Logs:In Remembrance
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| RL Date: 7 April, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, K'zin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin remembers Azaylia and Irianke offers a comforting hand. |
| Where: Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
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| It was once the fire was out, but before all the heads were counted and aftermath managed in the bowl that Rasavyth alighted on one of the top-most ledges above the cavern, far, far, from the eggs, but here. K'zin came on foot because the galleries - the otherwise vacant galleries - is where he needed to be in this moment. He sits in the lowest tier of the galleries, closest to the sands, hands clasped between his spread knees, arms resting on his thighs, and tears continuing to stream quietly down his face. His tear tracks on his face are unique, notably because it is half covered in pink powder, his jacket stained with green of similar sort, and all of him marked with the evidence of having been near the fire: ash and dirt, on his face, hands, and in his hair. He probably has no notion of how long he's sat there staring. He might not even really see the eggs that are there now, but might rather be lost in grief-called memory of the eggs that once were. Where Irianke goes when her night is mostly done and business attended to is here. The sands where her body, shielded and cosseted by Niahth, is leaned into the golden frame and the trembles of weeping. If only someone could see. K'zin's steps abruptly halt the silent mourning, a telltale sniffle of her nose being wiped away quickly and her eyes rubbed dry into her dragon's side. Gray-blue eyes peek around the gold's side to watch the young rider's progress. "Zay," the word manages to make itself out at some point before a hand finds its way to his face, rubs across the powder there streaking with his fingertips. He shifts off the bench of the tier and onto the stone in front of it. His arms move, wrapping around his drawn up knees, he bends his head and the shuddering of his shoulders indicate his continued grief. Her path is slow across the sands, and her steps soundless until she reaches the steps that lead up, whereupon they quicken. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Does he hear her approach? It doesn't matter, for Irianke, after the briefest look down upon bent head man, sinks down next to him and slides one comforting arm over his back. There's a soft shhh, a gentle backstroke, and other small measures of comfort provided. If he hears, there's no outward change in his demeanor. Grief doesn't care if there are people watching. He leans a little toward her when she offers him comfort. It's some time (or not that long? Fresh grief doesn't count time) before he can find words. They're quiet, his voice raw and throaty, but he manages them without being broken with sobs. "She kissed me here." Right here, probably. "My first real kiss. With tongue," the words are cause enough to make him laugh a moment before he shudders again. The addition of with tongue at any other time might cause laughter. But now, it just provokes a grimace on Irianke's face. For the lean in, she holds him with her other arm, gentle, reassuring with the long strokes of her palm against his back continuing. For his dragon, in the midst of the controlled lock down, a wave of calm serenity and tropical perfumes. Be at ease. Rest. Grieve, but rest. « My mother, » is a simple, hollow response from Rasavyth. How is their ease and rest when it was his mother? He drums. His oozy mindtouch, once so adept a mimic at drawing from other dragons what they enjoyed most about their own mind touches and reflecting it back, drums now, for himself, who was never long without them, for her, for Hraedhyth who is now gone. "I took her on a date. My first date. Her first date. We rode runners and climbed a tree." K'zin shakes his head, managing to lift his head now, eyes red (even more than the pink only). "I'm going to miss her," he tells Irianke, the words infused with his loss, with his bafflement and disbelief. He'll miss her, when he can believe she's really gone. "You have good memories of her," Irianke finally says, her voice controlled and quiet. It's lacking her typical warmth, this not being the time or place for it. "People live on in our memories." Niahvth has nothing in response to that, her own memories of her progeny just glimmers here and there now that they've grown. She only knows the now and the eggs here that need her to survive. She acknowledges his mother in something beyond words. Sentiment. Acceptance. That shoulder to cry on should Rasavyth need. K'zin nods his head slowly before leaning his head down to rub a sniffley nose on his dirty, ash-covered, green-powdered jacket sleeve. His face is marked anew. "Can I stay awhile?" He doesn't say please, but it's there, the quiet plea. He's not ready to leave this place, this place where his memories of Azaylia must be most strong. "Stay as long as you wish," says Irianke, taking this as a sign that he might want to be alone. "I'll have a headwoman come with a blanket and some pillows or you." One last circular rub for his back and then the goldrider is standing. "I'm sorry for you loss, K'zin." "Thank you," is managed for the blanket and pillows. The bronzerider looks up at her with a slightly confused expression at her last. "Our loss." Didn't she tell him this is where her allegiance lay for the moment? In a moment like this, he's certainly not inclined to press the point beyond saying, "And for yours," before he's shifting forward to try to struggle off his jacket. As for Rasavyth... he's numb, but Niahvth will be sought in time, tentatively, unsure, but a step in the right direction. After all, all dragons need a queen. The correction draws a rueful press to her mouth. "Our loss. But you knew her better than I. I wouldn't presume to grieve the way you need to." Never mind the held in, silent weeping from before. Irianke presses her hand into his bent shoulder once and leaves, returning to her dragon's side and then up a hidden set of steps towards the ground weyrs. |
Comments
Alida (20:49, 8 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
- sniffles*
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