09-29-2017, 05:22 PM
Life – everything – changed from how he knew it to be.
There had been a fire. Mother. Djinni. Amet. The inferno roared and somehow Castile matched its ferocity with his own.
Then there was a lull and a rebirth. There was hope, and then there were nothing but trees. The hillside faded into towering beech and walnut trees. There, he saw Ivar then again Amet. They were all together, talking, laughing, but then Castile remembered nothing more. Nothing but darkness.
Too afraid to ask about the elapsed time, Castile paid a visit to Hyaline. He reflects briefly of Ciri and a smile touches his lips. She was the honeysuckle in a thorn patch, but he assures himself that it is only because he hardly interacts with females. Alas, he became aware of tensions which influenced his decision to come here against his better judgment.
The field is supposed to be a beacon of hope and new beginnings, but Castile finds himself hesitant to land. He spirals in the sky high above, contemplating his decision and weighing the opportunity against the chances of poor fate. Perhaps no one will see the familial resemblance he has with Nayl and so her – their – enemies will pass by him without regard. If they do recognize him, it could mean turmoil, but he resigns to consider how there is chance in everything.
With a heavy breath of resolution, Castile descends and heavily lands in the grassy field. His mismatched eyes flicker in curiosity as flower buds unravel and open. His wings, transitioned from feathers to thin, membranous skin, tuck neatly to his sides. Here, he stands, and here, he waits.
There had been a fire. Mother. Djinni. Amet. The inferno roared and somehow Castile matched its ferocity with his own.
Then there was a lull and a rebirth. There was hope, and then there were nothing but trees. The hillside faded into towering beech and walnut trees. There, he saw Ivar then again Amet. They were all together, talking, laughing, but then Castile remembered nothing more. Nothing but darkness.
Too afraid to ask about the elapsed time, Castile paid a visit to Hyaline. He reflects briefly of Ciri and a smile touches his lips. She was the honeysuckle in a thorn patch, but he assures himself that it is only because he hardly interacts with females. Alas, he became aware of tensions which influenced his decision to come here against his better judgment.
The field is supposed to be a beacon of hope and new beginnings, but Castile finds himself hesitant to land. He spirals in the sky high above, contemplating his decision and weighing the opportunity against the chances of poor fate. Perhaps no one will see the familial resemblance he has with Nayl and so her – their – enemies will pass by him without regard. If they do recognize him, it could mean turmoil, but he resigns to consider how there is chance in everything.
With a heavy breath of resolution, Castile descends and heavily lands in the grassy field. His mismatched eyes flicker in curiosity as flower buds unravel and open. His wings, transitioned from feathers to thin, membranous skin, tuck neatly to his sides. Here, he stands, and here, he waits.