Fold into me; Castile/any

[Bronsonn]

The sunlight of a warm summer dappled through thick foliage to mimic a leopard’s coat upon his small back. The blue-grey of his coat glitters beneath the shadows as the gunmetal is hard to ignore. White swaths between the pools of glittering gunmetal blue, a nod to his mother’s contribution, but the colt is more clearly his father’s child.

Small feathering has begun to sprout at his hocks. There is a fullness to his chest and hip when he walked that was unmistakably associated with the Dragonborn clan. Lior is proud of all his children but his son’s have already proven to be of worthy stock. Castile and Bronsonn would be the links to extended bloodlines of fierce dragons.

But for now, Bron was but a quiet boy still learning the greatness of his power.

Nayl and Lior has kept the twins away to strengthen their bonds, instill the values of family, to have honor and respect for one another and others. The first few months of their lives were isolated to only the small family unit. Little by little, Nayl and Lior creates then space for their children to move and grow till they were confident the twins would thrive without their constant watchful eyes.

Bronsonn knows his brother Castile well. Beqanna echoes with his name, with stories, on wagging tongues but there is nothing that could the way the young boy gazed upward to the battered dragon stallion. Lior kept away from the spotlight where Castile led with a fierce drive. Bron admires both men deeply.

”Castile? Brother?” The boy calls for his older sibling with a smile in his voice, dark eyes searching for the familiar form. His sister was off with their mother and their father was resting in the sun after Bronsonn had worn the old man out after an afternoon of aerial practicing.

[Castile]

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

It was only a matter of time – and right – for their family to expand beyond Castile and Isobell’s fingertips. A legacy has been born, maintained. It thrives in the faces of the brood mother and father, and also in the faces of their children and grandchildren.

Castile peers up toward the jagged peaks, knowing mother roosts there, heavy with child once more. A lopsided, boyish grin tugs at the edges of his mouth and survives a slow turn to look across Loess. It thrives. There are voices on the breeze, laughter even. There are generations tucked into the safe confines of their hills, and he is able to watch them all. A guardian, he considers himself, as he settles more into his place and role among them.

In solitude, his mind is able to soar as high as the clouds for what seems like a great majority of the day until a voice – young in age but nevertheless strong – reels him back to the tranquility of reality. With dilated nostrils, he inclines his head to see Bronsonn.

Family. That’s all that matters. That’s what mother and father instilled in their children.

With a lunging, exuberant step, Castile unintentionally rams his chest into the boy, but recovers with a playful tousle of his forelock. ”Hello, little brother,” he is another line of their legacy, a specimen to instill fear and prowess. Much to father’s delight, the dragon bloodline will live on not only in one son, but two.

A plume of smoke billows from his nostrils playfully before taking a step sideways to more closely observe him, still with a boyish grin softening the ridges of his face. ”Before you know it, Bronsonn, you will be bigger than me,” he jests, but still enjoys puffing the boy’s chest with hope and confidence. ”Have you had any adventures lately?”

castile