anyone;

[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

Loess is far behind him, an abandoned summit dotting the horizon. Admittedly, he glanced back over his shoulder a few times, longing for the jaded mountain peak that had been his roost for so many years. Children and grandchildren settled into the caves and together they slept, protected and loved.
 
But changes are meant to happen, and Castile embraces it as he sets his Loessian life behind him for now.
 
As his hooves alight, his draconic wings immediately fold then shed away. He is normal then, seemingly so, but then he further alters himself. Those familiar with him will know his scent; that, he cannot mask. His skin, however, changes underneath the high noon sun. His notable piebald markings recede. The golden band across his face vanishes. His metallic bronze locks deepen.
 
By the time he opens his eyes again, Castile is a chestnut with a blaze, four white stockings, and nutmeg eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unique. Today, he is ordinary, and tastes a sip of a free life with no restraints, no obligations, no story.
 
Lifting his chin, Castile draws in a deep breath and finally allows his stress to melt away. Each muscle slowly – reluctantly – eases into a state of relaxation as he lowers his head to graze.

castile

homeboy is currently a chestnut with a blaze, 4 white stockings, and brown eyes so that he isn't as easily recognized. he's taking a breather from life lol

[Nashua]

NASHUA

He seems to have acquired his mother’s talent for slipping through the cracks and shadows between the Taigan Redwoods. On a late summer afternoon when something has distracted her, Nashua wanders away from his twin brother and dam - more determined than the last time he had crept away to try and learn his fledgling wings.

The flaxen colt flicks an ear occasionally behind him, waiting for the sounds of the familiar strides that don’t come. In the beginning, he thinks it's because of the thousands of pine needles under hoof. It is sometimes hard to hear a horse approaching on the Taigan trails, he is learning. Eventually, the cushioned ground gives way to different surfaces. Nashua stops then, realizing he has gone too far to go back and know his way home. (North, he is supposed to go North but which way was that?) He doesn’t recognize the Mountains that keep guard around him.

His green eyes become worried but then - then, he hears it!

The River is talking to him - bubbling and beckoning.

Mama had always said follow the River. It always leads somewhere.

Nashua hugs the banks of it, curving and winding by its side like he should his mother’s. Loess and the Forest linger unknown to him on his right. To his left sprawls out the Meadow and learning that the trees here are wrong and not nearly as impressive as those of his home, the pegasus colt instead walks through a crowd of strange horses. His earlier determination at learning how to fly fades away with each new face and his stride becomes more eager, fluid as he takes in the sights and sounds around him. It's full of strange horses.

And strangers have proven to be rather fascinating lately.

The stallion with four socks might think he has no story but Nashua sees something else. He’s a stallion who looks very much like him.

He stops in front of the grazing horse, regarding him with pricked ears and bright green eyes. "You should have wings,” Nash says as if the stallion could craft them from thin air. Grinning, he adds, "then we’d almost match.” Apart from his flaxen mane, his emerald eyes, his gold stripes that is. But overflowing with childhood enthusiasm, the boy has momentarily overlooked those (not so minor) differences.

and for every king that died
they would crown another

html © castlegraphics

@[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

The meadow is alive, humming with voices and brushing shoulders. Castile closely listens to it all, sparing a glance periodically. A summer heat blankets across all of them. A thin layer of sweat accumulates, darkening Castile’s russet coat in patches, but he does not seek shade. He thrives in the heat, finding comfort in its grasp even in these days of complete solitude and isolation. Sweeping his tail, he removes a couple flies from his flanks.

The boy that approaches doesn’t escape Castile’s notice. There are excitable footsteps and then a pause. Only then does the former king lift his head in acknowledgment. Grass peeks out from the sides of his mouth as he finishes chewing, a smile slowly lifting the solemnity of his face. Children are a weakness of his; their innocence and exuberance are to be envied in such a catastrophic world. ”Darn,” Castile replies after swallowing his food, ”I left them at home.” An airy chuckle tumbles freely forward and his gaze brightens like fire. It takes everything in him not to produce his draconic wings at his sides, or to exhale a plume of black smoke in his rising amusement.

The boy doesn’t know him, not yet at least, and so he suppresses everything inside him that is true to his nature – his draconic side and consciousness.

Don’t let him find out about us.
(Not yet)

Shaking to rid the dust from his coat, Castile adds, ”Mine aren’t quite as impressive as yours though!” He traces the feathered appendages with envy and fascination, genuinely missing his for the moment. Wings are freedom; there are no limits in the sky. ”You will see so many things and soar many miles. Endless adventures.” A lopsided, boyish grin finalizes and concretes his face. ”We could have pretended to be twins,” his laughter is infectious, light-hearted, ”but we look close enough to siblings.” Isobell comes to mind, burning him with longing, until he pushes her to the back of his mind.

castile

@[Nashua]

[Nashua]

NASHUA

Nashua has a heritage of heat but at this age, what does he know about it? (One side of his family is a mystery - thought he doesn’t quite understand that yet either. On the other, there is an ancient valley and a waterfall and that's all he really knows. All he really paid attention to, anyway.)

Perhaps he should be wary of unknown horses - his Mother has told him enough times to be. But he youthfully disregards this with a winning smile and inquisitive tilt of his head.

His eyes widen momentarily, thinking of how a pair of wings could just be left behind. He knows where his are at all times - tucked neatly alongside his coltish ribs, fluttering slightly with excitement. "Why would you leave them behind?” he asks, sincerely wanting to know. It’s a perplexing thing - imagining life without wings (how do his Mother and twin endure it?). It’s torture enough knowing that they aren’t able to carry his weight yet. (Someday, he knows. His Aunt Ruth has promised him flying lessons someday.)

The copper stallion shakes his coat, ridding himself of summer dust and insects.

Frowning, Nashua thinks for a moment. And then his young body twists in a fashion similar to Castile, trying to mirror his earlier movements. His back legs get tangled and it pushes him towards the towering brute. Sheepishly, he grins up at his new friend.

"I can’t wait to fly. I’m gonna go to the Isle and see the lights. Then I’m gonna go to Ischia and my Uncle Velkan is going to teach me about-,” he pauses, deciding against saying whatever that word was used to describe Eugene’s dam. It still tangles his tongue and rather a prideful colt, he has no desire to embarrass himself twice today. "Uh,” he starts, "the seahorses.” Peering up at the stallion from beneath his flaxen forelock, he asks: "Have you ever been there?”

At the mention of siblings, the copper boy grins again, his enthusiasm beaming up at this new and interesting companion he’s found. "I have a twin,” he adds, "You could be..,” he pauses again because there is still a part of him that remembers Eugene. How they talked about that they could be siblings too. (And what about Eugene's twin? Did that make her a sibling too? And then there were all the girls in Nerine. How many were too many? How many could he have? "I don’t know how many siblings I have,” Nashua admits. He has Yan - he will always have his brother. They are water and fire, counterweights to the other, his Mama had once told them.

"But we could be brothers,” the copper colt finally decides with a small, firm nod of his head. "Do you have any? Or sisters? Or a twin or a triplet or-?” What was more than three?

and for every king that died
they would crown another

html © castlegraphics

@[Castile] realized I never tagged you, whoops! sorry

[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

Surprise paints across the boy’s face and, in turn, ignites greater amusement in Castile’s. His eyes gleam underneath his forelock. A warm grin still presents itself even as he rolls his muscular shoulders in a shrug. ”Just a little break from everything,” he confesses, perhaps too openly, before reeling back just enough, ”I was curious what it must be like to never fly anywhere. Tell you what – it’s exhausting.” But he already knew this; the faeries once stripped him of his draconic adornments, forcing him to walk everywhere. It was another humbling experience, but it also elicited a deep range inside him.

It has been a couple years since then, and the fire in his gut has reduced to a low kindle.

A deep chuckle rumbles from Castile’s chest as he watches the boy tangle himself and edge closer. The sheepish grin reminds him so much of himself from when he was young. A crooked, boyish grin – that’s what has always been notable of him. ”It’s so invigorating!” The russet stallion only half rears, flinging his head and peering up toward the sapphire sky. ”You will have so much fun, but it’s scary at first,” he remembers then, his childhood in Nerine, and stills himself except to slightly lower his muzzle toward his new companion. ”I was so frightened at first, but you seem like you’ll be much braver.” His voice is hardly above a whisper, quiet enough for only the boy to hear. What he says is, in fact, true. Castile reflects briefly on his attempts and how high the Nerinian cliffs were. While some of the other children floated down or teleported, he took the long trail down to the beach. He didn’t want to plummet to his death.

Blinking away the old memories, he focuses on others as the young male presents him with questions and ideas. The Isle – I burned it, he doesn’t say – and Ischia. With a thoughtful inclination of his chin, he sifts through his life and easily enough comes to an answer. ”I have, but it was many years ago and long before the nereids took control of the island. A friend of mine led it, although he was a kelpie and water dweller himself. It’s a warm, tropical place from what I remember. You can tell me what you think after you’ve visited and learned to fly.” Castile finds himself enjoying this, enjoying the boy and the carefree conversations at hand. Truthfully, he didn’t expect to find such peace and laughter in someone nearly two decades younger than himself.

Then again, maybe it’s what he needed – someone other than an adult, someone other than a woman.

Without realizing it, Nashua (whose name still remains unknown) is whisking Castile away into a mindset that he has been craving. The boy is an escape.

”Twins are great,” he pauses as a lump forms in his throat, but he forces himself to swallow past it, ”I do not have a twin, but I am the father of a couple pairs.” Except Valdis was killed – his first daughter, the girl in his first set of twin children. Refusing to shadow their conversation with sadness, Castile shakes his head as though to rid the gnats but actually suppresses the sight of his daughter’s maimed body. ”I have other siblings. Five, actually. One brother and four sisters.” He doesn’t confess that he has a favorite, that Isobell will always be his number one.

castile

@[Nashua]

[Nashua]

”It’s the worst,” Nashua agrees.

The auburn wings rustle indignantly against his sides and not for the first time, the copper boy wishes he could have actual use of them. It would make the trip between here and Taiga much quicker. He could leave and come back, be gone for such a short amount of time that his mother would never know. 

(His brother would - Yanhua knows everything.)

Nashua shakes his head, still a little unsure of why anyone would want to be without them. He’s still at that age where the things out of reach are still the sweetest, the grass anywhere outside Taiga has to be the greenest. The stallion starts to move though, reaches towards the sky and the flaxen colt looks up earnestly. "We stood at the edges of Nerine once,” he remembers. "Mama made us move away but that was a little scary. Is flying.. Is it like that?” It’s the closest he’s come anyways. It’s the closest comparison his young mind can make. 

The wind roaring up from an angry, gray ocean below. The breakers churning a lullaby against the timeless ledges of Nerine. 

The stranger (not stranger, he thinks with his green eyes warming to the sorrel stallion, friend) takes his thoughts away from Nerine to Ischia, sweeps them from frigid northern breezes to warmer, tropical waters. Nashua comes another step closer and tosses his own head in playful response, enthused to hear the word he couldn’t say on another tongue. "Nereid.” The boy finally conquers the word and beams up at Castile, pleased to have finally mastered it. "There are alot there. They put flowers in my Uncle’s antlers.”

And then his friend surprises him. Nashua has to blink that realization a few times. He gazes up at him with new eyes. He’s somebody - many somebody’s - Dad. He’s somebody's brother too. Nashua knows nothing about being Father. He does know about being a brother though. "Five sounds like alot,” he thinks out loud. "Sometimes I wish I had more but I don’t know where they would all go. I guess Taiga is pretty big though,” the winged boy shrugs. Taiga. Home. North. 

"Have you ever been there?” he peers up curiously. His newfound has already been many places and offered insight on many things. There are many more things he wants to ask. But then he realizes he doesn’t even know what to call this wanderer. Somewhat sheepish, he adds, "I’m Nashua, by the way. What is your name?”

@[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

Castile cannot suppress the broad smiles that stretch across his lips in the boy’s company. Conversation is airy and light; it isn’t weighted by politics or life’s mistakes. It lifts his heart from the shadows, extracting it from the web of melancholy that trapped it. Never did he think a mere boy – one that isn’t even his son! – would have such an effect on him, but there is proof in the brightness of his nutmeg eyes. ”It is,” he replies as his brows rise, ”I stood on those Nerinian cliffs when I was a boy, too. It’s very scary in the beginning.” Daunting, even. It was enough to deter Castile from utilizing his wings back then. The idea of plummeting to his death outweighed the chance of gliding to the shoreline below.

Obviously, he learned to fly one day. Was it in his rush from Hyaline to Sylva? The same time that his body tasted the sweet change of draconic alter ego?

”There will be no stopping you when you learn to fly. Explore every edge of Beqanna – every mountain, every island, every hill. You won’t regret it,” Castile was swallowed by his ambitions to have mindlessly explored as a child, but slowly, he gained knowledge of each territory. Life steered him in so many directions for so many reasons. He has shivered on Icicle Island, has climbed the volcano of Tephra, has kicked rocks down the barren valleys of Pangea. Better late than never, but he can only imagine how much more beautiful the world would have been in his childish, doe eyes. For a fleeting moment, Castile’s eyes glaze over with childhood memories, but his companion’s voice pulls him from reminiscing every time. The boy keeps him, mostly, in the present as Castile fabricates and flirts with lying. Should he admit who he is? What he has done? Swallowing, his decision is made for him before he can even blink. ”Taiga? I don’t believe I have,” but didn’t he visit Lepis once, years ago? But that was so far in the past, and it was as his true self and not a basic chestnut. ”I’d love to see it, if you’ll have me.”

Castile wanted to stray from politics and territories, but here he is once again sucked in.

Tilting his head, he immediately swims in his thoughts, groping desperately for a name that he hasn’t heard. He isn’t quite ready for their simplistic conversation and enjoyment to end, for the world to find him in his vacation. ”Rocky,” he says after a single moment’s hesitation, holding himself still proudly, ”I’m Rocky.”

castile

@[Nashua]