05-26-2018, 12:22 AM
It is so easy to revert back to the way she was always with him. So very easy. Frighteningly easy. So she is silly and simple and ever so happy that he is very much real after all.
The sharp bark of his laughter sounds good and familiar in her ears and she realizes then too, that Ivar has come to represent something of home to her. When did that happen? How did that happen? Because he saw her, really saw her and that meant something to her. Even after the planted seeds of suggestion that she go with him in the beginning. He’s taken root inside the mothmare and she couldn’t get rid of him like a bad weed.
(The kind that produces irresistible and beautiful flowers. Which is what they’re relationship is like.)
He makes her laugh. It pours out of her odd mouth as he insists that he is very missable. It might seem like an opportune moment to ask him why he left in the first place but she never asks, just accepts that he’s here now. Besides the touch of his cheek to hers like a kiss makes her forget to ask anyway.
For just the tiniest moment, so tiny as to be almost fleeting, her face scrunches up into a frown. Is he only sticking around for a little while? The way he phrases gives her reason to think he’s not going to stay. Which gives her a moment of anxiety and fretting shown by the way her teeth gnash and gnaw at her lips. She even looks away long enough to make her miss looking at his pretty face.
“True.” she concedes a little sullenly, wondering what he has up his scaly sleeve but he tells her soon enough and Ichor can’t seem to stay mad at him for very long. Plus she’s not sure her face looks comely in a pout. But then she’s a ridiculous creature so who cares what her face looks like? Ivar sure doesn’t seem to mind.
Suddenly she can feel the rush of night air between. She doesn’t shiver like he does. Instead she seems to come more alive because the night belongs to moths and she can claim some relation to them. By golly she looks more moth than horse! Her wings stretch out and quiver as if considering flight but she’s never managed more than a few beats of the wings during some hilarious looking hops. Her wings were more decoration and decoy than practical.
He mentions the daisy-things and Ichor laughs from somewhere deep in her belly. Poor Ivar! He tried but he never quite knew flowers the way she did. What he did know was that she was not a lay-flowers-at-her-feet kind of mare. This was not that kind of pony-play as she followed him to the river’s edge but did not step right in. The water primrose did look delectable though and she could do her part to help stave off the strangling chokehold it had on that little baby-river...
“Water primrose,” she murmurs to him from the cusp of riverbank and decision. But how can she resist the bright yellow petals that seem to be curling down and out in invitation to her? She can’t. No more than she can resist his easy charm. Before she knows it, Ichor is in the river and feels no fear. She blinks her big bug eyes at him as her gills flutter in anticipation of feeling water run over and through them.
“Why not?” she says more to herself than to him and plunges further in until the water laps at her breast like a lover’s (ha! she knows nothing of lovers and their like) tongue.
@[Ivar] ichor thinks it’s cute that he tried to be a flower expert. ?