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of the sea
The sound of movement by the other is lost to the crash of rolling waves—but the motion of her rising from out of the sea catches the large gaze of the militant mare. Scaled ears that had laid back in her moments of misery swing forward, wary and unblinking gaze morphing to curiosity the longer she watches. The woman of shifting greens and blues (colors of the sea) slowly turns to gray as she leaves the water. Rivulets of liquid leave trails of color in their wake, but soon after the color fades back to gleaming gray.
Her face-fins flare once in anticipation—was this woman of the sea? Was she of Akvo? It was clear she belonged in the water, much as Aquila did. And it was clear the sea brought out some kind of magic in her, just as it did for the militant mare.
Ridged nostrils flare, trying to take in the scent of the approaching, slick woman. Similarly, her over-large eyes do not blink in their intense scrutiny of her. This woman was softer than herself. Where Aquila was coated in plates and angles, this woman was covered in sleek skin and curves. Perked, straining ears twitch as her melodious voice— so much different than Aquila’s throaty one— slips easily into their scaled funnels.
So she was of the sea, but so different than how the seahorse was of the sea. Her lips part, but her voice fails her, she is too distracted by the woman’s body and skin to form words. Instead, her fins wave in greeting while she jerks her mind to focus and speak.
“Hello,” her throaty voice is quiet, “I am Aquila,” for once, the woman freely offers her name, first. “Where are you from?” The invasive question is out on her husky voice before she can stop it— some kind of blasphemous hope forming deep in her chest.
Her face-fins flare once in anticipation—was this woman of the sea? Was she of Akvo? It was clear she belonged in the water, much as Aquila did. And it was clear the sea brought out some kind of magic in her, just as it did for the militant mare.
Ridged nostrils flare, trying to take in the scent of the approaching, slick woman. Similarly, her over-large eyes do not blink in their intense scrutiny of her. This woman was softer than herself. Where Aquila was coated in plates and angles, this woman was covered in sleek skin and curves. Perked, straining ears twitch as her melodious voice— so much different than Aquila’s throaty one— slips easily into their scaled funnels.
So she was of the sea, but so different than how the seahorse was of the sea. Her lips part, but her voice fails her, she is too distracted by the woman’s body and skin to form words. Instead, her fins wave in greeting while she jerks her mind to focus and speak.
“Hello,” her throaty voice is quiet, “I am Aquila,” for once, the woman freely offers her name, first. “Where are you from?” The invasive question is out on her husky voice before she can stop it— some kind of blasphemous hope forming deep in her chest.
@Syrena I figured we could go ahead and thread these 2 :D
@Tiamat and @Sikeax feel free to jump in whenever <3
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
