03-09-2019, 10:34 AM
Her answer is nothing more than the source of further questions, a nameless he that had created the silver creature. Ivar’s frown matches the one that Evia wears, parsing through what little he knows of magic and the sea in a futile attempt to answer what she had not. Of the ocean, she says, and Ivar finds himself smiling. Not an answer, still, but she is trying.
He touch upon her neck is gentle, as though she might break as easily as the hollowed shell of a sea urchin. She tastes of the ocean, just as she had said, and his lips find the edges of her sleek scales and they way the flex across the muscle of her shoulder, the way they blend seamlessly with the silvery hair of her mane. The kelpie is curious and uncharacteristically gentle; some wordless part of him insists she might dissolve between his hungry teeth as easily as seafoam if he dared taste her.
“You’re something else, too.” He tells her in a tone of voice most often reserved for his children: patient and without hunger. “I just don’t know what.”
He might tear the answer out of her, he supposes, break her into small enough pieces that he might puzzle over each one. He ponders this as he follows the scales along her spine with a gentle white muzzle. Perhaps there is a swim bladder like a fish’s beneath the curve of her teal belly, or a complex set of gills hiding in her neck. But what if there is not, and he cannot piece her back together again? Ivar does not like these what if thoughts, they are a reminder that he has spent too much time breathing in the tropical air, too much time on land.
“Swim with me,” he tells her, and despite the brush of his muzzle along her jaw as he turns back toward the sea, he does not lace it with a command. His golden eyes find hers, creased once more in a puzzled frown, but the water that reaches up his chest is soothing. Deeper now, the pull is stronger, and the rise of his hindquarters soon sinks into the sea as his hind legs become clawed and his tail grows more muscular.
He lowers his nose to the water and then holds it high, feeling the water run down the scales of his pale face. He forgets Evia for just a moment - reveling in the sea – but the moment is not overlong. “Come.”
@[evia]
He touch upon her neck is gentle, as though she might break as easily as the hollowed shell of a sea urchin. She tastes of the ocean, just as she had said, and his lips find the edges of her sleek scales and they way the flex across the muscle of her shoulder, the way they blend seamlessly with the silvery hair of her mane. The kelpie is curious and uncharacteristically gentle; some wordless part of him insists she might dissolve between his hungry teeth as easily as seafoam if he dared taste her.
“You’re something else, too.” He tells her in a tone of voice most often reserved for his children: patient and without hunger. “I just don’t know what.”
He might tear the answer out of her, he supposes, break her into small enough pieces that he might puzzle over each one. He ponders this as he follows the scales along her spine with a gentle white muzzle. Perhaps there is a swim bladder like a fish’s beneath the curve of her teal belly, or a complex set of gills hiding in her neck. But what if there is not, and he cannot piece her back together again? Ivar does not like these what if thoughts, they are a reminder that he has spent too much time breathing in the tropical air, too much time on land.
“Swim with me,” he tells her, and despite the brush of his muzzle along her jaw as he turns back toward the sea, he does not lace it with a command. His golden eyes find hers, creased once more in a puzzled frown, but the water that reaches up his chest is soothing. Deeper now, the pull is stronger, and the rise of his hindquarters soon sinks into the sea as his hind legs become clawed and his tail grows more muscular.
He lowers his nose to the water and then holds it high, feeling the water run down the scales of his pale face. He forgets Evia for just a moment - reveling in the sea – but the moment is not overlong. “Come.”
@[evia]