03-19-2018, 02:08 PM
There is no containing himself.
(Little bird)
Castile listens diligently to her and how she continues to weigh the battle so heavily in his favor. The responding shake of his head is slow, his unruly mane swaying peacefully with the motion. ”Stop it,” he says lightheartedly before listing his eyes to hers.
There is no containing himself.
He reaches forward, touching the base of her neck where it curves gently to form her shoulder. Was this an area he hit? He already cannot remember. The warmth of her skin is electrifying and it bursts from his muzzle, stemming through his body. ”Don’t doubt yourself,” he finally says when he musters the will to pull away from her. ”I’m new to fighting and you were one hell of an opponent,” the truth tumbles from his lips like silk even as his memory replays their brawl. It was heated and passionate as they desperately scrambled for the taste of victory. Now, he just hopes to never hurt her again. ”I’m happy they heal us afterward,” he adds as a second thought as his eyes trace along her body where he remembers blood dripping down. The thick rivulets glistened in the dappled sunlight of winter.
(Feed)
The memory of her blood causes a stir within him, but he takes pause and listens to her voice as she admires the trees enveloping her. The smile on her face is warm, tender even, as she admits to having finally found a home. Sabra’s gentleness quells the creature’s appetite almost immediately. ”I’m sure Sylva is happy to have you,” he mirrors her compassion, contradicting everything she thought of him on The Plains, ”and some quiet can be a good thing.” Perhaps he would know because of the tranquility found in Loess. Ivar seemingly disappeared with his concubines not far after.
Even with an abundance of solitude in Loess, Castile keeps himself grounded without the intention of letting his inner workings release. The world would see him for what he truly is, and the fear of it disturbs him. ”No,” he says to Sabra rather curtly at the idea of his other entity – the one she glimpsed in their battle, ”Never.” His mismatched eyes stray from her wings to the gentle arch of her neck to her eyes. ”I’m too dangerous that way,” a hesitant pause permeates the air between them, ”No one would be safe.”
(Little bird)
Castile listens diligently to her and how she continues to weigh the battle so heavily in his favor. The responding shake of his head is slow, his unruly mane swaying peacefully with the motion. ”Stop it,” he says lightheartedly before listing his eyes to hers.
There is no containing himself.
He reaches forward, touching the base of her neck where it curves gently to form her shoulder. Was this an area he hit? He already cannot remember. The warmth of her skin is electrifying and it bursts from his muzzle, stemming through his body. ”Don’t doubt yourself,” he finally says when he musters the will to pull away from her. ”I’m new to fighting and you were one hell of an opponent,” the truth tumbles from his lips like silk even as his memory replays their brawl. It was heated and passionate as they desperately scrambled for the taste of victory. Now, he just hopes to never hurt her again. ”I’m happy they heal us afterward,” he adds as a second thought as his eyes trace along her body where he remembers blood dripping down. The thick rivulets glistened in the dappled sunlight of winter.
(Feed)
The memory of her blood causes a stir within him, but he takes pause and listens to her voice as she admires the trees enveloping her. The smile on her face is warm, tender even, as she admits to having finally found a home. Sabra’s gentleness quells the creature’s appetite almost immediately. ”I’m sure Sylva is happy to have you,” he mirrors her compassion, contradicting everything she thought of him on The Plains, ”and some quiet can be a good thing.” Perhaps he would know because of the tranquility found in Loess. Ivar seemingly disappeared with his concubines not far after.
Even with an abundance of solitude in Loess, Castile keeps himself grounded without the intention of letting his inner workings release. The world would see him for what he truly is, and the fear of it disturbs him. ”No,” he says to Sabra rather curtly at the idea of his other entity – the one she glimpsed in their battle, ”Never.” His mismatched eyes stray from her wings to the gentle arch of her neck to her eyes. ”I’m too dangerous that way,” a hesitant pause permeates the air between them, ”No one would be safe.”