05-14-2020, 03:53 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
Castile finds solace in the softness of the mare’s eyes. A deep breath expands his lungs and blossoms warmth across the entirety of his body. It settles through each of his muscles, wringing out the tension and worry that has built up during this charade. Finally, she sees him truly. Transparent, he matches her languid state, relieved to having lifted the burden.
Alas, with the removal of one complication there is another to take its place. How funny the timing is. Nash invited him to Taiga; it was never meant to be permanent, or even interesting enough to stay longer than a day. The plan was to see the boy’s home, to acquaint himself while under this disguise, and then return to his newly-determined nomadic lifestyle.
Of course, he arrives to the forest during an uprising.
With both internal and external struggles choking them – Taigans – of air, Lethy finds Castile and muses his peculiar timing as well. A half chuckle escapes him, his mind willing to humor her for now. Thus far, the Taigans have been nothing short of welcoming and hospitable (Ruthless is in her own, appropriately named category for now). It would be in poor taste to shunt them now after all of this, after even defending the mare’s position as leader. Shrugging, he simply states, ”Fate is a funny thing.” The boyish grin is still there, his eyes glimmering in amused mischief. ”I’m still figuring out if I arrived at the perfect time or the worst time,” because, as he confessed, he escaped to the meadow for a needed break. It was an abbreviated experience. ”I guess there’s never truly a way to avoid politics,” he thinks aloud, blinking as he peers toward the treetops for a heartbeat before dropping his mismatched eyes again on Izora Lethia. ”One day, I hope to have a quiet herd, separated from any kingdom, but then again,” he trails off in a brief pause, considering the scenario carefully, ”I’m not sure how long I could last before getting bored.” A throaty chuckle punctuates the far-off dream, marking it as a fantasy that will never come to pass.
Sweeping the length of his metallic tail, Castile gropes for his diplomatic manners, settling easily enough into place. ”A pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well,” he tries not to laugh at himself as he suddenly realizes how deeply Rocky has become ingrained in himself.
Alas, with the removal of one complication there is another to take its place. How funny the timing is. Nash invited him to Taiga; it was never meant to be permanent, or even interesting enough to stay longer than a day. The plan was to see the boy’s home, to acquaint himself while under this disguise, and then return to his newly-determined nomadic lifestyle.
Of course, he arrives to the forest during an uprising.
With both internal and external struggles choking them – Taigans – of air, Lethy finds Castile and muses his peculiar timing as well. A half chuckle escapes him, his mind willing to humor her for now. Thus far, the Taigans have been nothing short of welcoming and hospitable (Ruthless is in her own, appropriately named category for now). It would be in poor taste to shunt them now after all of this, after even defending the mare’s position as leader. Shrugging, he simply states, ”Fate is a funny thing.” The boyish grin is still there, his eyes glimmering in amused mischief. ”I’m still figuring out if I arrived at the perfect time or the worst time,” because, as he confessed, he escaped to the meadow for a needed break. It was an abbreviated experience. ”I guess there’s never truly a way to avoid politics,” he thinks aloud, blinking as he peers toward the treetops for a heartbeat before dropping his mismatched eyes again on Izora Lethia. ”One day, I hope to have a quiet herd, separated from any kingdom, but then again,” he trails off in a brief pause, considering the scenario carefully, ”I’m not sure how long I could last before getting bored.” A throaty chuckle punctuates the far-off dream, marking it as a fantasy that will never come to pass.
Sweeping the length of his metallic tail, Castile gropes for his diplomatic manners, settling easily enough into place. ”A pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well,” he tries not to laugh at himself as he suddenly realizes how deeply Rocky has become ingrained in himself.
castile
@[Izora Lethia]