https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?action=history&feed=atom&title=Logs%3AFloat 2026-05-15T14:49:07Z Revision history for this page on the wiki MediaWiki 1.24.2 https://norconwiki.louisebennett.name/index.php?title=Logs:Float&diff=76997&oldid=prev 2015-09-20T20:51:02Z

<p>Created page with &quot;{{Log |who=Ulyana, Ulyana{{!}}Qhyluth |what=Post-flight, Ulyana and Qhyluth go swimming. |where=Close to the Ground Weyr, High Reaches Weyr; Secret Cove |involves=High Reaches...&quot;</p> <p><b>New page</b></p><div>{{Log<br /> |who=Ulyana, Ulyana{{!}}Qhyluth<br /> |what=Post-flight, Ulyana and Qhyluth go swimming.<br /> |where=Close to the Ground Weyr, High Reaches Weyr; Secret Cove<br /> |involves=High Reaches Weyr<br /> |day=11<br /> |month=11<br /> |turn=38<br /> |IP=Interval<br /> |IP2=10<br /> |gamedate=2015.09.20<br /> |quote=&lt;&lt; No. &gt;&gt;<br /> |weather=Stormy - then clear<br /> |type=Vignette<br /> |icons-new=Icon Ulyana.jpg, Icon Qhyluth.jpg,<br /> |log=She made it back to her weyr without difficulty, though climbing up the ladder left her light-headed all over again. By the time she made it into the weyr itself, she was drained and uneasy, her stomach twisted up into knots all over again. <br /> <br /> Qhyluth finally emerged from the lake to land on the ledge, dripping with water from both lake and sky. He lingered outside, eyes gone pale - nearly gray, but no quite. He gurgled and, at long last, pressed his head past the canvas and into the weyr. <br /> <br /> ''She'' was on his couch. <br /> <br /> ''She'' was not well.<br /> <br /> Concern washed color from his hide and the blue crept inside, tail dragging and head held low. ''She'' didn't look at him and he knew why. All he could offer ''Her'' were images of warm waters, distant waters, waters that were not his own. Water reflected on his water, with sunlight fighting against sickly moonlight cast from twin sickles in his clouded mental skies.<br /> <br /> ''She'' pressed a palm to his muzzle and pulled ''Herself'' upright. There was no need for straps. Not for ''Her''. Not for ''them''.<br /> <br /> ''She'' gave him the image - and he took it.<br /> <br /> ---<br /> <br /> They came out somewhere in the South; familiar to them both. It had no name, this cove; it was a secret place that they'd visited a few times, the coordinates shared by a fellow wingrider.<br /> <br /> So, perhaps, not nearly so secret, but they'd never encountered another soul while they were there before - and this was no exception. His hide stung where claws and teeth had caught him, but it mattered little. He lowered himself down and urged ''Her'' to dismount.<br /> <br /> Ulyana did, eventually, slide off of him, but only to curl up on the sands, gagging anew with the shift in temperature and height and everything else. When she was finally able to gather her wits again, Qhyluth started to nudge at her, aiming her for the water. She stalled him, but only long enough to fumble a couple of candied ginger pieces from one of her pockets. She sucked on the rough pieces long and hard, trying to scrub out the ''taste'' that seemed too stubborn to go away.<br /> <br /> She was never much for swimming. She learned how to keep herself from not dying in the water, but that was always the extent of it; he was the watery thing, she was to stay on the shore and keep watch.<br /> <br /> He was not to be deterred. <br /> <br /> Ulyana peeled her clothes off as she made her way to the water and, once she got there, she sank in as deeply as she could. He followed and pushed her along with a gentle nudge here and there to take her further and further out. She didn't think. Couldn't. <br /> <br /> The taste remained on her tongue, even while she ran the ginger bits in her mouth hard enough to make the roof of her mouth bleed. <br /> <br /> She sucked harder.<br /> <br /> But it wasn't that. It never was. Something else gnawed at her bones and pulled at her heart and she fought against it until, finally, they were in waters too deep for her - and just right for ''him''.<br /> <br /> ''I cannot give you what you want.''<br /> <br /> He curved around, caught her in the crook of his neck and shoulder.<br /> <br /> ''I cannot be what you need.''<br /> <br /> He gurgled, low and throaty, and tried to nudge her onto his neck.<br /> <br /> ''I am sorry. ''<br /> <br /> &lt;&lt; No. &gt;&gt; It was no moaning and distant sycophant that answered; the voice that spoke was terrible and glorious and maddening all at once. It was rusted razorwire dragged over steel; acid and glass rubbed into her mind. Her teeth ached; her head throbbed. &lt;&lt; No. &gt;&gt; came again. Softer. Fainter. Weaker. Painful, still, but better. Slightly.<br /> <br /> ''You need someone to love you. I do not know-''<br /> <br /> &lt;&lt; No. &gt;&gt; <br /> <br /> And she was on his neck, hugging a jagged neckridge, eyes shut against the sudden sting of tears. And she cried, silent at first but louder and louder when he reminded her in his way that they were alone.<br /> <br /> ''I cannot...''<br /> <br /> But he pushed back against the denials gently; a warm wash of water licked her feet in the flesh and in the mind. Soothing. Loving. ''Showing''. The waters embraced her mind as she embraced his neck.<br /> <br /> ''She'' cried and he knew that ''She'' understood.<br /> <br /> &lt;&lt; Yes, &gt;&gt; was a sycophant, sighing on a breeze.<br /> <br /> ''She'' slid back into the water with him. ''She'' needed him to keep ''Her'' afloat. ''She'' needed ''Him''. <br /> <br /> Finally, ''She'' understood.<br /> <br /> &lt;&lt; Yes. &gt;&gt;<br /> |Categories=Post-Flight Logs<br /> }}</div>

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