09-05-2020, 10:33 PM
Trapped in the enormous earthen bowl, the kelpie seethes.
The stone edges of the cenote are marred with deep scratches of tooth and claw, scars from where he had raged against his entrapment. It was in vain, a more logical creature would have realized; but the piebald’s fury has taken from him all but the most primitive drive. Hunt.
For a few months, he had company in the cenote with him. A seagreen filly with amber eyes, a draft mare whose coat often shifted from one shade to another, and a sapphire and gold self-identified nereid. They’d been nearby when Brennen had scooped this place out of the earth, and had been easily threatened into a dive. The color-changing mare had occupied most of his time, aquatic as she was, though he had not neglected the others. All of them grew round as the wet season stretched on, and Ivar’s temper was soothed by the firm kick of his children’s feet against their mother’s bellies.
In late-winter, the color-changer gave birth to a boy with wings instead of gills, and Ivar lodged the useless feathered appendages into a pile of crumbled stone near the water’s edge. That served only to whet his appetite, and soon the mare’s skull and bits of her black and pink speckled hide are tucked near the glossy black wings. Two miniature skulls flank the larger, two fillies born lifeless to the nereid. Ivar remembers the consequences that began to appear in Silver Cove when their blood became too pure, and curses Brennen for the thousandth time.
The seagreen mare’s pregnancy is the longest, but today, at last, his youngest child has been born.
Ivar had been scouring the depths of the cenotes underwater caverns, seeking an escape. When he surfaces near the shore, he finds a trio of horses standing over a fourth body. Even from a distance he can see the perfect tail, streamlined and good for swimming, and the glint of gold along her seagreen and seafoam. A kelpie, dead. And the colt beside her, healthy and hale, looks like a complete disappointment. He climbs out of the shallows and moves toward the colt. The mother tries to step between them, but she cedes easily to hypnosis. Ivar reaches forward, intending to grab the boy’s throat and shake him back and forth until he’s still.
He had not expected the other mare to come to her nephew’s aid, but the tricolored mare puts her body in front of Ivar’s as well. Before he can command her away, she speaks.
“I wish us safe!” She says suddenly, her voice filled with an unexpected note of command.
As soon as the words leave her mouth, a shimmer of rose gold light illuminates them. It is gone like the shimmer of sand, and Lumina and Hackett are suddenly standing on the rim of the cenote a dozen yards out of reach.
Ivar snarls, and the mare leads the young colt away, intent on taking him to a place where she believes he will be the safest.
Icicle Isle.
ooc: Just some exposition to explain the background story I made up in my head for these characters.
The stone edges of the cenote are marred with deep scratches of tooth and claw, scars from where he had raged against his entrapment. It was in vain, a more logical creature would have realized; but the piebald’s fury has taken from him all but the most primitive drive. Hunt.
For a few months, he had company in the cenote with him. A seagreen filly with amber eyes, a draft mare whose coat often shifted from one shade to another, and a sapphire and gold self-identified nereid. They’d been nearby when Brennen had scooped this place out of the earth, and had been easily threatened into a dive. The color-changing mare had occupied most of his time, aquatic as she was, though he had not neglected the others. All of them grew round as the wet season stretched on, and Ivar’s temper was soothed by the firm kick of his children’s feet against their mother’s bellies.
In late-winter, the color-changer gave birth to a boy with wings instead of gills, and Ivar lodged the useless feathered appendages into a pile of crumbled stone near the water’s edge. That served only to whet his appetite, and soon the mare’s skull and bits of her black and pink speckled hide are tucked near the glossy black wings. Two miniature skulls flank the larger, two fillies born lifeless to the nereid. Ivar remembers the consequences that began to appear in Silver Cove when their blood became too pure, and curses Brennen for the thousandth time.
The seagreen mare’s pregnancy is the longest, but today, at last, his youngest child has been born.
Ivar had been scouring the depths of the cenotes underwater caverns, seeking an escape. When he surfaces near the shore, he finds a trio of horses standing over a fourth body. Even from a distance he can see the perfect tail, streamlined and good for swimming, and the glint of gold along her seagreen and seafoam. A kelpie, dead. And the colt beside her, healthy and hale, looks like a complete disappointment. He climbs out of the shallows and moves toward the colt. The mother tries to step between them, but she cedes easily to hypnosis. Ivar reaches forward, intending to grab the boy’s throat and shake him back and forth until he’s still.
He had not expected the other mare to come to her nephew’s aid, but the tricolored mare puts her body in front of Ivar’s as well. Before he can command her away, she speaks.
“I wish us safe!” She says suddenly, her voice filled with an unexpected note of command.
As soon as the words leave her mouth, a shimmer of rose gold light illuminates them. It is gone like the shimmer of sand, and Lumina and Hackett are suddenly standing on the rim of the cenote a dozen yards out of reach.
Ivar snarls, and the mare leads the young colt away, intent on taking him to a place where she believes he will be the safest.
Icicle Isle.
ooc: Just some exposition to explain the background story I made up in my head for these characters.