06-25-2018, 07:06 PM
 I V A R promising everything i do not mean |
For an overlong moment, the kelpie’s aurum gaze contemplates the lavender mare. Her shudder against him is reminiscent of a previous evening, but the way that she never pulls away is a reminder to keep his kisses soft and gentle. He won’t harm her, not now. The smooth circles he draws against her salty skin and feather-light, affectionate and happy. The command is so faint as to almost not exist; she won’t feel a thing if she is already experiencing that sensation. He does not force her happiness, but he does prevent even the slightest unhappiness. A manufactured state-of-mind that does not allow her to feel sadness in his presence. Ivar does not like the tears and he does not want his child to grow in anything less than ideal conditions. This is the kelpie’s first chance to have the proper amount of control over a pregnancy. He’d not even known Heda was expecting until he’d returned to find her giving birth. Isobell had fought him at every turn, a proud Nerinian Queen who refused to submit to her mate. But Kylin, she will not fight him. She is naïve and unsuspecting. Ivar intends to keep her that way as long as possible; the lavender tobiano will never be treated as anything less than the center of his universe. The kelpie values her, this mare carrying his child, above all else. That is why he is willing to take her through the woods of Sylva. To Ivar, the autumnal woods are as safe as anything other part of Beqanna. They are not as good as the sea, of course, but they are not dangerous to a kelpie. “Let’s go,” he says, pressing his scaled nose to the side of her cheek affectionately. “It’s this way.” For a while the trails are new (he will always prefer the waterways) but eventually the woods around them begin to look familiar to the tricolored stallion. There have been changes – new saplings and thickening of already age-old trunks – but he would know these trees anywhere. There is a vague acknowledgement of the official border (Ivar looks both ways before crossing to be sure there are no patrols in either direction), but the pair of island-dwellers do not pause. In autumn, the trees overhead are not quite as resplendent. They meld with the rest of the outside world, but Ivar hopes that to Kylin – who has seen only tropical greenery in recent memory – will be suitably impressed. “What do you think?” Asks the piebald creature. For a brief moment he considers pressing amazement into her, but reconsiders at the last moment. His gentle caress is free of hypnosis, though the rising heat in his touches is indicative that his mind is elsewhere. Clearly on Kylin, but also on significantly more in their surroundings than just their beauty. Molten eyes flicker across the woods, evolutionarily designed to detect the slightest movement. His ears and the delicate scales of his pale nose are in constant motion, ensuring the pair of them will not be surprised. |
I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |
@[Kylin]
Others can reply but this is mostly for a sightseeing trip so please let Kylin reply first if your character feels the need to intercept them
