08-27-2019, 09:39 AM
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
The world is still recovering, still licking the scabbed wounds of war and chaos. Castile, a patient hunter, has allotted this period to recuperate, but he already knows it will not last forever. There’s no need to dive into madness again, not when he has nothing but time on his hands. Immortality, he discovered, sinks into his every pore and every bone. At fourteen, there should be some signs of aging, some telltale that life will eventually come to an end, but there remains nothing hindering him. His expression is still bright, handsome, his body not at all creaks or groans during exertion.
Time, he muses, is on his side.
Perhaps, that is why he doesn’t immediately find Ruinam at the border. He doesn’t rush from his roost in the mountains to address the newcomer in the first seconds of his arrival. Instead, there is a lackadaisical pace to his walk when he finally confronts the stranger with piercing eyes.
A breath is drawn in. He calculates it, weeds out its vague familiarity, before inclining his head with mild uncertainty and mistrust. ”You lived in Sylva before I took it back from Mary and Sinner,” yes, now he remembers the stallion’s musty scent mingled with the coniferous trees. It was becoming faint – perhaps he moved to a different territory in anticipation – but still desperately hung to the damp leaf beds and tree bark. Now, however, there is a taste of saltwater and sand on his skin. Knowledgeable of both tropical islands, he pinpoints it with a nonchalant shrug. ”What is someone from the Island Resort doing in Loess?” Although nothing of him is draconic – his wings are receded, his scales nonexistent – his voice rumbles, demanding of attention. ”It appears the purple family of incest has since left the spit of land,” memories flash across his mind, bristling him, but Castile catches himself and lifts a single brow. ”What’s your name, former Sylvan?”
As they talk, he suppresses his grin at knowing that Mary was once on the Island, too, but now plays a role in Castile’s game.
Time, he muses, is on his side.
Perhaps, that is why he doesn’t immediately find Ruinam at the border. He doesn’t rush from his roost in the mountains to address the newcomer in the first seconds of his arrival. Instead, there is a lackadaisical pace to his walk when he finally confronts the stranger with piercing eyes.
A breath is drawn in. He calculates it, weeds out its vague familiarity, before inclining his head with mild uncertainty and mistrust. ”You lived in Sylva before I took it back from Mary and Sinner,” yes, now he remembers the stallion’s musty scent mingled with the coniferous trees. It was becoming faint – perhaps he moved to a different territory in anticipation – but still desperately hung to the damp leaf beds and tree bark. Now, however, there is a taste of saltwater and sand on his skin. Knowledgeable of both tropical islands, he pinpoints it with a nonchalant shrug. ”What is someone from the Island Resort doing in Loess?” Although nothing of him is draconic – his wings are receded, his scales nonexistent – his voice rumbles, demanding of attention. ”It appears the purple family of incest has since left the spit of land,” memories flash across his mind, bristling him, but Castile catches himself and lifts a single brow. ”What’s your name, former Sylvan?”
As they talk, he suppresses his grin at knowing that Mary was once on the Island, too, but now plays a role in Castile’s game.
castile
@[Ruinam]