02-26-2019, 11:24 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
It has taken more than a decade to associate his predatory nature with comfort. It began as an unknown, a forbidden fruit. Heights and flight were even frightening as he overlooked the rocky cliff of Nerine. Where the other children glided from the precipice, Castile lumbered down the winding path because he imagined himself tumbling out of the sky and falling onto the jagged rocks below.
Eventually, he learned to fly but shifting was still a fear that tightly gripped him and choked him of all air and senses. Shifting meant bloodshed, heartbreak, and pain. It was never an excitable or jubilant act. Turmoil and regret always lied in the wake of his shift as that creature – his inner monster – took control.
But now?
It speaks to him still, its voice a low, creeping rasp like late-night fog curling around his legs. It lurks beneath his placid surface, waiting, but at least it’s mildly controlled now. Shackles are clasped at its ankles. Castile now holds the key.
He is able to bask as his reptilian form with a single leg lazily draped off the edge of the mountain ridge. Behind him is the cavernous tunnel that he has since used as his roost. Although at the western ridge of the kingdom, his refined predatory senses reach farther than they ever could as a horse.
The sun incubates his too-warm body for a long while before Heartfire infiltrates his solitude and peace. Her voice doesn’t ring to beckon him, but her scent – still heavy with Nerine – stirs him from a light nap. A low, quaking rumble reverberates through him and into his rocky step as he clambers slowly to his feet before taking flight. Away from their eyes and cloaked by the clouds, Castile shifts seamlessly back into a horse to pose as a neutral figure with Heartfire although his eyes are far more alive than they have ever been. They settle on her once he has landed and closed the gap that separates them. Her name tumbles easily past his lips despite the time that has passed since their last meeting.
A lopsided, boyish grin appears in the place of formal stoicism.
”Should I still regard you more like an Aunt, or have things changed?” He has known her since childhood. She was a constant in Nerine and at mother’s side, and an unyielding force that he respected even then. But Castile is aware of the tensions that Loess has stirred among the regions. The question is whether he wants to continue the path forged by Kings before him, or to make a drastic change in the politics. The power sits in the palms of his hands.
Castile inches to the side and tilts his body to open the landscape behind him to Heartfire’s eyes. ”I imagine you aren’t here to solely check on an old friend or her son,” he implies that Nayl is here, harbored near his dragon’s nest in the rocky alpines but doesn’t directly admit it, ”So, come in and we can chat near one of the springs.” A terse grin takes the place of his boyish expression as he slowly pivots to lead the way, though keeping close to listen to her.
Eventually, he learned to fly but shifting was still a fear that tightly gripped him and choked him of all air and senses. Shifting meant bloodshed, heartbreak, and pain. It was never an excitable or jubilant act. Turmoil and regret always lied in the wake of his shift as that creature – his inner monster – took control.
But now?
It speaks to him still, its voice a low, creeping rasp like late-night fog curling around his legs. It lurks beneath his placid surface, waiting, but at least it’s mildly controlled now. Shackles are clasped at its ankles. Castile now holds the key.
He is able to bask as his reptilian form with a single leg lazily draped off the edge of the mountain ridge. Behind him is the cavernous tunnel that he has since used as his roost. Although at the western ridge of the kingdom, his refined predatory senses reach farther than they ever could as a horse.
The sun incubates his too-warm body for a long while before Heartfire infiltrates his solitude and peace. Her voice doesn’t ring to beckon him, but her scent – still heavy with Nerine – stirs him from a light nap. A low, quaking rumble reverberates through him and into his rocky step as he clambers slowly to his feet before taking flight. Away from their eyes and cloaked by the clouds, Castile shifts seamlessly back into a horse to pose as a neutral figure with Heartfire although his eyes are far more alive than they have ever been. They settle on her once he has landed and closed the gap that separates them. Her name tumbles easily past his lips despite the time that has passed since their last meeting.
A lopsided, boyish grin appears in the place of formal stoicism.
”Should I still regard you more like an Aunt, or have things changed?” He has known her since childhood. She was a constant in Nerine and at mother’s side, and an unyielding force that he respected even then. But Castile is aware of the tensions that Loess has stirred among the regions. The question is whether he wants to continue the path forged by Kings before him, or to make a drastic change in the politics. The power sits in the palms of his hands.
Castile inches to the side and tilts his body to open the landscape behind him to Heartfire’s eyes. ”I imagine you aren’t here to solely check on an old friend or her son,” he implies that Nayl is here, harbored near his dragon’s nest in the rocky alpines but doesn’t directly admit it, ”So, come in and we can chat near one of the springs.” A terse grin takes the place of his boyish expression as he slowly pivots to lead the way, though keeping close to listen to her.
castile
@[Heartfire]