10-05-2018, 10:11 PM
His expectations are met when they are joined by a young girl sprung by her curiosity. Initially, she regards her superior with a smile and respectful nod before darting her eyes in Castile’s direction. Unwavering, he meets her gaze. ”Castile,” his voice rumbles like the rocks tumbling down Nerine’s cliffs. He is a son of the land – he always will be – and while his foreboding appearance mirrors that of the landscape, his metallic eyes are softer upon seeing her blissful ignorance and curiosity. Enough time has passed, he presumes, that everything can begin fresh in his life (with the exception of the family he created). Nerine captures him (it had when he was a mere boy) but this time, she burrows her nails into his flesh to anchor him to these cliffs and peninsula. Breckin confirms how life has changed and how welcoming they actually are of men – of him.
When she draws nearer, Castile has to consciously continue breathing otherwise it would catch in his throat under her scrutiny. She doesn’t dismiss him (did he actually fear that?) and instead searches the pools of his eyes before demanding that he help her protect Nerine. It hadn’t been a question. The flatness in her tone is a quieted order and proposition that he gropes and hugs to his chest. Castile responds with a curt, quiet nod. It’s done. Their hands have shaken and a warming elation ignites the fire in his core. It roils in his gut, but he tampers it enough for it to only be a plume of black smoke that curtains his face for a few moments before lifting and once again exposing his sharply-edged face. Glancing down to Nalia, he grins. ”I guess I’m staying, not visiting.”
”The Brotherhood,” he repeats with curiosity as his focus rises back to Breckin’s face, ”led by Brennen?” The stallion had always wanted to forge a bachelor herd; memories of the idea flicker to mind, but they’re fuzzy. He had been just a colt then clutching to his mother’s side and listening to her political tangents. Brennen’s name was poison on mother’s tongue, but it hadn’t always been that way. Rolling his shoulders and inclining his head, Castile’s response slips as more of a drawl. ”I’m not interested in following him.” Rather than experiencing the stallion himself, he sticks to what he grew up knowing. ”Tell me how you want me to help Nerine.” With a confirming nod, Castile offers an amiable (and eager) grin.
When she draws nearer, Castile has to consciously continue breathing otherwise it would catch in his throat under her scrutiny. She doesn’t dismiss him (did he actually fear that?) and instead searches the pools of his eyes before demanding that he help her protect Nerine. It hadn’t been a question. The flatness in her tone is a quieted order and proposition that he gropes and hugs to his chest. Castile responds with a curt, quiet nod. It’s done. Their hands have shaken and a warming elation ignites the fire in his core. It roils in his gut, but he tampers it enough for it to only be a plume of black smoke that curtains his face for a few moments before lifting and once again exposing his sharply-edged face. Glancing down to Nalia, he grins. ”I guess I’m staying, not visiting.”
”The Brotherhood,” he repeats with curiosity as his focus rises back to Breckin’s face, ”led by Brennen?” The stallion had always wanted to forge a bachelor herd; memories of the idea flicker to mind, but they’re fuzzy. He had been just a colt then clutching to his mother’s side and listening to her political tangents. Brennen’s name was poison on mother’s tongue, but it hadn’t always been that way. Rolling his shoulders and inclining his head, Castile’s response slips as more of a drawl. ”I’m not interested in following him.” Rather than experiencing the stallion himself, he sticks to what he grew up knowing. ”Tell me how you want me to help Nerine.” With a confirming nod, Castile offers an amiable (and eager) grin.