10-19-2017, 09:09 PM
”Come on, princess, let’s race!”
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.
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.