The sobering fact that Sabra has adapted to independence claws at his heart for the duration of their concluding conversation. Despite the hurt, despite the regret, he can feel the monster inside him churning to life under the weight of his fluctuating emotions. It growls in his core, readying itself, because this isn’t how he should act. His soft heart is guiding him, not his primal and barbaric mind. The transition from warrior to parent and lover has torn Castile in two. It’s a matter of finding a balance, something he is obviously struggling to find.
Beneath her frigid stare, Castile shifts uncomfortably and waits for her note of departure.
It comes sooner than he expected, but it eases the tension.
Quietly, he watches her ascend into the air with questionable beats of her wings. Her strength has waned since he had left, but she manages well enough to find a draft to carry her. Patiently, he waits until she is nearing the far edges of his vision before allowing his body to contort and shift. The assault consumes him and makes the shift seamless and quick. It takes over and suppresses his remorse, bringing a fury and predatory nature to its surface instead. Within seconds, Castile is in the air and gaining altitude rapidly until he is out of sight in the clouds.
His vision finds Sabra almost immediately. She is far ahead and yet he can almost taste the blood pumping through her body and hear the beating of her heart. His wings propel him easily enough, lifting him higher as condensation clings to his rigid scales. Occasionally, he diverts his path when flames power from his core or when a roar cannot be held back. At least in this form, he can express his agitation and blame it on his inner nature. But every time he strays, he finds his way back to Sabra’s trail.
When the islands arise from the sea, like grains of dirt from this altitude, Castile’s anger and self-pity has ebbed. It’s controlled now after having expressed it in his solitude high above Sabra in the sky. He transitions quickly back into a horse, letting only his wings be an indication of his draconic power. Quickly, he catches up to Sabra so that they may descend together in silence.
Santana, she repeats from their conversation on the riverbed. He is the boy that has a monster lingering beneath the surface as well, and he notes this upon seeing similar dragon wings branching form his shoulder blades. It almost passes his notice that there is a girl here, young just like his son. A sideways glance finds her just as Sabra apologizes, but his attention quickly returns to the boy. Taking a place at his lover’s side – it feels only right and comfortable – Castile finds himself at a loss of words. He cannot run to embrace the boy because he expects a reverberating admonishment just as he received from the boy’s mother. This won’t be a beautiful and sweet family reunion. There is angst and pent up frustration. Idly tucking his wings, Castile looks over his son with brightened eyes – but they are concealed behind a curtain of forelock – and just barely begins to smile, his teeth unexpectedly jagged. ”Hello,” it’s all he can bring himself to say, not wanting to revisit and express aloud the fact that they’ve never met until now.
Beneath her frigid stare, Castile shifts uncomfortably and waits for her note of departure.
It comes sooner than he expected, but it eases the tension.
Quietly, he watches her ascend into the air with questionable beats of her wings. Her strength has waned since he had left, but she manages well enough to find a draft to carry her. Patiently, he waits until she is nearing the far edges of his vision before allowing his body to contort and shift. The assault consumes him and makes the shift seamless and quick. It takes over and suppresses his remorse, bringing a fury and predatory nature to its surface instead. Within seconds, Castile is in the air and gaining altitude rapidly until he is out of sight in the clouds.
His vision finds Sabra almost immediately. She is far ahead and yet he can almost taste the blood pumping through her body and hear the beating of her heart. His wings propel him easily enough, lifting him higher as condensation clings to his rigid scales. Occasionally, he diverts his path when flames power from his core or when a roar cannot be held back. At least in this form, he can express his agitation and blame it on his inner nature. But every time he strays, he finds his way back to Sabra’s trail.
When the islands arise from the sea, like grains of dirt from this altitude, Castile’s anger and self-pity has ebbed. It’s controlled now after having expressed it in his solitude high above Sabra in the sky. He transitions quickly back into a horse, letting only his wings be an indication of his draconic power. Quickly, he catches up to Sabra so that they may descend together in silence.
Santana, she repeats from their conversation on the riverbed. He is the boy that has a monster lingering beneath the surface as well, and he notes this upon seeing similar dragon wings branching form his shoulder blades. It almost passes his notice that there is a girl here, young just like his son. A sideways glance finds her just as Sabra apologizes, but his attention quickly returns to the boy. Taking a place at his lover’s side – it feels only right and comfortable – Castile finds himself at a loss of words. He cannot run to embrace the boy because he expects a reverberating admonishment just as he received from the boy’s mother. This won’t be a beautiful and sweet family reunion. There is angst and pent up frustration. Idly tucking his wings, Castile looks over his son with brightened eyes – but they are concealed behind a curtain of forelock – and just barely begins to smile, his teeth unexpectedly jagged. ”Hello,” it’s all he can bring himself to say, not wanting to revisit and express aloud the fact that they’ve never met until now.
@[Sabra]