Difference between revisions of "Logs:All Is Well"

Silence. Different from a moment ago, quiet pressure building, trembling at the edges of their territories. An ambush with an inexperienced General, motive clouded with fear and anger that breaks through in a sudden rumble. Barely a build up before war drums are pounding with full force, fire doused by oppressive frost that lingers still deep inside, freezing a warrior's tears. « WHY. » Hraedhyth rails against her sire, mother, and more; all the ones shown to be responsible for the lost Sister. Her exiled Granddam. « WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY!? » The beats aren't given time to taper off before another sounds, trying to deafen an answer out of them. (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath)

The suddenness of that onslaught seems to surprise Cadejoth, jolting him out of a reverie of wind and air, currents that have set his chains to clanking in merry abandon. All is not entirely well in Cadejoth-land, not if the unhappy buzzing that lingers about them is any indication; still, he reacts in shock to Hraedhyth's words, everything clanking to a sudden and forceful halt. « Because it was necessary, » he replies, displaying, then, the subtle mesh of weyr as a whole: the weyr he keeps safe, every dragon a part of it, a part of his pack, his tribe, his whole. Unspoken, but not unremarked: to keep my people safe. (Cadejoth to Hraedhyth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath)

To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth, and Ysavaeth, Rielsath considers, or at least lets a torchlight illumination flare in the darkness between the group of minds. Images flash, their briskness showing little regard for whatever youth may not immediately understand. Fire, snow-capped mountains, knives. An unrest, a mistreatment. And a settling calm after the storm, embers flickering away to reveal a clean, new image beneath. Just a little worn around the edges, a little cracked. But more loved for it. « Because we endure. »

To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth, and Rielsath, Ysavaeth's response, belated, is completely nonverbal. It's just a mental brow raised in askance at this petulant outburst. Then? Utilizing a skill not only inherent in her color and kind, but well-versed throughout the turns, lays a subtle weight upon Hraedhyth, a wordlessly directive: shush child.

The element of surprise is a shallow victory at best, easily forgotten as the too-young gold thunders on. But there is nothing to say, now that she is invested in battle with minds more experienced than her own. Chains are used to wail against drums, the sound discordant and sour even to Hraedhyth who lets go of her Sire's tools. Fire, she understands, torchlight drawing her in to try and wield it against them all. Pitiful strength quivers, standing strong and alone in a fight she cannot win, even as her Dam takes the fight out of her without a word. Warpaint not her own is washed away, frost carried off by rain-tears as her flame crackles, a weak note of rebellion. « Queens keep the Weyr safe. » (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath)

To Cadejoth, Rielsath, and Hraedhyth, Ysavaeth speaks now, her melodic touch relenting, only a little at the seeming capitulation of her daughter. « Only when their riders are sane and not endangering others. »

To Hraedhyth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath, Cadejoth chimes in just after Ysavaeth, echoing her in an unconscious sense. There's a warmth to him now, too: sympathy and understanding, and the promise of protection. « Rielsath and Ysavaeth will keep us safe, » he promises. And so will he. « As you will, one day, when you are grown. All will be well. »

To Hraedhyth, Ysavaeth, and Cadejoth, Rielsath projects, « We are queens. » There is little else to be said about the fact, other than change the intonation: we are queens. Aside from Cadejoth, that is, but the point is there. Three of them are more than one of Iovniath easily, and the torchlight dances on despite Hraedhyth's attempt to use it against its source. « There are other Weyrs, and other queens to keep them safe from her when she arrives. » »

It is a mantra now, repeated with every frail, persistent beat of the drum. « Queens keep the Weyr safe. » Ysavaeth's melodic chimes are accepted, familiar, soothing the tears and temper but not silencing Hraedhyth. Even as the rhythm begins to fade, there's a change, a faint metallic ting that echoes that of her Dam. « I will keep the Weyr safe. » Rielsath's is helpful in their overall goal, until the now-Senior implies that Iovniath is something to be protected from. The flame consumes all inside the little queen, melting chain and bell and all metals. It doesn't lash out, not with Ysavaeth there now, but it is very visible to all of them. A hissing crackle turns into a deep growl, « I won't go like her. » Daring them to try. « You can't make me. » Her fear burns brighter, the cause a bit more obvious now. (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath)

Quietly, but firmly, with an affectionate ripple of metallic chains-- they're linked, Cadejoth and this young queen, after all, the bronze replies: « Then you will learn from the mistakes of others, and it will never happen to you. High Reaches is your home, Hraedhyth. We do not remove people from their home lightly. » All is well, his words promise. All will be well. (Cadejoth to Hraedhyth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath)

To Hraedhyth, Caejoth, and Rielsath, Ysavaeth has nothing left to say, leaving the petting for this particular offspring for the father to do. But she'll leave a descant of bells ringing up and down in scales in the background, to counterpart some of that consuming flame and growling voice.

Her own heart still youthful, Rielsath is quick with her possessive contradition, « That's stupid. Besides, you can't fly yet. You couldn't go if you tried and we wanted you to. » Listening to Cadejoth's reassurances, she listens and agrees with the whirr of lightning-bug wings. « It's your home, too. You belong here. » (Rielsath to Ysavaeth, Cadejoth, and Hraedhyth)

Hraedhyth will try to make those chains red hot, but still so young, she had given her all to those first few ineffective blows. Now she lingers stubbornly, with childlike fear that will be ignored out of wounded pride. And still, they offer comfort. And she accepts. The flames will ease off, ushered back into something manageable, flickering with surprise at the Senior's tone. Lightning bugs are coaxed closer by flame, unharmed and curious as sparks fly up to join them, echoing « This is my home. I belong. » Warmth is extended to her Sire, traces of it to her Dam as well, boldly accepting their apologies. Because clearly, even as the soothed dragonet retreats, this was all their fault. (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath)

Apology? She apologized? Bemused, Ysavaeth will let this one slide, but those trailing bells disappear. For now. (Ysavaeth to Hraedhyth, Rielsath, and Cadejoth)

To Hraedhyth, Ysavaeth, and Rielsath, Cadejoth only sends forth another burst of warmth before he, too, retreats. All is well. All is well.