"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
11-08-2019, 05:30 PM (This post was last modified: 11-08-2019, 05:32 PM by Oceane.)
to the lonely sea and sky
Oceane returns to Loess from Island Resort noting the distinct feeling of repose within her warm bosom. It is the first time, truly, that the opaline pegasi has felt such a thing well inside of her, and it takes her a few minutes to place the emotion. Homecoming. Despite her departure from the tropical island climate and return to the crisp air of a Loessian winter, Oceane is pleased to be returning to the territory she has called home for the entirety of autumn, and now winter.
A shiver creeps down her spine, rushed and intimate, at the chill in the air. It causes her to drop closer to the earth and ride the cool air beneath her satin wings playfully near to the ground; her purple hooves clip the branches of some of the land's taller timber and she weaves skillfully to avoid areas where foothills erupt higher from the frosted landscape.
Oceane revels in the air between her flight feathers and in the way its chill shocks her fluttering nostrils. Formerly a creature of the desert, accosted with unrelenting sun year-round, the opalescent pegasi continues to find surprising ways in which she can settle more comfortably into Beqanna - be it climate, matters of state, or acquaintanceship, the woman from Nau-Aib has found her place.
She has even begun to sport a winter shag for the first time. Oceane still glimmers in the sun despite this, the golden rays setting her iridescent fir alight and transforming her into an aviator's beacon.
Her hooves finally reconnect the woman with the hardened earth of Loess once more, due in part to the silhouette of Castile on the near horizon, commonplace during his regular patrols. Oceane settles her lavish wings against her sides with another shiver before starting leisurely in the direction of the Loessian King. As she meanders nearer, the pegasi realizes that her winter coat is not only good for keeping her warm, but for retaining scents, as well - she wreaks of the sea and salt of Island Resort.
She knows Castile to be an observant fellow and so decides not to mention her journey northwest until he decides to inquire about it, should he choose to. Instead, the opaline mare snorts a greeting to the painted stallion and comes to stand beside him, letting her amber eyes slide from his face and to the landscape before them as if searching for whatever threat he may have found within their borders.
"Are you expecting Leilan this afternoon?" she asks with faux curiosity, the words tainted with a hint of playfulness at Loess's regular visitor - wanted or unwanted still to be determined. She shifts her weight slightly and turns her striped neck to more openly welcome a conversation with the winged stallion. "I hope you don't mind my interruption. I've found that it's rare to see you without someone at your side," Oceane says easily, her own observation that her King is seldom without company - diplomatic or otherwise - though their lack of conversation over the last few weeks is equally her fault - ever the curious one, Oceane has followed her hooves wherever they have deigned to take her since arriving in Beqanna.
@[Castile] | speech
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
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
It’s so easy to talk to her and savor her company. Their dynamic is electrifying, somehow even addictive. When she left, even for such a short time, he found himself mindlessly searching for her. It wasn’t an open or obvious sift across Loess; it was an occasional flicker of his eyes to observe her soar, an acute twist of his ear to hear her voice.
But in the end, there was nothing. He felt her absence. It was cold against his side where she had once stood, even if their skin never touched.
In the short time they’ve known each other, a magnetism has developed that he cannot deny or resist. Perhaps that is what helps him to realize that she is returning home. There’s a twinge in his gut, a flutter in his soul, that grabs his mind and halts his every thought except for one: Oceane is home.
The scent of the ocean clings tightly to her skin, and he can nearly taste the brine when he draws in a deep breath. He is familiar with the islands, and so by the time she arrives adjacent to him, he is aware of where she has been without asking. A coy grin boyishly curves his lips when his head tilts to meet her playful eyes. ”I hope not,” he retorts with light-hearted humor, his opinion on the stallion still pending and teetering back and forth. The uncertainty was seemingly transparent enough for Oceane to take note and feed it into a joke that he undeniably enjoys. With their lighthearted humor, however, there is also a softness that he takes careful note of, his grin as warm as the fire stirring in his gut. ”The work never ends, I’m afraid,” an idle stretch of his body punctuates the statement, but also eases him into further relaxation as her body heat reaches toward him like fingers.
”But you finally have me now,” he doesn’t realize the implication of the statement, at least, not at first. It hangs between them, idle, until he corrects himself, his tone remaining steady. ”How was the Resort? I hope Blue enjoys it,” perhaps it’s better to deviate and steer from the intimate jest that he accidentally let slip.
Oceane's shivers transform into something more electric as she takes the empty space at Castile's side, and with it being winter there are no storm clouds hanging darkly overhead to indicate the electricity stems from anywhere other than between the two pegasi. As she finishes her cursory visual sweep of the land unfurled before them, her facetious inquiry slipping from curved lips, Oceane offers a sideways gaze at her companion. His easy grin causes her heart to beat more rapidly and coaxes her gaze to shamelessly linger at his mouth.
As he stretches, she clears her throat and forces her amber gaze away from the Loessian King. She takes a deep, but slow, breath and rustles her wings at her side almost stiffly. Oceane is acutely aware of the distance between her opaline body and Castile's painted one, but forces this from her mind in favor of his comment. The work never ends, I'm afraid. She knows this to be true, though she lacks anything anecdotal about leadership - her knowledge of crowns and thrones comes only from her own observations of others.
Even so, Castile rules so differently than any King she had seen command the territories of Nau-Aib, tugging even more intrigue from the shimmering woman. She can sense that there is something beneath the surface, hiding in the depths of his eyes, and it feeds into Oceane's curiosity. She catches herself wondering, if only for a moment, if she is fabricating this mysteriousness within him because of the tension coursing between them.
But you finally have me now.
The skin at her withers prickles and her eyes flick back to his countenance, running from the gold at his jaw to his mismatched eyes. But there is no reaction from Castile, despite the grin that lingers warmly upon his lips, and Oceane takes a small step to the side to garner more distance and slacken the electricity between them. It doesn't help.
Fortunately, for the now dry-mouthed pegasi, her companion changes the subject to her recent foray, revealing that he was well aware of her exploits. "It was wonderful. Quiet, like you'd said. But Blue was a gracious host and showed Isobell and I some odd carvings that dot the land," her amber eyes are alight with the knowledge of Island Resort and the enigmas that are the ancient abstractions, truly pleased to have the information to share with Castile. "He seems to be enjoying it there. It suits him well." The brindle stallion she'd met in the Field, uncertain and lost, was entirely different from the man she and Isobell had spent time with on the Island.
She falls silent then, her tongue thick with the desire to further their conversation but uncertain what to say to do so. With another jostling of her satiny blue-purple wings, the woman gives Castile another beguiled grin. After a moment, she breaches the silence again. "So, what does one usually ask the King when they have him alone? Do I get three wishes?"
@[Castile] | speech
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
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
Flames lustfully kiss the edges of his gut now, sustaining themselves for the first time in months. Life is returning to his veins, an intravenous drip slowly reviving him. He can taste it almost, the acrid smoke that desperately tries to rise. The faerie took it away, but not permanently. It is returning. He is returning.
Castile’s skin prickles with awareness as Oceane washes her eyes across him, intrigued by him and fascinated by the mystery of what lies beneath his steely shell. Ruinam offered her a small taste of what he loves (burning fire, he reminisces) but she has yet to see herself what monster the King truly is. He is chilled iron, having already been malleable and shaped by the inferno of his past decisions and experiences. There remains a sliver of him, however, that is slightly weaker and prone to change. That is his future, the tales yet untold and the horrors that may one day await him.
As time goes on, he is increasingly eager for this shift in himself again. He adapts to his environment.
He seizes it.
It’s to his relief that not all the world is quite so cold and expectant of him. There are moments of solace that he can let the tension seep from his pores and run away, even if for a few hours in the mild Loessian winter. Ocean provides a reprieve from the turbulent, political war at hand. Her explorative endeavors provide him comfort in knowing that she and Isobell were safe, but also the current status of the island. A calculating nod greets her response, cataloguing the quiet that has once again plagued the Resort. Seemingly, it’s most active period was his brief overtaking as residents riled against him. Ever since, cobwebs collect on the trees and algae on the ponds. ”I’m happy to hear that,” he croons, grinning even as she sidles away, shying from the natural electricity that magnetizes them. He does not move in response; his hooves root themselves in place although his gaze closely follows her. Why he is happy, he doesn’t say. Blue is a passing face, one of hundreds. Although there is a touch of familiarity, he is falling to the dark chasms of Castile’s memory where many insignificant meetings seek shelter – away, but never gone.
It could also be their safe passage, but he did not fear Ruinam’s wrath; there is none to be had.
Inwardly, Castile wonders if the satisfaction stems from his absence from the island. He brought it to life, but his departure aided its downfall.
A cocky brute, he sometimes is.
Amid his musings, Oceane’s voice pulls him to this very moment again where he tastes and feels again the pleasure of her return. It can almost perceive as mutual, but he does not force that onto her, instead savoring the light humor blooming between them. ”It depends,” he begins with a wry grin and glistening eyes, ”Do you have wishes of me, or merely things you want to share with me?” It’s tempting to edge closer, to break the invisible barrier separating them, but he hesitates until the urge passes. Too soon, he reminds himself. ”I cannot event count all the different reasons everyone finds me,” a chuckle airily rises from his throat, nearly as weightless as the smoke that threatens to follow.
Oceane's past in Nau-Aib is fraught with turmoil and absent of anything real, warm, or enticing. There is nothing worth sharing about her childhood or young adulthood. Nothing that she can say contributed to the being she is today. She runs from it, flies from it, and tucks it away in the depths of her mind to be revisited only in the midst of a night of fitful sleep.
Never while she is awake. Never willingly.
So, to say that this spontaneous attraction she has developed for Castile over the past season is new would be nothing short of an understatement. It has become a distraction. And while Oceane still journeys away from the foothills of Loess to explore the greater area of Beqanna, the tobiano stallion always seems to linger at the edge of her thoughts. She does her best to attribute it to a desire to learn more about her new King and nothing more.
"Happy to hear I enjoyed the trip, or happy to hear the state of the Resort?" she manages to respond to his crooning despite her mirroring grin. She hadn't expected the added distance she'd created to help dampen the tension between them, and admittedly she's glad that it hasn't. Though she's aware that he is likely pleased to hear of the quiet in the aforementioned island nation (even without knowledge of his history with its sandy beaches), what with politics being of great import to a King, she can't help but hope that her jest keeps that grin on his face.
Castile seems to sink into reverie in the moments that Oceane wracks her brain for material to continue their conversation, but she's pleased that her attempts to do so seem to pull him back to the present just as easily. His inquiry, in return, feels just as dangerous as her own. Again, Oceane shifts her weight and adjusts the opaline feathers at her sides; a tick, it seems, that has developed in her attempts to not fold beneath this new tension.
Forcing her amber eyes to gaze solidly at his despite the desire to coquettishly side-eye him, Oceane takes a few seconds to exaggeratedly ponder her response. "I wish..." she trails off, her words lilting and her gaze traveling to the upper right before returning to meet his mismatched and mischievous eyes, "for you to tell me why both of the men I've seen you interact with have watched you like you could eat them for dinner if you wanted to." The request ends up half-matter-of-fact and half-breathy, a combination that suits her warm yet not-too-sweet voice. Genuine curiosity lingers in her words, lust just at the end, and she falls into silence with this probably much-too-personal query hanging between them.
@[Castile] | speech
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
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
They feed off each other, their coy bantering and enthralling conversations. It’s strange to have connected so quickly and for electricity to have united them so strongly. A need to be near her blossoms in his chest, but it does not compare to the love in his heart for Sochi. Possessiveness; the stake he claims on her fills him to the brim with excitement, as though she is another treasure for him to horde away. Different from Sochi, he reminds himself again as their eyes meet in light-hearted jest. ”Both,” he quickly reacts, having mulled his reasons before she could ask. ”The Resort has never posed much of a threat. The tradition continues,” a rumbling chuckle punctuates the thought as Castile’s eyes roam toward the western horizon where he recalls his time on the small stretch of land. Briefly, he wonders if it would make for a decent retirement home.
A strong gale rises and shuffles Castile’s forelock to frame his face as he returns to look at Oceane. ”Also happy to have you back,” he refuses to lie to her, to dodge around the fact that Loess is another face stronger with her here. She will become something here; somehow, some way, Castile will be the hand to help in her rise. ”You’re an asset I can appreciate,” a sincere grin tips the corners of his mouth as his thoughts stare ahead into a flourishing future.
Amusement glitters in his eyes when he realizes that much of the power here lies in the hands of women.
They are a fierce group.
It would be unwise to turn any of them away or turn down a small enough request as granting wishes.
There is mild hesitation, one in which she envelopes with a coy tease to lure his interest into her grasp. He is there, taking the bait, with his eyes roving across her curiously until the question draws his search to an abrupt halt. Slowly, enticingly, he lifts his chin with a smug grin painted across. ”Wouldn’t you like to know,” he croons deeply, his voice resonating through him and reaching tantalizingly toward her. It would be too easy, too boring, to entirely detail the reasoning of why they looked at him that way.
His body weight shifts and it’s tempting to flash her a jagged smile or rippling scales, but Castile resists with firm control.
Vaguely, he offers her an answer that will lead her into a rabbit hole of questions and curiosity. ”I could probably do it, if I wanted,” eat them, he means. A shrug ripples through his muscular shoulders while searching for one last statement to grant her. ”I’m not entirely as I appear.” Another broad response, a hook drifting in the waves in front of her. Oceane, after all, asked only why they looked at him that way; she never wondered what he is or what he could do. With a lopsided, boyish grin, he adds. ”Next wish?”
Both, Castile says matter-of-factly and with a faintly rumbling chuckle. She had expected him to say something similar, to legitimize her correct assumption that he is always thinking of politics as a proper leader should - and to draw her further in, having fed into her jest and casual desire for his validation. Oceane smirks, letting the expression settle on her attractive face as, in unison, the pair turns their gaze to the horizon where Island Resort hides in the distance.
"Even if they did possess the numbers to be a proper threat," she muses towards the distant skyline, "they would likely have to make it through at least one of your territories before entering Loess..." her voice trails off, if only for a brief moment, to silently indicate her thoughts on the required level of intellect it would take to make a decision that would involve mounting an attack through either Sylva or Brilliant Pampas, or even Taiga, who Oceane had learned was captained by Castile's niece. "Besides, and I am speaking under correction, Ruinam did not strike me as someone keen on provoking you."
Oceane falls into silence then, though her smirk remains, as her amber gaze drifts back to the gold-accented pegasi at her side. She had learned much about warfare strategy in her younger years and, while she would never be a purveyor of bloodshed, Oceane would be remiss to say that she had not enjoyed learning about it. "I do hope so," the violet winged woman adds warmly - coyly - as he regards her as an asset he could appreciate. Despite the new thrill she experiences each time she encounters the Loessian King, her motive has always been to learn and, in turn, apply that knowledge to best suit the needs of her home.
Castile answers her inquiry initially with another smug grin and Oceane finds that, again, she is mirroring his expression. It's easy - thoughtless, really - to feed off of his demeanor and the way he holds himself. It's easy to see why so many within Loess look to him for leadership. And it is easy, she decides as he tells her he is not entirely what he appears, that it could be easy to fear him should one stand in his way.
Oceane laughs playfully and gifts him a knowing look. "I have certainly determined that." But she leaves it at that and her amber eyes concede to searching his curiously. If he wanted her to know, she concludes, Castile would tell her - and so when he asks for her next wish, Oceane does her best to bite her tongue on any questions pertaining to what he truly is beneath the surface, and instead focuses on another topic of importance: "I wish... for you to tell me what I can do to help you."
"And Loess," she adds, letting her neck flex and shine brilliantly in the sunlight as she curls her head around to preen a feather at her shoulder, nearly bumping Castile's in the process. She inhales deep, asking the scent of him to linger in her nose as she awaits his response.
@[Castile] | speech
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
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
Oceane is intuitive, observant. Eagerly, Castile takes note and nods his head in agreement with her. The islanders would, in fact, have to cover a vast distance in order to reach Loess, but there remains a concern that tickles the edge of his thoughts. ”True,” he continues mildly with contemplation etched across his face, ”But Sylva, Brilliant Pampas, and Taiga are all my responsibility, too. It isn’t just Loess. I still need to protect my friends,” he thinks nothing of the word, but it the emotional attachment to the term hangs suspended in the air between them. Lepis, Noah, Starsin. Their names flood every corner of his mind, but it’s a tidal wave that gradually spreads thin and wanes. Their lives are critical and so very sacred, but he would never outwardly confess this – not to them or anyone else. They are his chosen family.
A wisp of humor weaves into Oceane’s voice that is enough to withdraw Castile from the swirl of his thoughts. A rolling chuckle swiftly pursues her comment and the recollection of their meeting in the field. ”He treads carefully around me but he’s gradually growing into himself,” he remembers Ruinam turning away and rejecting Castile’s proposition years ago. Something is changing in the porcelain stallion during his endeavors. He reeked of the Mountain; with consideration, Castile assumes he pursues a greater power.
Is it a power to unseat the Loessian king? Wariness sharpens Castile’s senses. Almost every day, another small drake rises. They sprout like weeds, a plaguing growth just in the past few years.
He scoffs inwardly, his thoughts hooded as he regards them as impotent plebeians. Commoners. Ill suited. Arrogance soaks through his pores, raising the standard and placing his own family above the others.
Easily lost in his thoughts, he bristles. A flash of his eyes crackles with an inner flame, but when he blinks to look at Oceane, he is composed and steadfast. ”You will see one day, but I cannot guarantee you will enjoy it.” Many have faced harm when he shifts in their presence. There is blood on his hands, though not all of them have been murders. Although his control has exponentially increased, there’s still a rage inside him, a precariousness that abruptly surfaces when he least expects it. No one is safe, not truly. Tracing his gaze along the arch of her neck, toward her shoulder then her wing, he imagines his claws or teeth sinking into her flesh. Would she stand quietly and take it like a soldier? Or would she scream and curse him? A curious fascination glazes over him, but it lasts only a couple heartbeats until he shakes away the idea. Sochi has been safe. So will be Oceane.
Taking a breath, Castile considers her second wish, leaving her first open-ended and still dripping with temptation and allure. ”I want you to give me reasons to trust you after I’ve been betrayed so many times,” he inches closer to her and the faint scent of fire and brimstone is rising again after months of dormancy, ”I want to see that you could be a capable leader or soldier – whichever path you want.” It steers back to her, to her own desires and ambitions. In truth, Castile wants to see her rise because she has the initiative and potential for it. Much like Straia to him, they only need a match.
As a warm breath fans across her, he adds, ”I want you to show me what would make you happy.”
"To be quite honest," Oceane says to Castile a bit sheepishly, "I did not consider friends in my assessment. Such relationships were, ah..." she pauses, her winged shoulders rolling in a small shrug. Nau-Aib, and the climate it fostered, had not allowed for the fruition of friendships. Her eyes fall away from Castile's in something akin to shame. It would seem that wartime strategy is not as straightforward as the violet pegasi had originally anticipated; the presence of friends adds a factor she had not learned in her studies to include.
Castile's rolling chuckle, the one that follows her comments on Ruinam, draws a more comfortable smile back onto the woman's lips. Her previous embarrassment retreats into itself, making way for the tension between them to return. She nods in acknowledgement when he assesses the Resort King and his potential, but otherwise lets that topic fade into silence, and then into discussion of Castile's secret.
Or secrets, as Oceane excitedly assumes.
She loses Castile to his thoughts for a brief time, giving Oceane the opportunity to tour the sharp ridges of his face with her amber eyes; if she hadn't been taking the moment to drink him in, she would have missed the way he bristles. It's gone just as swiftly as it arrived, leaving a shadow on his countenance that is only accentuated by his words that follow.
"Not everything worth seeing and experiencing is enjoyable," she offers to the Loessian King with a coquettish curve of her lips. She cannot deny her curiosity and intrigue, cannot help the way her tongue curls to ask him to show her now, but she catches the words between her teeth and curved lips long enough for the desire to pass, though her amber eyes never falter from his mismatched ones.
When she moves to preen her opaline wing, she catches his gaze moving with her and settling on her feathers. She mistakes his gaze for something that it is not (certainly she could not know he is imagining rending the flight-appendage from her gleaming shoulder) and lingers here, preening and flexing her neck just as long as his gaze decides to dawdle there.
When the spell is broken by his deep inhale, he captivates her with another. He inches closer to her, exuding electricity as he requests reasons to trust her and letting his exhale (it smells faintly of smoke, something she is only able to observe because each singular molecule of her body is on fire and in tune with him in this moment) brush across her balefire coat. "I want to build that trust with you," she murmurs quietly, taken aback by his sudden vulnerability. The courage it takes to ask someone for trust, especially coming from one who sits upon a kingdom's throne, is no small factor.
His exhale caresses her again, lighting her opaline skin alight beneath his breathy touch - if only, in this moment, she knew his secret. "I am no soldier," she breathes back as her gaze steadies on him. Bloodshed and physical prowess have never excited her, "But strategy and subterfuge and politics... those things excite me." They require knowledge, and the possession of it. They require stealth and intelligence and the ability to look into the future, to see the bigger picture.
His breath, again.
I want you to show me what would make you happy.
Oceane clears her throat, forcing herself to inhale fresh air - it borders on smokey - before coaxing a coarse whisper from her throat. "I don't think I can show you that," she says before she loses her nerve and then tries to brush by what she has just said, "Anyway I can serve you and Loess while feeding into my need for learning will make me happy."
@[Castile] | speech
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
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
”Friends are fickle,” he takes it upon himself to complete her thought, never intending for his voice to sound so brusque. Immediately, he recalls Vulgaris, Heartfire, and Litotes at his doorstep with fire in their eyes and poison on their tongues. To see them, to witness the vehemence drooling from their mouths, pitted a bitterness in Castile’s heart that has since festered like a disease. His gaze darkens, flickering to an ominous black as he glances away. By the time Castile looks at her again, his eyes have reverted to their norm, although still hooded with mistrust. ”Yet... Despite everything, I’ve fortunately found a few worth keeping. Not all of them have seen me at my worst, but…” he trails off with a shrug that mirrors Oceane’s, wondering how they, and she, would react to such a sight. Lepis is wary despite the love between them and the everlasting trust that has been forged over the years. She is right in being cautious, but would Oceane be just as understanding or would she flee to preserve her safety?
In an attempt for lighthearted humor, he adds as a second thought, ”Let’s hope you never see me quite so angry.” That is when the creature lurking within him seizes its chance. As great of control as Castile has gained, there remains a lapse in his ability when his rage ultimately peaks and his better judgment slips beneath the abysmal depths.
It’s that same monster that takes careful note of the muscles tightening along her skin as Oceane gingerly cares for her wings. It intensifies his watchfulness as his gaze traces along her, admiring each gradient of color and how it catches the sunlight. I want to build that trust with you, she says, and an excitable heat races through him and seers his veins. ”Good,” he replies gruffly, savoring the closeness as they breathe each other in. Waves of excessive heat roll from his skin, blanketing across her as they stand mere inches apart, teasing one another without ever even trying. Is that what this heat is? This electricity? A primal want to claim what he already considers his own? Castile’s tongue is suddenly dry as he forces himself to swallow the lump of uncertainty in his throat.
He inches back then and turns his baroque head toward the distant mountain range, easing the fire broiling in his gut. ”Perhaps at some point, I can give you a territory to lead as you’d like, so long as we remain loyal to each other. Politics will surround you, then,” funny how they complement each other – one for war and the other for political endeavors. ”I know in due time, you will have a solidified place and job,” he pauses but then coolly remarks, ”I’m happy I decided follow my instincts when I saw you in the field.” He could have easily left her there, but an unearthly gravitational pull lured him just as it does now.
Like her, Castile clears his throat. His thoughts trace back to their origins, suppressing the instinctual claim he assumes to have on her.
Drawing in a breath, but still lopsidedly grinning like a young boy, he asks, ”And what, my dear Oceane, is your third and final wish?” His eyes glitter with mischievous curiosity as they roll toward her, searching her face carefully for an indication.
