EVERYONE

[Castile]

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

Castile never trusted them, but he was fine to let them lead Sylva until they confessed and exposed their open betrayal. The situation could have gone a multitude of different ways, but it comes to this now.

A battle was certainly appropriate, but it didn’t skew to Sinner’s benefit.

Adrenaline still coursing, the Loessian king returned home to inform the inhabitants of the changes and of the unseating happening in Sylva. Only after notifying them all does he return to the forest. It is without urgency, adopting a lackadaisical and relaxing speed as he soars through the sky until the canopy opens beneath him where the battle took place only a day prior.

He alights and sheds away his wings before allowing the deep baritone of his voice to echo through the trees. His voice curls around the ears of the Loessians held captive and anyone else that may still be in the forest. Admittedly, his heart leaps at the hope of seeing Sochi again after Sinner swept her from the safety of home. First her, then their son will be found.

”Sylva has been placed back underneath Loess’ wings. Sinner and Mary are no longer leaders!” It’s a triumphant bellow that escapes past his lips toward those that congregated. ”Ophanim and Sochi, your imprisonment has ended.” He smiles with a sense of relief, wanting nothing more than to have the extended kingdom family returned to safety. They do not belong anywhere against their wills.

Casting his gaze across the faces, he cannot help to wonder whether the unseated monarchy will step forward or if they will creep away to melt into the darkness. Castile holds no hatred, only disappointment that weighs heavily on his furrowed brow. ”Sylva will be needing new leaders – ones I can trust. Soon, I hope, a decision will be made.” It isn’t a dictatorship; inwardly, he hopes that their numbers can vote for the next leaders of the autumnal forest.   

castile

[sochi]

Sochi

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

Sochi has spent much of the winter to herself.

Ever since her initial encounter with the hellhound, she has known. It is the strange way of women, the way that they can predict such things, but she had felt the stirring of life early and known exactly what it was. The emotions that she feels surrounding it are complicated, to say the least, and although she is not a creature of hate, it would not be exaggerating to say that she loathes each kick and each rumble.

Hates it almost as much as she hates the stray scents she catches of the mutt who caused it.

So it is a mix of emotion that she feels when she finally hears Castile call. There are pieces of her that want to stay behind. Pieces of her that never want him to see her like this, but there are other pieces that are louder. Pieces that gnash their teeth in preparation for the battle he has fought. Pieces that are too proud to hide away for long, too proud to bow her head and be blamed for what has happened.

These are the pieces that drive her forward with her swollen belly and the spitfire expression on her face, her features raw with emotion and turbulent as she steps forward from the shadow. She doesn’t know what Castile will think—they had never agreed to be exclusive but he certainly must know her well enough to not think she would rendezvous with the enemy—but she keeps her chin high, her eyes clear.

She doesn’t say anything to his speech, but neither does she give away the fury and the hate and the pain that thrash in her chest. She just remains still, letting the rest of the world melt away so that she can focus on the stability that is Castile standing victoriously over Sylva and she lets herself take pride in that.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

[Castile]

The emptiness of Sylva is confirmed by the silence.

Patiently, Castile waits. His breaths are steady, his eyes piercing. There are birds in the branches above, squawking, while deer wander through the underbrush.

And still, no one comes.

There is no Mary or Sinner or even Valdis. They’ve all seemingly vacated with the dawning sun. Admittedly, his heart wrenches at the idea of his daughter eluding him, but he never allows the disappointment to furrow his brow. Among the knot of deciduous trees, Castile remains proud despite the exhaustion rattling his bones. Seconds quickly melt into minutes until someone steps from the shadows. His mismatched eyes flash sternly in preparation, but everything in him sulks when he sees Sochi. His bravado teeters and the proud stance crumbles into something far more tender and approachable.

A single step inches him closer to her direction, but he takes pause as sunlight dapples her skin and highlights her swollen belly.

Adrenaline and testosterone leak like poison through his veins, and his eyes instantaneously harden.

It’s like Sabra all over again. The enemies he has gained take pride in subduing his women like they are game pieces, utilizing them as tools to carve away his sanity and comfort.

It isn’t until he is lightheaded that Castile realizes he was holding his breath. His thoughts swim as he revisits his past in order to learn. He cannot – will not – rip out his heart again or destroy something that has brought him nothing but happiness.

A low rumble crawls from his throat as he draws close. Scales unconsciously ripple across his hide, a kaleidoscope of dancing colors, until they are within reach of one another. There is no one else here, he confirms with a quick glance prior to leveling his gaze onto her. For a long moment, Castile doesn’t move. Every muscle freezes underneath his skin except for his breathing. Sinner’s pungent odor cloaks her like a blanket. It stabs into his nostrils like a thousand daggers, but still he does not retract from her.

And just when it seems like their reunion will be as silent as the forest, Castile quietly murmurs into her neck. ”I’m sorry,” sorry that he failed her, sorry that he couldn’t return her home soon enough, sorry that she was a victim of warfare. It makes sense now why mother was so aloof for so long and why she harbored her children in the cave systems where no one could reach them. It was to protect her own heart and to prevent her enemies from possessing leverage. But Castile isn’t as cold as mother. Since he was a colt, he only ever wanted to love and be loved. He wanted a family, happiness, and a sense of accomplishment. Somehow, in just a few short years, Sochi has given him all of that.

A warm breath sighs from his lungs as he pulls her into an embrace, needing her body against his, nearly forgetting what transpired here only hours prior. He doesn't want to let her go - not now, not ever.


@[sochi]

[sochi]

Sochi

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

She doesn’t know what exactly she expected when he sees her—when it finally hits him—but she knows enough of predator to be prepared. She watches his face intently as he processes it, the scales that ripple across him and the low growl that builds in the back of his throat. The whisper of violence is enough to stir the storm of it in her own heart, and she feels the fury rise in her throat like the flames would rise in his own. She feels it bitter on her tongue—everything she has suppressed—and she bites down.

But it is only when he apologizes, when he reaches and pulls her toward him, that her shield fractures.

She closes her mercurial eyes and leans into his grasp, letting herself be held for a second. “You don’t ever need to apologize to me,” she says first, letting out a shuddering breath as her lips trace the angular slope of his shoulder. The spice of him is comforting and in a moment, she realizes how much the draconic stallion has begun to feel like home. How much she has been connected with him.

She grows fierce for a moment, a low growl in her own throat. “I hope you made the mutt bleed,” she whispers, her usually husky voice just a touch harsher, more gravelly on the edges. But even this anger slowly dies in the softness that blossoms in her within his embrace. She is quiet, calm, and for the first time in perhaps her entire life, she feels safe enough that she lets herself be comforted by him.

Pinpricks of tears touch the corner of her eyes but don’t fall. She pushes her cheek against him and forces herself to take a deep breath, forces herself to focus on the feel of him against her—the feel of fur and his scales and the familiar feeling. “I can’t keep it,” she whispers, almost afraid to voice it out loud. “I can’t.”

There is a feel of fear that grabs ahold of her for a second and she realizes that her chest is tight. She has never been entirely cruel but she is a predator; she is animalistic and driven by instinct. In her heart, she knows that she cannot raise this offspring that will bear his face, remind her of it every single day.

Maybe that will make him a failure in his eyes.

She doesn’t know and, for the first time, she realizes just how much it matters to her.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

@[Castile]

[Castile]

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

 He doesn’t want to let her go, not when she truly melts into him and succumbs for the first time to what they are. Emotions flaring between them are nearly tangible as Sochi’s lips trace along the curve of his shoulder and Castile’s head softly presses to her in return. Time suddenly freezes and they are the only ones in the abandoned forest. Suddenly, this is their home, their entire world.

Pressed against Sochi, his eyes drift shut and his mind plays fantasies – or is it their future? – of a quieter lifestyle with all their children wandering within earshot. Each of them has a dazzling splash of blue, like their mother. They are smiling and laughing while others are hunting. Their joy vibrates through the trees and brings life to a place that has only known a somber darkness. Then there is Castile, hugging Sochi as he is now, watching the family they’ve created. He is happy. His heart is full.

A deep breath sighs into her skin as Castile’s eyes slowly open again to look at her, brightening with adoration as they trace the edges of her face. A soft kiss presses to the curve of her jaw. ”I wish I could have prevented this,” had he been more vigilant then maybe, just maybe, Sochi would not have become a prisoner. It’s moot for the guilt to shadow him. In the snap of a finger, everything is done. There is no going back, no way to stop what has already happened. Yet it still hurts. His heart clenches when he inhales and still tastes Sinner, but he buries his face into Sochi’s mane before she can see the storm clouds brewing in his eyes.

”Of course I did,” he gruffly mutters back as he composes himself enough to hold her fierce gaze. ”I want to kill him for what he did to you,” but the hellhound is elusive and their match has long since ended. If only Castile knew beforehand. There would have been no mercy. A promise flirts with the edges of his lips, but he never utters the words as he watches tears rim the corners of Sochi’s eyes. Before he can say anything, her cheek is against him. Her breathing falters – a fleeting response, but he notes it nonetheless – as she tries to bury the sense of vulnerability into his skin. ”Sochi,” his voice is so tender when he whispers her name, ”it’s okay.” But is it really? The weight of the situation breaks her down and chisels away at her stoic, predatory facade. It’s beating down her wall and stabbing into the warm heart that she has spent her entire life protecting. ”You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to,” had this been years ago, his anger would have piqued and he would have outright refused the child, but life’s experiences have softened him.

Somehow, life prepared him for Sochi.

With a deep breath, Castile slowly pulls away. Immediately, he is exposed and chilled without her leaning against his side. An incline of his head points toward the direction of Loess, but his eyes remain locked on Sochi. ”Come, let’s go home.” He returns to her and prepares to finally leave all of this behind.

castile