09-06-2018, 02:09 PM
A lopsided grin, accompanied by a halved laugh, slightly softens the draconic edges of his face. ”Unfortunately,” he admits as his eyes narrow thoughtfully, ”it’s not the first time someone has invaded my mind. It likely won’t be the last either, but it doesn’t lessen the blow of it.” Inwardly, Castile shudders remembering the vulnerability of his mind as the walls broke down. Any invasion is uncomfortable and unwelcomed, but at least Breckin is apologetic and sincere. The goodwill in her voice curbs the edge in his voice and posture. ”I can only imagine the difficulty in perfecting an ability like that.” Hers needs to be contained within the confines of her mind. His? Castile’s was mostly physical and even then, it had taken him years to harness such immense power. So, he can sympathize with her and forgive her trespassing with little more than a nod and harmless snarl.
She confesses what she had seen, but it is truly minimal in the broad spectrum of his life. Nodding his head, he replays the memories that she saw. It brightens his face, almost makes him unrecognizable as the joy from the memories branches out from his core and surfaces. ”Yes,” he can’t complain of his childhood here. ”I was raised by my mother, Nayl, and my father, Lior, here in Nerine. I lived here for a while and even when I left to other kingdoms, Nerine always called me back.” Admittedly, Castile didn’t understand the magnetic pull because this was a matriarchal society; there had been no space for a gangly boy, no matter whose son he was. Nayl’s name has since lost its magnitude, and the role she played in Nerine’s history has likely been forgotten. That’s why he doesn’t add that he was the son of the Queen because what use is that information now? It’s null and moot. He is just a stallion now, roaming Beqanna in search of his purpose.
Castile blinks as Breckin reels him back to this moment, pulling him from the lull of his thoughts and memories. A boyish grin – something he had once been known for – lifts the corners of his mouth and a haphazard shrug trembles across his shoulders. ”I don’t think the Nerinians would’ve taken kindly to their Queen being eaten.” If he ever wanted to kill – to taste the tenderness of his own species – it would be all too easy. A quick shift and he would be large enough to quickly consume a horse.
But no, he isn’t like that anymore.
Right?
”Honestly?” She asked a fair question that demands an authentic answer. What can he say? It wouldn’t make sense to her just as it has never made sense to him. Glancing sideways to the claw marks in the soil surrounding him, he searches for an appropriate response.
A distraction?
A purpose?
A home?
A sense of hope?
A hot wave of air is sighed from his lungs, a small plume of smoke trailing his lips as his mismatched eyes turn to look at her again, heavy with internal conflict. ”Maybe you could tell me?” He expects she will stare at him in bewilderment, like he’s crazy. How can she possibly answer for him? ”I can never seem to stay away from Nerine for very long. I need a purpose, I think. I was a Regent in Loess, but it wasn’t Nerine. It didn’t sate my thirst.” The Cliffside forever calls to him, and deep down, he knows he wants to dig his talons into the granite and take flight off its edge
Here, there is nothing to hinder him.
She confesses what she had seen, but it is truly minimal in the broad spectrum of his life. Nodding his head, he replays the memories that she saw. It brightens his face, almost makes him unrecognizable as the joy from the memories branches out from his core and surfaces. ”Yes,” he can’t complain of his childhood here. ”I was raised by my mother, Nayl, and my father, Lior, here in Nerine. I lived here for a while and even when I left to other kingdoms, Nerine always called me back.” Admittedly, Castile didn’t understand the magnetic pull because this was a matriarchal society; there had been no space for a gangly boy, no matter whose son he was. Nayl’s name has since lost its magnitude, and the role she played in Nerine’s history has likely been forgotten. That’s why he doesn’t add that he was the son of the Queen because what use is that information now? It’s null and moot. He is just a stallion now, roaming Beqanna in search of his purpose.
Castile blinks as Breckin reels him back to this moment, pulling him from the lull of his thoughts and memories. A boyish grin – something he had once been known for – lifts the corners of his mouth and a haphazard shrug trembles across his shoulders. ”I don’t think the Nerinians would’ve taken kindly to their Queen being eaten.” If he ever wanted to kill – to taste the tenderness of his own species – it would be all too easy. A quick shift and he would be large enough to quickly consume a horse.
But no, he isn’t like that anymore.
Right?
”Honestly?” She asked a fair question that demands an authentic answer. What can he say? It wouldn’t make sense to her just as it has never made sense to him. Glancing sideways to the claw marks in the soil surrounding him, he searches for an appropriate response.
A distraction?
A purpose?
A home?
A sense of hope?
A hot wave of air is sighed from his lungs, a small plume of smoke trailing his lips as his mismatched eyes turn to look at her again, heavy with internal conflict. ”Maybe you could tell me?” He expects she will stare at him in bewilderment, like he’s crazy. How can she possibly answer for him? ”I can never seem to stay away from Nerine for very long. I need a purpose, I think. I was a Regent in Loess, but it wasn’t Nerine. It didn’t sate my thirst.” The Cliffside forever calls to him, and deep down, he knows he wants to dig his talons into the granite and take flight off its edge
Here, there is nothing to hinder him.
@[Breckin]