amaroq
in his own country
even Death can be kind
even Death can be kind
"G
reed is for the weak.” There is a snarl on his mouth as he says it and he can feel his predator’s teeth against the soft inside of his mouth. He wants to bite down until he tastes the warm salt and copper of blood, even his own, for blood is the only response to such black and angry thoughts. But Amaroq does not bite down; he licks his teeth, and sighs, and looks back to her. When he does there is a softening in his eyes, a melting of the glacier-ice. The kelpie understands that his frustration is misplaced on her, that this land horse (though perhaps not of land, perhaps of the sky, despite her injured wing) is not his enemy - even if she is still prey, and easy at that. A wounded bird.
He does not hunt birds.
When their eyes meet he holds the strange, liquid silver of hers, so like and so unlike his own. At her words he is still but for the breath that fogs the air before him, until at last he nods in return, and a smile curls along his too-long mouth.
“Look out for beasts,” he says, and Amaroq does not specify which kind. With a slow blink he turns back to the sea, facing the line of horizon where the water and the sky meet as one point. With a swiftness he hasn’t shown until now the keplie surges into the water, until the long pale threads of his mane and tail merge with the froth of the surf, until his neck is arching like the crest of a wave and his markings look like sunlight on the water. A moment more and all that is visible of him is the proud jut of his horn and a stream of bubbles on the surface, and then the ocean closes over his head and he is gone.
@Samaira | shitty closer but samaira is great.
