02-27-2018, 03:40 PM
It isn’t often that Castile finds himself in the Field. Its bustling activity has often deterred him, even as a young boy, but his options are minimal since Ivar encouraged him to be a regent. It’s temporary, he consoles himself. Leadership has never been on his list of strengths; that had been mother and Isobell. They wanted that. Castile, on the other hand, has thoroughly enjoyed a nomadic lifestyle with minimal responsibility. Apparently, that was a common difference between him and two of his closest friends. They had both become Kings.
The uncertainty of the endless chatter is reflected as a mid-step pause, but fortunately, he isn’t as startled by it as the mare nearby. They are separated by only a few bodies. The cool autumn breeze is welcomed when so many are huddled close.
(So many.)
(Prey. They are all prey.)
Something churns in his gut, but he pushes forward unabashed even as two others join the mare. They, unlike him, settle easily into conversation. Are you okay? One asks. How are you? Says the other. In just a few heartbeats, the bases are covered and he is fighting to find something to say. His adrenaline is rising, but he shuts his eyes in extended blink to maintain his composure. ”The field is a daunting place,” he admits truthfully, his mismatched eyes finding the clydesdale’s, ”so I rarely come here.” That needs to change, he admits to himself quietly before shifting his weight and grins. ”I’m Castile.”
The uncertainty of the endless chatter is reflected as a mid-step pause, but fortunately, he isn’t as startled by it as the mare nearby. They are separated by only a few bodies. The cool autumn breeze is welcomed when so many are huddled close.
(So many.)
(Prey. They are all prey.)
Something churns in his gut, but he pushes forward unabashed even as two others join the mare. They, unlike him, settle easily into conversation. Are you okay? One asks. How are you? Says the other. In just a few heartbeats, the bases are covered and he is fighting to find something to say. His adrenaline is rising, but he shuts his eyes in extended blink to maintain his composure. ”The field is a daunting place,” he admits truthfully, his mismatched eyes finding the clydesdale’s, ”so I rarely come here.” That needs to change, he admits to himself quietly before shifting his weight and grins. ”I’m Castile.”