03-29-2018, 02:56 PM
The peacefulness of slumber envelopes Castile and the volcano’s inner heat lies across him like a blanket. For one of the few times ever, his memory doesn’t replay on the back of his eyelids or feed into his lucid dreams. There is nothing, only a black void that swallows him until a voice rises above it all. It echoes in his mind, first as a low mumble then as a rattling shout that finally stirs him.
A groan is the only sign of life at first, eventually followed by the sluggish dragging of a leg. A breath. Another groan.
His eyes open then, finally, slowly.
Everything around him is a hazy wash of gray and black, but then he is blinking. The fog of his vision slowly dissipates and only then does he see the young girl gaping at him. ”Hm?” Is the only word that he can bring himself to say until he blinks again to see more clearly while registering what is going on. A glance over his shoulder identifies the volcano and when he raises his head he can see the surrounding sea. ”Tephra,” it’s more of a spoken thought to himself than the girl, but he expects some sort of quipped response nonetheless. Looking at her, he hesitates to even admit who – or what – he is, but there is no sense of running or dodging from her.
”Castile,” he eventually confesses after a pained breath catches in his throat. He grimaces (he hates having he showed weakness) but forces himself to clumsily stand. Every muscle in his body screams in rebellion, the dried rivulets of blood crackling. His legs awkwardly spread and his wings limply fall to the rocky shelf.
Another breath. Another groan of pain.
Another mishap.
He assumes the reason he is here, but he rotates the conversation to her as she continues to stare. ”And who are you?” With his strength drained and his eyes heavy, Castile finds himself easily enough trapped on the ledge with the yearling.
A groan is the only sign of life at first, eventually followed by the sluggish dragging of a leg. A breath. Another groan.
His eyes open then, finally, slowly.
Everything around him is a hazy wash of gray and black, but then he is blinking. The fog of his vision slowly dissipates and only then does he see the young girl gaping at him. ”Hm?” Is the only word that he can bring himself to say until he blinks again to see more clearly while registering what is going on. A glance over his shoulder identifies the volcano and when he raises his head he can see the surrounding sea. ”Tephra,” it’s more of a spoken thought to himself than the girl, but he expects some sort of quipped response nonetheless. Looking at her, he hesitates to even admit who – or what – he is, but there is no sense of running or dodging from her.
”Castile,” he eventually confesses after a pained breath catches in his throat. He grimaces (he hates having he showed weakness) but forces himself to clumsily stand. Every muscle in his body screams in rebellion, the dried rivulets of blood crackling. His legs awkwardly spread and his wings limply fall to the rocky shelf.
Another breath. Another groan of pain.
Another mishap.
He assumes the reason he is here, but he rotates the conversation to her as she continues to stare. ”And who are you?” With his strength drained and his eyes heavy, Castile finds himself easily enough trapped on the ledge with the yearling.