reality is what she makes

[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’s funny how easily time slips by like sand even through the smallest crevices. Each day passes by. Lately, it’s as though he takes a breath at dawn only to exhale and already be shrouded in the night’s shadow. Castile blames the war and the turbulence that he has helped create to awaken the slumbering world of Beqanna. Everything was happening so fast and suddenly he is struggling to keep stride.

Oriash, the precious young child of the Cove, has exceeded her expected stay and yet Castile hasn’t the heart to dismiss her. Their prior interaction was brief as they strolled through the night back into Loess. What a quiet girl he thought then, but the prowess rippling beneath the surface gravitated him closer. Even when off in Tephra, even in Sylva, Oriash was still on his mind, quietly lurking just as she does in Loess.

Her stoicism creeps into his thoughts and lures him from a brief stagnation. Sylva has been won, and now Loess’ riled nature has settled. His battle wound is puckered as it tries to heal, and his muscles groan exhaustedly when he leans into motion. Fortunately, he crests only single hill before seeing and reaching her.

Observant and calculating eyes drink in the sight of her antlers. They reach greater heights now – has she truly been in Loess so long? Has time truly escaped him? – and pose a greater threat than what she had upon arrival. He doesn’t fear them, however, as he comfortably draws to a halt with a languid smile tilting his lips. ”Oriash,” he says her name as though she is a daughter, endearing and warm. Castile doesn’t mask his inner fondness of the girl, or his relief to still see her among them. ”You stayed,” he trails off, his voice gentled by the hope that she will continue to do so.

castile