02-17-2019, 01:37 PM
The kelpie is overcome with the sudden yearning to seize the creature in front of him. Not carnally (though there is something of that as well), nor even by the throat, but rather as a possession: something to hold and keep and enjoy whenever he might have need of it. A recognizable sensation but not one he’d expected to feel toward a stranger, the scaled stallion frowns for just a moment, scrutinizing the silver and teal mare with a piercing gold gaze.
She isn’t kelpie, but nor is she not kelpie. His instinct tells him only that she is something unknown, that she is something he wants.
For a time the two of them watch each other, the nereid and the kelpie.
It’s Ivar who breaks the silence first.
“And will you stay here?” he asks, as the long strands of his tail are pulled about by the knee-deep water, “Or will you drift out again with the tide?” The kelpie is accustomed to holding the ultimate advantage against his prey, but the silver-eyed mare seems as comfortable with the sea as Ivar. She might breathe the briney water as easily as a kelpie does or leap beneath a wave and be gone as quickly as an eel. Ivar would like to see that, of course, but more than that he wants to be sure that she’ll return if she does.
“I’m Ivar,” the kelpie tells her. He must shift his weight in the sand, and he considers lunging forward and dragging her beneath the water with his jaws around her throat. Instead he adopts a more comfortable position, and the other possibility never shows in his charming smile. “What’s your name?”
@[evia]
She isn’t kelpie, but nor is she not kelpie. His instinct tells him only that she is something unknown, that she is something he wants.
For a time the two of them watch each other, the nereid and the kelpie.
It’s Ivar who breaks the silence first.
“And will you stay here?” he asks, as the long strands of his tail are pulled about by the knee-deep water, “Or will you drift out again with the tide?” The kelpie is accustomed to holding the ultimate advantage against his prey, but the silver-eyed mare seems as comfortable with the sea as Ivar. She might breathe the briney water as easily as a kelpie does or leap beneath a wave and be gone as quickly as an eel. Ivar would like to see that, of course, but more than that he wants to be sure that she’ll return if she does.
“I’m Ivar,” the kelpie tells her. He must shift his weight in the sand, and he considers lunging forward and dragging her beneath the water with his jaws around her throat. Instead he adopts a more comfortable position, and the other possibility never shows in his charming smile. “What’s your name?”
@[evia]