05-22-2017, 08:40 PM
”Dragonborn,” he repeats to himself thoughtfully with his muzzle raised toward the sapphire sky. There are miles of untouched beauty – stars, clouds – and he wonders dreamily if he will ever soar alongside them. Fear tethers him closely to the ground, but he would never admit to such a flaw. Mother is brave, father is powerful, so that means he must be, too, right? His wings expand, stretching dramatically before folding back against his sides. ”One day, I will conquer the skies,” he murmurs in conclusion as his mismatched eyes fall to the river gurgling at his feet.
He almost curses himself for being too sunken into his thoughts. Had it not been for Ivar’s voice ringing through the unsettling silence, Castile would have not known he was there. A quick bite to his tongue prevents him from reeling back, startled. Somehow, it holds him mostly steady except for a more exaggerated bob of his head to acknowledge the other boy. ”Oh, hello, Ivar,” it has been weeks – months? – since the small group of children last met on Nerine’s shore. They all seemingly dispersed, leaving his home rather lonely. The adults aren’t quite as fun to be around.
Shaking away the debris that has collected on his coat, Castile offers a rather sheepish grin. ”I’m trying, but dad hasn’t taught me all the ropes yet. Soon, no one will be able to reach me when I’m flying.” There is an undeniable tone of excitement in his youthful voice. His wings, leathery now instead of feathery, shuffle exuberantly as he playfully edges closer. ”And get this,” his muzzle reaches forward in secrecy, ”dad said I’m dragonborn. Isn’t that awesome?!” Of course, he doesn’t add the fact that it remains beyond him. He doesn’t yet know how to purposely activate his shifting. His wings falter with his emotions – excitement, anger, embarrassment – but the other pieces of the puzzle have not yet come together. Soon, he reassures himself.
”How have you been? How’s…. Sylva, right?” Or so he thinks that’s where mother said Djinni and Ivar are from.
He almost curses himself for being too sunken into his thoughts. Had it not been for Ivar’s voice ringing through the unsettling silence, Castile would have not known he was there. A quick bite to his tongue prevents him from reeling back, startled. Somehow, it holds him mostly steady except for a more exaggerated bob of his head to acknowledge the other boy. ”Oh, hello, Ivar,” it has been weeks – months? – since the small group of children last met on Nerine’s shore. They all seemingly dispersed, leaving his home rather lonely. The adults aren’t quite as fun to be around.
Shaking away the debris that has collected on his coat, Castile offers a rather sheepish grin. ”I’m trying, but dad hasn’t taught me all the ropes yet. Soon, no one will be able to reach me when I’m flying.” There is an undeniable tone of excitement in his youthful voice. His wings, leathery now instead of feathery, shuffle exuberantly as he playfully edges closer. ”And get this,” his muzzle reaches forward in secrecy, ”dad said I’m dragonborn. Isn’t that awesome?!” Of course, he doesn’t add the fact that it remains beyond him. He doesn’t yet know how to purposely activate his shifting. His wings falter with his emotions – excitement, anger, embarrassment – but the other pieces of the puzzle have not yet come together. Soon, he reassures himself.
”How have you been? How’s…. Sylva, right?” Or so he thinks that’s where mother said Djinni and Ivar are from.