Oh Lior, Lior, Lior
The woman cloaked in smoke and sin. The Queen of the coast. How was it even possible for Lior to say no? She was capturing and elusive from the day they had first met. Had she been queen then? Lior wonders briefly as stony gray eyes watch her move away, a chill sliding in where her warm skin had previously stroked his own dark pelt. For a brief moment, Lior can almost swear he feels a searing tear from where she had stood seconds ago.
Something urgent and hot wells up in him to watch as Nayl dips away to look over the sea. He is a man after all and it is only natural to want to comfort, help someone you are concerned for. (He is careful to even allow himself to feel as though he may actually care). Heavy hooves draw him close to her once again as though he could not bear to be far from her.
This witch. This temptress.
Lior swings along side his new queen without meeting her gaze. Lobes catch her words, inquiring something about him but Lior shrugs it off. Nothing about him was worth talking about. Instead, as he is now shoulder to shoulder with the painted woman, he dips his heavy head to gently nose her neck and mane, inhaling the scent of her skin as the sound of waves kissed the shore.
"I spent a long time alone-" The words are muffled, mumbled against her skin as he closes his eyes, crawling up the length of her neck. "And it feels good to be home." The dark stallion speaks in hushed tones as he draws to her cheek now, hot breath coming almost jaggedly at the closeness that he dared for the first time in years.
He hesitates as something primal beckons him to stay this way, drink her in and never let her go but the stallion moves and breaks his contact. How dare a bastard creature such as he touch the queen mare in such a bold way? Feathered limbs reverse him a pace and then another before stopping, mercury pools drifting to look out over the land in quiet reserve. He attempts to build the wall back up, brick by brick, to guard against something he should not have allowed himself to conjure up. Unless Nayl chose for him otherwise. "And you, my Queen, tell me of yourself."
Brick by brick.
The woman cloaked in smoke and sin. The Queen of the coast. How was it even possible for Lior to say no? She was capturing and elusive from the day they had first met. Had she been queen then? Lior wonders briefly as stony gray eyes watch her move away, a chill sliding in where her warm skin had previously stroked his own dark pelt. For a brief moment, Lior can almost swear he feels a searing tear from where she had stood seconds ago.
Something urgent and hot wells up in him to watch as Nayl dips away to look over the sea. He is a man after all and it is only natural to want to comfort, help someone you are concerned for. (He is careful to even allow himself to feel as though he may actually care). Heavy hooves draw him close to her once again as though he could not bear to be far from her.
This witch. This temptress.
Lior swings along side his new queen without meeting her gaze. Lobes catch her words, inquiring something about him but Lior shrugs it off. Nothing about him was worth talking about. Instead, as he is now shoulder to shoulder with the painted woman, he dips his heavy head to gently nose her neck and mane, inhaling the scent of her skin as the sound of waves kissed the shore.
"I spent a long time alone-" The words are muffled, mumbled against her skin as he closes his eyes, crawling up the length of her neck. "And it feels good to be home." The dark stallion speaks in hushed tones as he draws to her cheek now, hot breath coming almost jaggedly at the closeness that he dared for the first time in years.
He hesitates as something primal beckons him to stay this way, drink her in and never let her go but the stallion moves and breaks his contact. How dare a bastard creature such as he touch the queen mare in such a bold way? Feathered limbs reverse him a pace and then another before stopping, mercury pools drifting to look out over the land in quiet reserve. He attempts to build the wall back up, brick by brick, to guard against something he should not have allowed himself to conjure up. Unless Nayl chose for him otherwise. "And you, my Queen, tell me of yourself."
Brick by brick.