02-28-2019, 01:10 PM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Isobell’s arrival is unexpected, but mostly warmly welcomed.
Her scent reaches Castile on a strong, autumn gale. It permeates the delicate lining of his nostrils and rips him from a lackadaisical rest in the shade of a rocky outcropping. He blinks quickly as his head lifts abruptly in surprise. Memories race across the back of his eyelids. They ran across these hills as young adults, their bodies lathered in sweat before rejoining at the water’s edge, their laughter brimming with delight.
Although their childhood as long since passed, his love for Isobell has never wavered. It seems like yesterday when they embraced on the shore of Ischia and she offered him a home. His struggles were bettering him, but Castile triumphed. Somehow, the change of tides brought him back here, to Loess, but this time with a crown crookedly placed on his brow.
Sochi has already met Isobell at the border, tending to her in a manner that he expected – and nonetheless appreciated. He joins them, his wings tucked neatly against his side. His lips first trail hungrily across the slope of Sochi’s muscled shoulder. He wants so much more – to press himself against her, adore her – but he ruefully peels himself from her to touch Isobell. It is intimate, just as it has always been, but there isn’t the lust and want in his eyes as it was toward the tigress. The tenderness of his lips is punctuated by a soft nip against his sibling’s neck before he quickly retracts with a boyish grin. ”Sochi,” her name is honey on his tongue, sweet, delectable, ”this is my sister, Isobell.” His mismatched eyes dance between the two women, his voice elated. ”Isobell, this is Sochi,” he pauses as he takes a place at her side, leaning his shoulder just barely against hers. ”She is the mother of your niece, Reia.” He doesn’t mention the other women, the other children.
He admits only what’s important in this moment.
A fleeting pause successes the introductions before Castile continues on, not lingering on the facetious meeting as the women acknowledge each other for the very first time. ”How are you, Isobell? How is Ischia and Ivar?” Curiosity and concern rises in his throat and reaches his eyes as they look across her. Not enough time has passed to notice her pregnancy, but there is an air about her – and her pheromones – that trigger a silent wonder. There are nieces and nephews he hasn’t yet met, their existence unfortunately escaping him and pulling at his heartstrings. Family, as they were raised, is always paramount and the highest priority. Soon, he silently promises himself, he will find them all.
Her scent reaches Castile on a strong, autumn gale. It permeates the delicate lining of his nostrils and rips him from a lackadaisical rest in the shade of a rocky outcropping. He blinks quickly as his head lifts abruptly in surprise. Memories race across the back of his eyelids. They ran across these hills as young adults, their bodies lathered in sweat before rejoining at the water’s edge, their laughter brimming with delight.
Although their childhood as long since passed, his love for Isobell has never wavered. It seems like yesterday when they embraced on the shore of Ischia and she offered him a home. His struggles were bettering him, but Castile triumphed. Somehow, the change of tides brought him back here, to Loess, but this time with a crown crookedly placed on his brow.
Sochi has already met Isobell at the border, tending to her in a manner that he expected – and nonetheless appreciated. He joins them, his wings tucked neatly against his side. His lips first trail hungrily across the slope of Sochi’s muscled shoulder. He wants so much more – to press himself against her, adore her – but he ruefully peels himself from her to touch Isobell. It is intimate, just as it has always been, but there isn’t the lust and want in his eyes as it was toward the tigress. The tenderness of his lips is punctuated by a soft nip against his sibling’s neck before he quickly retracts with a boyish grin. ”Sochi,” her name is honey on his tongue, sweet, delectable, ”this is my sister, Isobell.” His mismatched eyes dance between the two women, his voice elated. ”Isobell, this is Sochi,” he pauses as he takes a place at her side, leaning his shoulder just barely against hers. ”She is the mother of your niece, Reia.” He doesn’t mention the other women, the other children.
He admits only what’s important in this moment.
A fleeting pause successes the introductions before Castile continues on, not lingering on the facetious meeting as the women acknowledge each other for the very first time. ”How are you, Isobell? How is Ischia and Ivar?” Curiosity and concern rises in his throat and reaches his eyes as they look across her. Not enough time has passed to notice her pregnancy, but there is an air about her – and her pheromones – that trigger a silent wonder. There are nieces and nephews he hasn’t yet met, their existence unfortunately escaping him and pulling at his heartstrings. Family, as they were raised, is always paramount and the highest priority. Soon, he silently promises himself, he will find them all.
castile
@[Isobell] @[Sochi]