[open] Someone help me burn out bright [no tephra]

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails It doesn’t take them long to arrive, it never does. They have been vigilant, standing sentinel in the field’s embrace where the world whirrs around them. Castile, shocked by the magnitude of noise and bodies, stays relatively close to mother’s side. It isn’t fear that drills itself into him, but uncertainty. The first days ensuing his birth had been in solitude as mother focused her attention on him, on only him. Nerine would survive without her, she had whispered to him, but she needed to regain her strength; she needed to grasp being a mother. They tucked themselves into the caves during that time span, but they often wandered just outside so that he may romp in the waves and beat his fragile wings against the sea breeze. This is what he became accustomed to. There were always voices nearby, always others in their home, but the field opens his eyes to something entirely different and much more congested. The boy grunts and swivels his ears which is shortly followed by a gentle bump on his poll from mother. He peers up at her and there is a silent communication between them that spurs them from their resting place. It’s mother that finds the pair this time, not Castile, and his curiosity steadily rises with each cluster of horses they pass. The voice, a drawl that crawls from the man’s throat, a lure to the lion’s den. Castile hears it and his eyes narrow skeptically when they do finally arrive to join the couple. Mother’s attention winks from the male to the female. ”I’m Nayl,” she has never taken kindly to males, but there is obviously one that has enraptured her considering the boy shadowing her. ”And this is Castile,” she indicates him with a casual tilt of her head, her unruly forelock tumbling aside to frame her pretty face. They’ve both heard the stallion’s name as well as Pangea from where he comes. In that instant, she remembers Pollock and how lifeless his home had been – tumbleweeds would have been fitting – with minimal grass and greenery. There was a darkness overshadowing the land that deterred her. She wasn’t afraid, not at all, but she was hyper observant. ”Since he has already asked for your name, I won’t repeat the question,” a lopsided grin curves the corner of Nayl’s mouth, ”but I will add that I’m from Nerine, a neighbor of Pangea but with far better scenery.” And then a chuckle, surprisingly, rises from her chest because the sound is simply so rare to hear. Nayl covet and myrina's creation