11-26-2018, 04:33 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
It’s odd to be here again, to face Ivar in a non-combative manner. It has been so long since their last civil meeting, but he supposes life always interrupts their plans. Although their friendship had been so strong once, it teeters with adulthood. They’ve simply stemmed in different directions. Ivar had always been one to find a home and forge a family while Castile roamed and made futile attempts to love. Somehow, Ivar always had what Castile craved.
There is no ill will, however, but a stoicism as the kelpie roots himself to the sand offshore, savoring the warm water kissing his underbelly. Quietly, Castile watches where the beach is mildly damp. His mismatched eyes glance between the stallion and ocean, wondering how long until the kelpie decides to submerge or step away. His time is lessening with each passing second, and Castile can’t help to wonder how long the reunion will last.
”My sister?” His heart lurches having heard her name. It has been nearly a decade since he last pulled Isobell into his embrace and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. ”Is she here? Now?” Castile immediately looks back across his shoulder and toward the palm trees. A breeze rustles the wilted leaves; more signs that the plague has reached beyond the mainland. Reconsidering his option, he looks again at Ivar as his head nods, his chin dripping water now. ”You’re surrounded by my family,” he chuckles, amused by how his kin seem to find the kelpie, ”It appears that you cannot escape us.” Would he ever want to? They’ve only known their lives to be somehow intertwined. It would be odd for that tether to be cut.
With the mentioning of his sons, it only seems appropriate for their mother to arise in conversation. Castile edges closer to the water, letting the tide hug his pasterns. He considers the recent events, trying to map out timelines amid this horrific plague. A cough rattles through him in the pause before finally responding. ”I did. I’ve been with her since,” they’ve reconnected and he has met at least one of his sons. Then things went awry. The memory flashes across his mind, bristling him. ”And then she was murdered.” He adds through clenched teeth before swallowing the fire in his gut. A smugness creeps over him then as a malicious smile darkens his hooded features. ”I killed him though.”
And because he cannot help but wonder if he is the only one that has changed, he asks, ”Have you killed anyone, Ivar?” Even in murder, they are brethren.
There is no ill will, however, but a stoicism as the kelpie roots himself to the sand offshore, savoring the warm water kissing his underbelly. Quietly, Castile watches where the beach is mildly damp. His mismatched eyes glance between the stallion and ocean, wondering how long until the kelpie decides to submerge or step away. His time is lessening with each passing second, and Castile can’t help to wonder how long the reunion will last.
”My sister?” His heart lurches having heard her name. It has been nearly a decade since he last pulled Isobell into his embrace and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. ”Is she here? Now?” Castile immediately looks back across his shoulder and toward the palm trees. A breeze rustles the wilted leaves; more signs that the plague has reached beyond the mainland. Reconsidering his option, he looks again at Ivar as his head nods, his chin dripping water now. ”You’re surrounded by my family,” he chuckles, amused by how his kin seem to find the kelpie, ”It appears that you cannot escape us.” Would he ever want to? They’ve only known their lives to be somehow intertwined. It would be odd for that tether to be cut.
With the mentioning of his sons, it only seems appropriate for their mother to arise in conversation. Castile edges closer to the water, letting the tide hug his pasterns. He considers the recent events, trying to map out timelines amid this horrific plague. A cough rattles through him in the pause before finally responding. ”I did. I’ve been with her since,” they’ve reconnected and he has met at least one of his sons. Then things went awry. The memory flashes across his mind, bristling him. ”And then she was murdered.” He adds through clenched teeth before swallowing the fire in his gut. A smugness creeps over him then as a malicious smile darkens his hooded features. ”I killed him though.”
And because he cannot help but wonder if he is the only one that has changed, he asks, ”Have you killed anyone, Ivar?” Even in murder, they are brethren.
castile