11-06-2018, 10:45 AM
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
Leilan’s arrival does little to pacify the fire roiling in Castile’s gut. He snaps instinctually at the air near the stallion’s face, a silent opposition toward the aggressor. ”I would like to see how you’d react if that was Breckin and not Sabra,” a venomous hiss slithers past his clenched teeth, but then his attention snaps back onto the foreigner as she addresses the predicament with a logical and languid approach. He listens closely, but what truly piques his interest is the appearance of Djinni – his aunt in some way. The genie’s arrival is punctuated with the combustion of trees. Admittedly, the flames entice Castile; he wants to bathe in them, to let its fingers curl against his scales, but he remains steadfast among the group. ”Does this place even warrant a leader?” He can’t help but ask as he takes the briefest of moments to scrutinize the frost-kissed trees and shoreline. It was pulled from the ocean on the faeries’ whims as a safeguard from disease, but do they really want a King or Queen or Council here?
It was meant as an escape, not a conquest.
Peeking over his shoulder, Castile contemplates Sabra’s safety as she lies exhaustedly on the rocky outcropping just outside of Nerine. He wants her here, to be with her, but the agitating situation provides no room for a healing woman. His conscious refuses to bring her into a place of upheaval and tension. Let her rest on his rocky tower; at least she is out of harm’s way for the time being.
Reverting his flashing eyes to the congregation, irritation still a burying thorn in his side, he regards them all. ”Bossy, bossy,” he quips before an ear flicks back at the sound of footsteps and trouble. ”Figure it out. I’m going to investigate who our new friends are,” sarcasm drips from his tongue as Castile hastily takes flight to investigate the intruders.
It was meant as an escape, not a conquest.
Peeking over his shoulder, Castile contemplates Sabra’s safety as she lies exhaustedly on the rocky outcropping just outside of Nerine. He wants her here, to be with her, but the agitating situation provides no room for a healing woman. His conscious refuses to bring her into a place of upheaval and tension. Let her rest on his rocky tower; at least she is out of harm’s way for the time being.
Reverting his flashing eyes to the congregation, irritation still a burying thorn in his side, he regards them all. ”Bossy, bossy,” he quips before an ear flicks back at the sound of footsteps and trouble. ”Figure it out. I’m going to investigate who our new friends are,” sarcasm drips from his tongue as Castile hastily takes flight to investigate the intruders.
castile