From where he is settled beneath the shade of a palm, Ivar watches the stranger rise from the sea. It was the flowers that had caught his attention. They stood out against the soft foam and the clear water in a way the rest of the stranger did not, and at first he thinks they are simple drifting along the shoreline. But no, his gold eyes make out a head and neck rising from the water, and then scaled shoulders and a silver mane that drips water in rivulets between aquamarine scales. She is breathtakingly lovely, and Ivar is content to simply watch her as she glances up and down the beach.
Moments like these are why the kelpie is so certain Fates favors him. He is free of the Plague, his island is undisturbed, his children are plentiful, and the ocean has just delivered something to his very door.
Rather than leave her waiting – because surely that must be what she is doing, so still in the lapping water – the tricolored stallion rolls to his feet, shaking the sand from his sides as he does so. He wickers a greeting as he moves froward, leaving the shadows of his resting place for the sunlit shore. Light catches on his golden scales, and he smiles warmly at the unfamiliar mare as he comes to a standstill. His own hooves are barely in the water, a comfortable distance from the flower-haired mare. He glances over what parts of her can see above the water, making no effort to disguise his appreciation. Something about her reminds him of his kelpie women – impossibly lovely and at home in the water – but there is something different at well, something that makes the cautious creature keep his distance. He might not keep it for long, of course.
”What brings you to Ischia?” He asks with a curious tilt of his head. The stream of diplomats seems to have ended, and it is not often that one comes alone. Nor does she smell of any land he knows, though Ivar knows there are new ones, ones that he isn’t as familiar with. Better to play it safe, he knows, than to risk finding himself out of his depth.
@[evia]
Moments like these are why the kelpie is so certain Fates favors him. He is free of the Plague, his island is undisturbed, his children are plentiful, and the ocean has just delivered something to his very door.
Rather than leave her waiting – because surely that must be what she is doing, so still in the lapping water – the tricolored stallion rolls to his feet, shaking the sand from his sides as he does so. He wickers a greeting as he moves froward, leaving the shadows of his resting place for the sunlit shore. Light catches on his golden scales, and he smiles warmly at the unfamiliar mare as he comes to a standstill. His own hooves are barely in the water, a comfortable distance from the flower-haired mare. He glances over what parts of her can see above the water, making no effort to disguise his appreciation. Something about her reminds him of his kelpie women – impossibly lovely and at home in the water – but there is something different at well, something that makes the cautious creature keep his distance. He might not keep it for long, of course.
”What brings you to Ischia?” He asks with a curious tilt of his head. The stream of diplomats seems to have ended, and it is not often that one comes alone. Nor does she smell of any land he knows, though Ivar knows there are new ones, ones that he isn’t as familiar with. Better to play it safe, he knows, than to risk finding himself out of his depth.
@[evia]