04-22-2018, 03:25 PM
She offers her shoulder in assistance, but Castile hesitates to accept it. The level of vulnerability gives him an uncomfortable and raw feeling. When he looks down at himself, he sees the scarlet rivulets winding down, dripping to the rocky ledge in a calming metronome. A soft patter, he notes, is an eerily calm noise after what he had just experienced. Gradually, it becomes the rhythm of his heartbeat as he finally settles.
Take her help.
A sideways glance finds her critical stare as it roves across him, feeding her curiosity with the sight of him. ”Well met,” he hisses through clenched teeth, almost too exhausted to speak. A sharp breath chills his lungs of the fire they had breathed only minutes ago. A cough follows before shaking his head, trying desperately to recall what happened, but his mind is blank like he’s stepping out from a thick fog.
If there is one thing he knows, however, it’s whose blood is on him.
A thoughtful blink beneath his forelock brings pause to the conversation, albeit brief, as he contemplates admitting it. Would it make him weaker?
”Mine,” his response is gruff as another wave of pain wracks through his torn muscles. The new changes are unfamiliar to his body, but slowly bit of sinew is repairing itself and working back into place. Slowly, he tries lifting his wings back to his sides, inch by inch. He is engulfed by his own selfish worries until he once again can feel the burning of her eyes as she pieces everything together, listening to him and wondering what he has done. With his head lifting, Castile looks plainly at Wishbone, eager to switch the focus onto her instead of his injuries. ”What are you doing up here and away from the herd?”
(I’m dangerous)
I’m too weak.
Take her help.
A sideways glance finds her critical stare as it roves across him, feeding her curiosity with the sight of him. ”Well met,” he hisses through clenched teeth, almost too exhausted to speak. A sharp breath chills his lungs of the fire they had breathed only minutes ago. A cough follows before shaking his head, trying desperately to recall what happened, but his mind is blank like he’s stepping out from a thick fog.
If there is one thing he knows, however, it’s whose blood is on him.
A thoughtful blink beneath his forelock brings pause to the conversation, albeit brief, as he contemplates admitting it. Would it make him weaker?
”Mine,” his response is gruff as another wave of pain wracks through his torn muscles. The new changes are unfamiliar to his body, but slowly bit of sinew is repairing itself and working back into place. Slowly, he tries lifting his wings back to his sides, inch by inch. He is engulfed by his own selfish worries until he once again can feel the burning of her eyes as she pieces everything together, listening to him and wondering what he has done. With his head lifting, Castile looks plainly at Wishbone, eager to switch the focus onto her instead of his injuries. ”What are you doing up here and away from the herd?”
(I’m dangerous)
I’m too weak.