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my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Augusta - 11-08-2017 the night is my companion, and solitude my guide. She stands where the craggy rocks meet the water, frothing waves gently coaxing and pulling against the silver-blue of her long legs. The fast-moving river has yet to solidify from winter’s freezing cold, unable to stop the water from rushing on its way. The water is clear; so clear, in fact, that she could see the grey pebbles that line the bottom of the river. The stones’ are smooth with the steady flow of the tremulous waters, their different shades and shapes creating a pale mosaic of ashen gray, silver, and near white beneath the surface. A lazy mist hangs loosely over this particular calm twist in the large, winding river. It clings to the trees and rocks, as well as to the greyness of her body, dipping into the soft and curved lines of her shoulders and hips. The moisture in the air causes her mane to grip tightly in its dampness of her neck, her black forelock plastering against the bridge of her nose. The silver and white mare stands stoically as the quiet world envelops her, the darkness of the wood behind her and the slow-moving fog muffling all noise except the sound of the rushing river before her. The trees surrounding the river are an eerie silver against the white mist and the early morning darkness that lingers with it. The tall trees are near black with the weight of winter’s cold, the bitter air nipping at her flesh. The water is cold against her skin, icily moving past her with a purpose that is unknown to her. She remains quiet and unmoving, not wanting to disturb the beauty that is going on around her. Augusta finds the solace of the river enchanting, as it was different from the forest and the cave that she knew so well. Her mother and father had raised her in their quiet home, pleased with the soundless forest and all it has to offer them. Augusta has been staying there too, despite their absence, content with wandering the silent trees and bubbling streams. Here, though, the silent wood opens to the river and she almost prefers it: the sound of rushing, rapid water loud and lurid in her ears. Quietly nestled in the river’s bank, in a little alcove where the water was not too rough and swift, she searches the clear water with her nose to its surface, her almond eyes watching as tiny slivers of minnows dart through the pebbles and rock, their scales shining silver when the sun’s light catches them. She maneuvers herself carefully so that she will not trip on any pebbles that roll beneath her hooves, and so that the small fish become accustomed to her presence, nibbling not only at the algae she has kicked up, but also at the tiny hairs above her hooves. The cold doesn’t bother her, or at least she pretends it doesn’t. @[Ivar] RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Ivar - 11-09-2017
RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Augusta - 11-09-2017 the night is my companion, and solitude my guide. How long has it been? Her shadow-prince, nameless and haunting, hasn’t visited her. He had been her life (he still was, that mysterious presence), her whole entire world, and then suddenly...nothing. He vanished from her, but not in the way he normally does. She could not smell him, taste him, hear him - he has gone. So she busies herself, like she did before her prince had found her. She stares into the waters, looking purposefully but at the same time, thoughtless. She idly passes the time, the icy cold waters of the river numbing her legs, but not allowing herself to leave to find warmth. He will come, he will lay beside her, he will whisper to her, her shadow will come… ‘Catch anything yet?’ It should have been his voice, but it wasn’t. With a small sparkle in her eyes (she never turned down conversation, despite her disappointment that her shadow still had not joined her) she lifts her head quizzically, her silver eyes quickly finding the pied stallion that stands before her, wading in the frothing waters just as she is. A smile finds her darkened charcoal lips, a bit sheepish as her eyes dart downwards - it had been awhile since she had a conversation with anyone besides her shadow-prince, and looking into the eyes of another left her heart racing for a moment. A laugh reverberates in her chest, soft and gentle as windchimes in the breeze. “No, not yet,” she admits quietly, surprised at the smile that continues to pull at her lips. “Are you much better?” She asks curiously, inviting the kind-faced stranger to join her. @[Ivar] RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Ivar - 11-11-2017
ooc: ivar met augusta’s sister Luster and (i thiiink) one of their brothers when he was growing up in Sylva? So that’s what he’s “sort of” remembering about her being familiar RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Augusta - 11-12-2017 the night is my companion, and solitude my guide. She suddenly feels the chill now; perhaps it is the presence of this stranger that makes her realize the world around her - that the frigid air is unmerciful against the mottled silver-grey of her skin, tight and unforgiving in its cold grip, that the water is numbing her legs as it splashes against them. A tiny shiver runs down her spine in response and for a moment she wonders if it is too forward to ask the black and white stallion to come just a little bit closer. He does come closer, however, but the cold of deep winter permeates deep. She smiles however, grey eyes sparkling with laughter as he demonstrates his lack of fish-catching abilities, the fish darting away from the area in flashes of silver, the cold and clear water the only thing left between them now. “Augusta,” she offers with a little lift of her chin towards him, storm-gray eyes inspecting him with gentle interest. The winter’s fog had hidden most of him until he had come closer, and now she notices the way his coat lays completely flat against him - the winter’s breath seems to not have created any sort of thickness to his fur. She notices, as her gaze flickers to his handsome face, that something a lot like scales are hidden between the black and ivory patterns, and a curious smile finds her dark lips. His robust voice, gentle and welcoming, brings her a few steps closer to him, bridging the gap between them. She presses her lips together thoughtfully, trying to sift through memories and years for a moment that might enlighten them as to how they were already familiar. “Sylva?” she repeats quietly. She hasn’t thought about Sylva or her family in many moons, and the thought makes her fall silent. She thinks carefully; the last time she had been in Sylva was to visit her sister, Luster. She hadn’t found her. Clearing her throat (realizing she may have been silent for uncomfortably too long for sweet Ivar), she finds his gaze. “I grew up there for awhile,” she says gently, “my sister, Luster and I. But then my parents, after the reckoning, moved us to the forest. I went back to Sylva a few years ago to try and find my sister, but...” Her voice trails off and her eyes become downcast, brows furrowing pensively. “Maybe you have met her. We look a lot a like - that would explain why you are familiar with me.” She takes another step closer to him, her recent loneliness and talk of her sister creating a certain sort of sadness that did not look right on her face. @[Ivar] RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Ivar - 11-12-2017
RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Augusta - 11-13-2017 the night is my companion, and solitude my guide. She wishes she could find a memory crumpled up inside her mind, dusty and forgotten, and then pull it until it unwinds and becomes clear - but unfortunately, there is no recollection of the handsome young stallion before her. Her lips curve into a slight frown; she had hoped that maybe there is a connection between the two of them, that perhaps he truly isn’t just another stranger. For some reason she wishes she could give him recognition, as if that would have pleased him greatly. Hearing her sister’s name on unfamiliar lips causes Augusta to lift her head in surprise. Deep gray eyes watch him carefully, widening slightly as he finishes giving her a glimpse into his past. He brushes past the topic, obviously noticing the twinge of sadness that has (and seems to reoccur often) permeated through her. A half-hearted smile, sheepish and oh so small, manages to flutter onto the darkening angles of her face, lifting her chin slightly. “No,” she says (a bit more forcefully than she’s used to, almost decisively), “it’s nice to meet someone who knew her. I like to remember her.” A tilt of her head, ebony tendrils of her forelock falling into her gaze. Fragile as ever, but Augusta is not weak - she does not allow her missing family - despite its tragedy - keep her from reliving wonderful memories or speaking their names. “I miss her,” she admits tenderly, eyes sparkling with a quiet loneliness that has become her life. “I miss home,” she doesn’t say. The fog drifts closer to them, hanging loosely as it sifts through the winter’s air. Feeling comfortable (and forever trusting), Augusta has found herself taking enough steps forward to stand directly before him, her stormy eyes tracing the smooth curves of his muscled shoulders and haunches that glitter hauntingly in the midday, despite the sun’s hiding place behind the snow-filled clouds. “The forest,” she replies, craning her neck forward curiously towards him (so close, she could nearly feel the warmth of his breath), the subtle sparkle of his scales enamoring her. “Loess? I don’t think I’ve been there. Just Sylva and the forest. Well, and the river of course.” She laughs gently, bringing her chin to her chest so that she may control the urge to stroke his cheek with the velveteen of her muzzle. “I can live anywhere,” she states pridefully, a flick of her tail against her shimmering silver haunch. “But,” she draws a breath as she pauses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “perhaps it is time to go back to Sylva. I really do miss being around others.” Of course, sweet Augusta knows nothing of the shift of the kingdoms, of Sylva’s new ruler and the hell that her childhood home has become. “What is Loess like, Ivar?” She likes the way his name sounds on her tongue. @[Ivar] RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Ivar - 11-18-2017
RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Augusta - 11-21-2017 the night is my companion, and solitude my guide. She welcomes his embrace (she will hardly ever shrink back from anyone), stepping forward to close the space and to allow him the knowledge, however important it may be him, that she is trusting. For a moment she thinks of her shadow prince, she wonders if he is there, just around the corner, watching her - she hesitates, but just for a moment. Her sadness and loneliness has too long been kept locked up within her, and the silver mare wishes nothing more than the physical touch of someone alive, someone with a kind and handsome face she can see. Their chests meet and she sighs (whether it is because of Ivar’s hypnosis or not didn’t matter, she wouldn’t ever know), the warmth of his skin against hers soothing the ache in her heart, even if only momentarily. Maybe it is because Augusta truly wishes she could be happy, so the moment Ivar pushes in the tiniest bit of suggestion, she latches onto it hungrily. She smiles into his neck, almost sheepishly at the closeness. But here is where she is able to inspect his glittering skin a bit closer, and realize that it is the scales that causes his luminescence. Without thinking, her charcoal lips touch them briefly, curiously, innocently. They are smooth and sleek, but warm. It fascinates her. The baritone of his voice reverberating in his own chest and resounding through hers causes her to gasp softly, not realizing she had remained silent throughout their embrace. She is not sure she wants to depart from him, so for just a moment longer she lingers, her breath condensing onto the warmth of his skin. She suddenly realizes how cold she truly is (how utterly alone), and though the thought is sad, her eyes do not dim nor does a frown find her face, for she does not know it, but she was told to only be happy. She would not question it - not now, maybe not ever. Just like she never questioned her shadow prince. Ivar is no shadow, though. He is no invisible entity that leaves her wanting and waiting, a mystery within a mystery - no, Ivar is a presence that is anything to be ignored, not meant to be hidden within shadows or darkness; his whole being demands attention, but he is gentle and kind and sympathetic, even to a little stranger like herself. Augusta pulls from him, but only enough so that her stormy eyes could look up at him in curiosity, her meekness permeating throughout the gentle, sloping angles of her face. “Oh,” she replies breathlessly, the news of her childhood home bringing her eyes downcast, staring absently into the gurgling waters below them. But he continues the conversation and she is thankful. His voice is smooth and robust, it lulls her soothingly. “Oh Ivar,” she muses with awe, her gray eyes searching his. “It sounds like your new home is lovely,” She thinks of the myriad of colors he had just described, the warmth of spring and the golden sun on her back - oh, she is sure the sunsets are wonderful, and that the starry sky is brilliant and dazzling without large and looming trees to block them out. Without knowing it, she had stepped forward again, and had been thoughtfully staring into the rushing waters of the river with her head beneath Ivar’s neck. @[Ivar] RE: my heart never stops beating for you; ivar - Ivar - 11-26-2017
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