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
There has been Sabra standing as the pinnacle of his priorities, followed by Sochi and Starlin and all his children. They’ve scattered themselves across Beqanna, forcing Castile to frequently travel despite the infection dragging him down. Weight is slipping from him, his hips developing more notable points where muscle had softened the edges prior. Isobell in Ischia, Sochi in the river lands, Sabra in Nerine, and Solace in Hyaline. From one landmark to another, he relentlessly tries to ensure the safety of his brood even as the effort eats away his health.
They are his life, his priority.
Starlin has escaped him since their coupling. While her scent lingered somewhat in Nerine, she still eluded him. He isn’t an idiot. He knew what would result in that day together when his emotions were crippled by Sabra’s death. Like a child, Castile sought reassurance in any way and form. It led him to Starlin and to Sochi; covering both women applied a soothing balm to his pain. They distracted him just as he needed.
The results are being handled with tender care. If there’s one thing instilled in him as a boy, it was his capability of loving his children. They are his legacy much like he was to Lior and Nayl. They must be nurtured.
For that reason, Castile has searched for Starlin. The delivery, he assumes, looms ever near but his attempts are futile. The traveling is taxing, pushing him back to the island so that he may recover before his next attempt. With a clumsy landing, Castile returns to this temporary home. Soaring spends the last ounces of his energy and so he ventures closer to the heart-shaped pond than he typically would in hopes of seclusion. Much to his surprise, however, there is bustling activity instead.
There is Leilan and Breckin. His eyes trace their bodies carefully, their heat signatures registering first before shifting to the children alongside them. One, in particular, gives off less heat although it remains standing like a trembling statue. Curious, Castile approaches but not without occasional coughs that rattle him to his bones. It hurts, but he doesn’t admit this – doesn’t even try to display it. What pulls him from the shadows of his discomfort is the uncertain gaze of the drenched boy. ”He—“ a beginning of a sentence bitten off by his uncertainty when he looks among Leilan, Breckin, the colt, and the rippling pond. All the pieces are slowly coming together.
Starlin. Her brothe, Ivar, is a kelpie. Stillwater. Kelpie.
The boy, with a dragon’s head, and with matching wings and tobiano pattern… It makes sense… It must. He is a perfect combination of him and Starlin.
Smoke curls from Castile’s nostrils as he weighs the situation, contemplating what has happened. The child is here, shivering from the cold, without his mother. Abandoned, discarded like trash. A low growl erupts from him when he stares again, intensely, at the pond just as it stills. Whomever left his son to die has vanished in the dark depths. No other sign of life stirs underwater. The Nerinians are once again alone.
With a slow turn of his head, Castile regards the shivering boy and observes all the similarities they share before stepping toward him and glancing to Breckin. ”He’s my son,” the words finally breach from the silence that choked him. Pride envelopes his voice and softens the sharp edges of his face. Reaching forward, he brushes the boy’s forelock. Placing himself alongside Gilt, he hopes the abnormal warmth of his inner fire can at least provide comfort for the time being. ”Breckin, is there any way you can feed him until I figure something out?” Starlin is obviously gone, either by choice or murder, leaving the boy without a mother. There is Sochi, Sabra, and Solace, but only one would make sense in this time of need. ”Sabra just had a child. Perhaps I can ask her whether she would be up for adopting him.”
They’ve seen Castile angry. He is volatile, unpredictable, dangerous.
Yet now, in this moment, they witness a most tender side of him as he tends to the colt adjacent to him.
Another hot breath escapes him and fans across the child’s skin. ”Did your mother name you?” Before she died, or before she left. The question hangs in the air among them as Castile’s eyes dart among the faces, all while his thoughts reel with possibilities and solutions. This is his son, his legacy, his responsibility.
They are his life, his priority.
Starlin has escaped him since their coupling. While her scent lingered somewhat in Nerine, she still eluded him. He isn’t an idiot. He knew what would result in that day together when his emotions were crippled by Sabra’s death. Like a child, Castile sought reassurance in any way and form. It led him to Starlin and to Sochi; covering both women applied a soothing balm to his pain. They distracted him just as he needed.
The results are being handled with tender care. If there’s one thing instilled in him as a boy, it was his capability of loving his children. They are his legacy much like he was to Lior and Nayl. They must be nurtured.
For that reason, Castile has searched for Starlin. The delivery, he assumes, looms ever near but his attempts are futile. The traveling is taxing, pushing him back to the island so that he may recover before his next attempt. With a clumsy landing, Castile returns to this temporary home. Soaring spends the last ounces of his energy and so he ventures closer to the heart-shaped pond than he typically would in hopes of seclusion. Much to his surprise, however, there is bustling activity instead.
There is Leilan and Breckin. His eyes trace their bodies carefully, their heat signatures registering first before shifting to the children alongside them. One, in particular, gives off less heat although it remains standing like a trembling statue. Curious, Castile approaches but not without occasional coughs that rattle him to his bones. It hurts, but he doesn’t admit this – doesn’t even try to display it. What pulls him from the shadows of his discomfort is the uncertain gaze of the drenched boy. ”He—“ a beginning of a sentence bitten off by his uncertainty when he looks among Leilan, Breckin, the colt, and the rippling pond. All the pieces are slowly coming together.
Starlin. Her brothe, Ivar, is a kelpie. Stillwater. Kelpie.
The boy, with a dragon’s head, and with matching wings and tobiano pattern… It makes sense… It must. He is a perfect combination of him and Starlin.
Smoke curls from Castile’s nostrils as he weighs the situation, contemplating what has happened. The child is here, shivering from the cold, without his mother. Abandoned, discarded like trash. A low growl erupts from him when he stares again, intensely, at the pond just as it stills. Whomever left his son to die has vanished in the dark depths. No other sign of life stirs underwater. The Nerinians are once again alone.
With a slow turn of his head, Castile regards the shivering boy and observes all the similarities they share before stepping toward him and glancing to Breckin. ”He’s my son,” the words finally breach from the silence that choked him. Pride envelopes his voice and softens the sharp edges of his face. Reaching forward, he brushes the boy’s forelock. Placing himself alongside Gilt, he hopes the abnormal warmth of his inner fire can at least provide comfort for the time being. ”Breckin, is there any way you can feed him until I figure something out?” Starlin is obviously gone, either by choice or murder, leaving the boy without a mother. There is Sochi, Sabra, and Solace, but only one would make sense in this time of need. ”Sabra just had a child. Perhaps I can ask her whether she would be up for adopting him.”
They’ve seen Castile angry. He is volatile, unpredictable, dangerous.
Yet now, in this moment, they witness a most tender side of him as he tends to the colt adjacent to him.
Another hot breath escapes him and fans across the child’s skin. ”Did your mother name you?” Before she died, or before she left. The question hangs in the air among them as Castile’s eyes dart among the faces, all while his thoughts reel with possibilities and solutions. This is his son, his legacy, his responsibility.
castile