fallen star, I'm your one call away
Her white light is a beacon that draws his attention towards her as he drops the stone. A sheepish grin grabs and lifts the corners of his mouth once he realizes he’s been caught in the act. Though in the act of what, even he’s not sure. The woman who finds him is otherworldly, seemingly dripped in the very stars and borrowing the glow of the moon. He is abashed, at first, until he sees a smile reflecting on her face.
“Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t weird.” There is still the land’s grittiness grinding between his teeth, though it is not altogether unpleasant. In each little grain of earth, he is reminded of the puddles of his youth: of all the raindrops that made them up just like each speck of dirt builds the mountains. There is a power in apparent insignificance, he thinks, often hidden in plain sight. He is reminded how mountains are broken down into bolders, how bolders shatter into stones, and how stones dissolve into grains of earth. He tastes the passage of all that time on his tongue, tastes the energy released from each breakdown, while he tries to think of the best way to put that into words.
“The best way to learn about a place is to taste it.” He gestures to the lake behind him and the mountains even further behind him and shrugs. “Not as salty as Ischia or as savory as the meadow, I’m afraid.” Not at all like his home island in any way. It is quieter without the breaking surf or constant chatter of the macaws. Instead, he hears the occasional chirp of a songbird and the soft shushing of leaves against each other in the breeze. It is peaceful, pleasant. And its greeter seems much the same.
Castor’s own naïve warmth is drawn to something similar in this stranger. There is a vague kinship that pulls at his bones, tells him that he has found someone of value. But he pushes the feeling away in place of discovering for himself. After all, he is drawn to almost everyone for some reason or another; they all have their mysteries that he is eager to learn.
“I’m Castor,” he says, dipping his head gently before finding her dark eyes once more. “This must be…Hyaline?” He thinks it must be, but with the way their world keeps shifting, one can never be too sure. He wants to see as many lands as he can before they slip into the sea, as they are prone to doing. So far, he has not managed to cross many off of his list. But his accidental adventure today is fortuitous, perhaps in more ways than one. “Is it your Home?” The word is said with some degree of reverence, as if it is a sacred, delicate question he has asked. There are those that simply live within a place and others that carry that place within them, always. He has no such allegiance to any one place, not yet anyway, but he is curious to see if she belongs to Hyaline or if it belongs to her.
“Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t weird.” There is still the land’s grittiness grinding between his teeth, though it is not altogether unpleasant. In each little grain of earth, he is reminded of the puddles of his youth: of all the raindrops that made them up just like each speck of dirt builds the mountains. There is a power in apparent insignificance, he thinks, often hidden in plain sight. He is reminded how mountains are broken down into bolders, how bolders shatter into stones, and how stones dissolve into grains of earth. He tastes the passage of all that time on his tongue, tastes the energy released from each breakdown, while he tries to think of the best way to put that into words.
“The best way to learn about a place is to taste it.” He gestures to the lake behind him and the mountains even further behind him and shrugs. “Not as salty as Ischia or as savory as the meadow, I’m afraid.” Not at all like his home island in any way. It is quieter without the breaking surf or constant chatter of the macaws. Instead, he hears the occasional chirp of a songbird and the soft shushing of leaves against each other in the breeze. It is peaceful, pleasant. And its greeter seems much the same.
Castor’s own naïve warmth is drawn to something similar in this stranger. There is a vague kinship that pulls at his bones, tells him that he has found someone of value. But he pushes the feeling away in place of discovering for himself. After all, he is drawn to almost everyone for some reason or another; they all have their mysteries that he is eager to learn.
“I’m Castor,” he says, dipping his head gently before finding her dark eyes once more. “This must be…Hyaline?” He thinks it must be, but with the way their world keeps shifting, one can never be too sure. He wants to see as many lands as he can before they slip into the sea, as they are prone to doing. So far, he has not managed to cross many off of his list. But his accidental adventure today is fortuitous, perhaps in more ways than one. “Is it your Home?” The word is said with some degree of reverence, as if it is a sacred, delicate question he has asked. There are those that simply live within a place and others that carry that place within them, always. He has no such allegiance to any one place, not yet anyway, but he is curious to see if she belongs to Hyaline or if it belongs to her.
@Ryatah