04-24-2019, 12:28 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
It was only a matter of time – and right – for their family to expand beyond Castile and Isobell’s fingertips. A legacy has been born, maintained. It thrives in the faces of the brood mother and father, and also in the faces of their children and grandchildren.
Castile peers up toward the jagged peaks, knowing mother roosts there, heavy with child once more. A lopsided, boyish grin tugs at the edges of his mouth and survives a slow turn to look across Loess. It thrives. There are voices on the breeze, laughter even. There are generations tucked into the safe confines of their hills, and he is able to watch them all. A guardian, he considers himself, as he settles more into his place and role among them.
In solitude, his mind is able to soar as high as the clouds for what seems like a great majority of the day until a voice – young in age but nevertheless strong – reels him back to the tranquility of reality. With dilated nostrils, he inclines his head to see Bronsonn.
Family. That’s all that matters. That’s what mother and father instilled in their children.
With a lunging, exuberant step, Castile unintentionally rams his chest into the boy, but recovers with a playful tousle of his forelock. ”Hello, little brother,” he is another line of their legacy, a specimen to instill fear and prowess. Much to father’s delight, the dragon bloodline will live on not only in one son, but two.
A plume of smoke billows from his nostrils playfully before taking a step sideways to more closely observe him, still with a boyish grin softening the ridges of his face. ”Before you know it, Bronsonn, you will be bigger than me,” he jests, but still enjoys puffing the boy’s chest with hope and confidence. ”Have you had any adventures lately?”
Castile peers up toward the jagged peaks, knowing mother roosts there, heavy with child once more. A lopsided, boyish grin tugs at the edges of his mouth and survives a slow turn to look across Loess. It thrives. There are voices on the breeze, laughter even. There are generations tucked into the safe confines of their hills, and he is able to watch them all. A guardian, he considers himself, as he settles more into his place and role among them.
In solitude, his mind is able to soar as high as the clouds for what seems like a great majority of the day until a voice – young in age but nevertheless strong – reels him back to the tranquility of reality. With dilated nostrils, he inclines his head to see Bronsonn.
Family. That’s all that matters. That’s what mother and father instilled in their children.
With a lunging, exuberant step, Castile unintentionally rams his chest into the boy, but recovers with a playful tousle of his forelock. ”Hello, little brother,” he is another line of their legacy, a specimen to instill fear and prowess. Much to father’s delight, the dragon bloodline will live on not only in one son, but two.
A plume of smoke billows from his nostrils playfully before taking a step sideways to more closely observe him, still with a boyish grin softening the ridges of his face. ”Before you know it, Bronsonn, you will be bigger than me,” he jests, but still enjoys puffing the boy’s chest with hope and confidence. ”Have you had any adventures lately?”
castile
@[Bronsonn]