05-27-2018, 07:12 PM
‘I need the land to survive,’ she says. Ivar follows the path that her eyes take, wandering over the sandy beach and the shadows of the tropical greenery. Everything is black and white this late at night, black and white and a thousand nameless shades of grey between. It is a beautiful land, there is no denying that. The memories he has of the tropical kingdom are bright and happy and full of laughter, and all of them feature the smiling lavender mare beside him. She is grey too in the moonlight, though the iridescent nature of her delicate fins is still striking.
They are so like a fish, and yet she remains always above the surface. She’d love the sea floor, Ivar knows, the beauty of the underwater world. He imagine how she might react to the wonders below, and decide in that moment to bring her something.
“One of my greatest regrets,” he says aloud, because regret is the suitable emotion here. He doesn’t feel it, of course, but deception is second nature to the two-toned kelpie. “Is that you can’t come below the sea with me.”
He falls still as she looks back at him, and his hooves remain motionless in the sand even as Kylin closes the distance between them. The kelpie doesn’t react as she reaches out, though as her muzzle slides along his cheek and neck he does let a smile creep across his sharply planed face.
“Anywhere you want,” he replies, as he pointedly does not turn back to the sea. He prefers to rest in the darkness deep below the surface. A crepuscular creature, Ivar is most awake at dawn and dusk. As moon begins to rise overhead, to Ivar it is the equivalent of midday. He steps closer to her, drawing her neck beneath his as he pulls her tighter against him. His eyes cannot help but trail round the curve of her belly. He has little experience with children, but he knows that it is spring, and that soon enough he will have competition for Kylin’s affections.
Ivar initial plan of action was simply to kill it himself. That way he’d know it was done without a doubt - for Ivar, who trusts no one, this is a priority. But he reasons, there was always the slim possibility that Kylin might react poorly to Ivar murdering her child. So he plans something less gruesome, but equally effective. He’ll find the child, and send it off to drown. A single whispered command and the newborn would toddle off to sea and be swept away and killed by the tide. A terrible accident. So sad. Unpreventable.
With that in mind, Ivar does not mind following the division of purple hide and white where her skin is pulled taught around the growing child. This one isn’t his, but the next one will be. He remembers fondly watching Lothbrok stretch and grow within his mother’s belly. Kylin will readily forget this child in favor of a better child. Ivar’s child.
“I’ll let you take the lead. This is your kingdom, after all.” Ivar speaks again as he pulls away, his gestures communicating the same message. A fond smile remains on his opalescent lips, and he casts one quick look back at the ocean behind them before returning his amber gaze to Kylin’s. “After you,” He says with overexagerrated formality, dipping his head in what is almost a bow. He nips at her foreleg when he raises his head, ruining the politeness entirely. “M’lady.”
They are so like a fish, and yet she remains always above the surface. She’d love the sea floor, Ivar knows, the beauty of the underwater world. He imagine how she might react to the wonders below, and decide in that moment to bring her something.
“One of my greatest regrets,” he says aloud, because regret is the suitable emotion here. He doesn’t feel it, of course, but deception is second nature to the two-toned kelpie. “Is that you can’t come below the sea with me.”
He falls still as she looks back at him, and his hooves remain motionless in the sand even as Kylin closes the distance between them. The kelpie doesn’t react as she reaches out, though as her muzzle slides along his cheek and neck he does let a smile creep across his sharply planed face.
“Anywhere you want,” he replies, as he pointedly does not turn back to the sea. He prefers to rest in the darkness deep below the surface. A crepuscular creature, Ivar is most awake at dawn and dusk. As moon begins to rise overhead, to Ivar it is the equivalent of midday. He steps closer to her, drawing her neck beneath his as he pulls her tighter against him. His eyes cannot help but trail round the curve of her belly. He has little experience with children, but he knows that it is spring, and that soon enough he will have competition for Kylin’s affections.
Ivar initial plan of action was simply to kill it himself. That way he’d know it was done without a doubt - for Ivar, who trusts no one, this is a priority. But he reasons, there was always the slim possibility that Kylin might react poorly to Ivar murdering her child. So he plans something less gruesome, but equally effective. He’ll find the child, and send it off to drown. A single whispered command and the newborn would toddle off to sea and be swept away and killed by the tide. A terrible accident. So sad. Unpreventable.
With that in mind, Ivar does not mind following the division of purple hide and white where her skin is pulled taught around the growing child. This one isn’t his, but the next one will be. He remembers fondly watching Lothbrok stretch and grow within his mother’s belly. Kylin will readily forget this child in favor of a better child. Ivar’s child.
“I’ll let you take the lead. This is your kingdom, after all.” Ivar speaks again as he pulls away, his gestures communicating the same message. A fond smile remains on his opalescent lips, and he casts one quick look back at the ocean behind them before returning his amber gaze to Kylin’s. “After you,” He says with overexagerrated formality, dipping his head in what is almost a bow. He nips at her foreleg when he raises his head, ruining the politeness entirely. “M’lady.”