03-15-2018, 08:42 AM
Sabra looks at him with concern before he speaks; she can read his face as easily as a book. Castile’s eyes dart back and forth on the ground, searching for the right words to say. When they flounder on his tongue, there is no holding them back. In the battle pen, he is a savage warrior, but here, in the innocence of Sylva, he is amiable and even boyish and shy.
It’s with a sigh of relief that Sabra extends her understanding and acceptance. Castile’s mouth twitches into a small grin.
(Little bird)
”You flatter me,” he admits in a husky voice, his eyes casting down briefly to examine a browned leaf on the forest floor. Battling is a new realm to him, but he dodges around the confession, keeping it tucked in the deep crevices of his mind where the creature just barely stirs, unspurred by the conversation. ”You are definitely a lot stronger and tougher than I anticipated,” a low chuckle escapes him while his head lifts to level with hers, ”You have a lot of power in that kick.” It’s impossible to forget the buffeting of her hooves against the crest of his neck. It was almost as though he could hear his muscles scream in protest and hear the blood surge to the site. The battle was an intense whir of pain and desperation. They both had a thirst for victory. ”Soon the verdict will be announced,” all the pairings will wait anxiously, ”so good luck.” The sincerity drips from his voice and is mirrored in his mismatched gaze.
A falling leaf grabs his attention fleetingly. For a hesitating moment, he watches as it drifts down, swaying like a dance before settling soundlessly on the ground at their feet.
”It has been years since I was last in Sylva,” he blinks back the memory from replaying again as he gently searches Sabra’s face, ”How is it now?” He doesn’t expect it to have changed much, but the scents aren’t what he remembered, and the monarchy has long since shifted as it always does.
It’s with a sigh of relief that Sabra extends her understanding and acceptance. Castile’s mouth twitches into a small grin.
(Little bird)
”You flatter me,” he admits in a husky voice, his eyes casting down briefly to examine a browned leaf on the forest floor. Battling is a new realm to him, but he dodges around the confession, keeping it tucked in the deep crevices of his mind where the creature just barely stirs, unspurred by the conversation. ”You are definitely a lot stronger and tougher than I anticipated,” a low chuckle escapes him while his head lifts to level with hers, ”You have a lot of power in that kick.” It’s impossible to forget the buffeting of her hooves against the crest of his neck. It was almost as though he could hear his muscles scream in protest and hear the blood surge to the site. The battle was an intense whir of pain and desperation. They both had a thirst for victory. ”Soon the verdict will be announced,” all the pairings will wait anxiously, ”so good luck.” The sincerity drips from his voice and is mirrored in his mismatched gaze.
A falling leaf grabs his attention fleetingly. For a hesitating moment, he watches as it drifts down, swaying like a dance before settling soundlessly on the ground at their feet.
”It has been years since I was last in Sylva,” he blinks back the memory from replaying again as he gently searches Sabra’s face, ”How is it now?” He doesn’t expect it to have changed much, but the scents aren’t what he remembered, and the monarchy has long since shifted as it always does.