Nova Peak pen-channas

hope nobody here is fluent in this language bc i'm phoning it tf in lmao

she mastered in silence while felaróf spoke of his labours in these wilds, content to lend a ruched ear and an aureole, the outline to his milkglass prestige as he clipped alongside her.  her own hide vexed by insects as well, she dispatched them with a lash of her tail and arched her lissome crest to nip at one of the minikin devils on her breast, keeping an ear rounded on him to hear tell of his further troubles—ñarmo.

her ears twitched but otherwise the mare’s expression communicated neither surprise nor alarm. if anything, it rumored her disenchantment in regard to the mangy churls. a single one, even a pair, warranted little agitation. even so, an entire pack made a sport of menacing herds. they were a breed sprung up from the stink quagmires at the beginning of the world, and she would have them each pinned under her hooves if she had her way. 

”nása,” she sighed, then snorted with displeasure. ”ná. hlarn tú, ñoltu. mai qe-tuluva tu·tuluval ki.” almárëa blew through her nostrils and strummed the velvet of her nose along the sinewed shape his proud neck, sundering out the winged pestilence dislimning her lodestar’s brightness with a delicacy yet firmness likened to a hand plucking the stem of a stubborn orchid. gentle mouthed, she groomed him in such a way—it was the commerce of their kith, the comfort and giving of comfort in such intimate manner, to bequeath doting touch.

hers may have been a tad more lingering.

she lipped his mane, a dulcet nicker imparted when his smoldering gaze usurped her presence of mind. she went soft, too soft, too yearning under his contemplations of her, and her contemplations of him. a schema of chivlary! the gravitas! king of the mearas: nightshaded claimant, and yet here with her in sterling flesh, true in name. in whorling beholds, lost herself in him—he was the valar’s paragon—and she had not to offer.

her gaze went listless, faraway and lonely without his image. white lashes fell in a bid to veil her eyes and slammed shut their gateways. "naite tye híres nyando, melhér.” she looked up from her fairfeather veil, guilt sitting as a heavy stone in her stomach. 

castamir. imperious bastard king, somewhere
wrong king
here?
near?
would have me under him—
don’t name me

when they were nearing the end of their descent together, she departed from her ministrations and backed several steps to extend him the full breadth of his propriety. a proposal, or a proposition? was there a difference to males? pleading. adamant, somehow, either or the other. ”ai a pusta lé luhtar, nányë umir luhta ana. aþal.” she did not wish him indignation or dishonor, but the production of it made her look around with her heart in her mouth. 

they walked again in pensive silence. his own musing gave her an interval of time to consider his offer. together they were as they were meant to be. the mearas in one breath, in one voice. how could she? she could not refuse him this, could not renounce vala by refusing him.

”aique ni polatsa, sercë niva sercë.” she finally answered, listing towards him to pull playfully at the argent tresses of his mane before lifting her forehooves off the ground in a small rear and striking out beyond his reach through a stand of trees leading into the forestlands.