[private] could i use you as a warning sign | isobell

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The kelpie has begun to suspect his wife is avoiding him. This will not stand, especially not after her unsanctioned jaunt to the Mainland the year before, and the kelpie is already scowling. The late autumn sun bright and warm against his scaled sides, and the breeze pulls at his dripping mane and tail. Ivar does not like the feel of the direct sun or wind, and his scowl deepen. Why is Isobell on land? Why is she not in the water where she belongs? Ivar knows that his silver-eyed mate is as comfortable on land as in the sea, but that does not change his dislike of her terrestrial habits, nor his frequent demands that she spend all of her time beneath the waves. She defies him, as she always has, and the cycle of punishment and forgiveness and disobedience again is one that has become a comforting constant in the kelpie’s life. Her long absence last year had not been comforting though. Nor is her avoidance of him during the autumn, when the blood they share pulls them together without conscious thought, instinct pairing them together with near-magnetic force. Ivar has satisfied that instinct with others: he’d found Carwyn, hunted down his favorite nereid, even drowned the little roan who’d given him a kelpie son. Ivar is fondest of his kelpie children, and that often extends by proxy to their mothers. It is why Isobell is his favorite. She has borne him four perfect children, each of them as kelpie as their parents. So it is only natural that he wants more, especially since she had taken Svana from him during her youth and robbed Ivar of the fun of a new foal. (He’d had other children born that year, of course, but none were Isobell’s). Ducking beneath a low hanging vine, the tricolored creature moves ever closer to the heart of the small island. He has never bothered to explore the place fully, preferring to learn the sea around it in the dozen years since he had first claimed it as his own. Passing a hibiscus plant reminds him, just for a moment, of a lavender mare he’d once pursued through these woods, back when he was a more complex creature, in a time when instinct did not crow so loudly. He shakes his head. The memory is gone. Ivar steers clear of the meadow where he knows Carwyn often rests with her terrestrial children. His wandering is aimless otherwise, though once he catches his wife’s scent he is quick to pursue. Ivar steps into an open meadow, roughly circular and no wider than a few hundred yards. It is one of many similar clearings in the thick jungle. As he expects, a pool of water sparkles at the heart of it, the sharp scent of the sea reaching him. With little hesitation, Ivar dives into it, the uncomfortable hind legs becoming a single sinuous fin as he sinks into the water. Somewhere, far below the ground, this water is connected to the sea. It comforts him, and the scowl on hi face lessens slightly, and even more so as the fire and steam scent of his wife grows stronger. She’s here, Ivar knows, and calls out: “Isobell. I know you’re out there. You can’t avoid me forever.” and i'll use you as a warning sign that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

@[Isobell]