Castile expected this, but to be living it is something entirely different. His gut and heart wrenches uncomfortably as Amet replies tersely before looking away. A hesitant glance finds a broken branch threatening to fall from the tree. It almost hover, trapped by the many fingers of its brethren. For a long, heated moment, Castile only stares at that and nothing more. Amet, too, acts distracted although their minds scream the same thing and squirm with the tension of the air between them.
Amet breaks the silence, however, Castile isn’t quite certain if he finds it preferable to the quiet. As the rope-like muscles of his shoulders contract, he gropes for an answer. The gilded king’s eyes find him again just as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds.
One deep breath, then two.
”No,” he admits with a pained sigh, his eyes darkening, ”I wouldn’t be standing here if I did.” It hurts him – no, anger him – that he doesn’t yet know what happened, or why. He wants vengeance; he would want it if it happened to anyone he cared for, but he is at a loss. It seems, however, Amet plans to take it into his hands, to take control of the venture and bring safety to his precious Ciri. A low grumble reverberates through him as he inches backward, his gaze narrowing underneath his forelock. The truth is banging at the bars of its cage, and yet Castile hesitates to speak of it even as he sees the fire blazing in his friend’s – former friend? – expression.
Another long breath as he musters the strength to confront the issue, unable to bring himself to hide or avoid it. He isn’t afraid nor is he weak.
”She loves you, you know,” he finally says with a shrug. He half-expects the stallion to scoff at him and turn away as though the words are sludge. ”I didn’t know—“ he begins, but pauses, and changes his direction, ”Nothing happened. I walked her halfway to Hyaline and left.”
Amet breaks the silence, however, Castile isn’t quite certain if he finds it preferable to the quiet. As the rope-like muscles of his shoulders contract, he gropes for an answer. The gilded king’s eyes find him again just as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds.
One deep breath, then two.
”No,” he admits with a pained sigh, his eyes darkening, ”I wouldn’t be standing here if I did.” It hurts him – no, anger him – that he doesn’t yet know what happened, or why. He wants vengeance; he would want it if it happened to anyone he cared for, but he is at a loss. It seems, however, Amet plans to take it into his hands, to take control of the venture and bring safety to his precious Ciri. A low grumble reverberates through him as he inches backward, his gaze narrowing underneath his forelock. The truth is banging at the bars of its cage, and yet Castile hesitates to speak of it even as he sees the fire blazing in his friend’s – former friend? – expression.
Another long breath as he musters the strength to confront the issue, unable to bring himself to hide or avoid it. He isn’t afraid nor is he weak.
”She loves you, you know,” he finally says with a shrug. He half-expects the stallion to scoff at him and turn away as though the words are sludge. ”I didn’t know—“ he begins, but pauses, and changes his direction, ”Nothing happened. I walked her halfway to Hyaline and left.”
@[Amet]