Logs:It'll Have To Wait
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| RL Date: 31 May, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Azaylia learns that when it rains, it pours. Whatever happens, there will be consequences. |
| Where: Kitchen, Stables, and Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 12, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
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| The air was abuzz with near electric excitement, and for the first half of the day Azaylia let herself be swept up with everyone else. Nerves left her far more tongue-tied than usual, but her smiles came easily and her hands were far from idle. There was stitching to check on her lengthened robe, and then she and a few other candidates had been ushered into the kitchen to help prepare what they could before the hatching. Azaylia had been straining to hear the dragons hum all morning. It felt as though every few minutes she stopped what she was doing, closed her eyes, and listened for that telltale thrum. There were a few moments when she did actually feel a tremor, though each time proved to be a false alarm. One instance was her own trembling, quivering so badly as to actually shake the vegetable station she had been posted to. She was dismissed, playfully declared useless to the kitchens and in no state to be around sharp knives. Word had already been sent to the nearby Holds, and those who didn't arrive dragonback did so on their runners. Some folk thought to gift the Weyr with herdbeasts to help fortify the new (hungry) generation. It made for more work in the stables and familiar hands were called to task. Azaylia was eager for it, to feel her muscles strain and to distract her mind from those insistent 'What Ifs'. She didn't see Mack at first. Azaylia was busy trying to calm a spooked, ancient runner that had no business carrying anyone on his back. Then again, his rider had been just as old and likely weighed as much as a feather, so of course the candidate could forgive him. A glance upwards, and she saw a bright scarlet scowl beneath that familiar mop of red hair. It didn't register at first, still coaxing the animal into his stable, giving the bony hindquarters a pat of encouragement. Without the runner between them, Azaylia could see the Journeyman's barely restrained fury in his wide stance. She could see the letter clutched within his fist. Azaylia took a step back. Mack took one forward. Then she was running, bolting for the caverns with her long legs but a blur. She heard him bellow her name, though between the pounding in her ears and the buzzing in her head, he sounded so far away. Even within the safety of the weyr, she didn't slow down, pushing past the hands that reached out to grab her. They were saying something, all of them, but she couldn't hear anything above the steady thrum, growing louder and louder by the second. It only just dawned on her as she reached the barracks, out of breath and drenched with sweat. It wasn't buzzing, and it hadn't been brought on by panic. Journeyman Mack, the Beastcrafthall, what she had done... whatever happened, for better or worse, it would all have to wait. Because the dragons had begun to hum... |
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