amaroq
in his own country
even Death can be kind
even Death can be kind
E
ven to a creature born of ice, of glacial winters where the moisture froze in the corner of your eyes and summers where the sun never dropped below the horizon, the warmth of a new spring day felt good on his back. Amaroq knows he is unwelcome among the peoples of Novus; he is too clearly set apart, a hunter, something other and strange. He doesn’t need his recent scars to remind him of his status, but his behavior does not change; no ocean could be closed to one such as he - and no stretch of coastline either.
The unicorn is only sunning himself the way any well-fed wild thing does on a warm day after a long winter. There is no blood to darken the pale lengths of his hair; the saltwater is dry on his skin. He dozes, lulled by the crash of the incoming tide, flicking an ear at the occasional call of a gull or trill of a meadowlark.
He smells her first, and even then he would be content to ignore her - but then she steps toward him. Languidly, like a stretching wolf, he turns toward her, and the curiosity of his gaze quickly sharpens to meet the winter in her own. He recognizes that look: your kind is not welcome.
For now, his expression remains even, unbothered. Ice does not crawl down his skin, or breath patterns up his horn. But there is a warning in his tone when he answers her. “No? And yet I am no stranger to these coasts. But the only frost I hear is in your voice.” Amaroq does not respond to her question - his reasons are his own, however innocuous - but responds with one of his own. “Am I not welcome to go where I wish, as any citizen of these lands?”
She looks harmless enough. He does not yet show his teeth.
@Elena | <3
