encounter and she certainly looks the worse for the time passed. Amusement and curiosity and hunger, because despite the satiety from his last meal there is always a need for more.
“Could I interest you in a swim?” The question is spoken casually, as though it is in good faith and he truly means only what he says. They both know that is not the case, but the kelpie has never been able to resist a challenge. Breckin looks – physically at least – like far easier prey than ever before. The sharp line of her hip bone stands out, and the sleek muscle he recalls has grown thin beneath her dusty coat. Easy prey, he thinks again, and smiles his perfect smile that she has always so firmly resisted.
@[Breckin]
When he wakes, it is to the scrape of stone against his back. The kelpie has drifted into the shallows of the riverbed as he slept, and he rolls to right himself without full waking. He breaches the surface to do so, sapphire head and shoulders rising above the water. The water here is far cooler, a reminder of the seasonal shift on Beqanna’s mainland, and Ivar begins to pull himself back to deeper water with grasping motions of his clawed limbs, eager to return entirely to the water.
Something moves in the corner of his vision and the kelpie stills.
Ivar turns his head toward it, the long sapphire and white dreadlocks of his mane dripping into the slow-moving water of the shallows.
“Breckin,” he says, her name as quick to his lips as the recognition of that familiar pattern of black on white. His voice is rough, forever a contradiction to the rest of him, but there is amusement in his metallic eyes as he takes her in. Amusement and curiosity, for it has been years since their last encounter and she certainly looks the worse for the time passed. Amusement and curiosity and hunger, because despite the satiety from his last meal there is always a need for more.
“Could I interest you in a swim?” The question is spoken casually, as though it is in good faith and he truly means only what he says. They both know that is not the case, but the kelpie has never been able to resist a challenge. Breckin looks – physically at least – like far easier prey than ever before. The sharp line of her hip bone stands out, and the sleek muscle he recalls has grown thin beneath her dusty coat. Easy prey, he thinks again, and smiles his perfect smile that she has always so firmly resisted.
@[Breckin]