09-29-2017, 04:57 PM
How does she do that? How does she carry herself so delicately across the foothills, her locks playing with the wind like ribbons? How does she embody beauty so effortlessly?
The thrum of her stride awakens him from the lull of his thoughts. That’s when he looks over his shoulder to see her close the space between them. For a fleeting moment, she wonders where she came from, but the answer is moot. She is here now, drawing to a steady halt with her silver eyes tracing along him in a warm, welcoming manner. The light of her smile spreads across him, warming him far deeper than anything else has. It could very well be that the only woman – girl – he has really spoken to is mother. Isobel, his darling sister, spends most days wandering Nerine and he would watch her from the sky or from a distant sand dune. She is beautiful, too, but there is a difference when it’s familial.
A breath catches in his throat, mirroring how the soft gale hesitates. The lake ripples with a brief finality when she stops close to him. Everything seems to freeze.
Welcome, she says, and he stifles a low chuckle. Has he been gone so long that he is a mere stranger again to Hyaline? His name has long since been forgotten on their tongues, in their minds. He was here when the land burned to ashes and he fled to retrieve Djinni, but he was lost after that. Ivar brought him back to Sylva, and that was all he remembered. How many weeks – months? – have passed? He’s afraid to ask. ”I’m Castile,” he resigns to say, suppressing the need to elaborate his life’s tale, ”and no, I’m not looking for anyone in particular.” In reality, he wasn’t. He doesn’t exactly know what to expect or who to see or what has changed. The brief clench of his jaw betrays his uncertainty. ”Is Amet still leading Hyaline?” The question slips from his lips before he can reign it in, trying to grasp one of the few things he can remember.
The thrum of her stride awakens him from the lull of his thoughts. That’s when he looks over his shoulder to see her close the space between them. For a fleeting moment, she wonders where she came from, but the answer is moot. She is here now, drawing to a steady halt with her silver eyes tracing along him in a warm, welcoming manner. The light of her smile spreads across him, warming him far deeper than anything else has. It could very well be that the only woman – girl – he has really spoken to is mother. Isobel, his darling sister, spends most days wandering Nerine and he would watch her from the sky or from a distant sand dune. She is beautiful, too, but there is a difference when it’s familial.
A breath catches in his throat, mirroring how the soft gale hesitates. The lake ripples with a brief finality when she stops close to him. Everything seems to freeze.
Welcome, she says, and he stifles a low chuckle. Has he been gone so long that he is a mere stranger again to Hyaline? His name has long since been forgotten on their tongues, in their minds. He was here when the land burned to ashes and he fled to retrieve Djinni, but he was lost after that. Ivar brought him back to Sylva, and that was all he remembered. How many weeks – months? – have passed? He’s afraid to ask. ”I’m Castile,” he resigns to say, suppressing the need to elaborate his life’s tale, ”and no, I’m not looking for anyone in particular.” In reality, he wasn’t. He doesn’t exactly know what to expect or who to see or what has changed. The brief clench of his jaw betrays his uncertainty. ”Is Amet still leading Hyaline?” The question slips from his lips before he can reign it in, trying to grasp one of the few things he can remember.