12-14-2018, 03:47 PM
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
Castile hasn’t forgotten about the boy, not even in the slightest. Gilt has frequented his mind since arriving as a sodden heap in Icicle Isle. Starlin is obviously gone, a truth that Castile struggles to accept. The manner of her demise (or abandonment) escapes him, but doesn’t halt him in his efforts to nurture and raise the colt. Initially, he asked Breckin to assist by providing milk, but upon more careful observation, a realization surfaced.
The boy’s anatomy wouldn’t allow for nursing. He is much like his father – a predator, a monster.
With further consideration, Castile faced the obstacle in the only way he can think of.
His body is shifted, displaying his reptilian assets as he soars quietly with a deer corpse clutched loosely in his claws. Bloody rivulets winding from its mouth and wounds have since dried and caked onto its coarse hair. The scent no longer piques his interest; the incessant need to devour it has subsided as his mind trains itself on the task at hand.
Finding the boy takes little time with his vision sharply roving across the landscape underneath. A spiral of black smoke erupts from Castile’s nostrils as he descends with a single, fluid motion. His grasp on the corpse tightens with the shift of his weight as the frosted ground rises to meet him with a heavy thud. ”Gilt, my boy,” his voice rumbles low in the chasm of his throat, nearly vibrating the ground underfoot. As an afterthought upon seeing his son, Castile carelessly drops the maimed deer, his mismatched gaze settling adoringly on the colt. His head snakes forward, his reptilian muzzle brushing gingerly against his son before his body shifts into that of a horse, reverting to what he truly is. A display of affection takes precedence before stepping back to more openly reveal the carcass. Castile’s eyes dance back and forth briefly before finally settling on Gilt. ”I imagine sharp teeth would match the head you have,” his child is notable, unforgettable, ”so I don’t think Breckin would appreciate nursing you.” A shudder races along his back at the thought. ”So, I brought you some food.” He’s proud to have hunted for his kin, to utilize his own power for some amount of good. A jagged smile softens the sharp edges of Castile’s face until he inches closer, lowering his head to be level with Gilt.
”You have teeth, right?” His lips curl to convey his meaning, exposing his canines still faintly stained by blood and previous kills. ”Or do I have to.. uhh… chew it up for you?” Despite how his stomach churns at the idea, Castile remains steadily composed, knowing well he will do all that is necessary to nurture his son.
The boy’s anatomy wouldn’t allow for nursing. He is much like his father – a predator, a monster.
With further consideration, Castile faced the obstacle in the only way he can think of.
His body is shifted, displaying his reptilian assets as he soars quietly with a deer corpse clutched loosely in his claws. Bloody rivulets winding from its mouth and wounds have since dried and caked onto its coarse hair. The scent no longer piques his interest; the incessant need to devour it has subsided as his mind trains itself on the task at hand.
Finding the boy takes little time with his vision sharply roving across the landscape underneath. A spiral of black smoke erupts from Castile’s nostrils as he descends with a single, fluid motion. His grasp on the corpse tightens with the shift of his weight as the frosted ground rises to meet him with a heavy thud. ”Gilt, my boy,” his voice rumbles low in the chasm of his throat, nearly vibrating the ground underfoot. As an afterthought upon seeing his son, Castile carelessly drops the maimed deer, his mismatched gaze settling adoringly on the colt. His head snakes forward, his reptilian muzzle brushing gingerly against his son before his body shifts into that of a horse, reverting to what he truly is. A display of affection takes precedence before stepping back to more openly reveal the carcass. Castile’s eyes dance back and forth briefly before finally settling on Gilt. ”I imagine sharp teeth would match the head you have,” his child is notable, unforgettable, ”so I don’t think Breckin would appreciate nursing you.” A shudder races along his back at the thought. ”So, I brought you some food.” He’s proud to have hunted for his kin, to utilize his own power for some amount of good. A jagged smile softens the sharp edges of Castile’s face until he inches closer, lowering his head to be level with Gilt.
”You have teeth, right?” His lips curl to convey his meaning, exposing his canines still faintly stained by blood and previous kills. ”Or do I have to.. uhh… chew it up for you?” Despite how his stomach churns at the idea, Castile remains steadily composed, knowing well he will do all that is necessary to nurture his son.
castile