08-22-2018, 12:36 PM
The breeze is her voice, calling to him, whispering to him. Castile’s muzzle lifts as his forelock is brushed to the side of his face, framing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheek. The silt sinks underneath his weight as he stands at the edge of the river where it meets the salty bay. In the distance, he can see Ischia with its sprouting trees. Why it catches his attention this day, he isn’t quite sure. A contemplative blink interrupts his stare, but only for a single heartbeat as his thoughts race across the waves to Sabra, to Ivar. Their distinctive scents spread across parts of Beqanna, but both end at the water’s edge. An occasional wind from the east carries them with it, piquing Castile’s intrigue.
He has been to Ischia. Once, maybe, unless it had only been a dream. The tropical flowers bear a slight familiarity, but the memories have since been lost. It could have been someone in passing that was saturated with the saltiness, or perhaps even his mother when she still had obligations to visit other lands. Either way, it’s calling him now in a voice that reminds him so deeply of Sabra. Whether she is there, he isn’t quite sure. He had left her in Loess, but that seems like so long ago, and why would she ever stay? She could not – would not – have waited; Castile didn’t expect her to.
The prospect of a lonely island, however, intrigues him even more as the solemnity and remorse of his actions cloud over his thoughts like a shadow. He shouldn’t pursue Sabra and Solace; why should he interrupt their happy lives for his own selfish need to touch them again? To see the lives that he so miserably failed and broke?
His legs become autonomous and carry Castile mindlessly toward the shallows where the water laps at his underbelly. The urge to shift and to swim across the bay almost consumes him until her familiar scent wafts into his nostrils again, but this time from the west. A slow, calculated turn to look over his shoulder finds her near the bank at the river’s edge. Everything in the world freezes as his vision tunnels to focus only on her. He is afraid of her rejection and chiding words, of her pain and anger at having him fled from the responsibility of fatherhood. It was never his intention. He wanted to be there, to be a present figure to love their family, but he ultimately failed.
Castile could run away and let her enjoy a happier life without him, but he is selfish. He wants her just as he always had, always will.
Like Poseidon rising from the sea, Castile wades through the water toward her, his approach anything but quiet as it splashes and ripples down the length of his body. His metallic eyes never stray, his gaze intensely drinking in the sight of her. But he doesn’t find the warmth of her body or glide his lips tantalizingly down her neck. Instead, he stops in knee-deep water, his unruly locks draped like curtains that conceal his baroque neck and a majority of his chiseled face. ”Sabra?” At a loss for words, he can only bring himself to whisper her name, his voice almost lost to the sound of the wind and water.
He has been to Ischia. Once, maybe, unless it had only been a dream. The tropical flowers bear a slight familiarity, but the memories have since been lost. It could have been someone in passing that was saturated with the saltiness, or perhaps even his mother when she still had obligations to visit other lands. Either way, it’s calling him now in a voice that reminds him so deeply of Sabra. Whether she is there, he isn’t quite sure. He had left her in Loess, but that seems like so long ago, and why would she ever stay? She could not – would not – have waited; Castile didn’t expect her to.
The prospect of a lonely island, however, intrigues him even more as the solemnity and remorse of his actions cloud over his thoughts like a shadow. He shouldn’t pursue Sabra and Solace; why should he interrupt their happy lives for his own selfish need to touch them again? To see the lives that he so miserably failed and broke?
His legs become autonomous and carry Castile mindlessly toward the shallows where the water laps at his underbelly. The urge to shift and to swim across the bay almost consumes him until her familiar scent wafts into his nostrils again, but this time from the west. A slow, calculated turn to look over his shoulder finds her near the bank at the river’s edge. Everything in the world freezes as his vision tunnels to focus only on her. He is afraid of her rejection and chiding words, of her pain and anger at having him fled from the responsibility of fatherhood. It was never his intention. He wanted to be there, to be a present figure to love their family, but he ultimately failed.
Castile could run away and let her enjoy a happier life without him, but he is selfish. He wants her just as he always had, always will.
Like Poseidon rising from the sea, Castile wades through the water toward her, his approach anything but quiet as it splashes and ripples down the length of his body. His metallic eyes never stray, his gaze intensely drinking in the sight of her. But he doesn’t find the warmth of her body or glide his lips tantalizingly down her neck. Instead, he stops in knee-deep water, his unruly locks draped like curtains that conceal his baroque neck and a majority of his chiseled face. ”Sabra?” At a loss for words, he can only bring himself to whisper her name, his voice almost lost to the sound of the wind and water.
lmao I was about 3/4 of the way done with a post to you in Ischia when I saw this xD I just had to tweak the end... Hopefully it all makes sense still lol
@[Sabra]