03-05-2018, 09:40 AM
When mother ruled Nerine, she continuously skirted the borders of their home with hawk eyes. Castile remembers shadowing her, observing her, mirroring her. It was a responsibility, she once advised him, and he grimaced at the idea of passing his days wandering the same trail keeping his eyes peeled for outsiders. Grasping onto a leadership position had never been on his agenda, but Ivar seemingly found him suitable to help guard Loess and Lepis. Heda, Castile assumes, is capable of defending herself.
But on this day, the tobiano takes to the skies instead of walking across the rocky outcroppings of the land. His wings beat rhythmically as the winter gale helps lift him higher. Lackadaisical circles, spins, dives, and glides keep his interest on the task at hand. An occasional puff of black smoke from his nostrils stirs his curiosity as well. Up here, he is content to revel in his solitude and escape the few responsibilities he has. Unfortunately, it concludes not long after when he notes a stranger wandering to their metaphorical walls.
The descent is gradual and unrushed despite the hungry urgency ringing in his head.
(Trespasser)
Castile suppresses the monster writhing inside him when his hooves all alight and he draws nearer to the stranger. When he breathes in, it’s with an uncertainty of tropical flowers and the ocean. A brow quirks and his nostrils flutter. ”Hello,” he begins after taking note of the foreigner’s blindness, ”I’m Castile.” For years, he was content keeping to himself and meeting only a few others, but this new role has requirements of him. ”Is there anything I can help you with? And if you don’t mind telling me where you’re from; the scent isn’t very familiar.” There are few places he hasn’t visited. Each of the names plays like a reel through his mind with their associated smells, but still, nothing rings in his mind as another breath is gulped down.
But on this day, the tobiano takes to the skies instead of walking across the rocky outcroppings of the land. His wings beat rhythmically as the winter gale helps lift him higher. Lackadaisical circles, spins, dives, and glides keep his interest on the task at hand. An occasional puff of black smoke from his nostrils stirs his curiosity as well. Up here, he is content to revel in his solitude and escape the few responsibilities he has. Unfortunately, it concludes not long after when he notes a stranger wandering to their metaphorical walls.
The descent is gradual and unrushed despite the hungry urgency ringing in his head.
(Trespasser)
Castile suppresses the monster writhing inside him when his hooves all alight and he draws nearer to the stranger. When he breathes in, it’s with an uncertainty of tropical flowers and the ocean. A brow quirks and his nostrils flutter. ”Hello,” he begins after taking note of the foreigner’s blindness, ”I’m Castile.” For years, he was content keeping to himself and meeting only a few others, but this new role has requirements of him. ”Is there anything I can help you with? And if you don’t mind telling me where you’re from; the scent isn’t very familiar.” There are few places he hasn’t visited. Each of the names plays like a reel through his mind with their associated smells, but still, nothing rings in his mind as another breath is gulped down.