Logs:Superstitious
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| RL Date: 13 April, 2015 |
| Who: Zadkiel |
| Involves: Igen Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Eggs. Thoughts. Superstitions. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Clear. Pleasant. |
| Mentions: Schuyler/Mentions |
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| His arms were healing nicely, or so the Healers told him. "Should be perfectly fine to Stand," they told him. Zadkiel just grunted. He took his place at the railing of the galleries and loosely curled his gauze-wrapped fingers around the bar. His gaze tracked over each of the eggs, but it lingered longest on the gold one. The urge to spit to one side was strong. He fought it successfully, but it ended with a hard swallow and a slight narrowing of his eyes. It was not the first time he had stood for one of Niahvth's clutches. And if she stayed at the 'Reaches, it would be the last. He would be left Standing or he would return to Igen - and the thought of being left Standing didn't come with the pang of sadness that he suspected the others would feel. He was not one to hold his breath over it. He had heard all the stories. The Weyr had lost many goldriders over the turn - too many, by any account. Then there was the fire. The latest death. It was not his Weyrwoman that died and the grief that had wracked the others had little effect on him. No. It was the nature of the place that drilled to his core and soured his mood. He squinted at the gold egg. I would not blame you, he thought, if you decided not to hatch at all. These sands are cursed. This Weyr is cursed. His fingers tightened on the rail. Healing skin began to stretch - and split. He studied the eggs as he had done every day since his Search. It was a habit, he would say, but the truth is, it was more than that. He liked to think he could tell what they were going to be. He liked to think that being around them was enough to draw their attention to him. Before the Hatching, he would always have the same quick meal - if it could be called that: heavily peppered wherry jerky. He would always make sure to bathe before, too. Superstitious? He wouldn't concede to that, but some part of his mind knew that's precisely what it was. He never actively hoped to Impress, but his thoughts were always open to it - both in the galleries and when, eventually, he took to the Sands in the past. He would not invite, but he would be available; he would not think of anything but them, yet, his thoughts never stayed on any one of the hatchlings. He would separate himself from the others to remove all other distractions. That was how it always went. How he thought it would always go. This time, he knew it would be different. The only things that would remain the same were the meal, the bath, and the distance. And, this time, he would be slightly behind. Close to the entrance. Cursed. The urge to spit rose again. This time, he turned on a heel and stalked out. He spat to one side of the entrance - twice. The damp feeling in his bandages was enough to draw a grimace. To the Infirmary, then. One of the others had asked why he was still Standing. His thoughts kept turning toward that question, time and again, as if another answer could be found. The answer was the same: the dragons had called; he had answered. It was the first time he wished they had not. |
Comments
Alida (01:40, 16 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Nice vig. Interesting to see more of what's inside Zad.
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