11-25-2019, 07:52 PM
elio
gone was the way we were, just like the days we'd burn
The redwood leaves and fresh green pine needles sway comfortably above the mother-son duo. Springtime is fresh and pungent in Taiga, Elio’s favorite season (and not just because this is when he was born). The winged boy has spent a little over a year beneath his family’s shadowed canopy, and the green and freshly bloomed flowers continue to bring him joy. The warm arms of the season soften this blow, though he does linger on how he will miss clumsily galloping through where the trees are tightly packed.
“Castile!” he gasps in wonderment the moment his name is mentioned. Though naive, he is well aware of the dragon king. An excited smile twists his lips.
As Lepis continues, Elio hangs on every word, growing more excited with each syllable. There is a Reia and other family his mother cannot name, but the thought of a new family thrums excitedly in his chest.
While his immediate family means everything to the red and gold yearling, the thought of blank-slate relations offers him a guilty sense of relief. His most poignant memories are with Lepis, with Celina a close second—that disconnect of their father’s presence divides Elio more starkly from his much older siblings.
“Summer it is, then.” Another firm nod and a brilliant smile follow suit. Elio pauses, flicking his ears backward as the chatter of birds briefly distracts him, then turns back to his mom with a curious stare. “Is Celina coming with us? And is, uh—” he stumbles here, the title “dad” feeling clumsy in his mouth, “dad ever going to visit?”
“Castile!” he gasps in wonderment the moment his name is mentioned. Though naive, he is well aware of the dragon king. An excited smile twists his lips.
As Lepis continues, Elio hangs on every word, growing more excited with each syllable. There is a Reia and other family his mother cannot name, but the thought of a new family thrums excitedly in his chest.
While his immediate family means everything to the red and gold yearling, the thought of blank-slate relations offers him a guilty sense of relief. His most poignant memories are with Lepis, with Celina a close second—that disconnect of their father’s presence divides Elio more starkly from his much older siblings.
“Summer it is, then.” Another firm nod and a brilliant smile follow suit. Elio pauses, flicking his ears backward as the chatter of birds briefly distracts him, then turns back to his mom with a curious stare. “Is Celina coming with us? And is, uh—” he stumbles here, the title “dad” feeling clumsy in his mouth, “dad ever going to visit?”
@[Lepis]