Logs:Just Another Bronze?
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| RL Date: 27 June, 2015 |
| Who: Cadejoth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: During the hatching feast, Taeliyth attempts to interrogate Cadejoth but gets distracted; there's some proof that Taeliyth is a baby after all and that Cadejoth is not just another bronze. (Spoiler: he's important.) |
| Where: Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| The lateness of the hour has not diminished Cadejoth's enthusiasm. Oh, sure, he's on his best behaviour-- foreign weyrs, foreign dignitaries and all of that-- but that doesn't mean he's not willing to take to the skies, or share his enjoyment of such to anyone who might be listening. He manages, at least, not to make too much of a racket, but there's a faint clatter and chink out there, tantalising in the moonlight. (To Taeliyth from Cadejoth) She's a rule-breaker, this new Fortian gold. Given that it's been about as long as is needed to get properly fed and oiled and bedded down, she's certainly supposed to be asleep. She isn't. The sensation of being watched at a distance doesn't last long given Cadejoth's restrained ruckus and obvious excitement. It might be disarming her of her (already) usual tactics of inquiry. « You're different, » she observes openly, tendrils of fresh growing green bursting through her earthy mind, reaching toward the sun that is, in this mid-of-night moment, Cadejoth's emotional brightness. (To Cadejoth from Taeliyth) To Taeliyth, Cadejoth, in answer, has tendrils of chain, link upon link, focused now upon this newest, littlest queen. His thoughts quest back towards her, seeking her out with interest-- delight, even. « Am I? » This seems to amuse him and he shares it with her: his past, stretching back and back and back for turns, even if he's forgotten, and hers... so very new. « Compared to what? » « To others, I'd imagine, » is wry but no less true. Taeliyth can only imagine because she's only hours old; then again, that's hours in which she could have been a nuisance to a great many dragons already. She's interested by what insight he offers her. The tendrils of green waver as if whispered into dance by some unseen wind or perhaps simply by magic. « It is not the turns. » She decides after thoughtfully considering. « Perhaps it is what is in the turns. Are you just another bronze? » She's trying to figure something out, some instinct that goes beyond what she knows at present. The answers must be somewhere, she only need look in the right place and ask the right questions. (To Cadejoth from Taeliyth) Without using words, Cadejoth shares: he shares the chill of a High Reaches dawn, and those seven spires that mean home. He shares, too, the silver web he holds across his Weyr, the one that marks out all those dragons as part of his pack. His. His. She is not part of it; he is not of Fort. « Is there such a thing as 'just another bronze?' » he wonders, then. « Aren't we all ourselves? Important in all our own ways? » (To Taeliyth from Cadejoth) It's Taeliyth's turn to be delighted. The freedom with which he offers this information is refreshing and she revels in all it teaches her. The tendrils of green go to ground again, willfully, but only so she can dust the landscape with a sprinkling of snow. Chilly places have snow, don't they? Briefly, so briefly, there's a flash of suspicion. Is this too easy? Then it's gone again. She'll save analysis for later. For now, « Isn't there? There are fewer of you than other colors, fewer of mine still. In which ways are you important? » Please tell her, her mind eagerly invites. (To Cadejoth from Taeliyth) Snow! Cadejoth revels in the snow; so refreshing. « I am important to my K'del, because he is mine and I am his. I am important to-- » No; he has no mate. But he has made a mate, and he was important; it's a curious hesitation, there, some matters largely forgotten but still... present, somehow. « I have sired many clutches. I lead my Weyr. But more than that... » He is not a philosophical dragon, not really, but this is important. « I am part of the whole. I fly in a wing. I fly for a Weyr. I chase the clouds and sleep in the sun. » And what, in the end, is more important than that? Than life. (To Taeliyth from Cadejoth) To Cadejoth, Taeliyth doesn't take the non-philosopher's answers any more lightly than she would an actual philosopher's. The young queen weighs the questions these answers present. There's a brief glimpse of the mind that is shrewder than it tells in this exchange, the complexity of the paths extending from this moment unto eternity, none straight and none whose end may yet be seen; she is, after all, very young. She should ask him what she wanted to ask him, when she approached, but she is distracted from her purpose by these thoughts, by this moment and so her path diverges from the one she'd planned so carefully. « I will have many clutches, » she observes with innocent awareness for her faraway future. « Will that make me important? » There's a quieter follow-up. « Is that why it matters to Dahlia that I am gold, not green? » To Taeliyth, Cadejoth draws his chains in, one length at a time, but not to depart: no, he's furling it in for safe-keeping, and to muse over his thoughts even as he shares them with her. « You will, » he agrees, of those clutches, and presents an image of them: a larger Taeliyth (imperfectly drawn), surrounded by eggs. « That is one thing that will make you important, » he suggests. « But only one. You will also lead others, and you will be a part of your rider, and you... you will leave an impact. » There's the faint trigger of a memory, there, caught between strands of chain. « K'del wished I was other than I was, but he learned. They all learn. They're never ready for us, even when they should be. » To Cadejoth, Taeliyth's sudden quiet might seem like withdraw, but there's a moment of light finding snow and casting a slight sparkle against the reeling chains. « K'del will meet Dahlia, » is not a question. « Do you suppose he would help her try to understand why the path she chose isn't... right for her? » If Cadejoth is important, it's a reasonable assumption K'del is too, particularly if, as he claims, they lead his Weyr (which may be the difference instinct hinted at). If K'del's important, perhaps Dahlia would listen. To Taeliyth, Cadejoth's own silence may feel heavy, in its way, but there's a rattle at the end of it-- like a solemn punctuation point, quiet confirmation. « He will try, » promises the bronze for his rider. « I will make sure of it. » But more than that, there's a sense of encouragement: give it time, young Taeliyth. To Cadejoth, Taeliyth's gratitude is genuine but fleeting. There's a brief flare of something that becomes distraction and with a shake of snow from branches by way of farewell to Cadejoth who is not just another bronze, she's gone, her attention given over to other matters. So young, and yet already, there's just so much to do. |
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