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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    burning cities and napalm skies; Castile
    #1

    STARLIN
    grit and grace.

    The grey pebbles feel odd beneath her hooves, uneven and too large compared to the fine-grained granite sand of Nerine. She is looking north, to where the sea lies beyond the treeline, and the winter wind blows her dark mane and tail like banners around her. She is tall and strong, but traces of the child are still evident in her open blue gaze and sweet smile. The grullo mare towers over her mother, but the two share the same light build and similar color and are unmistakably mother and daughter (or perhaps sisters, if Djinni is masked as she so often is).

    Today Starlin has chosen to spend away from her mother, another decision to strike out on her own. It is an expected part of growing up, but Starlin feels a bit out of her element as she inspects the treeline. Perhaps if she looks busy, no one will come talk to her and she’ll have time to compose herself. The tactic seems to work (or perhaps the other horses are just avoiding the weirdo who is scrutinizing the trees), and Starlin gathers herself together and prepares to partake in some social interaction.

    It won’t be terrible, she tells herself, everyone else does this all the time.

    The first horse she sees is facing away from her, grazing on the bits of greenery that poke through the thin layer of snow. “Hey,” she says, hoping that they turn around rather than ignore her. She’d pick him because he was closest, but now she thinks that there is something familiar about the pattern of his black and white coat and the shape of his jaw.






    Starlin apparently has social anxiety. haha
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    #2
    Solitude, as of late, is more highly welcomed than conversation. Forming in the pit of his chest is a hardened encasement around his heart, a protecting barrier to save him from further ache. During the early hours of morning, Castile brews on his mistakes and weighs their outcomes. It would be more beneficial to be like mother, to be so independent, but when he thinks of his parents he can reflect only on the love they share. It’s what he has yearned for since his childhood, but his desperation has clouded his better judgment.

    His desperation broke him.

    It would be much simpler to tuck himself into the cave system of Nerine, but he cannot entirely abandon Isobell, not again. Her inner light is what keeps him from withdrawing into the darkness. She, among all else, is his saving grace. She is the reason Castile is harboring himself at the river instead of being recluse, but he still keeps to himself until there is a gentle voice behind him. With a lackadaisical pivot, he looks at the girl and inclines his head slightly. A feeble grin struggles to find the edges of his mouth, but it last a few heartbeats once it does. ”Hello,” he offers in a flat voice, lacking the enthusiasm and amiable nature he typically boasts. His mismatched eyes trace her skeptically as he prepares to address her as Djinni, but there is a subtle difference between the two that saves him from the embarrassment. A brow lifts then both furrow as he straightens himself thoughtfully. ”Are you Djinni’s daughter?” The genie, mother’s closest friend, and practically an aunt to him.

    She had more children, siblings to his closest friend, Ivar.

    It gives new perspective to this encounter; it softens the hard ridges of his face as they search each other curiously. ”I’m Castile.” Because he isn’t quite sure how else to engage with her without mentioning their parents again.





    lmao he's so awkward
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    #3

    STARLIN
    grit and grace.

    His half-hearted greeting crushes her.

    Starlin had not yet put together his identity, but she’d had time to see him in more detail. Tall, dark, and undoubtedly handsome, her romantic’s heart is aflutter for all of a single beat before it is destroyed. It’s Castile, she realizes as he speaks his first word. The Prince of Nerine, Isobell’s older brother. The Princess seems so much older than Starlin is to the grullo filly, and her older brother is more of a distant deity than a flesh-and-blood equine.

    Yet here he is, in the very flesh, and she’s clearly so terrible that he can’t even summon false enthusiasm to greet her.

    Never high to begin with, Starlin’s self-esteem now hovers somewhere barely above her hooves. She hears him mention her mother, knows that he must be piecing together her identity. How terrible, she thinks, to have him be both disappointed by and likely to recognize her in the future.

    She considers abandoning her lifelong dream of becoming a true Amazon. It might be worth it to never have to see Castile again. But where would she go?

    Without ever raising her blue-grey eyes from her hooves, she replies in barely more than a whisper: “I know who you are.”






    #teamawkward
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    #4
    Surprisingly, it rattles him how torn she looks in response to his nonchalance. When he looks at her, he almost sees Isobell when she had been just as young. It would have been torture to see her crumble in front of him like this, which is why he reaches toward her to lift her chin. Although it’s a struggle to smile with Ciri so heavily painted across his thoughts, he puts a greater effort into it as he withdraws from her innocent touch to search her eyes. ”And how do you know me?” He already has an idea, truthfully, but he tries for a conversation because he knows that’s what Isobell would push him to do. She wouldn’t let him spiral into darkness.

    Her scent mingles with that of Nerine, a familiarity that overcomes him in reassuring waves. It entices him to one day visit and to lie on the sand beneath the sun just like when he was a colt. Perhaps she knows mother then, or Isobell. It would help connect the dots as to how she knows him since he hasn’t accomplished anything great to stand out of the crowd. Isobell is an heir while Castile is just… Castile.

    While her eyes cast down, he struggles for conversation. He still pictures her as his sister to dote on, to never let grow unhappy. It’s his fault, he knows. The solemnity of his voice was enough to push anyone away and yet she remained, though slightly distressed by it. ”I’m sorry,” he finally admits while groping for an explanation, ”I just have had a lot on my mind.” He doesn’t have to justify himself to her, and yet, it’s oddly comforting to.

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    #5

    STARLIN
    grit and grace.

    Though she had grown up in Sylva, the autumnal woods are little more than a faded memory to the tobiano filly. Nerine is the home that she knows, and more importantly – the home that she has chosen. She knows Nayl, and Isobell, though the Princess has been less frequently seen of late. She has seen Lior and knows that the Guardian and the queen have an older son, and that he is called Castile. This dragon-winged creature must surely be him, and he’s just confirmed it.

    There is a single ant travelling across a frosted blade of grass at her hooves, and Starlin is determined to stare at it while Castile – clearly unimpressed at her first attempt at socialization – leaves. Instead, she finds herself looking up at him, her chin lifted by a gentle touch.

    She blinks long lashes across her blue-grey eyes, still not entirely sure how to recover from this failure of a situation. He is kind – kinder than she’d have expected from a son of Nayl – and Starlin wonders if perhaps he might not hate everything about her. No, she decides, that’s far too optimistic of a thought. His apology does at least reassure he that he’s not about to simply fly off into the sky and leave her gawking, so when he says that he has a lot on his mind, she attempts to grasp the threads of a better conversation.

    “What’re you thinking about?” She asks, tilting her head curiously. “Are you sick?” He does look a little off-color, after all, and it would explain his apparent disappointment at seeing her. There’s no feverish look in his eye though, and no visible injury. Starlin, not quite two, has not yet come to realize that there are more types of illness than those that affect the body. Heartsick, she’d albel him, if only she had the words or experience to know it.




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    #6
    There are probably a few surprised by how Castile’s demeanor contrasts his mother’s. For decades she avoided the hassle of delving into love or really caring for anyone. It was a distraction to her, an unnecessary part of life that she always avoided. It’s only in the past few years that a softer side has breached, gasping for air after so long of having been suppressed by the iron queen. She was never led by her heart until she began a family. Where Nayl had always been fierce, Castile was apathetic. There was no heated passion that drove him or an unsurpassed need for power; he was content just being himself and eventually finding a couple friends.

    How odd for a child of Nayl and Lior, indeed, to be lovesick.

    Ciri has weighed heavily on his mind, but Castile can’t bring himself to admit this to Starlin with her long lashes and stormy eyes. They peer up at him as he lifts her chin, his smile broadening slightly. He cannot trouble her innocent mind and ignorant heart of the pains he has already experienced; he won’t be the one to tell her of the darkest places where loneliness reigns.

    With a contemplative shrug, his head lifting away from hers now, he scrambles for an answer. ”Just thinking about how to master my shifting,” what had once been so embarrassing to admit has seemed to be a magnet for conversation, attention, and help, ”and actually start battling more.” The position of General is open in Loess. For someone who never craved power, Castile finds himself longing to find his niche, to unleash himself in a way he never thought possible. With a thoughtful breath, he looks up to the treetops then back to Starlin. ”What are your plans in Nerine?”


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    #7
    Starlin
    Starlin’s eyes meet Castile’s, a piercing directness in their depths. For a moment, it seems as though she will see through his deceptive answer – her long silence certainly indicates that something is amiss. But on, it is simply the time that it takes the filly to reply, an oddly uncomfortable silence that she seemingly has no control over.

    “What is your shifting?” She asks curiously. Her dark eyes flick back to the joint of his wing and body, wondering if he is like his father: a dragon. He certainly looks strong enough to be a dragon, the filly thinks, tall and muscular, with a handsome face and …oh. She blushes, realizing how detailed her inspection has become, and glances back at the ground. The ant is long gone, but Castile is asking her a question and despite her best efforts she has not yet melted into the ground and disappeared.

    “I uh…I want to be a warrior too. Like the Amazons were before the Reckoning.” Starlin has never voiced this to anyone but her mother, this desire to become something greater than herself. Djinni had not understood, but then Djinni had never been truly meant for kingdom service. Perhaps Castile will understand, Starlin thinks, if he has not tired of her odd behavior yet.

    “I’m Starlin,” she adds belatedly. “And yes, Djinni’s my mother.”
    grit & grace.
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    #8
    ”A dragon,” he answers rather quietly, but with a proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It kindles thoughts and memories of father. He remembers being a boy and peering up at Lior for the first time, drinking in his immeasurable strength and size. The leathery wings held his attention longest as it awakened a child’s elaborate imagination. Of course, in his mind, father was above all others. He could never be defeated or replaced; he was a titan in the eyes of his young boy.

    But Castile has since grown. His size almost mirrors his father’s, and while he understands that no one is invincible, pride still permeates his mind at the idea of sharing a trait with him. Just like father, he is dragonborn.

    Castile notes Starlin’s bashfulness as her eyes dart back and forth in desperate search for a distraction. This time, he doesn’t lift her chin to search her eyes. He doesn’t press closer or dreamily blink his eyes, but he observes her with an occasional glance to the river to break his own stare. The lurking primal instincts in his gut intensify the ridges of his face often times without his realization. He would’ve continued to divert were it not for her admission of her future in Nerine. The answer stirs him and brightens the gaze of his mismatched eyes. ”A warrior,” like him, he muses but never says, ”you will fit in perfectly then.” He would offer to mock with her, but he reflects on his battle with Krigare, and how he could not control himself. Castile would never forgive himself for hurting Starlin.

    ”Ivar’s sister,” he adds thoughtfully as a lighthearted grin bears down on her, ”You’re practically family.”

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