Children are creatures of wonder, and of unadulterated emotion: of an innocence that… even when their souls are blackened and rent with fury or sorrow: they may yet proposer and grow from it. A unspoiled fruit in bitter soil.
These, perhaps, are her weakness: children.
Noah had been the first to show that, and she thinks every day of how she plunged between the girl and her father: how she demanded the illy run, all so she could carry task and purpose out; but no matter, Chryseis is not Noah- she is a child, though, and Yidhra sees this as her shape manifests and as her form becomes something of a reality in this place where she feels herself dreaming.
Slowly the spattered gray mare draws herself up to full height and stature, not to intimidate; but to be wholly visible, and she turns herself slowly and allows the watery porous flesh to glean in what light it can. She looks like a rock- black and blue, smattered with a gray dusting of frost; but more alarming are the otherwordly features and kraken-esque nature of her shape.
With brilliant teal eyes the barbel shaped irises narrow into little more than paper thin black slits and the orange flecks brighten as she watches the girl coming closer and closer. Prey in the depths is like this, hapless and fumbling: drawn to bioluminescent flickers or ambushed from the inky black reaches and impossible shadows; but this girl speaks and Yidhra tilts her head a moment: not prey.
The tendrils on her face slowly stretch and begin to take shape of an almost v-like or triangular form and they hand over the chitinous black beak: hiding it. The fleshy limbs where her tail should be writhe as they please and curl around the grasses and snow: around rock and plant… she tastes them and feels their textures in the suctioning cups, and yes- she even smells the earthy and floral nature of them.
Her neck is no different but those cling off and on with themselves: with her skin, and slowly, as testing the air between them Yidhra lifts the paddle-shaped tentacles on her shoulders and into the air- away from Chryseis at first but then slowly she drops the left one just beneath the girls chin and turns the side of it as she seeks to stroke the bottom of her jaw whilst the right tentacle extends to her her nose.
The points end curling slightly as she presses the suction cups down upon her girl’s nose, gently attaching to the velveteen before releasing and rather boldly tickling the end of it. “Chryseis.” she confirms, unavoidably her words while toned with smoke and a deep husky voice and the rich, ancient accent: but more so the clattering of her beak likes beneath the pointed tentacles of her maw. “These are to me what might be to you… legs, a nose, teeth, and more. You must be unfamiliar with the great seas and its vast depths?” she asks without malice, with only curiosity.
Formality, however, interrupts her thoughts and Yidhra recalls with some concern that this girl knows nothing of her name or nature: knows nothing of the leviathan manifested in shape.
She would smile, if she could; but when she tries there is only a clicking sound made by her beak in what might have been the softest mockery or parody of laughter she could perform. “I am… Yee Tho Rah- Yidhra.” she elaborates, states it twice, not because she believes her incapable; but the ancient accent and waterlogged voice are crude things.
A tendril is taken back and the remaining reaches again to brush the forelock of the girl- to keep it from her eyes and pat her gently as if it were a hand or a tender touch from a nose. “You are ill, I am terribly sorry- I hope your symptoms are not long a burden to you.”
Concern, or a mimic of it fills her words, and considers the girl with intrigue.
Yidhra
@[Chryseis]