His father had the Prairie again, which meant when winter thawed and spring bloomed, Castillon would be officially named co-lead. Just thinking of it had him sticking his golden chest out proudly, black legs lifting high, almost prancing in how he walked. After spending the majority of his summer and fall in a mix of disappointment, anger, and even fear, Castillon could not help but bask in the absolute glee and total confidence he felt now. Not that there weren’t serious things to focus on, but young as he was it was all too easy for him to only want to pay attention to the good things and let the bad things fall by the wayside until they had to be addressed.
Though he briefly considered popping by the Arch to meet up with Nephilim and tell him the good news, Castillon veered instead for Crossing Isle. It had become his home away from home the past year, a place where he and Nephilim had met, become best friends, and had many different adventures. As much as he enjoyed his shared time spent with his cousin, Castillon also enjoyed being here on his own time with his own company. His wandering eyes didn’t take long before they were searching for a pretty, feminine figure to latch his attention onto.
If he was going to be in such a good mood, it was only fair he shared that attention with a pretty lady, was it not?
Armed with his flawless logic, the buckskin snowcap skirted the clearing of the Commons, black-lined ears perked and warm brown eyes bright with intrigue. It didn’t take long for his attention to become stuck on a pretty softly colored mare, her cream coat broken by patches of white. She was quite a lovely little thing and for just a moment he was transfixed on watching her.
But in the Commons, Castillon knew time was of the essence. He rumbled a deep nicker toward her as he dropped his head and moved forward, approaching her slow enough that she had time to show him whether or not she wanted his company. But, were she receptive, Castillon moved close enough to extend his dark, whiskered muzzle to share a few greeting breaths. Minding his manners, despite his spinning head and weak-knees, he’d manage to introduce himself. “I’m Castillon of Luthien’s Prairie,” he’d pause, then before he could help it, maybe some of his youth would show through the crack of maturity as he softly, with some wonder, would ask, “Could I please know your name?”
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