"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
His voice is booming as it carries across the open fields. The gurgling of the river is falling into a backdrop to the noise of their thunderous hooves. Castile spares a glance back over his shoulder only once to see her in pursuit but readily gaining. She is so much more like mother – sleeker, more agile – while he inherited more baroque features like father. The muscles beneath his skin ripple with every reaching stride, a shine lathering his coat with a layer of sweat. Although regretting the decision to race already (he determines stamina isn’t his forte) Castile pushes himself onward until the scent of Loess latches onto the flaring edges of his nostrils. It’s enough of a finish line for him, an excuse to immediately slow to a walk despite whether Isobell is in the lead or not. His lungs desperately drink in the air, his forelock blown backwards in disarray, and his eyes rolling curiously in their sockets to find his sister.
When he finds her, their bodies immediately fold together. ”Remind me next time that I’m not a runner,” somehow he manages a huffing chuckle before shaking his head. ”I guess I’ve been flying too much lately.” It had been the opposite as a young colt. The idea of flying frightened him because of dangerous heights. The few times he attempted to take flight he would only be a few feet from the ground as a precautionary measure. That night in Hyaline – fire, destruction, mayhem – is what forced him to climb altitude in desperation to find help. That was when he shifted, too, so perhaps that night was in fact a blessing in disguise.
Castile keeps close to his darling Isobell with an occasional bump against her side as they venture farther into Loess where the vegetation is sparser and the rocky ledges more prominent. ”It’s definitely different from Nerine,” he comments idly while drawing to a stop to search her eyes for a reaction to their newest adventure together.
i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
Ooo, how he boils her blood sometimes!
The painted mare had been treated like a precious crystal trinket her whole life. She was precious Isobell, delicate Isobell, sweet, gentle Isobell. The young woman lets it all tear away as the wind washes over her, lifting her hair and driving her after her brother. She was to be queen one day and so she must learn to not hold back if she were to ever fill the shoes of the Iron Queen.
Castiel is faster, no doubt, but Isobell gives chase for the pleasure of feeling as though she is flying. The autumn brought a fresh chill to the air, opening her silver eyes and laughing, laughing, laughing. It was all in fun even when her legs are gathering under her and releasing in a burst expansion with her dark forelock sticking to her brow as the length of hair is flattens against her slender neck.
The taste of pine sap and wet bark halts her almost in unison with Castile, her damp sides heaving but a smile is upon her face. Despite their sweat, they are beside one another again, he always taller and broader and she a smaller, more petite painting that looks almost too much like their mother. "I can only imagine." She remarks with a light jab at how Castile, first born of Nayl and Lior, got all the fancy things...but to be forever young and beautiful was not so bad.
Isobell had been in Nerine the night that Hyaline burned. She does not recall what had happened but only that mother was gone and father had sat next to his painted daughter through the night till Nayl took her other side. Isobell had been lulled to sleep by their soft gentle voices floating over her head. "It is..." Isobell trails off as she unabashedly looks up at the tall trees, over her shoulder at scurrying squirrels, across the spine of Castile at a pair of deer nibbling on some late summer's grass. "It is pretty in its own way." She speaks absentmindedly before tugging at a strand of her brother's knotty mane, smiling as they stop to catch their breath and observe the land. Isobell suddenly feels terribly thirsty and glances off to find a stream or creek to sooth her burning throat.
The scents were so much different here and it made her head swimmy. Perhaps Loess though she can still taste the salt of Nerine on her tongue and there was ALWAYS black sand and seagrass bits tangled in her mane. She looks to Castile, watching his mismatched eyes, wondering briefly how she had ever been conceived after the perfect embodiment of Lior and Nayl that he was. "Thirsty?"
Castile takes pride in the way they melt back into one another, their sides heaving and their skin sleek with sweat. They are an image of perfection – tobianos mirroring their parents – as they wander further into the grab of Loess. A subtle tilt of his head allows Castile to glance at his sister and smile, watching as she drinks in the new scenery and comments on its individual allure. He is fascinated by the way her pewter eyes brighten and how energy electrifies her steps as she keeps pace with him. The love for his sibling overpowers anything else in his world. It’s her that he will always protect and shield; it’s her that he will always return to.
Walking has turned into a mindless act after their minutes of travel. He almost doesn’t recognize he’s still moving until there is a coolness on his side left by Isobell’s halt. Turning, he first searches her face before following her gaze to the deer nibbling on a patch of grass. The tranquility of the scene lulls him and he could have settled into a daze if it were not for the playful tug on his mane. A light-hearted chortle rumbles through his core before responding to her gesture by slapping her shoulder gently with his wing. ”Definitely,” when he swallows he realizes how dry his mouth actually is from having run. With a pivot, he changes direction and approaches the babbling tide of the coursing river. Dehydration takes priority, and so he drinks his fill before sweeping a sidelong glance to Isobell. There is a looming temptation to splash her, and it reflects on his wry smile, but he decides to placidly slip into the water one step at a time.
An autumnal chill catches his breath at first, but there is an eternal heat that brews inside him, insulating him enough as to not tremble in the river’s shallow depths. He goes only so far as to let the water glide past his shoulder and elbow, not wanting to entirely submerge himself. With meticulous steps on the rocky riverbed, Castile faces Isobell. ”What’s next on the agenda for you, Issy?” Saying her childhood name – one that only he has used save for perhaps the parents – elicits a storm of memories that brings a smile to his face. ”And how is mother and Nerine? Is someone standing out that might get the throne or will you be her heir? I imagine she won’t hold the throne much longer.” She has thus far outlasted all monarchs, cementing her name in Beqanna’s history as the iron-fisted Queen. It’s only a matter of time until she resigns to take a slower-paced lifestyle.
i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
The patterned mare slides away from her brother as he inquires at to the future. It had seemed only yesterday that the pair had torn through the dark sands of Nerine chasing the wind with shouts and screams of laughter as foals do...
But now things are different.
Her silver eyes seek the mismatched pair of her brother's own as her brow furrow slightly like a summer storm. She is not sure what the future holds but she does know she is the one to be protect Nerine where Castile is free to roam.
Mother would never let a man rule...even her own blood.
"I must stay in Nerine, Castile, who else could Mother trust?" The question is sincere and honest as she asks him like the question is rhetorical. Her dark head dips slightly as she moves her gaze away from his to look through the tall bodies of trees in a place that was not their home. 'You know Mother would never let just anyone have the throne." Her words are low and murmured as she can feel the weight of her birthright already on her slender shoulders. It would take time but the young mare would eventually grow to fulfill Nayl's place though her name would never be forgotten. 'And you? Where do you think you will be? I hope not too far..." Isobell lifts her face so she may watch her brother's expression, to read between the words in case he were attempting to cushion an answer or keep her away from any hurtful answer.
The truth of her statement somehow sinks further than Castile anticipated. When he looks up from the ground, drawn by the placidity of her voice, he searches her stormy eyes for either happiness or solemnity toward her inherited responsibilities. ”I thought she would’ve found someone by now,” it was a clan of warrior women, so surely there was someone deserving of the crown as mother’s successor, but his assumption is wrong. Perhaps. Isobell’s birth gave Nayl hope to continue a legacy. Certainly, she didn’t discuss it with her son who could offer nothing to Nerine. ”When the time comes, I’m sure you will be great.” There is a wisp of excitement in the baritone of his voice as he imagines his sibling stepping onto a throne and carrying a metaphorical crown on her head. A gentle nudge against her neck is the only form of physical reassurance.
However, Isobell is quick to alter their conversation and change the focus to him. With his muzzle still idly rest against her he weighs the situation and considers his next moves. Ivar wants him here in Loess, but Amet wants him in Hyaline. Isobell, most likely, wants him as close to her as possible. He smiles at her, a genuine brightness softening the sharp edges of his face. There are so many places that he could be and yet he’s yet to truly settle down and decide how to dictate his life’s path. He isn’t obligated to anyone or anything; the world is open and all a new adventure. A sigh hisses from between his teeth and he shrugs with uncertainty. ”To tell you the truth, I don’t know.” His thoughts race to her, to their family, to his friends, to Ciri. There are so many factors but nothing so great enough as to convince him – not yet, at least.
But he chuckles with a deviation to their conversation, an idea that he once contemplated as a boy. ”Can you imagine if you ruled Nerine, Ivar ruled Loess, and I eventually ruled another land? We would be one hell of a powerful group.” They once entertained the idea of taking over the world, but it was in jest. Castile has never been so power hungry as mother. He is rather content to stand at his friend’s or sister’s side rather than take on a leadership role. That lifestyle was never embedded into him as it has been for Isobell. ”No matter where I go, Issy, I will never be far from you. Who else can you truly trust to protect you than your older brother?” He playfully tugs on her mane even as his eyes stare distantly toward the hills.
i'll wait for inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
His reassurance brings a small smile to her face as she attempts to be brave, to be strong, but she is uncertain and feared to be a disappointment. Nayl had worked many years for Nerine to thrive and the painted mare hopes to bring her the justice that she had bled for. "I hope so Castile." Her voice is hushed as she lifts her silver eyes to the sun and moon hues of his. Should the day happen (though she already knows it will) her brother better be at her side. He had been her first (and only friend) through foalhood and could not imagine ever taking important steps into adulthood without his reassuring gaze.
Small ears are forward as she listens for his reply to her question of his future. Of course Isobell wants to hear that he will stay in Nerine but his face clouds with consideration and there is too long of a pause that blooms a touch of hurt in her chest. She doesn't allow it to crease her features but the idea that he may have elsewhere to live manages to tug at her heart.."I understand." Her reply is meant to be light but her voice answers in a sigh. Isobell, unlike Castile, was woman born to the Iron Queen, her fate was sealed at birth but the laugh that soon follows from her brother's lips causes her to lift her eyes to him with a questioning grin.
Isobell can not help but laugh at the mentioning of the three of them all ruling seperate lands. In fact, it makes the mare laugh rather heartily, jostling her brother's chin along with it. "Well from what I heard Ivar has already beaten us to the throne-," She chuckles with a teasing eye, "we had better step it up then, hm?" The mare laughs again but more gently this time. Their childhood dreams seemed to be taking shape much more vividly than she could have ever anticipated...could his prediction be closer to the truth than any of them realized? The tug of her mane makes her smile as he reassures that he will never be too far. "I don't know what I would do without you, Castile." Her voice is distant and airy as she follows his gaze to the horizon. "So tell your women I have every intention of meeting them." A single mercury eye is flicked sideways to him as though she knew of something but truthfully she did not. Isobell did know it wouldn't be long before he had his mare or mares of choice, he was a handsome creation, carved perfectly from ivory and jet and very much like their dragon father. Isobell fully intends to make good on her (playful) threat just as Castile did as well the day she chose her man.
