01-26-2019, 09:05 PM
Ivar has never shared responsibility with anyone. He's made Isobell the Khaleesi to his Khal because she wanted it, and because he suspected it would entice her to stay, not because he considers her his equal. She is better than most of the others, of course, and does not hesitate to remind them of this. The image of Jhene quaking before his piebald mate brings an amused quirk to the kelpie's mouth.
Ahead of him, the water spreads wide and teal and without end. Soft crests of white foam cap the waves, which are tamer here than in some of the bays. (The waterwalkers loved those bays, where riding the waves was sport.) The sun is high in the cerulean sky, and it beams down on his scaled back and dries the damp sand at his hooves. Seawater still drips from the thickest tangles of his mane, but he has been sunning himself for an hour or so, and the languid motion in the way he turns toward the flicker of movement at the corner of his eye.
Well-fed, Ivar is even lazier than usual on this spring day. The smile with which he greets the dappled Mary is affable, and only his golden eyes flick quickly, tracing the slimmer figure she presents. Their last meeting had been months past, and it seems she's left the child she carried at that time back in Sylva this afternoon. Ivar is intrigued, and makes no secret of his interest in the grey mare.
"I hope this means you've decided to take me up on my offer." He says as he steps forward, shaking the dark mane that has dried salt stiff as he resettles his weight where's he's come to stand a pace away. "I promise Ischia is superior to Sylva in every way."
@[Mary]
Ahead of him, the water spreads wide and teal and without end. Soft crests of white foam cap the waves, which are tamer here than in some of the bays. (The waterwalkers loved those bays, where riding the waves was sport.) The sun is high in the cerulean sky, and it beams down on his scaled back and dries the damp sand at his hooves. Seawater still drips from the thickest tangles of his mane, but he has been sunning himself for an hour or so, and the languid motion in the way he turns toward the flicker of movement at the corner of his eye.
Well-fed, Ivar is even lazier than usual on this spring day. The smile with which he greets the dappled Mary is affable, and only his golden eyes flick quickly, tracing the slimmer figure she presents. Their last meeting had been months past, and it seems she's left the child she carried at that time back in Sylva this afternoon. Ivar is intrigued, and makes no secret of his interest in the grey mare.
"I hope this means you've decided to take me up on my offer." He says as he steps forward, shaking the dark mane that has dried salt stiff as he resettles his weight where's he's come to stand a pace away. "I promise Ischia is superior to Sylva in every way."
@[Mary]