Castile nods his head slowly as the sour taste in his mouth begins to subside with the conclusion of his memories of Hyaline’s burning. The flash of face illuminated by the fire are forever tattooed in his mind, but he cannot hold a grudge for long, not like mother. What good can come of being angry for his former home being laid waste upon? Amet has seemingly moved past it, water under the bridge. It’s in the lightness that his voice still carries even as he reflects back on Tangerine. Castile knew only a name and nothing more, but he notices the double-edged smile creeping along Ciri’s lips at the mention of another woman. ”I’m happy to hear that,” he says, ”she seemed nice although I was never really able to know her well.” They merely lived here together, a loose bond that strung them together but was cut immediately when Castile left for Sylva. Now, she is a mere figment of his memory.
But he does remember Djinni’s home, its name resounding as Amet brings it to their conversation. Castile nonchalantly shrugs. ”Way too many trees for my liking,” a half-hearted grin softens the edges of his face, ”they got in the way of flight.” The dragon-like appendages extend in that moment, stretching idly and away from Amet and Ciri. He shakes as well, a cloud of dust materializing around him before the wind carries it away.
And then he looks at Ciri again, unable to continue diverting and focusing on the gilded stallion. Disappointment furrows her brow in the subtlest of ways, but something in Castile grasps onto her reaction and finds pleasure in it. His forelock isn’t long enough to hide the reactive softening of his gaze. Her insistence makes him consider the offer more than Amet’s. ”I, uh,” he begins but hesitates as he finally breaks eye contact with her to glance between both of them, mulling over the prospect of it. It’s tempting to come back, to stay among others he already knows, and to further learn about Ciri, but something draws him away. To hide the disappointment in himself Castile lightly chuckles. ”Perhaps, when I have experience to share, I would be of more use to the youngsters.” Because as of yet, his only time spent fighting was those brief hours in the gladiator pen mother had forged. That wasn’t enough teaching for him. He needs more.
”Hell,” he continues in a light jest, ”I haven’t even mastered my complete shifting.” It’s more embarrassing to admit with Ciri’s eyes on him, but it provides an excuse for him not to stay. At times, Castile wonders if he will always be a nomad. He has never had a home for long, after all. ”I don’t think I ever told you that I can shift,” and he blinks slowly now and wonders if this admission would shake Amet’s title, ”into a dragon.” It’s a project of his to learn, to finesse. ”I also caught wind of my sister at the river. I will have to visit her soon. I’ve missed her.”
But despite mentioning Isobell, his eyes can't help but drift to Ciri in hopes that in the cloak of darkness, they would meet there.
But he does remember Djinni’s home, its name resounding as Amet brings it to their conversation. Castile nonchalantly shrugs. ”Way too many trees for my liking,” a half-hearted grin softens the edges of his face, ”they got in the way of flight.” The dragon-like appendages extend in that moment, stretching idly and away from Amet and Ciri. He shakes as well, a cloud of dust materializing around him before the wind carries it away.
And then he looks at Ciri again, unable to continue diverting and focusing on the gilded stallion. Disappointment furrows her brow in the subtlest of ways, but something in Castile grasps onto her reaction and finds pleasure in it. His forelock isn’t long enough to hide the reactive softening of his gaze. Her insistence makes him consider the offer more than Amet’s. ”I, uh,” he begins but hesitates as he finally breaks eye contact with her to glance between both of them, mulling over the prospect of it. It’s tempting to come back, to stay among others he already knows, and to further learn about Ciri, but something draws him away. To hide the disappointment in himself Castile lightly chuckles. ”Perhaps, when I have experience to share, I would be of more use to the youngsters.” Because as of yet, his only time spent fighting was those brief hours in the gladiator pen mother had forged. That wasn’t enough teaching for him. He needs more.
”Hell,” he continues in a light jest, ”I haven’t even mastered my complete shifting.” It’s more embarrassing to admit with Ciri’s eyes on him, but it provides an excuse for him not to stay. At times, Castile wonders if he will always be a nomad. He has never had a home for long, after all. ”I don’t think I ever told you that I can shift,” and he blinks slowly now and wonders if this admission would shake Amet’s title, ”into a dragon.” It’s a project of his to learn, to finesse. ”I also caught wind of my sister at the river. I will have to visit her soon. I’ve missed her.”
But despite mentioning Isobell, his eyes can't help but drift to Ciri in hopes that in the cloak of darkness, they would meet there.