Ivezho

The mare was primal, ancient and direct with her actions, her behaviour. Her presence called to a similar creature within Ivezho - to the beast who lived and breathed in a very physical world, a world where only body language was sung, lived, enjoyed. She didn't balk at the beast's touches, though perhaps she shivered - if she were human, maybe gooseflesh would raise small bumps on her skin - either way, the beast continued, and Ivezho mentally stood aside, merely an observer of the actions his body instinctually performed. Lips began, with small circles traced in her dark (striped?) pelt, and then teeth slipped through, making the massage firmer, working into whatever areas she proffered, whatever place desired the soothing itch-relief they could give. He liked the taste of her; feminine, wild and- she tasted like home, like sand and heat and sun, like spars and family and-

She spoke again, commenting most aptly on the ascended flame that was Ivezho's father. The beast grunted, a deep groan resonating in his chest, a lion's purr of agreement - he would almost agree to anythng right now. The number of siblings Ivezho had was mentioned, at least in the capacity to say that said number was large - and again Ivezho gave a low, guttural acknowledgement. "Anha zin ki mae atakiyol rizh," I am of the firstborn sons, he murmured with his deep, rough tones, the tongue they had chosen to speak in encouraging the beast within him to consume him entirely, completely.

He was surprised to hear that she descended from a Khaleesi herself, but he did not hesitate in his motions or his words (and he prayed that she would have told him if she were his sister), for he hated when others treated him differently once they knew the blood that writhed through his veins also belonged to the Wildfire, and so he endeavoured to take this mare based on what she was offering him, on who she was rather than the bloodlines that created her. "Sek," he said when she spoke of freedom, "seris," he repeated emphatically, leaning into the touch she made against his own shoulder, happily closing the few breaths of air that remained between them. He lipped and tugged at the strands of mane that lingered, windswept and unkempt at her withers, enjoying their texture, their taste, before offering to her, "tikh seris ma anna" - (be free with me) - "akka fin disse ha asshekh" - (even if only for today).

@Mordecai