Logs:The Grand Optimist
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| RL Date: 3 August, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: H'kon dares to be optimistic. In a sort of half-melancholy way. |
| Where: A northern beach, near High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 23, Month 5, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
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| This time was a true battle of wills. It was only after - after they'd flown away, after they'd torn the sky over the mainland, and finally reached the shore - that H'kon could allow it was that battle, so much as the cast still on his wrist, that had him forbid Arekoth from between. The lot of it had left him exhausted, his mind numb, if clear for it, his wrist and fingers throbbing. Arekoth's protests had lost some of their edge as well, though the brown kept them up for show, even at rest on the rocky northern beach. Now, even H'kon had to admit, it was not wholly unmerited. The injury had not been good for either of them, keeping them from drills, keeping Arekoth from flights, keeping H'kon from most but reading and sitting about with Madilla and her family, keeping both of them too restless. He flexed his fingers, did his best to move the wrist within the cast, but the swelling kept it held tight. Still, it had been getting stronger. And by now, he at least owed Koth so much as a green. « A lot more than that. » Indeed. But you'll forget the rest, once you're in a green. The crackle of the dragon's laughter made him smile; the promise of future action - and not in flights « You know you want it » - too. Azaylia. The weyrwoman who finally was heeding the call of her Weyr, after what had seemed so long... And Z'ian, then. The rider he'd trusted to deal with Boreal, whose wing would have him think himself weyrleader, but with whom Azaylia seemed more like to act in concert. There had been irregularities, yes. In everyone's actions, or lack... « Could've been us. » This is for the better. He and Arekoth had not done so good a job, even doing their best, in that mockery of leadership. But all of that was in a time that lacked solidity. They had that, now. The starts, at least. And it was starts he ought to see to. Once the cast was off, he'd need sort out this business of wings. A new beginning. This time, he let it refract through Arekoth's glow, colourless, then green, then pink, all that potential and excitement filling his mind and limbs with energy again. Can you fly us back now, do you think? « These wings aren't just for looking pretty, Hal. » So H'kon got up from the rocks, trailing his swollen fingers over Arekoth's twisted leg, got mounted up on his brown's neck, and flew back south, but forward to the Weyr. |
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