Like a flower waiting to bloom - Ivar

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The sun is little more than a distant glow on the western horizon, sinking quickly behind the rolling hills that Ivar knows belong to Loess. To the north the moon is rising, casting weak light on the sweeping dunes and the pale sand of the beach. The Tephran volcano keeps the water here as warm as that of Ischia, so even though the air is chill with winter Ivar feels more than comfortable in the water. There are a few fish in the water beside him, and they slip curiously around his hooves in the shallow water. He’s distantly aware of Kylin’s presence beside him, their heights matching now with her added inches from the water. His scaled mouth is still warm from having touched her a moment ago, but the contented smile falls away as he hears Kylin’s gasp. He turns toward her, confusion flashing in his dark eyes. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her, and there’s nothing in the water that might have frightened her. Still, the way she says his name is not right, nor is the way her eyes roll to better look at him. He takes a step closer, the water splashing at his fetlocks, and the roar of the surf dies away as he focuses. (hear her heart. so fast. just for me.) Her fluttering heart rate and rapid breathing are almost overwhelming. Ivar wants to slow them and amp them up simultaneously, and the way he presses his muzzle to the hollow of her throat is proof of that first instinct. Her pulse hammers against his soft mouth, so close he could take it between his teeth– if he wanted. And he does want it, wants it very badly, (for me. mine now. all mine.) But the panic in her voice reaches another part of him, and the split second of awed touch become a hard press before he’s consciously processed any of these thoughts. He’s trying to push her now, to move her. She complies, and he’s able to move her neck to the side a little too easily. She’s not trapped, he thinks, just doesn’t seem able to move herself. “Don’t worry,” he says as he nudges the back of her foreleg with his head, trying to see if he can make her step forward and toward the beach. “You can do it,” he says encouragingly, “You can move if you really try.” He doesn’t know this, of course, and nor does he realizes that his previous command to stay still will likely be cancelled by the one to move. kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis