04-23-2018, 11:08 AM
With narrowed eyes, Castile skirted the congregation that beckoned all of Loess to its core. Even from a distance, he could hear the blaring announcement, and could even smell the change curling into his nostrils with the wind. Lepis has unknowingly resigned, an odd decision that she never mentioned to him during their time together. He was to prime her for the role while Ivar was away, but now Castile can’t halt the sense of failure.
It could be a release, he thought. For years, he bounced around without a great pull to any one place. Friendship lured him here, rooted his feet to the rocky outcroppings of Loess. He enjoyed helping, holding a rank that gave him a sense of responsibility, but it has since slipped away. Run away, he has told himself, and yet he stands alone with a contemplative gaze settled on the horizon.
An idle shuffle of his wings would make an outsider assume his decision, but still Castile doesn’t move. A plume of smoke coils from his nostrils, but it dissipates by the time Arthas finds him.
The announced whinny is the first indicator, then the hoofbeats across the dirt that sends pebbles skittering. A slow pivot brings them face-to-face, their eyes leveled on one another. ”Castile,” he immediately provides in response, his voice husky and deep. They are more evenly matched in size, their cresty necks magnifying their appearance from stragglers afar. ”So, Lepis chose you,” he says steadily. He had not wanted the throne; it has never appealed to him. ”Have you lived here long? I’ve never seen you before.” He had not attended the meeting that announced Lepis and the change in ranks. Even in his aimless wandering, Arthas never crossed his vision.
So, the question remains: who is he and why did Lepis choose a stranger?
It could be a release, he thought. For years, he bounced around without a great pull to any one place. Friendship lured him here, rooted his feet to the rocky outcroppings of Loess. He enjoyed helping, holding a rank that gave him a sense of responsibility, but it has since slipped away. Run away, he has told himself, and yet he stands alone with a contemplative gaze settled on the horizon.
An idle shuffle of his wings would make an outsider assume his decision, but still Castile doesn’t move. A plume of smoke coils from his nostrils, but it dissipates by the time Arthas finds him.
The announced whinny is the first indicator, then the hoofbeats across the dirt that sends pebbles skittering. A slow pivot brings them face-to-face, their eyes leveled on one another. ”Castile,” he immediately provides in response, his voice husky and deep. They are more evenly matched in size, their cresty necks magnifying their appearance from stragglers afar. ”So, Lepis chose you,” he says steadily. He had not wanted the throne; it has never appealed to him. ”Have you lived here long? I’ve never seen you before.” He had not attended the meeting that announced Lepis and the change in ranks. Even in his aimless wandering, Arthas never crossed his vision.
So, the question remains: who is he and why did Lepis choose a stranger?