“Never.” she purrs. “Underestimation is the fastest way to die.” terse and to the point, she fixates on Ivar: a shiver in her flesh and her skin pulls tight as she recalls the visceral sharpness of his teeth- the strength of his bite. The pain is a familiar sensation, a prickling thing that causes her to consider how he might snap: how he might draw from her the delicious taste of flesh and bone and blood… and for a moment she thinks in her mind how she might enjoy it. Yet? She is quick, and she finds that her strike cracks against the sharp and glistening scales and digs beneath them: that salty and metallic blood is dripped over the radula on her tongue and perhaps flesh torn into the beak.
He snarls, and she recalls how she’d cried out before- how she growled in a shrill and inhuman way: the dismal hiss that flowed between stars. Her teal eyes linger, wide and blackening as the barbell shaped irises expand and the tendrils seem to grow far more active.
Each movement, each space- every gesture, she feels it prickling the cold skin and all its wet, and porous expanse. Yidhra, too, slides her tendrils; but they are not unpredictable nor violent: the suckers gently pressing and releasing in something akin to a kiss. She minds where his mouth is; but, little cares as he feels the thudding heartbeat- the pulse of life in her body. Immortality, she knows, is a curse: a gift, and even if he dismembered her… she would merely come back in one way or another.
“Ivar…” she rolls her r’s and tongue, she purrs and whispers into his flesh. “I trust in your ability to do what must be done, and if you trust in mine: know that I will see you soon. Maybe not to stay, but- perhaps to play and swim.” and in that moment she lifts her head- brings her maw close to his ears and whispers.
Hedonism drenches the words she speaks, those meant… only for him. “I do enjoy our time, after all- I’d like to get a little closer one day.”
And with that she begins to step back, to allow the hooves to slide across the wet sand and trail into the breaking waves. Cold and familiar she coos at the pin prickling chill and all the salt that wets the porous flesh, and there is a moment where she wades and begins to sink: to slither beneath the surface.
A kraken returning to the depths.
Yidhra
@[Ivar]