Logs:What Kind of Day Has It Been
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| RL Date: 15 November, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Aidavanth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: One weyrling pair confronts their limitations. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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| « Your hands feel different. » Jocelyn's oil paddle stopped moving for a breath before resuming its course down that long neck, free hand still massaging the viscous drops that slid down into whatever parts of Aidavanth's hide they reached. It will pass. That got her lifemate's attention, which promptly honed into what she could feel of her human partner. The weyrling's wince was buried, but Aidavanth knew it was there, large head swinging around to fix a look upon the silent woman. The oil soothed Jocelyn's hands as she continued tending to her dragon, even if they were still a little too dry, a little too painful. Small cracks and rough patches that had started to form since she stepped up her handwashing threatened to split. « Tell someone. » The gold's tone left zero room for argument. Tell someone, Jocelyn echoed dryly, so that they can heal enough between times when we're outdoors before I should wash them again? I'm not sick, Aidavanth. She pushed back. « Cracks in our hide can be dangerous. It's not unreasonable of me to ask that you give yourself the same consideration, especially now. » There it was: the fear that her partner carried, an eddy of what ifs that roiled beneath Jocelyn's focus. « It's our job to do everything we can to stay well and learn how to be of help in case we're needed. You know that. » Would you want us to volunteer? Jocelyn asked abruptly, finally focusing on those luminous eyes that were still trained on her. If we could. They couldn't, of course, for a multitude of reasons that ranged from the hue of Aidavanth's burnished hide to the fact that they were still in training. That she couldn't yet fly, much less support her rider. That they couldn't travel and wouldn't know the first thing to do, even if they could. « We are best suited to be of service where we are, » came the reply at some length, frankly. « This is all I know, Jocelyn. If I had been born to a different life, if I were green - perhaps we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now. I don't know. » The frustration pushed into that syllable startled them both. That was unfair of me, Jocelyn decided as she climbed the two steps down necessary to push her small stepladder over another foot before ascending again to work on oiling another section of hide. More quietly: I'm sorry. There was little use in wondering about what could have been, not when what was was of immediate concern - and immutable. Aidavanth's exhale was as much physical as mental, even as she shifted obligingly to make it easier for Jocelyn to reach a little higher up; yes, that area, just there. And if she deliberately warmed her thoughts to share the small joys of her day with her partner so that they didn't linger on the worries that constantly swirled below the surface for Mivength's, for Olveraeth's, for the rest of High Reaches - surely she could be forgiven, for there'd be time enough to consider everything else. Later. There had to be. |
Comments
Squishy (10:33, 15 November 2015 (PST)) said...
This was heartbreaking and yet very real. It was a wonderful insight and an excellent read.
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