[private] sabra;

[Castile]

Admittedly, Castile enjoys the fire in her soul and the daring in her voice. She is not meek; she does not shy from him even as his wings ripple into something entirely different. He duly notes how her chin lifts in defiance and her eyes blaze with an inner strength – or is it foolery? It would be wise to escape her now, to not risk her safety for his own selfish need of companionship and touch. ”I like your stubbornness,” he has to remind himself how new they are to one another, how unfamiliar. This isn’t Solace whom he has known since near childhood. This is a woman he fought and has apologized to, but her allure has him tangled (willfully) in her web. ”But it won’t protect you.”

Despite stepping away from her, Sabra is upon him again and pressing her cheek firmly to his shoulder. A fire blazes from the spot and flares through his body. It melts him and his eyes drift halfway shut again, comforted by the tenderness of the contact.

”And kill?” She admits blame of herself if she were to ever be harmed (an offer that he couldn’t help to scoff). ”What if I accidentally killed you? What then?” There is a firmness in his voice, gravelly with his rising concern, ”I have no control or memory of what happens when it surfaces. It isn’t as though it would be just a scratch or a small bite, Sabra.” He almost pushes with greater dangers, but he shakes his head to dismiss the idea of it, cringing to think himself a murderer, albeit unintentional.

(Anger)
No, no, no…

Castile’s consciousness desperately pounces on the restless creature lurking beneath his surface, waiting for an opportune moment to arise. It has noted the flustered tone spoken to the little bird, but it still struggles… always struggles…

”I’m just not strong enough yet,” it is still so new to him and fueled by his emotions, ”and I can’t risk it.” Spines inch out from his back, like smooth porcelain, but they recede almost immediately. Its fleeting would almost fool someone to think they hallucinated.

This time, Castile doesn’t break away from Sabra again. Instead, he tries desperately to focus on the soft touch of her lips to ease his frustration. ”… I shouldn’t even be trusted to take care of a herd,” he adds, thinking aloud as Loess crosses his mind and its safety.

[Sabra]

Some things just weren't meant to be. The intense emotions that had surged moments before now simmered in the background. Reality surged back with a vengeance. What was she doing? And his words echoed in her head, underlining the absurdity of the situation. The last of the adrenaline poured off, leaving her cold. 

"Perhaps you're right. In fact, I'm fairly positive you are. To a degree." Brick by brick, her wall restructures around her, visibly distancing herself from the emptiness in her heart. She does not like him any less. But he's right. They don't know each other, and she has responsibilities that don't involve another angst ridden relationship. It was better this way. 

She stepped away, sincerely this time. Small shifts across his body illustrate his words, and she knows he's separating himself the same way. Her eyes shut for a moment, a breath threading in and out of her chest. She smiled at him with her diplomats' face, professional again. "I appreciated the opportunity to face you, Castile. You're a wonderful man and I know that you'll win your fight one day. You are welcome in Sylva as long as I rule here." She paused a moment to meet his mismatched gaze. Twisting to the side, she plucked a pastel pink feather from her right wing. She delicately placed it behind his ear, droplets of her blood leaving a streak of crimson on the paleness of his mane. "A queen's favor. No strings attached. And if you ever want a rematch, well. You know where to find me..." 
Her controlled smile flashed recklessly flirtatious for just a moment. Was there anything left to say?

@[Castile]

[Castile]

”To a degree,” his metallic eyes catch a sheet of light and they seemingly ripple with intrigue and amusement. A lopsided, whiskey grin spreads across their lips as he holds her until she breaks away. Where she had been cradled against his neck feels suddenly cold and raw (is this how it feels when he rips someone open, baring their severed muscle and flesh?). A shiver runs through him, his wings shuffling unhappily against his sides.

The tone in her voice has chilled and he can see how her guarded walls rebuild themselves. An inquisitive tilt of his head is the only thing he can do as he listens to an approaching dismissal. There is something between them – a deep yearning – but it’s all new to him and so unfamiliar. He originally came to her to apologize, but it ended in a heated and intimate hold. Castile cannot – will not – deny the kindled flames licking his gut when their eyes meet for a few heartbeats. ”Sabra,” he begins to say, but she is pressing toward him with a feather plucked from her own wing. Lowering his head after noting her intentions, he allows for the placement of her favor. She nestles it into the unruliness of his mane before inching back with a smile softening the ridges of her pretty face. ”Oh, dear maiden,” he jests with a humored undertone as his head lifts again.

Their conversation is pulling at him, his heart uncertainly hammering against his chest.

The emotions reeling through him are a blur. He doesn’t know which to clutch onto.

”Sabra,” he murmurs her name again, tenderly, hopefully, and he steps toward her. Black plumes of smoke coil from his nostrils as he reaches for her, gliding his lips sweetly down her neck, to her shoulder. Another breath of her is drunkenly swallowed before he whispers, ”Visit me in Loess?” Because this isn’t good-bye; it will never be good-bye.

[Sabra]

Oh, she wanted to be cold. She wanted to be unfeeling and harsh and distant. She almost succeeded. But the way he said her name. What was she supposed to do, when he put so much emotion into those two syllables. She returns his smile as she pulls back again, laughing at his quip despite herself. 

"Is that what I am, just a pretty face?" She asked, arching a delicate brow.  She wasn't sure she wanted the answer to that. They were supposed to be ending the conversation. Moving on with their lives, content in knowing there was no bad blood between them. Why was she looking for reasons to keep talking? And then he says her name again. That low, sexy voice that makes her think that maybe he actually cares. How pathetic was that. 

She was a queen and a lady and needed no one's approval. But she wanted his. She wanted his approval and his time and... The scent of bitter smoke interrupted her thoughts. He was there again, filling her with his presence. Drawing a burning line down her neck and shoulder, thawing her as quickly as she'd frozen. They could be the only two horses in existence for all she cares. She wanted to be strong; he made her weak at the knees. His head is against her shoulder, and she lays hers over his neck. There against the solidity of him, she feels safe. There was an irony in that. 

Her head moved slowly against his neck, a nod of affirmation when he asked her to visit. "Of course I will. I told you, I expect a rematch at some point." She placed her teeth lightly against a patch of dark skin, applying the barest pressure to the ropes of muscle there. Breath hot against his skin, a kiss followed the feather light bite. "Next time I'll go easy on you. I might even let you win." She grinned saucily as she pulled back once more, but not very far. Parting was such sweet sorrow, but that hello again... a girl could get addicted to his kind of hellos. 

@[Castile]