12-06-2018, 10:01 AM
Breckin
A strange little fellow, but beautiful all the same. With a rattling purr he acknowledges her, peering through brilliant eyes; his own expectant curiosity mirrored in her own plain, brown ones as her head tilts slowly to better look at him. For now she only smiles in response, breathing a puff of warmed air playfully over the cool skin of his extended snout. There's a massive presence close by, it's nearly tangible, but she ignores it, faithful that if it had been something endangering their lives that Leilan would have already intervened.
He's my son.
Castile's familiar rumbling baritone draws her vision to cascade over the dragon of Nerine's painted form. His claiming of the metallic colt was unsurprising, the similarities they shared were undeniably obvious, though it still did not answer the question of where the child's mother had gone or who she was. But this was Beqanna, and despite the beauties the land shared with its residents, there were also tragedies, and so her mind begrudgingly assumes the worst in this instance.
"I will," she says in response to his asking her to feed the boy, only after recovering from the initial shock of Castile's news of Sabra. "Gladly." There are so many more questions that rise to the surface within, so many answers she craves, so many conversations left unheld. But she chokes down the words, stifles them for another day. The news of Sabra being alive was miraculous, something that she would follow up on soon. She gemstone woman must in quite a state--having died and been resurrected to give birth to a child would be undoubtedly taxing. It would be a distant attempt, but perhaps she could help lessen her burden by caring for Castile's son as long as she could. It would be tiring for herself, but it was possible. Others had birthed triplets before her, she'd heard. If they could do it, she could as well. For the sake of her daughters and this latest little arrival. "For however long necessary."
"Gilt," she repeats softly. There is nothing remotely similar to a dragon about her, perhaps other than her stubborn streak, and it that aspect that she uses to try to defy her nonexistent reptilian aspects. It's a small thing, but she tries all the same, making a tiny rattling sound at the back of her throat while pressing her chilled nose into the curve of the painted colt's neck as he had done similarly to her. "It's nice to meet you," she says with a warming grin. Still smiling, she looks to Castile again before looking back for reassurance that Leilan and the girls remained nearby.
-------------------------------
Oisin
Everyone is ignoring her. They seem to be much more concerned about the strange boy in the snow. Huffing in obvious annoyance, she looks between Mama and Papa again, impatiently waiting for an answer. She'd asked an important question, hadn't she? Why did nobody seem to want to answer her?
But Papa catches her eyes again, merely shaking his head at her. What was that? What did that mean? Was that a 'No, babies don't come from lakes, Oisin' or was that a 'No, Oisin, this is not the time to ask those kinds of amazingly, brilliant, and smart questions?' She's about to ask just that--a girl needs some clarity after all, how else is she supposed to learn about the world--until a weak shadow envelopes her tiny dark form.
Noticing the shift of light, her ears move listlessly backward, swallowing hard before turning her small head in time to see a big, powerful looking man looking rather displeased right now. Was it her fault? Had she done something? Stiffening, she eyes him the briefest moment before issueing a pathetic "EEP" while simultaneously scrambling to find sure footing in the slippery snow. Tufts of snow skitter about as the filly clamors to hide in safety behind her father, joining Eurwen where she stood in their Papa's shadow. She didn't want to wait and see if the new person was mad at her or not. She was too little and too pretty to die.
"Scooch, Wenny!" she commanded her younger sister, pushing into the spotted filly unceremoniously, "Make room for me!"
Catching her breath in gulps of air, she watches the adults and the winged colt. Okay, so maybe it wasn't her they were mad at after all. Boy, was she glad she hadn't overexaggerated. Much braver now, Oisin shuffles under her father's belly to poke her small head out between his fore limbs. Looking up beneath his chest, she tries to read his expression, making sure things were indeed okay before extricating herself all the way out from beneath him, even venturing so far as to puff out her chest and look at her mother and the new people with what she hoped was unbaffled indifference.
Yes. Things were definitely okay.
@[Castile] @[Gilt] @[Leilan]
A strange little fellow, but beautiful all the same. With a rattling purr he acknowledges her, peering through brilliant eyes; his own expectant curiosity mirrored in her own plain, brown ones as her head tilts slowly to better look at him. For now she only smiles in response, breathing a puff of warmed air playfully over the cool skin of his extended snout. There's a massive presence close by, it's nearly tangible, but she ignores it, faithful that if it had been something endangering their lives that Leilan would have already intervened.
He's my son.
Castile's familiar rumbling baritone draws her vision to cascade over the dragon of Nerine's painted form. His claiming of the metallic colt was unsurprising, the similarities they shared were undeniably obvious, though it still did not answer the question of where the child's mother had gone or who she was. But this was Beqanna, and despite the beauties the land shared with its residents, there were also tragedies, and so her mind begrudgingly assumes the worst in this instance.
"I will," she says in response to his asking her to feed the boy, only after recovering from the initial shock of Castile's news of Sabra. "Gladly." There are so many more questions that rise to the surface within, so many answers she craves, so many conversations left unheld. But she chokes down the words, stifles them for another day. The news of Sabra being alive was miraculous, something that she would follow up on soon. She gemstone woman must in quite a state--having died and been resurrected to give birth to a child would be undoubtedly taxing. It would be a distant attempt, but perhaps she could help lessen her burden by caring for Castile's son as long as she could. It would be tiring for herself, but it was possible. Others had birthed triplets before her, she'd heard. If they could do it, she could as well. For the sake of her daughters and this latest little arrival. "For however long necessary."
"Gilt," she repeats softly. There is nothing remotely similar to a dragon about her, perhaps other than her stubborn streak, and it that aspect that she uses to try to defy her nonexistent reptilian aspects. It's a small thing, but she tries all the same, making a tiny rattling sound at the back of her throat while pressing her chilled nose into the curve of the painted colt's neck as he had done similarly to her. "It's nice to meet you," she says with a warming grin. Still smiling, she looks to Castile again before looking back for reassurance that Leilan and the girls remained nearby.
-------------------------------
Oisin
Everyone is ignoring her. They seem to be much more concerned about the strange boy in the snow. Huffing in obvious annoyance, she looks between Mama and Papa again, impatiently waiting for an answer. She'd asked an important question, hadn't she? Why did nobody seem to want to answer her?
But Papa catches her eyes again, merely shaking his head at her. What was that? What did that mean? Was that a 'No, babies don't come from lakes, Oisin' or was that a 'No, Oisin, this is not the time to ask those kinds of amazingly, brilliant, and smart questions?' She's about to ask just that--a girl needs some clarity after all, how else is she supposed to learn about the world--until a weak shadow envelopes her tiny dark form.
Noticing the shift of light, her ears move listlessly backward, swallowing hard before turning her small head in time to see a big, powerful looking man looking rather displeased right now. Was it her fault? Had she done something? Stiffening, she eyes him the briefest moment before issueing a pathetic "EEP" while simultaneously scrambling to find sure footing in the slippery snow. Tufts of snow skitter about as the filly clamors to hide in safety behind her father, joining Eurwen where she stood in their Papa's shadow. She didn't want to wait and see if the new person was mad at her or not. She was too little and too pretty to die.
"Scooch, Wenny!" she commanded her younger sister, pushing into the spotted filly unceremoniously, "Make room for me!"
Catching her breath in gulps of air, she watches the adults and the winged colt. Okay, so maybe it wasn't her they were mad at after all. Boy, was she glad she hadn't overexaggerated. Much braver now, Oisin shuffles under her father's belly to poke her small head out between his fore limbs. Looking up beneath his chest, she tries to read his expression, making sure things were indeed okay before extricating herself all the way out from beneath him, even venturing so far as to puff out her chest and look at her mother and the new people with what she hoped was unbaffled indifference.
Yes. Things were definitely okay.
@[Castile] @[Gilt] @[Leilan]