Logs:Parent and Child
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 20 October, 2014 |
| Who: Teisyth, Vhaeryth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Teisyth goes to see her pa after Ma dies. |
| Where: Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 1, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Gheara/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Dragon angst. Back-dated. |
  |
| G'laer wouldn't let her come the day it happened. Nor the next. But on the third day, just as she could feel the memory starting to slip away, she made him. She didn't even know she could make him do things. But maybe because he had lost his mother (grandmother) sometime (recently?) it made him sympathetic enough to be swayed to come to Fort. So Teisyth could sit. She didn't know anyone here (that she can remember), except the person she'd come to stalk-- er... see? So she keeps her vigil in the bowl, her eyes locked onto his ledge. She just stares and stares. Vhaeryth's is not the most exciting of ledges. It's narrow (like a tongue), it's icy (like a frozen tongue), and it's seen several visitors (arguably not like a tongue) though usually one or two at a time. Just about all the dragons seem comfortable with the greyed-out bronze, at least physically if not so much his (his rider's?) mourning; they navigate the narrowness with the naturalness of wingmates. It could be easy to think Vhaeryth hasn't noticed Teisyth, given how he mostly stays holed up in his weyr and doesn't look her way, but one of the visitors stares and stares and stares until there's a familiar rumble and then he stops. It's when that one leaves, not long thereafter, that the bronze himself comes out and peers down. It's when Vhaeryth comes to look that Teisyth finally dips her head, abashed. « Pa... » Her copper and nuts tang is muted and colored by her own mourning. She didn't mean to bother him. Surely her rider is around here somewhere, but astoundingly he didn't feel like standing in the freezing cold bowl to wait for her while she stared. Isn't that a faithful companion's job? Not that Vhaeryth has his in attendance. « Teisyth, » he says, and she's far enough away that he scrapes snow off his ledge to fall in his very own avalanche. He crouches on the now-exposed rock; he might as well be a lump of reddish-bronze coal in the cold, one that's begrimed with what's (who's) not here to leave ashes. « What? » It's not confrontation, nor even one of those aphorisms he's liked to pick up here and there. It's only a quiet word. « Ma. » It's a quiet word too. The single syllable from Teisyth is infused with her sense of loss, the absence of something that was ever a constant in her world now being just gone. It's a hole. There is still the sense of Pa though. He's still here. Here, now, in fact. Vhaeryth may not comprehend 'Ma' as a word, exactly, but much as he knows that 'Pa' stands for him, he senses what she means. Whom she means. He shares it. Not immediately, but after a while, there gets to be a sense of absence... of negative space, deep within him, within others elsewhere, resonating very quietly and very distantly compared to the laceration that's here. They share it. « I'm starting to forget. » Teisyth confides with worry some time later, maybe moments, maybe hours - the feelings of loss play tricks with time. « I don't want to. » But her memory has never been her best attribute, so she knows she will. « It'll feel like somethin's missin' an' I won't know just what. » Maybe some dragons would like to forget so soon, but not her, not yet. Some time has passed; the bronze's dark wings are unfurled enough, and down enough, to cloak him and hold in some body-warmth even as their fine membranes lose it. « Yes. » He adds, « 'Benefit by doing things that others give up on.' » except with that solemnity comes unusual uncertainty; does that fit here? It seems he might not know, and he doesn't seek to conceal it. « What do you remember now? » Her here-ness, not her gone-ness. « Only a little. » Teisyth confesses. Already the memories are slipping from her. She has feelings, but they're vague and indistinct. Were they always so? She can't remember. G'laer doesn't know, or won't tell her. There's no way to know. No one may ever be sure. « Will you be okay, Pa? » That's the future. « We must be. » Smudges mar the dark metal of the thought, prints preserved and not yet wiped clean. « You will be, Teisyth. » He rests his head on one paw, half-turned so one lidded eye looks downward still. « You don't have to remember. » Though it's valiant that, for now, she strives and does. Something about the fact that it's her sire telling her she'll be alright eases some of the anxiety Teisyth didn't even know she was keeping. Her boxy head tilts as she looks up at the bronze. « You'll say if'n you need me? » for what, she cannot begin to know or even guess, but... it feels right to say. She heard them-- no, G'laer heard them, and shared with her that people at the Hold said that to him, when he lost his sort-of-mother. Now she can say it to Vhaeryth. « Yes. » That too feels right to say. The whirl of Vhaeryth's eyes is still greyed, but incrementally bluer now; his wings stay close. « It helped him? » That rightness has continued through his question, right as her sharing her rider's sharing, and he shares the rightness in return. He might continue, but he doesn't; he listens for her. Teisyth has to think about this question. She's trying to remember. What did he share with her? It feels like so long ago already that he shared it, but it couldn't've been more than a pair of days. « I... » She is slow in her answer, making sure she's telling the truth as she goes, « ...don't know. » He didn't share that. Or maybe she didn't ask. Sometimes she doesn't think to ask these things. If there's a flicker of disappointment, it's expelled by weary appreciation of her trying. (It may also be just as well that, if her rider weren't helped, she doesn't know to tell Vhaeryth.) The bronze doesn't say that she helped him; he sends her the feeling instead, even if it does come with that aching, underlying sorrow. « I will say. » Then, « Stay as you want to stay. » The wind changes course, colder; his wings don't move. « Go when you're ready. It will be long. » Someday, he will sleep. In the meantime, he sits sentinel. |
Leave A Comment