12-26-2018, 10:27 PM
The kelpie is not a creature given to confessions, so it is only natural that the only one to whom he has made one is the sort to have such a minimal reaction. Castile’s shrug settles a concern that Ivar hadn’t known he had (two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, after all), and the question the dragon asks brings a genuine laugh from the golden-eyed kelpie.
“Why?” He asks with a crooked smile, “Do you intend to pursue Sabra’s killer into the realms of the dead?”
There is no appeal in unnecessary slaughter; Ivar is a kelpie, after all, not some hellhound. Drowning a stallion is no more appealing to Ivar than drowning a child: there is no satisfaction in it, no satiation of his ravenous hunger. There are exceptions, of course, (like the copper taste of the blue-eyed stallion who had looked at Jhene for too long) but Castile is not one of them. He is family, after all – he was welcome to Jhene and any of the rest of them were he so inclined. It is unfortunate, Ivar thinks, that Castile is probably less inclined to share. He would not mind finding out exactly how immortal Sabra is.
Castile capitulates that all is well so long as Isobell is happy, and Ivar only shrugs – the piebald woman is as happy as she wishes to be. Ivar has long since abandoned attempting to make her anything that she is not. It will frustrate him for eternity, he is sure, but some things are as ceaseless as the tides.
“How do you know my plan wasn’t to lure you there so I could leave?” Ivar asks, his habit of refusing to give any solid answer as apparent as ever. This is Castile though, and so Ivar is willing to lose some of his charming glibness out of respect for his childhood friend, even if it means venturing closer to honesty than he has come in years.
“I wasn’t ever happy in Loess. It is too far from the sea. Maybe I should have stayed in Nerine. But Isobell wanted to see the ocean, and so we went. She disappeared a year later, and I came back here, to that island.” He gestures to the largest of the western island, just visible over the rise of a leaning palm. “And when the Brotherhood abandoned the main island to flee from the Plague, I took my chances and claimed Ischia.”
@[Castile]
“Why?” He asks with a crooked smile, “Do you intend to pursue Sabra’s killer into the realms of the dead?”
There is no appeal in unnecessary slaughter; Ivar is a kelpie, after all, not some hellhound. Drowning a stallion is no more appealing to Ivar than drowning a child: there is no satisfaction in it, no satiation of his ravenous hunger. There are exceptions, of course, (like the copper taste of the blue-eyed stallion who had looked at Jhene for too long) but Castile is not one of them. He is family, after all – he was welcome to Jhene and any of the rest of them were he so inclined. It is unfortunate, Ivar thinks, that Castile is probably less inclined to share. He would not mind finding out exactly how immortal Sabra is.
Castile capitulates that all is well so long as Isobell is happy, and Ivar only shrugs – the piebald woman is as happy as she wishes to be. Ivar has long since abandoned attempting to make her anything that she is not. It will frustrate him for eternity, he is sure, but some things are as ceaseless as the tides.
“How do you know my plan wasn’t to lure you there so I could leave?” Ivar asks, his habit of refusing to give any solid answer as apparent as ever. This is Castile though, and so Ivar is willing to lose some of his charming glibness out of respect for his childhood friend, even if it means venturing closer to honesty than he has come in years.
“I wasn’t ever happy in Loess. It is too far from the sea. Maybe I should have stayed in Nerine. But Isobell wanted to see the ocean, and so we went. She disappeared a year later, and I came back here, to that island.” He gestures to the largest of the western island, just visible over the rise of a leaning palm. “And when the Brotherhood abandoned the main island to flee from the Plague, I took my chances and claimed Ischia.”
@[Castile]