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
There, just beyond those rocks, Castile sees the frostbitten mare. A sweeping acknowledgement, a quirk of her lips, but nothing beyond the regarding gestures. It doesn’t bother him. It’s almost like a muted welcome, confirming his progression into what was once his home. It seems like eons ago when he looked out from the cave and watched the ocean lap placidly against the black sand. A storm welcomed him into the world. Lightning cracked when he finally escaped the womb. How appropriate for mother to have her first born during such a torrent.
Castile’s eyes slide toward the distant horizon, wondering if the cavern is abandoned now since his family vacated. It crosses his mind to visit, but he refrains.
With a toss of his head and a final step toward her, he reaches the mysteriously quiet figure. He says nothing of her nature, her hermit-like stance that kept her rooted. It gave him reason to venture into his memories and revisit the touch of cold, salty air. A flick of his tail against the breeze and a lift of his chin to breathe it in. He doesn’t say hi, not yet. There’s a comfortable quiet blooming between them as he savors each piece of the puzzle the comprises Nerine.
A languid smile draws up the corners of his mouth when he finally lowers his mismatched eyes to her. ”The name is Castile,” he offers willingly, unafraid to make himself known to her. When he took in a lungful of air, he sifted through the numbers. Every fiber of his predatory nature vibrated with curiosity, pinpointing relevancy of each in order to present his assumptions to her. ”Your scent is stronger than Heartfire’s, so I imagine I’m speaking to the right woman.” The throaty growl of his voice is somehow alluring, even in its bluntness while he traces the lines and scars of her face with mild fascination. Unique, he determines, in her grotesque story read across her face. ”Welcome to the world of politics, Queen.”
Castile’s eyes slide toward the distant horizon, wondering if the cavern is abandoned now since his family vacated. It crosses his mind to visit, but he refrains.
With a toss of his head and a final step toward her, he reaches the mysteriously quiet figure. He says nothing of her nature, her hermit-like stance that kept her rooted. It gave him reason to venture into his memories and revisit the touch of cold, salty air. A flick of his tail against the breeze and a lift of his chin to breathe it in. He doesn’t say hi, not yet. There’s a comfortable quiet blooming between them as he savors each piece of the puzzle the comprises Nerine.
A languid smile draws up the corners of his mouth when he finally lowers his mismatched eyes to her. ”The name is Castile,” he offers willingly, unafraid to make himself known to her. When he took in a lungful of air, he sifted through the numbers. Every fiber of his predatory nature vibrated with curiosity, pinpointing relevancy of each in order to present his assumptions to her. ”Your scent is stronger than Heartfire’s, so I imagine I’m speaking to the right woman.” The throaty growl of his voice is somehow alluring, even in its bluntness while he traces the lines and scars of her face with mild fascination. Unique, he determines, in her grotesque story read across her face. ”Welcome to the world of politics, Queen.”
castile
@[Neverwhere]