Logs:Sense of Place
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| RL Date: 24 June, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Stern and reflective H'kons are stern and reflective. Sometimes, with a bit of effort. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr. Also, H'kon's head. |
| When: Day 18, Month 1, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snow and sunshine. It does happen sometimes. |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Madilla's characters kindly loaned to me entirely without her knowledge or permission. Do forgive me. |
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| H'kon had heard a great deal of it - they told him more now, ever since Arekoth's catch of Iesaryth - and it bothered him. This whole business. It was, to some extent, a learned response to the Holds attempting to be too involved in the business of the Weyr. The truth of it was, they were separate ways of life, separate societies, and after so many turns in this place, a man's tolerance - even a holdbred man's - wore thin. Yet it was more complex than that, part of a whole, faceted like Arekoth's eyes. It was the division of it, as well. This was not even a recognition of the that great whole. Involvement in the Weyr's politics aside, this was involvement in only one small part of the Weyr. And that one, irregular. But the way of it... that rankled him as much as the rest. Perhaps - and it made his guts threaten to twist about inside him - for its nearness to his own practice. Hadn't he been first to refuse recognition to a part of the Weyr? The culpability made his mouth dry, made the sour taste of the situation around him now that much harder to swallow. The rebellion of the wings - wasn't that truly what it was? - and the cloak and dagger with the tithes, and now the hanging weyrwoman's knot... Those faceted eyes were on him now. H'kon looked back into them broodily. His dragon, for once, said nothing, though there was a tendril of green seeping through the gloom at the back of his mind, growing brighter and harder to ignore. He took the dragon's point, and as was so often the case when Arekoth would finally hold his tongue, there was a taste of truth to the idea. This was different. H'kon stood for the Weyr, and cryptic golds, perhaps-murderous female brownriders, and irregular politics all around were no good for the whole. He'd made the decision, what seemed so long ago now, not to leave. High Reaches had been his from the moment he'd heeded Arekoth's call. And all this, this was the best he could do for his, their, home. Even in its difficulty. Even when parts of it set the back of his neck to uncomfortable prickling. Even when it frustrated his place in his wing, and among some of the riders. The dragon's eyes turned down, to the boy with the mittened hands who was shoving at the twisted brown leg. The boy who bore some of the echo of the exile Lord, and who certainly had more claim to the inner workings of the Weyr than his sire, who would see its fractured pieces scatter before they had time to heal and grow strong once again. Another facet there. He'd tried to calm his heart and lay his passions aside, as the great men with their great tasks in those stories that had been his favourites when he was a boy. He suspected he'd failed. Might be he was not seeing as clearly when the exile Lord presented an uncertainty, if not a threat, to Madilla, to her children. He must remember his place in all this. « This place is pretty good. » Dilan's tugging reminded Arekoth of their game, and the brown acquiesced to stomp a pile of snow - much to the boy's delight. H'kon doubted the four-turn-old was far off in seeming to believe that it was largely his doing which ensured a more careful, more perfect footprint left by the brown. The boy looked over his sister's head (Lilly dutifully preparing the next pile, for her brother's enjoyment no doubt) with a gleeful smile. The touch to his arm roused H'kon, to Madilla's presence, to the fact that he was echoing the boy's smile right back to him. « I think he's echoing you, » and he desperately missed his dragon's not speaking, « actually. » H'kon unwrapped his arms from his chest, offered Madilla a nod of his head, and trained his eyes upon the comings and goings of dragons overhead. He must remember his place in all of this. |
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Madilla (K'del (talk)) left a comment on Mon, 24 Jun 2013 22:11:17 GMT.
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