11-18-2017, 12:58 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take Spring has most surely arrived, and yet Ivar remains in Loess. Around the stallion, the hilly realm is covered in colors of every shade imaginable. Yellow jonquils, red poppies, purple allium; Loess is a veritable rainbow on earth. The vistas are stunning, and the handsome stallion on an outcropping of white marble is a view unto itself. The beauty is wasted on Ivar, who huffs irritably at the mid-afternoon sun and turns away. He has called, and yet she has not come. There is no denying that she hears him, the echoes even reach him back out to sea. Yet Isobell has not come, has not listened, has not obeyed. That woman is damned infuriating. The time since their parting he has filled in varying ways. Most of them involve women, especially Heda and the small dragon-winged bay. Available time to hunt has decreased since his coronation, and his desire along with it. He is feeling dry again, like he had the winter after Azar’s death. The dreams had not haunted him in years, and yet today they have. Ivar cannot shake the sense of familiarity, of reminders of his youth. It is not until he is on the path, the beaten trail that surrounds the edge of Loess, that he realizes. The yellow-haired creature is in front of him is older than he remembers, taller, more lovely. It is not often that the tobiano stallion comes across horses that he has known since childhood. There is only his family, Zhenga, and Kylin. The rest of the world knows him as an adult: charming, confident, devastatingly handsome. There is a bit of the boy in the way his pale mouth turns up in a grin, the way his dark eyes light up as he recognizes her and the questions spill forth without stop “Nyka! What’re you doing in Loess?! Where have you been? What have you been doing!” minimal grullo tobiano king of loess |