10-16-2017, 01:44 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
His darker needs now sated, Ivar seeks out @[Heda]. She has been more difficult to find of late, secluded in the rocky landscape. Since their run in with the red-eyed wraith and his snarling companion, Ivar has worried more about the young Queen. A crown is a heavy weight, and Loess is not an especially secure land. Their guard consists only of Ivar, though he does hope that Castile will soon join him, along with Zhenga. Faer did not seem entirely cut out for battle, but not everyone does. At least he is another figure on the hillside, a testament that their kingdom is not entirely empty. The piebald stallion has kept himself busy – recruiting, stealing, he means to mock with anyone that will take him – and now in this brief moment of quiet, he is looking for his queen. Time spent in his spring has cleansed him, and the black and white stallion is gleaming. He is the picture of handsome virility, a marble-figure come to life to roam the hills of Loess. Ivar could have any woman – and he has had many – but he remembers that soft bit of love that Heda had given him one dark night, and that is what he wants now. It had been something so pure and soft and light, so very different from the instinctual desire of the kelpie, and he had found it intoxicating. He had known that very moment that she was (safe. forever safe. forever his.) But he has not had a moment to tell her lately. Following a trail, he finds her on the slop of a hill, her golden figure illuminated by the slowly setting sun. The sunset is dull compared to her, he thinks idly, and moves forward to wrap his scaled neck over hers, burying his head in the silken strands of her navy mane. “Show me your love again,” he murmurs into her ear, inhaling her familiar scent and exhaling with a contented sigh. This is what he has been craving, a quieter sort of desire, gentle and familiar. The others mean nothing when he has Heda beside him; alluring Isobell and dark-eyed Karaugh are pale memories. It has been nearly a year since that first fumbling attempt to display his affection, and he wonders if Heda is aware of that. So much time has passed, and yet it seems like so very little. She’d projected love that moment, such a small amount, and yet he has never been able to rid it from his head. He wants more now, and he drags his scaled muzzle across her soft shoulder, tugs gently at a stray feather in her mane, and waits for her to project the love that he is waiting for. |