11-21-2017, 10:44 AM
He is here again, hardly ever leaving. With the waning of winter comes the sprouting blossoms of spring. The solemnity of the river with its gray clouds and turbulent whitecaps traveling downstream has since diminished and calmed. Slowly, the grass breaches from the soil and the warmth of the sun plays like a child’s fingers down Castile’s back. His mind still reels, but his gaze is steadily focused on the riverbed that always seems to call his name. Oftentimes, he wonders what roots him to the steadfast river, but then with a shrug the thought slowly passes. There is Loess to return to, and yet, he struggles to muster the motivation to go home and rest his head. The river is where he can still breathe in the honeyed scent of Solace and the spice of Ciri; it’s his house of memories.
A lackadaisical yawn unhinges his jaws for a long moment, his eyes shutting beneath his unruly forelock. Another nap concludes with a grunt and lasting stretch, his wings extending out before coiling delicately back against his sides. The whir of life around him is typical; he often lets the world pass him by while he relaxes in solitude. Today would have been no different had he not glimpsed Isobell nearby. A long hesitation tethers him to his solitude as his mismatched eyes slide across the slenderness of her body, noting the changes that practically scream at him. Only weeks ago he had pressed his cheek against her and felt the familiar coat of hair that held remnants of Nerine’s sandy shores. Now, however, scales catch the sunlight with a foreign sheen that startles Castile more awake. A brow lifts and his lips crease into a confused frown.
The underlying predator in his soul makes his approach hushed as he seemingly glides across the grass until he is behind her. He blinks – slit pupils – then again – normal – as he drinks in the sight of her. A heavy breath pours from his nostrils first followed by the deepening gruff of his voice. ”What happened to you?” He doesn’t coddle her or wrap himself around her, doesn’t rest sweet kisses on her neck. His heart is leaping, his mind reeling. The unbidden worry for his sibling paints itself on his face as he still tries to digest this new image of her. Suddenly, the innocence of his sister has dissipated to be replaced by an adult that boasts even greater beauty and finesse.
But how?
”Isobell,” he says her name as though questioning whether it’s truly her, or if he has somehow mistaken his own sibling, but he can smell her. Nerine is still on her coat – no, scales – but so is someone all too familiar. Castile presses closer to her, his brows furrowing as he tries to piece everything together. ”You look like Ivar,” he whispers before increasing the volume of his voice, ”Did he do this to you?” The rhythm of his heart waltzes across his ribs as his stomach churns uncertainly.
A lackadaisical yawn unhinges his jaws for a long moment, his eyes shutting beneath his unruly forelock. Another nap concludes with a grunt and lasting stretch, his wings extending out before coiling delicately back against his sides. The whir of life around him is typical; he often lets the world pass him by while he relaxes in solitude. Today would have been no different had he not glimpsed Isobell nearby. A long hesitation tethers him to his solitude as his mismatched eyes slide across the slenderness of her body, noting the changes that practically scream at him. Only weeks ago he had pressed his cheek against her and felt the familiar coat of hair that held remnants of Nerine’s sandy shores. Now, however, scales catch the sunlight with a foreign sheen that startles Castile more awake. A brow lifts and his lips crease into a confused frown.
The underlying predator in his soul makes his approach hushed as he seemingly glides across the grass until he is behind her. He blinks – slit pupils – then again – normal – as he drinks in the sight of her. A heavy breath pours from his nostrils first followed by the deepening gruff of his voice. ”What happened to you?” He doesn’t coddle her or wrap himself around her, doesn’t rest sweet kisses on her neck. His heart is leaping, his mind reeling. The unbidden worry for his sibling paints itself on his face as he still tries to digest this new image of her. Suddenly, the innocence of his sister has dissipated to be replaced by an adult that boasts even greater beauty and finesse.
But how?
”Isobell,” he says her name as though questioning whether it’s truly her, or if he has somehow mistaken his own sibling, but he can smell her. Nerine is still on her coat – no, scales – but so is someone all too familiar. Castile presses closer to her, his brows furrowing as he tries to piece everything together. ”You look like Ivar,” he whispers before increasing the volume of his voice, ”Did he do this to you?” The rhythm of his heart waltzes across his ribs as his stomach churns uncertainly.