10-29-2018, 09:32 AM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Each day, Castile left to address his grief and peel his eyes from her limp body, but he returned each evening to remain guard over it. It should be decaying, he often thought, and the sight of it still intact and not rotting gave him a nightly rush of hope.
He had fled the bloody scene with Sabra clutched in his grasp, flying across Nerine and twisting among the clouds before finding solitude on a large plateau of rock that towers from the ocean. It’s an elevated island, he mused upon seeing it. Only those capable of flight could reach him, but those few individuals would, hopefully, be smart enough to let the growling beast be to himself.
As the sun looms toward the horizon, it presses a sweet kiss on the ocean as it extends far beyond Castile’s eyesight. Scarlet, orange, and yellow smear across the water’s surface and paints the world in shades of sunset when he soars to the familiar outcropping of rock, his body already having shifted to that of a dragon. It has easily become routine to rest alongside her and to cradle her cold body to his fiery warmth. It’s wishful thinking, he knows, but he cannot bear the thought of having her taken away from him, leaving him alone with their sons when she is the glue holding them all together. ”Sabra,” he breathes as he alights heavily on the rocky ledge, sending chunks crashing down into the ocean below. She doesn’t respond. He didn’t expect her to, but his ears still yearned for the sound of her voice.
Even months after it happened – has it already been that long? – Castile refuses to lose all hope.
A rumbling growl trembles the rocks underfoot as he lies down, curling himself and pulling Sabra toward him where he can curtain his wing overhead. There’s a softness in him not often seen in this form. The turbulence of his emotions is wearing and his mind is hazed by a shadow of solemnity. As he rests his head on the ground, he begins to drift asleep.
An abrupt and raspy intake of air startles him, however, and elicits a malevolent snarl. His slit eyes snap open and he expects there to be a disturbance outside of their shelter – his wing still lying above her and his own head – but when his body shifts he realizes that it isn’t an outside source. It’s her. It’s Sabra.
Castile’s jaws clench together as he bumps her gingerly with the tip of his snout. There is a rattling rise and fall of her chest as her lungs struggle to work after having been stagnant for so long. There is no other movement, no other sign of life yet, but her breathing is enough to elevate his levels of hope. ”Sabra?” his voice is gravely, quaking the rocky outcropping as it sounds more like a growl than her name. Frozen, Castile can only watch intently, wishing her back to life.
He had fled the bloody scene with Sabra clutched in his grasp, flying across Nerine and twisting among the clouds before finding solitude on a large plateau of rock that towers from the ocean. It’s an elevated island, he mused upon seeing it. Only those capable of flight could reach him, but those few individuals would, hopefully, be smart enough to let the growling beast be to himself.
As the sun looms toward the horizon, it presses a sweet kiss on the ocean as it extends far beyond Castile’s eyesight. Scarlet, orange, and yellow smear across the water’s surface and paints the world in shades of sunset when he soars to the familiar outcropping of rock, his body already having shifted to that of a dragon. It has easily become routine to rest alongside her and to cradle her cold body to his fiery warmth. It’s wishful thinking, he knows, but he cannot bear the thought of having her taken away from him, leaving him alone with their sons when she is the glue holding them all together. ”Sabra,” he breathes as he alights heavily on the rocky ledge, sending chunks crashing down into the ocean below. She doesn’t respond. He didn’t expect her to, but his ears still yearned for the sound of her voice.
Even months after it happened – has it already been that long? – Castile refuses to lose all hope.
A rumbling growl trembles the rocks underfoot as he lies down, curling himself and pulling Sabra toward him where he can curtain his wing overhead. There’s a softness in him not often seen in this form. The turbulence of his emotions is wearing and his mind is hazed by a shadow of solemnity. As he rests his head on the ground, he begins to drift asleep.
An abrupt and raspy intake of air startles him, however, and elicits a malevolent snarl. His slit eyes snap open and he expects there to be a disturbance outside of their shelter – his wing still lying above her and his own head – but when his body shifts he realizes that it isn’t an outside source. It’s her. It’s Sabra.
Castile’s jaws clench together as he bumps her gingerly with the tip of his snout. There is a rattling rise and fall of her chest as her lungs struggle to work after having been stagnant for so long. There is no other movement, no other sign of life yet, but her breathing is enough to elevate his levels of hope. ”Sabra?” his voice is gravely, quaking the rocky outcropping as it sounds more like a growl than her name. Frozen, Castile can only watch intently, wishing her back to life.
castile