10-04-2017, 08:02 PM
Isobell melts into his side, and every shield, every distant thought, recedes far back beyond his reach. There is only this moment now, only her, and he savors these minutes as though they are his last. The only thing that has ever mattered is his family – mother, father, Isobell – and to have that one critical piece leaning against him is more than enough. Castile breathes a heavy sigh of relief – of joy – into the arch of her neck and mindlessly toys with the frosted tips of her mane. How beautiful she is, he muses, and what a sight to behold. When she peels away to look at him, her lips frowning, he wants so badly to pull her back in, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drinks in the sight of her and how her forelock slips across her face and almost hides her pewter eyes – so much like father’s.
She is a beautiful mixture of their parents.
A frown creases his handsome face, and he is almost afraid to answer. He had no idea where he was – he remembers only darkness – but he can’t tell her that and lead her to worry. But he cannot let her question go unanswered as she looks at him briefly with the hurt of having missed him. Leaning forward, Castile brushes aside her forelock then grazes his muzzle down her cheek. ”I’m sorry,” his apology is the only thing he can choke out, hating himself for having been gone. ”It won’t happen again,” he is afraid to promise her because he doesn’t have the heart to ever fail her again, but he reassures her with a soft kiss before taking a slow step back to look at her then to the river nearby. It has been perhaps a year or two since he last looked at his distorted reflection in the gurgling water. A young, gangly boy he had been. Nothing like now. He is still growing, still filling out, but every day he resembles father more with a lighter feathering and baroque torso.
”What trouble have you been getting yourself into?” He asks lightheartedly as a boyish grin stretches across his lip. ”There are no boys I need to chase off, is there?” He wants to laugh, to show her that he is joking, but he is undoubtedly protective of her. So, instead, he is left with an expression that struggles to hide the humor, his eyes bright and his brows trembling with effort until nothing else can hold back the chuckle. Isobell is capable of handling herself, but in the back of his mind he can’t help but wonder. ”I still haven’t even mastered the whole dragon thing. I have to perfect that before I ward off wanna-be suitors.” On command, he can only shift his wings. With a backward glance he strips the feathers for a thin membrane of skin stretched across the bones, claws punctuating the appearance before he looks at her again, still smiling, still unable to hide the innate joy of finding her.
She is a beautiful mixture of their parents.
A frown creases his handsome face, and he is almost afraid to answer. He had no idea where he was – he remembers only darkness – but he can’t tell her that and lead her to worry. But he cannot let her question go unanswered as she looks at him briefly with the hurt of having missed him. Leaning forward, Castile brushes aside her forelock then grazes his muzzle down her cheek. ”I’m sorry,” his apology is the only thing he can choke out, hating himself for having been gone. ”It won’t happen again,” he is afraid to promise her because he doesn’t have the heart to ever fail her again, but he reassures her with a soft kiss before taking a slow step back to look at her then to the river nearby. It has been perhaps a year or two since he last looked at his distorted reflection in the gurgling water. A young, gangly boy he had been. Nothing like now. He is still growing, still filling out, but every day he resembles father more with a lighter feathering and baroque torso.
”What trouble have you been getting yourself into?” He asks lightheartedly as a boyish grin stretches across his lip. ”There are no boys I need to chase off, is there?” He wants to laugh, to show her that he is joking, but he is undoubtedly protective of her. So, instead, he is left with an expression that struggles to hide the humor, his eyes bright and his brows trembling with effort until nothing else can hold back the chuckle. Isobell is capable of handling herself, but in the back of his mind he can’t help but wonder. ”I still haven’t even mastered the whole dragon thing. I have to perfect that before I ward off wanna-be suitors.” On command, he can only shift his wings. With a backward glance he strips the feathers for a thin membrane of skin stretched across the bones, claws punctuating the appearance before he looks at her again, still smiling, still unable to hide the innate joy of finding her.
@[Isobell] @[Elle Belle]