Breathe. Mother said to breathe, to relax. He is stronger than he gives himself credit for, but his confidence wavers still as much as his balance. His youth and inexperience prohibit him from gaining much altitude, but it’s enough to be out of anyone’s reach. Nearby faces come and go in a blur when he gains momentum following a decline. Nerine is at his back, the lake at his right, the river straight ahead. This will mark the farthest he has traveled and explored, but it is enough for now. He has only just approached being a yearling, no longer requiring mother at his constant side. It’s time he reached out to other corners of Beqanna, but he cannot deny the small bursts of anxiety that stem through him every time he bypasses a shadowed area or a treacherous bout in his travels.
Young, innocent, ignorant. He doesn’t know what truly lies outside of Nerine, or how quarrelsome others can be. He doesn’t realize how treacherous this world can be as he has always relied on mother’s influence and protection. Although she has not left him entirely, he still lacks her daily presence.
The river bend approaches him gradually with a gurgling voice that lures him into its embrace. His landing, albeit rather clumsy and unplanned, pushes him to the edge of grass and water. There is a current here, much like Nerine, that isn’t in the lake. It also has a bank that he can see the shallow floor of rocks and pebbles. Slowly, hesitantly, he steps in, but only with his front legs. His wings nestle against his sides and he swallows deep gulps before lifting his head. His mismatched eyes flicker with curiosity as water trickles down his chin and whiskers. There is no one here, not really. In the distance he can hear a couple voices, smell a few different scents, but overall the riverbed is silent, peaceful.
i know i'm not the center of the universe
-but you keep spinning 'round me just the same
Though he recognizes the winged colt, Ivar isn’t quite sure that they are friends. Acquanteinces, certainly, but as he has grown older the yearling has also grown a bit more cautious. He is still friendly (as is evident in his bright smile as he approaches) but he also makes no assumption of closeness and gives the other boy a comfortable amount of room when he stops beside the water.
“Hey Castille,” he says with a polite bob of his head
The gurgling river makes a pleasant sound, and Ivar’s brown eyes turn to watch the play on sun on water for a moment before returning to Castille. He looks briefly at the wings on the other boy’s back, and gestures to them with his white muzzle. “I see you got those straightened out,” he says lightly, referring to the first time they’d met when the young prince’s wings did not seem to want to settle on either bird or beast.
They are the same age, the two smoky black tobiano princes. They are young and strong and eye catching – Castille with his noble bearing and Ivar with his charm. The world should, theoretically, be theirs for the taking.
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”Dragonborn,” he repeats to himself thoughtfully with his muzzle raised toward the sapphire sky. There are miles of untouched beauty – stars, clouds – and he wonders dreamily if he will ever soar alongside them. Fear tethers him closely to the ground, but he would never admit to such a flaw. Mother is brave, father is powerful, so that means he must be, too, right? His wings expand, stretching dramatically before folding back against his sides. ”One day, I will conquer the skies,” he murmurs in conclusion as his mismatched eyes fall to the river gurgling at his feet.
He almost curses himself for being too sunken into his thoughts. Had it not been for Ivar’s voice ringing through the unsettling silence, Castile would have not known he was there. A quick bite to his tongue prevents him from reeling back, startled. Somehow, it holds him mostly steady except for a more exaggerated bob of his head to acknowledge the other boy. ”Oh, hello, Ivar,” it has been weeks – months? – since the small group of children last met on Nerine’s shore. They all seemingly dispersed, leaving his home rather lonely. The adults aren’t quite as fun to be around.
Shaking away the debris that has collected on his coat, Castile offers a rather sheepish grin. ”I’m trying, but dad hasn’t taught me all the ropes yet. Soon, no one will be able to reach me when I’m flying.” There is an undeniable tone of excitement in his youthful voice. His wings, leathery now instead of feathery, shuffle exuberantly as he playfully edges closer. ”And get this,” his muzzle reaches forward in secrecy, ”dad said I’m dragonborn. Isn’t that awesome?!” Of course, he doesn’t add the fact that it remains beyond him. He doesn’t yet know how to purposely activate his shifting. His wings falter with his emotions – excitement, anger, embarrassment – but the other pieces of the puzzle have not yet come together. Soon, he reassures himself.
”How have you been? How’s…. Sylva, right?” Or so he thinks that’s where mother said Djinni and Ivar are from.
i know i'm not the center of the universe
-but you keep spinning 'round me just the same
The thought of flying is fascinating to Ivar. It would be quite like swimming in the air, he imagines. Still, he is ground-bound, and has accepted his lot in life. Less to groom, his mother had told him when he’d asked about wings, less responsibility.
Mother is all about less responsibility, Ivar has discovered.
The piebald colt isn’t thinking of Djinni now though; his attention is on Castille. He’d rather liked the other colt, sympathizing with his struggle to keep his wings consistent. The news that he’s learning is still exciting though, and Ivar smiles in response to the enthusiasm in the other boy’s voice. He’s about to say something when Castille leans in conspiratorially. Ivar mirrors the motion, his dark ears pricked forward to catch the secret.
“Woah.” He says, clearly impressed. “That’s so cool!”
It doesn’t occur to him to ask exactly what dragonborn means, but it sounds super awesome. It’s probably something to do with his wings, Ivar reasons, though maybe he can breathe fire too! That would e even more super awesome.
“I’ve been good!” He tells Castille, “My dad is teaching me how to swim.” How to swim and stalk, he doesn’t add, but not because he is hiding it. It’s just part of swimming, after all.
“Are you going to stay in Nerine forever?” He asks, the change in conversation quick, but following his chain of thought. He’s been travelling the rest of Beqanna, swimming anywhere he can. While he likes his father’s lake and his own crescent pond, its’ begun to occur to him that there are places beyond the borders of Sylva that might also be a good home. Ivar is not quite old enough to truly long for something of his own, but the time is approaching, and he’s clearly been thinking about it.
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”Swimming?” Castile glances just past Ivar toward the gurgling river before leveling on the boy’s face again, ”like, swimming underwater? You should swim on the beach sometime! I’m a little reluctant to try it so maybe you can teach me one day.” He merrily returns the smile and tries to fathom the skill set were he able to do it. ”That’s really neat!” They both succumb to their childish innocence, embracing their ignorance and lack of responsibility in this world. Their greatest ventures now are just mastering flying and swimming like their fathers before them.
”Just imagine,” he murmurs with a thoughtful look in his eyes, his imagination running rampant as the words excitedly spill past his lips, ”if you were Master of the Waters and Oceans, and I was Master of the Sky.” Earth and Heavens would be theirs, readily at their feet as they aged as unrelated brothers. Mother wants them to be friends, that it would be good for him and beneficial. “Djinni and I are friends,” she had advised with a smugness in her voice that he nodded to. Forming friendships required socializing more often which he isn’t entirely apt to do.
Ivar, however, is easy to get along with.
A boyish laugh springs from him as his wings unfurl. He runs a large circle, the wind tousling his locks, ”Kings of Beqanna! Unstoppable!” Immeasurable dreams, impossibilities that are never perceived by a child. They think they can do anything, achieve anything. They see life as a merry little thing with no qualms or pain. While so young, they are oblivious to the truths contained in the silent walls of Beqanna.
Coming to a pause, Castile’s smile falters. His head shakes. ”No. Mother wants me in Hyaline for now. She thinks it would be good for me since Nerine is dominated by girls.” It had broken him to hear her usher him away, but he accepted it; he knew mother had his best interests at heart. Isobel will remain in Nerine to fulfill her duties. ”And you? Surely you will roam outside of Sylva?” With the myriad of scents clutching desperately to Ivar’s coat, Castile can already calculate how nomadic his companion has been already.
almost a month later and I remembered this thread... I suck :|
it is fineeee 
i'll use you as a makeshift gauge
of how much to give and how much to take Castille suggests swimming on the beach, and Ivar nods enthusiastically. “Yeah,” he says agreeably, “Swimming is awesome.”
He watches curiously as thoughts clearly race across Castille’s face, nodding again until the excitement become too contagious to contain. He rears up, batting at the sky with his long white forelegs as Castille races around him. The image he paints is a thrilling one, but it disappears as Castille seems to realize something. Ivar falls to the ground, his own enthusiasm tainted by the sudden droop in his companion’s spirits.
Ivar does know that Nerine is (purposefully) mostly female, but he can’t imagine his own mother sending him away the way that Castille’s mother must have. What was wrong with girls anyway? Ivar wouldn’t mind being around more girls – preferably his own age – and in a moment of what seems to be unprecedented clarity, he thinks he understands. Maybe Castille had to leave Nerine because his mother thought he’d been eyeing the girls the same way that Djinni had caught Ivar eyeing them.
It had only been in appreciation of beauty, but the grullo mare’s reaction had been swift an efficient. Ivar tries not to look at girls anymore.
“I’ve been everywhere!” He replies, his young quicksilver emotions making it easier to forget less pleasant things.
“We should go together! I was in Hyaline not so long ago. But have you been to Ischia? It’s an island way out in the sea with beaches and a jungle and birds and my friend Kylin!”
IVAR
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