”Mother,” Castile is older, his voice at the cusp of deepening – barely – and he handles himself more carefully now. When he glances over his shoulder he sees Nayl looking at him with a lift of a brow, silence keeping her lips pursed shut. ”Outsiders,” he doesn’t say much, almost mirroring his father, but it is enough to pique the Queen’s interest. Her head lifts from the tall beach grass; it tickles her legs and underbelly as a swift coastal breeze sweeps through. From afar she can see the mother and child ambling across the sandy shores with an interest hovering on the expanse of ocean to their left.
A groan nearly escapes her, exasperated with trespassers, but she soon catches glimpse of Orion’s Belt. He is quick to find the couple, his voice piercing the seagull cries to welcome the mother and congratulate her. ”She’s recruited,” again, stating something obvious with minimal words. Nayl merely bobs her head and reaches for his shoulder where she touches him with the tenderness of a loving mother. When she glances back over her shoulder, Nayl half expects to see her daughter, but isn’t surprised to see that she is still practicing her independence. She comes when hungry and explores when not. Oftentimes, Castile prowls nearby to keep a heavy eye on his sister. Today, however, he decides to accompany his mother.
”I see the two of you have already met,” it’s the first time Nayl has spoken in hours, her voice a near drawl punctuated with a languid smile. ”Had you not been greeted by Orion so quickly I would have taken you to be trespassing,” she pauses as she draws to a stop among them, ”and I don’t care much for trespassers.” The fire in her eyes crackle and scorches the words slipping from her velvet lips. She is easily softened, however, by the gentleness that Castile reaches down to the young child with. His eyes – one gold, one silver – peer at her curiously, but he searches her eyes more than her tiny body. ”Hello, I’m Castile,” his attention is engrossed by the filly, and he almost forgets where he is, who he is with. He regards mother with a nod when she brushes his hip, but he doesn’t peel away from his fascination with a child younger than him (he is so used to being the smallest, the youngest).
Moving along with a resigned sigh, she looks to the mother. ”I’m Nayl,” then to the stallion, ”It’s nice to see you again, Orion.”
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