Logs:T'mic and Jorrth, Months 2-3
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| RL Date: 3 May, 2015 |
| Who: T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: The end of month two and beginning of month three. |
| Where: High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Month 9, Turn 37, Interval 10 |
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| The exercise, T'mic liked. Not so much the running (although it was getting easier all the time, and it made other things easier too) but the parts that worked his muscles. It put him into his body. It made his arms feel warm. It made his shoulders feel wide. It made his chest feel huge. It made his middle feel solid under his belly. It made him feel like seeing Faryn, too. Jorrth understood a lot of it. When T'mic had been hauling, pushing, pulling, the still impossibly small blue would go lumbering around as if he was massive, shaking out his little wings with big groans, and snorting and pawing at the ground with his teeny claws, and pushing and shoving at T'mic or his clutchmates with his scrawny little neck. That always made his rider laugh. And the rest of it, well. T'mic tried not to think on it too much, not while Jorrth was awake. Not that there was time anyway. He'd been called 'passable' by the Harpers, but 'passable' wasn't good enough. Sure, not for High Reaches, but really it wasn't good enough for Jorrth, and so suddenly, it wasn't good enough for T'mic either. Even knowing wasn't good enough, now. He had to understand, so that he could explain it, so that they could understand. It made T'mic's head spin, most of the time, when he'd try to keep up to the pace of Jorrth's curiosity. He'd been embarrassed, the first time the bottom fell out and he didn't know even what he thought he knew. But Jorrth didn't mind about that. Just he didn't stop wanting to understand, either. So they'd spend long hours working through things, until T'mic had turned it sideways and dropped it so many times that it was right-side up and fit again. And when his head would start feeling soft, Jorrth would shake out his pretend-big wings, or paw the stone with his pretend-heavy legs, and headbutt his rider's gut with his pretend-thick neck. And then T'mic would use those muscles he'd been working on to wrestle and play with his little blue until they'd had enough, and would flop down in their couch. Sometimes, T'mic would drift asleep touching Jorrth's limbs and wings, making himself try remember all the names and all the parts through his brain sludge. Sometimes, he'd think about home and family and friends, his or Jorrth's, or the overlap with the other weyrlings. And sometimes he'd just close his eyes and feel the warmth of his little blue's head pressed up against his rider's big chest, and smell that sun-fur smell that was Jorrth, and not think at all. |
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