05-19-2020, 10:32 AM
never thirsty, ever drinking
Despite his poise in the face of her fierceness, when she waves her teeth over the trio of minnows, his ears flick back and his lips tighten. A promise is a promise, after all. The stormy steel blue of his eyes flashes and the water that surrounds him turns and tumbles, as if boiling. The silver-flanked fish disappear beneath the angry foam of white-water, safe in the stillness below.
Just kidding.
He replies with a quiet "Hm," and tosses his head, shedding the turbulent water, forcing it away from himself so abruptly that it must drench her - standing so near - as it rejoins the river from where it came. The silvery skin of stillwater remains and the minnows have tucked themselves into the quiet pocket beneath his jaw. Dace draws his chin down closer to his neck to shade them.
"I certainly hope you do, eating people's friends won't get you many of your own." The tension has left his lips and a subtle smirk plays across them again as he speaks and follows her olive gaze where it delves into the gleam of gray-green water. She is predatory and sleek and he cannot help but be aware of his disadvantage, that his own magic is so small beside her. The mare has a cat-like nature, ever somewhere between playing and killing, but his easy grin returns, armor against her danger. He leans into her mischief, his voice is a challenge, though warm and good-natured, still watching her avidly as she traces the river surface and muses on his nature. What other tricks does he have?
"No, I think it's your turn, actually. What else can you do?"
Just kidding.
He replies with a quiet "Hm," and tosses his head, shedding the turbulent water, forcing it away from himself so abruptly that it must drench her - standing so near - as it rejoins the river from where it came. The silvery skin of stillwater remains and the minnows have tucked themselves into the quiet pocket beneath his jaw. Dace draws his chin down closer to his neck to shade them.
"I certainly hope you do, eating people's friends won't get you many of your own." The tension has left his lips and a subtle smirk plays across them again as he speaks and follows her olive gaze where it delves into the gleam of gray-green water. She is predatory and sleek and he cannot help but be aware of his disadvantage, that his own magic is so small beside her. The mare has a cat-like nature, ever somewhere between playing and killing, but his easy grin returns, armor against her danger. He leans into her mischief, his voice is a challenge, though warm and good-natured, still watching her avidly as she traces the river surface and muses on his nature. What other tricks does he have?
"No, I think it's your turn, actually. What else can you do?"
@[saint]
