"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
It breaks through the clouds, an ominous shadow lingering high above them. The iron tang of blood just barely coats its lips and jagged teeth, the taste of it savory and almost new.
(It has been so long)
Krigare had been the last and only victim. His blood had been the very first it tasted; the metallic flavor fueled something in it, making it crave more. Castile has suppressed it, however, fighting to keep it chained down. With the pouring of his adrenaline and the lust for Solace, somehow the bars of its cage were rattled. It made him bite her, hold her, just long enough for it to slip into his mind and poison him. In that moment, Castile succumbed to the storm of his emotions and the creature he has fought for so long finally surfaced.
As difficult of a feat as it was, Castile’s voice rattled its primal mind. It wanted more from her – sweet little Solace – after having its mouth hungrily pressed to the gentle arch of her neck. There was a battle waged between right and wrong, instinct versus realization. Castile pleaded not to hurt her, and somehow, the words seeped through the primal barrier of the dragon’s mind – enough so that released Solace and fled.
But Castile’s voice receded after that.
Instinct took over.
It has been lusting for heat, fueled by the scent of smoke and fire every time Castile had taken a breath of those Tephrans. With the smell burned into its memory, it soars until the volcano is in its line of sight.
(Heat. Fire)
Rocks tumble down precarious ledges when it gropes the side of the volcano. An immediate sense of comfort wraps around the creature. A lungful of smoky air is drunkenly swallowed while it scales the volcano to find a large enough shelf of rock to support its weight. Only once found does the dragon coil its body to rest, the adrenaline slipping from its veins and the taste of blood forgotten.
The hours that pass during its slumber leave the creature in its wake.
When its eyes open, they are no longer slit, and the scales and titanic body have shrunken back.
Lying on the rocky ledge is Castile, his body streaked with blood and aching from the involuntary shift.
Ayyy!
So, Castile, after hurting Solace, fled in dragon form. You know what dragons like? FIRE. So, primal instincts of Mr. dragon-Castile led him to the volcano. I figured some new interaction would be fun. Someone could find him or something
03-28-2018, 09:52 AM (This post was last modified: 03-28-2018, 10:00 AM by Wishbone.)
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
Climbing the volcano has been Wishbone’s lifelong goal. She’s been racing up and slipping down the rocky slopes from the first moments she could walk, tripping over her heels and scraping up her knees. In her young age she’d never seen the faint trail that wound up the volcano’s face, curling around steep slopes and rocks larger than her father.
But it’s been a year since her birth and she’s grown both physically and mentally. Her mahogany body is covered in a fine layer of mingled sweat and dirt from the climb as she rounds the corner. Wishbone’s muscles are aching from her adventure, but it’s a pain that only further encourages her. Tephra lies spread below her like an ashen kingdom and she can see the ocean in the distance, kissing the pale blue of the horizon.
“Oh, shit!” The thin trail she’s been following has leveled out to a large expanse of rock alongside the cliff-face, but there’s a winged stallion slathered in blood occupying it. For a moment, Wishbone is suspicious. He doesn’t smell of Tephra (there’s a hint of fire and smoke, but otherwise he is covered in blood, fresh lake, and windswept mountainside) but as she steps closer, she begins to recognize him.
Castile. His face brings to mind images of Loess and her diplomatic visit with her parents. It hadn’t been too long ago — only last season — and the memories are fresh enough in her mind to recognize the Loess regent. Wishbone rushes forward quicker than before, autumn eyes searching over his body for signs of blood loss. “God, what happened to you?” He looks drained and tortured, but she feels a sudden sharpness when she realizes the blood isn’t his.
Although the realization flares in her eyes, Wishbone decides not to say anything about it. Instead, she asks a question that’s poised as though he were on the border of their island waiting politely. “What are you doing here?”
The peacefulness of slumber envelopes Castile and the volcano’s inner heat lies across him like a blanket. For one of the few times ever, his memory doesn’t replay on the back of his eyelids or feed into his lucid dreams. There is nothing, only a black void that swallows him until a voice rises above it all. It echoes in his mind, first as a low mumble then as a rattling shout that finally stirs him.
A groan is the only sign of life at first, eventually followed by the sluggish dragging of a leg. A breath. Another groan.
His eyes open then, finally, slowly.
Everything around him is a hazy wash of gray and black, but then he is blinking. The fog of his vision slowly dissipates and only then does he see the young girl gaping at him. ”Hm?” Is the only word that he can bring himself to say until he blinks again to see more clearly while registering what is going on. A glance over his shoulder identifies the volcano and when he raises his head he can see the surrounding sea. ”Tephra,” it’s more of a spoken thought to himself than the girl, but he expects some sort of quipped response nonetheless. Looking at her, he hesitates to even admit who – or what – he is, but there is no sense of running or dodging from her.
”Castile,” he eventually confesses after a pained breath catches in his throat. He grimaces (he hates having he showed weakness) but forces himself to clumsily stand. Every muscle in his body screams in rebellion, the dried rivulets of blood crackling. His legs awkwardly spread and his wings limply fall to the rocky shelf.
Another breath. Another groan of pain.
Another mishap.
He assumes the reason he is here, but he rotates the conversation to her as she continues to stare. ”And who are you?” With his strength drained and his eyes heavy, Castile finds himself easily enough trapped on the ledge with the yearling.
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
He looks as if he’s been revived from the dead. Although the maroon streaks on his sides are worrying, his physical health is equally as concerning. Wishbone finds herself leaping forward when the winged stallion tries to stand. She offers her shoulder for him to lean against, but it’s up to him whether he will accept her help.
Once he is standing somewhat steadily, Wishbone looks him over again. Her eyes are critical, seeing the droop of his wings and the patterns of white and black and red on his body. He smells strongly of Loess, even amid the infiltrating scents of smoke and ash and brine. “I’m Wishbone.” Her reply is short and simple. She isn’t a stranger to the way adults twist their conversations in favor of the child, attempting to draw them away from the most prominent (and possibly threatening) situation.
“Who’s blood is that?” It’s the main question she’s wants an answer for. It could be the blood from some long-lost child in the uncharted forests of Beqanna or from a cougar he had to fight or maybe he’d just come back from the Alliance. Wishbone’s lips are drawn in a firm line on her sable muzzle and the fire in her amber eyes leave no room for argument. Although she is small in comparison to him, it wouldn’t be difficult for her to attack him with the state he’s in.
credit to eliza of adoxography.
@[Castile] I originally edited my first post so it included them meeting each other in Loess but with how wonky these timelines are, we can just assume they haven't met yet haha.
She offers her shoulder in assistance, but Castile hesitates to accept it. The level of vulnerability gives him an uncomfortable and raw feeling. When he looks down at himself, he sees the scarlet rivulets winding down, dripping to the rocky ledge in a calming metronome. A soft patter, he notes, is an eerily calm noise after what he had just experienced. Gradually, it becomes the rhythm of his heartbeat as he finally settles.
Take her help.
A sideways glance finds her critical stare as it roves across him, feeding her curiosity with the sight of him. ”Well met,” he hisses through clenched teeth, almost too exhausted to speak. A sharp breath chills his lungs of the fire they had breathed only minutes ago. A cough follows before shaking his head, trying desperately to recall what happened, but his mind is blank like he’s stepping out from a thick fog.
If there is one thing he knows, however, it’s whose blood is on him.
A thoughtful blink beneath his forelock brings pause to the conversation, albeit brief, as he contemplates admitting it. Would it make him weaker?
”Mine,” his response is gruff as another wave of pain wracks through his torn muscles. The new changes are unfamiliar to his body, but slowly bit of sinew is repairing itself and working back into place. Slowly, he tries lifting his wings back to his sides, inch by inch. He is engulfed by his own selfish worries until he once again can feel the burning of her eyes as she pieces everything together, listening to him and wondering what he has done. With his head lifting, Castile looks plainly at Wishbone, eager to switch the focus onto her instead of his injuries. ”What are you doing up here and away from the herd?”
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
He reminds her of a grandfather. While she can tell he is younger than that from the muscle of his body and the shape of his face, Wishbone can’t help but pin his personality down to an achy old man. The thought would have brought a startling laugh to her mouth if it weren’t for the tense, rugged atmosphere of their encounter. And while the girl would’ve helped any cranky old man, even if they snapped at her, she doesn’t pressure him into taking her shoulder while he rises.
He confirms the blood as his own and immediately her sunset eyes scan over his body again, searching for the source. Wishbone can’t deny the entire situation seems far too sketchy, especially with Castile’s brief answers to her questions, and when she can’t find the integumentary wound she firmly decides it is suspicious. But the stallion seems too weak to attack her, so she decides there’s no harm in sticking around.
Despite her unfiltered obsession with summiting the volcano, Castile’s presence finally draws her mind away from that adventure.
“I was on my way to the top of the volcano.” It brings Wishbone back around to her environment, away from the detailed investigation rolling through her mind. The rocks are warm beneath her feet while the summer breeze tangles with her auburn-lighted locks. A reckless, though brief, smile finds her sable mouth. “It seems like you’ve interrupted my adventure.”
Her eyes scan over his weak body again. Despite his attempts to nudge her away from the most obvious elephant in the room, Wishbone’s stubborn and she won’t be going down so easy. “You need water and a good bath to clean those… wounds.” Her gaze latches firmly onto his own and the expression there does little to hide the fact that she knows he doesn’t have any visibly bleeding injuries. “Let me help you down the trail. I know where the best hot spring is.”
She takes his shoulder without question and turns toward the trail leading back down the volcano’s face.
credit to eliza of adoxography.
@[Castile] / So I figured this would be a good place to end the thread since it's so far back time-line wise, but you're welcome to reply as well. I'm thinking she probably just helped him down, got him something to drink, and let him chill in a hot spring until he felt well enough to leave Tephra
