Logs:Iovniath Knows Best
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| RL Date: 27 January, 2010 |
| Who: K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: K'del panics about Iovniath's upcoming flight; Cadejoth does not. |
| When: Month 11, Turn 21 |
| Mentions: Ezalea/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| You couldn't fail to notice, when Iovniath began to glow. Perhaps K'del had suspected something beforehand, but he didn't mention it to Cadejoth until the signs were visible. Surprisingly, Cadejoth's reaction was understated - just the rattle of his net of chains, the faintest smell of snow lurking in between the cold tang of metal. He wasn't worried, and though K'del fretted his way through the days that followed, plotted and planned, his bronze sat calmly on his ledge, or surveyed his weyr from above, confident and unbothered. They're going to get rid of us, K'del told him, as they sat together on the ledge, watching the dying light of another cold, autumn day. Like Ezalea and Nahalith. Nahalith no longer belonged to Cadejoth's web; Nahalith was forgotten, not even the faintest shadow in Cadejoth's mind. Iovniath, though-- but what? « Iovniath knows best, » he told his rider, content, and stiller than he usually was, almost serene. It bothered K'del, and so, he plotted on. Someone had to make things happen. He was increasingly paranoid. Where was the response from Balen, from the rest of the High Reaches Hold area? There'd been no problem from the convicts, either, and all that looked to be progressing-- though they must all be freezing by now, as the snows began to fall. He felt a sick twist in his stomach every time he saw Iovniath. He avoided Tiriana, maybe part in continued - if somewhat more muted, now - fury, but part, too, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. He waited; they waited. It was weird and awkward. Cadejoth was awake, the morning she rose, driving his rider from his bed with a blast of cold that left him shivering, despite the warmth of the fire, the blankets, the rug underfoot. He was sober, this time, as he made his way to the weyr next door, beads of water still lingering on his face from his hasty wash. The twist in his stomach had become almost painful; he eyed them all, one by one, attempting to figure it out. Who? Who was it going to be? But Cadejoth was serene, flying clear of the mess of dragons, paying no heed to the frenzied instructions of his rider. Catcher, catchee... did it matter? He had his mate, and together, entwined, they fell. |
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