[open] could i use you as a warning sign | carwyn, any

[Ivar]

I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take Most afternoons, Ivar can be found floating belly up somewhere in the shallows around his island. Today is no exception, and he drifts at the surface, golden eyes closed in sleep, his tricolored belly exposed to the sun.   His rest is a light thing though (Ivar does not dream, his physiology incapable of REM sleep), and he wakes at the slightest disturbance. Most times it is nothing of worth. The soft patter of his mares’ hooves on the beach or the bump of a bit of jetsam. Sometimes the Nereids call to each other beneath the sea, and his twitching sapphire ears catch the heady sound of their song. Other times he has caught the scent of a stranger in the water, and those times he fully rouses himself. The kelpie has watched each resident of the Ischian islands, and he knows those that enter the water the best. He has watched them from the depths, golden eyes barely above the water on a long pale head.    Rarely does he find himself interested in approaching one.   Yet as he catches the scent of someone in the water, the kelpie’s metallic eyes open wide in his sapphire face. His muscled tail flicks down, pulling him vertical in the water. He’s less visible from the shore in this position, and a much smaller target when seen from above. The source of this sudden wakefulness is a figure moving along the crescent beach of his little island.    Small, blue and white, and winged; Carwyn is easy to identify.    The roan relative of Brennen has been living on his island for the better part of three years, he realizes, and she has yet to bear him a kelpie child. It’s rather disappointing, and he considers getting rid of her – not for the first time. But that would require work, and he is an inherently lazy creature. And there is always the chance that she is carrying his child, though Ivar is quite certain that if she bears him another terrestrial child that he’ll finally rid his island of Brennen’s line entirely.    “What did you name the first two?” Ivar asks, having swam nearer to where she stands on the beach and begun to shift back into a quadruped. The sensation of standing on hooves is uncomfortable, but the kelpei gives it little thought as he meets Carwyn’s gaze. They have spoken very little since the conception of their first son; that much is obvious in his query. “The next one will be a kelpie.” He adds, surety in his tone as he says it.    and i'll use you as a warning sign That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind