04-08-2017, 03:52 PM
This is the first time he is truly leaving mother’s side. The level of security within Nerine is high enough for Nayl to permit him time to wander and explore. He realizes that she is always watching, every vigilant, and he takes note when there is unnatural movement in the sand or rocks – minute ways she reminds him that he is never entirely alone.
His mismatched eyes devour the sights of the kingdom with the ferocity of a starved animal. His ears swivel and twirl like the dance of a ballerina, completing the images he sees with the appropriate sounds.
The waves crash. The gulls cry. The tall grass whispers. The tumbling stones growl.
There is beauty in it all, and he admires it with unexpected fascination. Occasionally, a young, amused grin lazily stretches across his lips. ”Nerine,” he mutters the name of his home for one of the very first times and he is shocked to not hear his voice so readily crack; Castile has been trying to include himself in mother’s conversation so that he can accustom himself to the deep vibrations of his throat. It’s a tickling sensation that runs along his neck and tingles the hinges of his jaw.
But it isn’t his voice that has thus far fascinated him the most about himself. It isn’t how his coat holds a strong resemblance to mother’s. Instead, it’s the wings that sprout from his shoulder blades and how, when disgruntled, plumes of black smoke coil from his nostrils. One time, he even sneezed and one of his wings shifted into scales and thin membranous skin instead of feathers. It looked awkward and he stared in bewilderment throughout the day. Overnight, sometime while he was asleep curled next to mother, his wing reverted back to its original shape and texture. Seeing it normal again comforted him, but simultaneously confused him. He doesn’t yet understand what he can do – what he is - as he hasn’t yet met father. Mother says soon, but Castile’s patience is ever thinning like any typical child’s.
With his gaze trained on the rippling sunbursts on the ocean’s surface, Castile occasionally beats his wings against the wind, imagining himself months – maybe even weeks – from now, taking flight and feeling nothing but the salty air caress him.
His mismatched eyes devour the sights of the kingdom with the ferocity of a starved animal. His ears swivel and twirl like the dance of a ballerina, completing the images he sees with the appropriate sounds.
The waves crash. The gulls cry. The tall grass whispers. The tumbling stones growl.
There is beauty in it all, and he admires it with unexpected fascination. Occasionally, a young, amused grin lazily stretches across his lips. ”Nerine,” he mutters the name of his home for one of the very first times and he is shocked to not hear his voice so readily crack; Castile has been trying to include himself in mother’s conversation so that he can accustom himself to the deep vibrations of his throat. It’s a tickling sensation that runs along his neck and tingles the hinges of his jaw.
But it isn’t his voice that has thus far fascinated him the most about himself. It isn’t how his coat holds a strong resemblance to mother’s. Instead, it’s the wings that sprout from his shoulder blades and how, when disgruntled, plumes of black smoke coil from his nostrils. One time, he even sneezed and one of his wings shifted into scales and thin membranous skin instead of feathers. It looked awkward and he stared in bewilderment throughout the day. Overnight, sometime while he was asleep curled next to mother, his wing reverted back to its original shape and texture. Seeing it normal again comforted him, but simultaneously confused him. He doesn’t yet understand what he can do – what he is - as he hasn’t yet met father. Mother says soon, but Castile’s patience is ever thinning like any typical child’s.
With his gaze trained on the rippling sunbursts on the ocean’s surface, Castile occasionally beats his wings against the wind, imagining himself months – maybe even weeks – from now, taking flight and feeling nothing but the salty air caress him.
