11-03-2017, 05:12 PM
Castile doesn’t race to the sound of his friend’s call like most would. It piques his attention, no doubt, but he hesitates as his mismatched gaze roves across the hills of Loess, searching for an answer, a purpose. What lies in wait upon Ivar’s beckoning is a concluding decision as to where he will focus and what he will do. It’s a moment of commitment that, for some odd reason, sends a shiver through him. Not once has he ever had a true obligation or a responsibility that would hold him down. Life thus far has been fairly open and free. Isobell is bound to Nerine, Ivar to Loess, and Amet to Hyaline.
Then, there is Castile the nomad.
A breath gives rise to his barrel before he decides to heed his friend and join the increasing congregation. There is no grand entrance for him, no loud announcement of his arrival. Instead, he placidly slinks in and takes a place farther in the back where wandering eyes will be less likely to find him. With Ivar leading a silence until they’ve arrived, Castile continues it by not uttering a word, but simply meeting his friend’s gaze and nodding his head.
Then, there is Castile the nomad.
A breath gives rise to his barrel before he decides to heed his friend and join the increasing congregation. There is no grand entrance for him, no loud announcement of his arrival. Instead, he placidly slinks in and takes a place farther in the back where wandering eyes will be less likely to find him. With Ivar leading a silence until they’ve arrived, Castile continues it by not uttering a word, but simply meeting his friend’s gaze and nodding his head.