11-07-2018, 12:51 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
Unrest. Plague.
His thoughts are unraveling, his patience wearing thin. From Nerine he flew to Hyaline, then to Icicle Island. Sabra is alive again, but he has her nestled on a rocky outpost off the coast of his home to protect her. Solace safeguards Hyaline. Their children – all of his children – are strewn across the disease-riddled mainland. He wants them all huddled in his embrace, but deep down he knows the dream will never be a reality. It does little to ease the nerves that have been firing for days now. The stressors of change are battering him day after day, minute by minute. His agitation is eagerly readable, painted across his face as he extends his travels, veering off course when he hears something – or someone – rise from the tide.
Drenched and shivering, the boy has reached the island, but his coat weakly smells of Ischia. It lies twisted in his forelock where much of the hair remains dry from his travels. Curious, Castile addresses him with a swift change in course, moving quickly until they are a hearts breadth away from one another. With a mistrusting glare, Castile snaps. ”Don’t say you’re another damn idiot trying to take the island,” his lip curls into a snarl, his frost-kissed tail flicking in agitation. There have been a cluster of pseudo claims that the island’s status remains questionable and unknown.
Honestly, it’s becoming more trouble than its worth.
The revelation causes Castile’s demeanor to falter to a degree as he blinks then looks across his shoulder. It’s tempting to simply burn the opposition, but perhaps the others prefer more diplomatic efforts. After all, he did offer a fight that no one acted on.
With a disgruntled sigh, he returns his hardened stare to the younger boy, a brow lifted. ”So, what’s your name, and why are you here?” A pause as he straightens himself, never letting his guard truly fall. ”And don’t even try to bullshit me.”
His thoughts are unraveling, his patience wearing thin. From Nerine he flew to Hyaline, then to Icicle Island. Sabra is alive again, but he has her nestled on a rocky outpost off the coast of his home to protect her. Solace safeguards Hyaline. Their children – all of his children – are strewn across the disease-riddled mainland. He wants them all huddled in his embrace, but deep down he knows the dream will never be a reality. It does little to ease the nerves that have been firing for days now. The stressors of change are battering him day after day, minute by minute. His agitation is eagerly readable, painted across his face as he extends his travels, veering off course when he hears something – or someone – rise from the tide.
Drenched and shivering, the boy has reached the island, but his coat weakly smells of Ischia. It lies twisted in his forelock where much of the hair remains dry from his travels. Curious, Castile addresses him with a swift change in course, moving quickly until they are a hearts breadth away from one another. With a mistrusting glare, Castile snaps. ”Don’t say you’re another damn idiot trying to take the island,” his lip curls into a snarl, his frost-kissed tail flicking in agitation. There have been a cluster of pseudo claims that the island’s status remains questionable and unknown.
Honestly, it’s becoming more trouble than its worth.
The revelation causes Castile’s demeanor to falter to a degree as he blinks then looks across his shoulder. It’s tempting to simply burn the opposition, but perhaps the others prefer more diplomatic efforts. After all, he did offer a fight that no one acted on.
With a disgruntled sigh, he returns his hardened stare to the younger boy, a brow lifted. ”So, what’s your name, and why are you here?” A pause as he straightens himself, never letting his guard truly fall. ”And don’t even try to bullshit me.”
castile