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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    Lets sing a gay little spring song [Ivar]
    #1

    Lamb tell me a story..

    Kindred was not the best at words sometimes. She seemed almost aloof sometimes and that led to some confusing conversations or just confused ramblings. It came with being a loner mostly; you just don’t know how to interact with others in the best ways.


    He asked if she liked flowers and Kindred leaned her head and thought a moment. “ I enjoy some of them for the scent. The ones that grow on the bushes in a shape that mimics a bees hive standing up..” She had to think a moment more about the right name, “ I believe lilac is the name.” She chuckled some, “ I even hear there is a flower that each time you smell it your mind thinks it is the first time every time. What a wonderful thing to imagine.” The speckled mare looked to the painted stallion as he lead the way down roads he seemed to know. “ Do you have a favorite? Or, even a favorite fruit you like to find with the warm weather?” She asked as they continued to walk.  


    She watched the world around her pass by as he led the way. “ You have my interest Ivar I will stay in your home for as long as you wish me to. And, should there come a day where you or I have grown tired of one another then I shall take my leave. Again if you wish it.” She made sure that the tone in her voice was silvery but, also had a tone of harshness with in it. She did not want him to think her some doe eyed filly falling all over him at first sight. He was merely showing an interest in her and Kindred was returning the favor.


    The scent of melting snow passed her nostrils as they walked and the weather had warmed perhaps due to moving away from the river. Spring was in the air but one could easily curse themselves back into the snow if they uttered something too soon.

    Kindred



    @[Ivar]
    HTML By- Calcifer
    #2

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
    The ground beneath their hooves passes quickly, and the bank of the river fades into the northern hills of Loess. Ivar is entertained by the spotted mare’s talk as they go, though he doesn’t recognize the flower she describes even when she names it.

    “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the names of the flowers. I just like to look at them.” Something come to mind, a memory of a creature that knew such minutiae. “I know someone that might be able to help though. I’ll introduce you to her when we get to Loess.”

    She has asked about his own preference too, and Ivar takes a moment to consider it. The flora is prolific in Loess; there is not a single fruit that does not grow somewhere on its hills.

    “The pomegranates.” He finally says. “Those are my favorite. They have nice flowers too, red ones.”

    As they walk, Kindred gives him a delayed answer to his earlier question. She seems firm in her belief of what she says, and Ivar turns his head to watch her curiously for a moment. Part of it is the season (there is no strong urge to hunt or kill) but a larger part is his distance from the sea. This far onto dry land, the call of the water is little more than a whisper.

    Ivar has no interest in forcing the issue, and he replies to her statement with an agreeable nod.

    “Sounds only fair. I’ve no interest in keeping you against your will.” The words are reasonable, fair, and they match the sincerity in his brown eyes. “You’re free to do as you please; whether you want to serve the kingdom or simply live as a herd mare. Both, even.” Ivar cannot fathom any reason why anything but the middle option is appealing, but he knows he will never understand. Women: unhappy unless they’re being told what to do, and then pretend like they don’t enjoy being subservient.

    None of that is said aloud of course.

    Instead the thoughts flicker carelessly through his head and he raises his nose, scenting the air as they move deeper into Loess. Somewhere – not terribly far away – is @[Ichor]. He call her with a whinny, and turns back to Kindred as they crest a rocky bluff.

    “Welcome to Loess,” he says, and reveals the kingdom that sprawls before them.


    kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis
    minimal grullo tobiano king of loess

    #3

    Ichor

    it came from somewhere in the stars

    Ichor followed like the good little moth-pony that she is.
    Followed him to the home that he had talked so sparingly but lovingly of. It left her curious to see the land and the moment she had set hoof to it, she’d felt oddly at home. The hillocks were fun to amble over and she could find large patches of shade to shield her sensitive compound eyes from the cruelties of the sun as it beat down on her. She liked to stand there and let the sun warm her back with her eyes squeezed shut against the sunlight and fill it saturating her scaly (so tiny and hairy that they hardly resembled true scales) champagne skin until she napped good and long to the point that one might consider Ichor a lazy beast.

    Best of all, the flowers! Since she is more moth than horse with a bit of lamprey thrown in there for scandalous effect, she did not ingest grass like her fellow herbivores. She craved nectar and her long nectar-seeking proboscis often unfurled itself from between her lips and guided her from flower to flower, sampling their tastes. To a moth-monster like her, this was ass close to heaven as she was going to get on earth. The scientific and common names of flowers flooded her brain, making the synapses fire faster and faster until she’d drunk her fill and drunk on nectar, she’d go find a dark nook beneath one of the hills and let dreams carry her off on an uneventful tide of sleep.

    Ichor is buried up to her antennae in a cluster of bluebells. Hyacinthoides non-scripta, she thinks, as she slurps the nectar up and muses over her good fortune at finding this particular treat so far from it’s typical woodland habitat. Somehow it grew and thrived near a patch of stunted pines that had pushed themselves up from the dirt of nothing to become small but persistent in facing the fact that even the pines should not grow here on such rough hills as these.

    Such a tasty treat!
    She is filling her stomach on the bluebell nectar when she hears his whinnying call for her carry across the hills. Ichor lifts her head and folds her tongue back up into her mouth as she considers for a moment - just a short, sweet moment - ignoring him and sucking the nectar out of that entire cluster of bluebells. Desire to answer him wins out against her greed and her gut. So the moth-mare moves in the direction of his voice, discovering that he’d not been that far from her the entire time but also, that he is not alone. This is a first, since Ichor does not dwell much in the vast company of others besides herself, Ivar, or moths and flowers.

    Her big compound eyes bring the mare into focus and Ichor offers a somewhat shy smile to her. She is inept at conversation and surprised that Ivar had bothered to summon her, to which she throws him a questioning look or as much of one as Ichor can muster given her not entirely equine facial features. There is the slightest shiver of her atlas moth wings in agitation but something about his presence keeps her anchored there instead of turning around and finding another patch of flowers to invest her time and tongue in. Instead, she figures she must mind her manners and say something so Ichor offers up a simple and understated “Hello.”

    #4

    Lamb tell me a story..

    The open fields of Loess opened to the two traveling horses. The winter coat had started to fall away from Kindreds frame leaving those appaloosa spots on her coat more crisp and clear. She would look to Ivar as he answered her questions, “ I am not much for all of their names as well I must admit. I only know a few and after those I am in the dark.” He mentioned that he knew someone that might know more and the mare smiled, “ A wealth of knowledge is always a good thing to have on hand. Perhaps some lessons are in order.”

    He answered another of her questions as the walk continued and she took in a deep breath of that fresh unspoiled air. “ Pomegranates. I will have to ask your teacher or al things that grow how to know them.” She smiled, “ Always nice to have a favorite that you can steal away in a private place or share with someone you care for.” She looked to him, “ Or so I am told.”

    One of her ears kept focused on the stallion as he spoke again and she nodded her head once more. “ I think having a purpose within this kingdom you run would keep me interested. Plus it is always good to be of use to someone rather than a thorn in their side.” She bowed her head to the stallion. The mare had a feeling she might have fallen into a trap that Ivar had set though she could not be sure. She did not like being told what to do but, if one asked her nicely that was a different story. “ Tell me about the ways I might help you.”

    She stood then as he called out for another to join them and the pricking forward of her ears gave away her interest in the one that came to them. Her walleyes taking in the appearance of the mare that joined them. My this place I have stumbled into is very interesting indeed. She thought to herself before offering her own voice, “ Hello.” Kindred lowered her head slightly in a greeting bow. “ Are you the one that Ivar has mentioned that knows all the names of the flowers in the fields?” She asked softly.

    Kindred



    OOC-sorry for poo been busy with work
    HTML By- Calcifer
    #5

    I V A R
    i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
    The spotted mare is verbose, a trait that Ivar lacks. It is not bothersome (there has to be some balance to the world, after all), and it does allow him to get to know her more. The way she meets his eye after mentioning sharing fruit with a special someone is plain, as is her admission that she lacks such a someone.

    The invitation that Ivar had given Kindred to Loess included an invitation to live as his herdmare, and he finds the mare with her freckled coat to be attractive. He’d willingly be such a someone for her, so long as she knew that there would always be others. Ivar is generous with his affections; it helps to keep the bodies out of the sea.

    She says that she would like to be of use and Ivar nods agreeably. The kingdom then, though he does not give up hope that perhaps she might choose both.

    “Loess is…” A rustling in the nearby greenery distracts him, and Ivar turns to find Ichor emerging.

    Ivar smiles, and as she comes closer he reaches out to her, gently drawing her in beside him. There is a minor command to relax in his touch, but he does not force it, and he rests his muzzle gently on her shoulder for just a moment. Long enough to establish propriety, a nameless sort of satisfaction that he has always found necessary. There is a tingling on his scaled nose, familiar only with golden Ichor nearby. The soft scales of her body shed as he touches her, leaving a powdery residue behind.

    It’s very interesting, and Ivar is smiling contently as he looks from Ichor to Kindred.

    “This is Ichor,” he tells the appaloosa mare, “and Ichor, this is Kindred. She’s come to live in Loess. I wanted to show her pomegranates and I thought you might know where the closest ones are.”


    king of loess
    minimal smoky grullo tobiano | equus kelpus

    #6

    Lamb tell me a story..

    The body language of the stallion before her seemed to hide something just beyond where she could understand what he might have been telling her with subtle hints. But, that was always the fun of getting to know someone and understanding what made them in a sense them. She only hoped that she was just as good at those hidden little hints as he was. Though, he probably had more practice than she.

    He had started to say something when another joined them. She watched Ivar as he greeted the other mare that joined them. The touch shared between them made the spotted mare lean her head to the side some in a wondering manner. How interesting. She thought to herself seemingly the meaning of such a thing was lost in some remote part of her mind. Kindred was finding that she liked to watch others how wondrous this place would be, and she was a part of it.

    He looked back her way and she met his eyes once more as he introduced the mare.
    “ Hello Ichor. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He mentioned his pomegranates and Kindred nodded, “ Indeed I would like to know about them. And, whatever else might bloom in a place such as Loess has to offer.” She looked to Ichor, “ And maybe the name of the flower that makes you forget it’s scent every time you smell it.”

    She did not step close to them though this was not an act of jealousy but, rather a way of respecting the relationship that the two of them shared. The speckled mare looked around a moment before her eyes settled on them again.

    Kindred

    HTML By- Calcifer
    #7
    The mare asks if Ichor is the one that knows all the names of the flowers in the fields. For this alone, the moth-mare could like her because of course, Ichor loves flowers because she is a moth and requires them for sustenance and some part of her appreciates their allure in petal and color and scent besides their hidden founts of nectar that fill her gut up. “I am,” she answers just as softly and with a bit more of a smile that has a certain pride and strength in it that she is known for something around here since Ichor isn’t much more than a pasture ornament that lives and feasts on the flowers around her.

    Ivar distracts her with his touch - a touch that transmits a subtle command to her brain to relax that she is still not certain if it actually comes from him or if she just assumes it is that inner voice telling her to not be so agitated just because he expects her to be more sociable. Of course the way she fits against him momentarily is still rather new to her but somehow fast becoming familiar as his muzzle rests on her shoulder. Something in his touch just made everything else go away though she was still acutely aware of the freckled mare before them.

    “Nice to meet you, Kindred.” Ichor is genuine in stating this as her brain moves on to the mention of pomegranates and if she knows where there might be some. She had not quite the kind of moth genetics that preferred fruit as flowers were more fanciful to her but that still didn’t meant that Ichor wasn’t innately educated enough about them to recognize that they originated from a shrub or small tree. “Punica granatum,” she murmurs, considering. She could locate some though despite the fact that her proboscis is not spiny enough to penetrate the skins to get the juice within and she’s too far above sucking the juice out of rotten ones on the ground like some moths do.

    “I could find some I think,” she admits carefully because she is not entirely certain there are pomegranates in Loess but if one could find them, it would be her. But the freckled mare mentions an interest in learning about other flowers, and one in particular that makes you forget it’s scent every time you smell it which is not a problem that Ichor as not a normal horse is likely to have since she doesn’t stop and smell the roses so to speak. She’ll suck them dry of their nectar but that’s about it besides knowing their scientific and common names and if they are a source of food for one like herself. Kindred’s mention of this kind of flower though is intriguing enough to capture Ichor’s attention - “Could you describe this flower for me or is that all you know of it?” her interest is singular despite the warmth of Ivar at her side, and she has not forgotten his penchant for the pomegranates that she’ll have to track down. Half of her brain thinks she might already know where some are…




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