isobell;

[Isobell]

Isobell

i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea

Ooo, how he boils her blood sometimes!

The painted mare had been treated like a precious crystal trinket her whole life. She was precious Isobell, delicate Isobell, sweet, gentle Isobell. The young woman lets it all tear away as the wind washes over her, lifting her hair and driving her after her brother. She was to be queen one day and so she must learn to not hold back if she were to ever fill the shoes of the Iron Queen.

Castiel is faster, no doubt, but Isobell gives chase for the pleasure of feeling as though she is flying. The autumn brought a fresh chill to the air, opening her silver eyes and laughing, laughing, laughing. It was all in fun even when her legs are gathering under her and releasing in a burst expansion with her dark forelock sticking to her brow as the length of hair is flattens against her slender neck.

The taste of pine sap and wet bark halts her almost in unison with Castile, her damp sides heaving but a smile is upon her face. Despite their sweat, they are beside one another again, he always taller and broader and she a smaller, more petite painting that looks almost too much like their mother. "I can only imagine." She remarks with a light jab at how Castile, first born of Nayl and Lior, got all the fancy things...but to be forever young and beautiful was not so bad.

Isobell had been in Nerine the night that Hyaline burned. She does not recall what had happened but only that mother was gone and father had sat next to his painted daughter through the night till Nayl took her other side. Isobell had been lulled to sleep by their soft gentle voices floating over her head. "It is..." Isobell trails off as she unabashedly looks up at the tall trees, over her shoulder at scurrying squirrels, across the spine of Castile at a pair of deer nibbling on some late summer's grass. "It is pretty in its own way." She speaks absentmindedly before tugging at a strand of her brother's knotty mane, smiling as they stop to catch their breath and observe the land. Isobell suddenly feels terribly thirsty and glances off to find a stream or creek to sooth her burning throat.

The scents were so much different here and it made her head swimmy. Perhaps Loess though she can still taste the salt of Nerine on her tongue and there was ALWAYS black sand and seagrass bits tangled in her mane. She looks to Castile, watching his mismatched eyes, wondering briefly how she had ever been conceived after the perfect embodiment of Lior and Nayl that he was. "Thirsty?"