11-29-2017, 09:13 AM
It’s fear that punctures the scaled armor around his heart. It’s the worry of losing his sister, of her being a monster much like himself, which seeps into the expression on his face. Where there was a silken coat of hair there are now smooth scales, much unlike his own. He wants to touch her, to hold him, but his gut wrenches as he continues to drink in the scent of Ivar. For minutes – oh, how it feels like hours – Castile is spiraling into a trance with his eyes continuing to thirstily drink the sight of Isobell. Anger doesn’t fuel him; it is a miracle he doesn’t notice the healing abrasions and lacerations near his sister’s withers otherwise their conversation would conclude as quickly as a friendship that has survived the years. Almost unblinking, unmoving…
Her voice, the beautiful thing it is, hooks and drags him from the darkening of his mind. It captures him and holds his attention steadily as their eyes meet. The panting of his breaths eases and slows, the threatening ripples of scales and teeth dissolves, and he slumps. ”Isobell,” he mutters again as they face each other, searching one another for questions and answers to them. The delicacy to how she speaks reassures him that she is not gone, that his sister is still in the heart and soul of the kelpie. This isn’t a monster in front of him.
But he can see how he has distressed her and chiseled at her own confidence. She casts her eyes down and she breathes in only to admit that she cannot explain. There is a story to this, one in which he will eventually piece together, but he focuses on her now. Inching closer, his heart settling in his chest, Castile accepts her touch then acquiesces to a loving embrace. A single wing – intentionally manipulated to always be that of a dragon’s – cascades across her and holds her against his barrel. ”Did he hurt you?” It’s the first question that he can muster the strength to ask although his mind reels with so many others. His cheek then presses to her neck, his eyelids drifting shut for a few heartbeats. ”As long as you’re okay,” he whispers into her scales, his lips damp when pulling away, ”I cannot – will not – let any harm come to you.” His eyes open to see the glisten of this new beauty of hers, fascinated but simultaneously concerned. ”I love you, my sweet sister.”
Her voice, the beautiful thing it is, hooks and drags him from the darkening of his mind. It captures him and holds his attention steadily as their eyes meet. The panting of his breaths eases and slows, the threatening ripples of scales and teeth dissolves, and he slumps. ”Isobell,” he mutters again as they face each other, searching one another for questions and answers to them. The delicacy to how she speaks reassures him that she is not gone, that his sister is still in the heart and soul of the kelpie. This isn’t a monster in front of him.
But he can see how he has distressed her and chiseled at her own confidence. She casts her eyes down and she breathes in only to admit that she cannot explain. There is a story to this, one in which he will eventually piece together, but he focuses on her now. Inching closer, his heart settling in his chest, Castile accepts her touch then acquiesces to a loving embrace. A single wing – intentionally manipulated to always be that of a dragon’s – cascades across her and holds her against his barrel. ”Did he hurt you?” It’s the first question that he can muster the strength to ask although his mind reels with so many others. His cheek then presses to her neck, his eyelids drifting shut for a few heartbeats. ”As long as you’re okay,” he whispers into her scales, his lips damp when pulling away, ”I cannot – will not – let any harm come to you.” His eyes open to see the glisten of this new beauty of hers, fascinated but simultaneously concerned. ”I love you, my sweet sister.”