11-19-2017, 06:52 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
For reasons beyond Ivar’s comprehension, the women always resort to insults, to denigrating the others. The scaled creature does not understand this; if they were to choose companions other than Ivar himself, the stallion would not mind. That is their right, so long as they acknowledge that his needs come first. Heda has always done so. The buckskin mare is perfectly devoted to the kelpie, an idyllic and loving wife. She is like a princess from a child’s story: sweet, gentle, as fragile and precious as a china doll. Keeping her protected has been his primary directive for years now. Nothing has changed there, not even with his instinctive tie with a paint mare in Nerine. No, Heda is still important, still wanted. Ivar had hoped that the idea of a herd would ease her into the concept of sharing. Surely she knows that in a herd, the stallion dallies with each of the mare, but the lead is still his favorite. He had wanted that to be reassurance enough for her, but he can tell by the way she pulls away from him that it was not. There is hesitance in her gaze, and jealousy in her voice as she catches the scent of another woman on him – Jhene, probably, or maybe Ichor. Rather than respond to her bitter words, Ivar leans forward, pressing his scaled muzzle against the slope of her cheek. He brushes a few strands of navy hair away as he pulls back from the affectionate greeting. “I’m here now,” he tells her, his breath soft against her ear, remaining close despite their lack of physical contact. It’s what he has always told her, the reminder that at least he has returned to her. The black and white creature has never pledged his heart to Heda alone; to do so would be to confine himself to a life that his kind were never meant for. He has done his best though, done his best to keep her feeling happy, satisfied. Ivar had kept her safe from Gryffen; continues to do so. He has shielded her from the strain of ruling and given her queenship in all but name. “I see we weren’t successful,” adds the dark-haired creature, his opalescent shoulder brushing the slim curve of her barrel. She’d be full to bursting now if they had, and there is a flicker of disappointment in the piebald’s pale face as he ponders the cause. He wants children, and has been frustratingly barren despite repeated efforts. “Perhaps next spring,” Ivar says, pulling away. He knows when to fall back to old standbys, and suspects that now might be such a time. “In the meantime though, I think you should be the Loess’ Ambassador. No one knows the recent history of the kingdom better than you do.” The compliment is truthful, but there is little formality in it. Even as he speaks Ivar is tracing the navy dorsal stripe that runs down Heda’s spine, and he pauses to straighten a few ruffled feathers, the motions both familiar and intimate. “I don’t want to overwhelm you; I know you stepped down for a reason.” He reassures her, reaffirms that he understands. “But if you’d like a bit more responsibility than simply serving as my consort, I’d love to have you as our Ambassador as well.” minimal grullo tobiano king of loess |