05-08-2020, 09:42 AM
The Isle is not as cold this winter as it used to be, and on some days, it irks him once more to think of the events at all. He is reminded daily, however, that his fellows that he brought here because he needed them - because the Isle needed people to stand for her, to defend her and cultivate her once more - are growing thin and restless. Some of them take more initiative than others in pursuing food on the mainland, or even, to work for the Isle to grow. Some others may need that kick under their butts; something he currently muses over. Perhaps a meeting or a little challenge would help wake them up again. Cold lulls a horse to sleep, to inactivate and slumber, if one is not careful.
Not that the southern half of the Isle is as cold as it could be. Embers had littered it the majority of the fall season, smothering any snow that fell at the time. Thus, it is only now in winter that there is any snow at all - grey, ashy stuff - a thin layer hardly worth the name, in comparison with what it should be; and cracked an melted in several places, for the ground it rests upon frequently cracks open to let out pressurized steam from beneath the surface.
All in all, the Isle still looks like shit. The forest is a collection of burnt sticks, and he doesn't expect any trees to start regrowing before summer - which will be a year after the burning of the Isle, then. Patience is what it needs, but time is what he doesn't have.
Today, however, he is expecting a guest - two if the boy could be persuaded. The female voice is a relief from his worries, though he can't say she will come with a happy topic if she is here to represent Loess. Her choice in men he had slowly come to find dubious at best, though if he was purely honest with himself, the ice dragon had always thought Castile some sort of distant kin; that was up until he'd changed, left, and never looked back north. How different the man had become, when he gave into his dragon-shape as if that was the only way to live. As a new shifter, of course, he shouldn't be one talking; on the other hand, he had largely felt like himself this whole time - even before he discovered how to shift back into either form.
White, ice-clad wings take the silver roan south, wrinkling his nose when he notices the state of the southern half of his home. No good - especially not when considering that any and all land-bound visitors are forced to come this way.
His landing comes with a change, and his body takes the shape of the slightly darker-coloured horse. He leaves a few of the icicles along his neck, mostly because they tinkle softly and just because he can't be bothered to focus on them to disappear. Knowing how to fully shift and doing it 100% correct are two different things for him, still.
He grins widely at Oceane and her son, stopping before them to nod in greeting. "Welcome to this Pile of Ashes. I can honestly say this used to be prettier." he nods around, tail swishing. "And colder." he follows up with a huff, but he stops himself. They know what he thinks of Castile's actions, probably. Figuratively, the man's head must have been the size of the sun for challenging the fairies so... but Leilan had always called him a hothead. One could even say he should have seen it coming.
Not that the southern half of the Isle is as cold as it could be. Embers had littered it the majority of the fall season, smothering any snow that fell at the time. Thus, it is only now in winter that there is any snow at all - grey, ashy stuff - a thin layer hardly worth the name, in comparison with what it should be; and cracked an melted in several places, for the ground it rests upon frequently cracks open to let out pressurized steam from beneath the surface.
All in all, the Isle still looks like shit. The forest is a collection of burnt sticks, and he doesn't expect any trees to start regrowing before summer - which will be a year after the burning of the Isle, then. Patience is what it needs, but time is what he doesn't have.
Today, however, he is expecting a guest - two if the boy could be persuaded. The female voice is a relief from his worries, though he can't say she will come with a happy topic if she is here to represent Loess. Her choice in men he had slowly come to find dubious at best, though if he was purely honest with himself, the ice dragon had always thought Castile some sort of distant kin; that was up until he'd changed, left, and never looked back north. How different the man had become, when he gave into his dragon-shape as if that was the only way to live. As a new shifter, of course, he shouldn't be one talking; on the other hand, he had largely felt like himself this whole time - even before he discovered how to shift back into either form.
White, ice-clad wings take the silver roan south, wrinkling his nose when he notices the state of the southern half of his home. No good - especially not when considering that any and all land-bound visitors are forced to come this way.
His landing comes with a change, and his body takes the shape of the slightly darker-coloured horse. He leaves a few of the icicles along his neck, mostly because they tinkle softly and just because he can't be bothered to focus on them to disappear. Knowing how to fully shift and doing it 100% correct are two different things for him, still.
He grins widely at Oceane and her son, stopping before them to nod in greeting. "Welcome to this Pile of Ashes. I can honestly say this used to be prettier." he nods around, tail swishing. "And colder." he follows up with a huff, but he stops himself. They know what he thinks of Castile's actions, probably. Figuratively, the man's head must have been the size of the sun for challenging the fairies so... but Leilan had always called him a hothead. One could even say he should have seen it coming.
nothing burns like the cold
Leilan
@[Oceane]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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