12-04-2018, 10:24 AM
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
Even in his rage and disappointment, Castile cared enough for Sabra to return. He always comes back. The bond between them hasn’t been severed; it hasn’t even crossed his mind despite the venom they spit at one another on some days. They are fiery but that doesn’t hinder the emotional tie he has to her. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if there will ever be a day when they cannot do it anymore, when the emotions are far too high and they can’t be spoken off the ledge.
The aftermath of their last meeting had been bitter. A residual taste coats his tongue, his lip curling in distaste as he soars – as his reptilian counterpart – across Nerine. It was easy to abandon her then, to leave her and Ilma in a cloud of debris, and flee to the far reaches of Nerinian shores where he could easily find solitude. Here, however, in the silence of his isolation, Castile succumbed to his symptoms. The evenings were often spent shivering from fevers despite the fire churning in his core. His muscles ached and his weight loss was becoming noticeable even in this body. Lean now, less baroque. Even his scales are dull, but he tells his peers that he is simply dirty and he hasn’t preened himself in weeks. He lies to save his own pride.
After having lost track of time and relying on the angry roil in his gut having subsided, Castile rises to his feet and takes flight.
The flight seems brief as the infected lands blur underneath him. Hardly a glance is spared because he is staring at the tower of rock, seeing Sabra tend to her child in between agitated pacing. He knows what will follow – anger. She will furiously spat and perhaps even attempt to drive him away, but Castile doesn’t hesitate in his arrival. He doesn’t alight on top. Last minute, he decides to pivot his body and sink his talons into the granite and brimstone along the side. Pushing aside his own feverish exhaustion, he scales the remaining height of the tower and delicately reaches where mother and child stand waiting. Serpentine hisses slip from his exertion as he huddles his entire body onto the flatland, realizing how crowded it is when Sabra is awake and moving with a foal gallivanting nearby. Castile practically hugs his own body to allow enough space for all.
”I rather enjoy keeping you to myself,” the sense of possession is working its fingers into his mind, ”and away from the plague.” Suddenly, he cannot remember if he – or anyone, for that matter – has told her of the recent events. Does she know how dead their home is? Or how they barely even have a home at all? It’s only a matter of seconds until he expects some amount of explosion; her expression is enough to tell him that jokes aren’t welcomed, not now.
Yet he can’t resist trying to soften the situation.
”Pretty view,” the sunsets, he has noticed, are unparalleled. The horizon is unobstructed. There have been many evenings that he spent nestled against Sabra’s body to watch the sun fall below the ocean as it painted the world in an array of colors. It was a tender period of time, when he cradled her corpse hopefully, but it has since concluded. A flickering glance sees the reflection of the sun rippling on the water’s surface, but his attention is more keenly focused on Sabra and her child now. Looking down, as he remains a dragon, he sighs with an offer that doesn’t entirely appeal to him. ”I can take you back to the mainland,” his slit pupil darts unhappily to the girl, ”both of you. If that is what you want – an escape.”
An escape from this rocky outcropping.
An escape from his anger.
An escape from him.
The aftermath of their last meeting had been bitter. A residual taste coats his tongue, his lip curling in distaste as he soars – as his reptilian counterpart – across Nerine. It was easy to abandon her then, to leave her and Ilma in a cloud of debris, and flee to the far reaches of Nerinian shores where he could easily find solitude. Here, however, in the silence of his isolation, Castile succumbed to his symptoms. The evenings were often spent shivering from fevers despite the fire churning in his core. His muscles ached and his weight loss was becoming noticeable even in this body. Lean now, less baroque. Even his scales are dull, but he tells his peers that he is simply dirty and he hasn’t preened himself in weeks. He lies to save his own pride.
After having lost track of time and relying on the angry roil in his gut having subsided, Castile rises to his feet and takes flight.
The flight seems brief as the infected lands blur underneath him. Hardly a glance is spared because he is staring at the tower of rock, seeing Sabra tend to her child in between agitated pacing. He knows what will follow – anger. She will furiously spat and perhaps even attempt to drive him away, but Castile doesn’t hesitate in his arrival. He doesn’t alight on top. Last minute, he decides to pivot his body and sink his talons into the granite and brimstone along the side. Pushing aside his own feverish exhaustion, he scales the remaining height of the tower and delicately reaches where mother and child stand waiting. Serpentine hisses slip from his exertion as he huddles his entire body onto the flatland, realizing how crowded it is when Sabra is awake and moving with a foal gallivanting nearby. Castile practically hugs his own body to allow enough space for all.
”I rather enjoy keeping you to myself,” the sense of possession is working its fingers into his mind, ”and away from the plague.” Suddenly, he cannot remember if he – or anyone, for that matter – has told her of the recent events. Does she know how dead their home is? Or how they barely even have a home at all? It’s only a matter of seconds until he expects some amount of explosion; her expression is enough to tell him that jokes aren’t welcomed, not now.
Yet he can’t resist trying to soften the situation.
”Pretty view,” the sunsets, he has noticed, are unparalleled. The horizon is unobstructed. There have been many evenings that he spent nestled against Sabra’s body to watch the sun fall below the ocean as it painted the world in an array of colors. It was a tender period of time, when he cradled her corpse hopefully, but it has since concluded. A flickering glance sees the reflection of the sun rippling on the water’s surface, but his attention is more keenly focused on Sabra and her child now. Looking down, as he remains a dragon, he sighs with an offer that doesn’t entirely appeal to him. ”I can take you back to the mainland,” his slit pupil darts unhappily to the girl, ”both of you. If that is what you want – an escape.”
An escape from this rocky outcropping.
An escape from his anger.
An escape from him.
castile
@[Sabra]