06-16-2017, 08:44 PM
Her invisible nostrils flare at the approach of a colt just down the riverbank from her and her eyes almost flew to him until part of the river moved unnaturally against the current and gathered before her. Riveted, she almost revealed more of herself but caught herself just in time and left only her fanged mouth visible. The water flows out and away and all around the shape of a colt that is almost a stallion grown, and the stare from those watery eyes hushes her, changes the shape of her fanged mouth into a frown. It’s stare is almost threatening but the art of it is so very subtle that it leaves her uncertain and frozen in place on the bank sloping down to the river.
(He may not respond to demands or wishes, but he still responded all the same and came to her, in a flurry of current and power evidenced by the way he floats, and seems so easily in command of the river beneath him.)
Femur looks from where his eyes ought to be to where the water begins to twist and spin itself into a serpentine stream. It is a tendril that the magician (his magic may be limited only to water but he has still mastered it as if it were just a one-time trick) has spun out from him that finds her invisible chin and lifts it this way and that as he looks her over, she feels him looking her over at least. She cannot help how her lips draw back further from her fangs, though the waterhorse will only see more of the fangs sliding into view.
Fangs may not be all that threatening at the moment but she still considers biting the river-tendril that lifted her chin but just then, it falters and withdraws, splashing where her pasterns ought to be and for a moment, they are visible until she blinks them out of sight again and soundlessly shifts herself a pace or two closer towards the colt she’d smelled earlier. The tobiano is a welcome distraction before things became too dangerous, likely only for her but she would have given the waterhorse a fight because her bloodline does not go gentle into that good night of blissful black death. She looks his way, noticing the watchful expression on his painted face but an ear moves, catching the sound of the river again.
Her attention diverts back to the bubbling river; it assumes the shape of a stallion just become that, there is inexperience but surety in the fluid muscle of his water-self as she stares at him, gape-mouthed though only her fangs and flat herbivore teeth show it. Sound finds her, haunting and bubbling, stallion and water and she cannot help the pull of it - not for the moment that almost reveals her to him again, so close! But she balks, plants her unseen feet firmly in the riverbank and can feel her tail lash against her hocks. No, no that’s not right! His tone was deceptive but familiar, as was the coaxing compulsion that sounded so alike to her father’s. The krampus-king could do that with his shadows and his fear, and she recognizes a similarity in their powers that gives her reason to reconsider the command that she almost wants to obey - almost, but having balked, she is firm and her cheshire grin comes back.
“I think not,” she tells him, rolling her unseen eyes towards the painted colt to see what he makes of all of this.