11-26-2017, 05:12 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take All those years ago, Kylin had requested his friendship. Ivar had offered more but she had turned him down, favoring her brother in a way that Ivar did not entirely understand. (He still does not, but he does not think of it anymore). Again in Loess, Ivar had asked and been declined for the second time. It is becoming something of a pattern in Ivar’s life: the women he finds the most intriguing are those who have the audacity to think for themselves. Kylin canters toward him across the sand, embracing him warmly. He melts into her for as long as she lets him, able to suppress the quiet murmur that suggests he take more. She is like a friend, so close as to almost be a sibling. (Ivar’s track record with younger ‘sisters’ could soon become atrocious). Yet she is also something more, something better. The kelpie has always considered her not-prey, but as his eyes trace the fins erupting from her sides, he realizes she is something more. They are transparent, with translucent streaks of lavender that match Kylin’s piebald hide. She spreads them proudly for only a moment, and then pulls them back flush to her sides. She hesitates, and her smile falters as she asks what he thinks of them. It is not her disappointment that thrills him, rather it is the idea that his thoughts on her fins matter enough to make her react so strongly to the potential that he might not like them. The unexpected emotional reaction is surprise enough, and when coupled with the startling physiological thrill at the sight of her wings it removes any hesitation the kelpie might have had about pressing his suit again. “Kylin.” He says, reaching out to brush her cheek with the scaled smoothness of his muzzle. “Kylin, they’re beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like them.”There is sincerity in his tone, and it is echoed in the care – nay, reverence – that he uses when moving closer to her fins. He inspects them for a moment and glances up with a question in his eyes. “Can we swim? I want to see you use them.” She’ll comply, Ivar is certain she will, and he pulls away and toward the beach. “C’mon,” he says with a laugh and a toss of his head. “I’ll race you to that island over there.” minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus |