dark side of the morning; Kylin

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take Standing on the shore, Ivar watches Kylin in the water. He’s acknowledged to himself that she is lovely, and that perhaps someday he might try to kiss her again. That she lingers in the pool even after he’s ashore only strengthens that resolve; he immediately regrets his decision to explore the island rather than remain here. When the pied mare ducks her head below the water, (oh oh OH) He swallows audibly. Fortunately, she’s got ears full of water and he’s a fair distance away. The struggle to keep himself on dry land and not leap forward to drive her to deeper water is more difficult than he’d have like. The lure of autumn has passed though, and a distant avian shriek slices through his primeval brain. Not now. He’s a young man amped up on the hormones of adulthood but he is not driven entirely by his instincts. Friends. They’re friends. The answer to his question was a good distraction; Ivar tries to remember the names. The former queen; was that Ea, he wonders? Mother had not been sure who ruled the island kingdom, but her caution as to political instability hadn’t been enough to sway Ivar. He’d wanted to see Kylin, after all; very little would have dissuaded him. Kylin distracts him from his distraction. She slides her muzzle along his side as she moved ahead, tugging playfully at his mane even as she expands upon her earlier answer. He does his best to pay attention, though when she glances back to see if he is following closely, it’s not her eyes that have Ivar’s attention. He draws even to her quickly, offering her a charming smile to cover his adolescent faux pas. Nodding at her request for silence, Ivar follows her quietly. There’s a low chatter audible on this side of the dense greenery. Ivar’s brown eyes follow the direction of Kylin’s to the source. Dozens of colorful little birds perch in the trees around them. Accustomed to the drabber birds of Sylva, these parrots are bright as jewels. Like the macaws of Tephra, he thinks, but much less raucous. “They really are,” he agrees, his eyes roving from tree to tree as he attempts to count them. They move too quickly. Ivar soon abandons the effort and turns back to his lavender and white companion. “What other animals do you have here?” kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis