and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
The cacophonous shouting rings through Castile’s ears even as he takes to the sky. His wings feverishly claw at the air with every stride. Exhaustion looms like a cloud, but he doesn’t stop. Even has his lungs scream, he sprints from one location to the other in attempt to take count of his family. Naturally, he wants his children huddled against his side, but the likelihood is feeble as they confusedly dance between borders. In the sky, his voice bellows for Raul and Santana, wanting desperately to see them safely harbored in a refuge. @[Sabra] he kept delicately placed on a towering outcropping of rock off Nerine’s shores where hopefully the disease will not reach. He will check on her, he tells himself, but his attention now shifts from Solace and the twins to Nerine.
His body seamlessly shifts, preferring the additional speed that his counterpart offers. In just a few heartbeats, his entire body has elongated, the beats of his wings less frantic and choppy since dragons can more effortlessly soar and accelerate with the wind cuddled against the thin membrane of his titanic wings. It still takes a long while – too long in his eyes – to reach Nerine, then Icicle Island not far from the shore. A potential sanctuary borne of the land’s magic. With it just outside of Nerine’s reach, he can only expect this to be their safe haven.
Adrenaline uncontrollably pours through Castile’s veins, maintaining the shift until he lands not far from Heartfire and the foreigner. His massive body trembles the ground, his ominous talons cutting and crumbling rocks underfoot. Another seamless and quick shift normalizes him as he walks forward, his mismatched eyes darting between the two women. The edge of his tone is sharp and frigid, much like the land they’ve found themselves in. ”Do you?” He questions Heartfire, his confession of confusion going unspoken but known between them.
(It’s too cold)
Tough shit.
A fire brews inside his core, surfacing to his skin and radiating a wave of heat that softly kisses the mares. His gaze is not kind; it smolders with curiosity and ill-contempt. ”Our own Queen has yet to call to anyone or lay claim to a refuge unlike the other leaders.” His eyes find Heartfire from underneath his unruly forelock. ”Everyone has called their kingdoms to arms and guided them elsewhere. Nerine remains in disarray. I’m disappointed in Breckin right now.” A rolling hiss is borne between his lips as a lip curls in mild distaste. It is only the two of them here, but with a long inhalation, Castile notes another among their ranks here on the spit of land. ”It’s only you and I, Heartfire,,that have a sense of urgency.” He assumes Breckin and Leilan will arrive not much farther into the conversation with their rebuttals and excuses.
Shooting his attention to the foreigner, he quips, ”And what do you plan to do with the island? Can you heal those that are suffering? Do you have followers? Do you command anything?” The storming of his emotions are bullets drumming out of a machine gun, relentless and unstoppable. It’s making him ravenous, his eyes flashing wildly before he pulls himself away and anxiously paces, his thoughts dancing among his family, home, and kingdom-mates.
His body seamlessly shifts, preferring the additional speed that his counterpart offers. In just a few heartbeats, his entire body has elongated, the beats of his wings less frantic and choppy since dragons can more effortlessly soar and accelerate with the wind cuddled against the thin membrane of his titanic wings. It still takes a long while – too long in his eyes – to reach Nerine, then Icicle Island not far from the shore. A potential sanctuary borne of the land’s magic. With it just outside of Nerine’s reach, he can only expect this to be their safe haven.
Adrenaline uncontrollably pours through Castile’s veins, maintaining the shift until he lands not far from Heartfire and the foreigner. His massive body trembles the ground, his ominous talons cutting and crumbling rocks underfoot. Another seamless and quick shift normalizes him as he walks forward, his mismatched eyes darting between the two women. The edge of his tone is sharp and frigid, much like the land they’ve found themselves in. ”Do you?” He questions Heartfire, his confession of confusion going unspoken but known between them.
(It’s too cold)
Tough shit.
A fire brews inside his core, surfacing to his skin and radiating a wave of heat that softly kisses the mares. His gaze is not kind; it smolders with curiosity and ill-contempt. ”Our own Queen has yet to call to anyone or lay claim to a refuge unlike the other leaders.” His eyes find Heartfire from underneath his unruly forelock. ”Everyone has called their kingdoms to arms and guided them elsewhere. Nerine remains in disarray. I’m disappointed in Breckin right now.” A rolling hiss is borne between his lips as a lip curls in mild distaste. It is only the two of them here, but with a long inhalation, Castile notes another among their ranks here on the spit of land. ”It’s only you and I, Heartfire,,that have a sense of urgency.” He assumes Breckin and Leilan will arrive not much farther into the conversation with their rebuttals and excuses.
Shooting his attention to the foreigner, he quips, ”And what do you plan to do with the island? Can you heal those that are suffering? Do you have followers? Do you command anything?” The storming of his emotions are bullets drumming out of a machine gun, relentless and unstoppable. It’s making him ravenous, his eyes flashing wildly before he pulls himself away and anxiously paces, his thoughts dancing among his family, home, and kingdom-mates.
castile