[private] could i use you as a makeshift gauge; Chryseis

[Chryseis]

you were a vision in the morning
when the light came through,
i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you ;
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The snow has brought a hush to the riverland, or, perhaps it is because nearly everyone has deserted the lands that were not deemed as safe. Either way, it is eerily quiet, even if the scenery was the very image of a winter wonderland — pristine and untouched, the snow glittering beneath the cold rays of the sun. It was almost easy to forget that Beqanna has been thrown into chaos.

The blanket that has settled over the ground muffles the sounds around them, and she does not hear the stallion as he emerges from the river.  It is a movement that first catches her eye, and immediately she turns her head, to see a painted stallion moving towards her. She is mildly surprised at first, silently chastising herself for not paying closer attention to her surroundings. She was usually more observant, if only because she was often always on the look out for a new potential friend. Chryseis had been so lost in the tangled web of her thoughts that she hadn’t even been paying attention to the very few horses that remained outside of the protected lands.

But almost instantly she is too intrigued, quickly forgetting the way the sudden sight of him had made her pulse quicken in alarm. His piebald skin shimmers with scales, and her dark brown eyes widen for a moment, her mind racing. Scales. Her father had said his scales came from being bitten by a kelpie, and even though the question is begging to be asked, she swallows it away for now. It is almost instant, the way her rich brown eyes brighten again, an echo of her childlike curiosity coming back, but she is old enough now to recognize the need for manners. ”Hello,” she echoes his greeting, her sweet voice still having a girlish trill to it, and easily a smile brightens the length of her lips. ”I just felt like coming to the river. It used to be one of my favorite places to visit.”

Her slender legs carry her closer to him, and though they still have the appearance of being a little too long for her adolescent frame, she is still several inches shorter than the sapphire-splashed stallion before her. ”My name is Chryseis,” And already she can feel herself forgetting the negative thoughts that had been weighing on her before, her eyes transfixed to the scales that laced his skin. ”You have scales. Why?” Without thinking, she reaches out to brush her muzzle across his shoulder, much in the same way she had touched Rhaegor’s wings, and even her father’s scales. Chryseis still hasn’t learned that not all strangers take so kindly to being touched, not even by pretty roan fillies with awestruck doe-eyes.

chryseis.
and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you

@[Ivar]