12-06-2019, 12:06 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take Nearly a decade has passed since the tobiano stallion had last seen Loess from this shore. The place is little changed; perhaps the red dunes have shifted and a bit more of the stone crumbled away. It would be easy to forget that he would not find Heda resting in the foothills or Trissy frolicking in the springs. The short days of autumn when he would find Isobell on these shores, driven from Nerine by the instinct he’d awakened in her, are long gone. Would they have brought her back to Ischia, he wonders, if he had the patience to wait for the fall? Probably, he thinks, there is nothing stronger than instinct. His mate knows where she belongs, knows to whom she belongs. His coming here will only hasten her return, Ivar decides, and provide a bit of fun in his otherwise blissfully monotonous life. The longer-longer-scaled creature turns his golden eyes back to that bit of fun, who is telling him that she has lived here half a year. Ivar nods, only partially listening. Most of his attention is on Oceane herself, on her quick heartbeat and uneven breathing. They draw him closer, even though they might be just the result of exertion, but before he has a chance to taste the difference, the opalescent mare is turning away. She’s leading him to the springs, she says. The distance she keeps between them feels almost purposeful, but as they are heading toward water, Ivar doesn’t truly mind. What he does mind is the addition to their company, and the sound of beating wings overhead. He draws to a halt, and the scowl across his handsome face lightens when he recognizes the tobiano that lands beside them. There are worse additions he can think of, and while Ivar does follow the possessive way Castile draws near to Oceane, he returns the dragon’s smug grin with an amused curve of his own mouth. That part of Oceane is rather delicious; its no surprise that Castile thinks the same. “Oceane is showing me Loess,” he tells Castile with a roll of his shoulders. It feels odd without the fins there, and Castile’s mention of his hooves draws another crooked smile. “I didn’t want to awe too many of your women with my other shape,” Ivar answers, well aware of the cocksure tone of his voice. The two pied stallions are alike in that, exuding bravado without being truly aware of it. Fortunately for both of them, Ivar is not inclined to find out which of them might come out on top in a scuffle. He is not threatened by Castile, at least on an instinctive level, and the season is wrong to be battling over women. Castile has always been willing to share his leftovers anyway, and Ivar is not especially picky about where his meals come from. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my wife is, would you?” He asks the dragon. “I’m afraid she’s wandered off and gotten lost away from the sea.” that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind |