Difference between revisions of "Logs:Safe"

Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr

The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.

It won't be much longer before winter sets in, but for now, there are at least the occasional few days where the sun shines warm and the skies stay clear. It being the middle of the morning, the lake shore is not as busy as it might be later in the day, and that leaves Madilla alone to her thoughts. The dark-haired healer is sitting, hugging her knees, on one of the boulders, her skirts pulled modestly over her legs to hide them completely, even down to her feet. She stares out over the water, intent and intense; if one were to get close without distracting her too much, they might see the hint of tears, glimmering in the sunlight.

Dragons in the sky should come as no surprise to anyone living in a weyr, Hraedhyth low enough to be seen clearly but otherwise unremarkable. The pace of her wings is fast and hard, gliding only rarely, such as when she passes over the lake. She climbs higher in what might be considered a clumsy effort by much more agile dragons, though there is something to be said for the power required to move such bulk so quickly. Azaylia appears shortly after that, carried with a light jog that may explain the sheen on her brow and her quiet, sped up breathing. Madilla is sought out, not stumbled upon, the senior weyrling's athletic pace quiet until she steps onto that uncanny valley of sand and grass by the shore.

Through the steady stoking of the fire which fuels her exertion, Hraedhyth speaks. « Her face is wet. » A glimmer of tears, so easily converted to whispy sparks which fly from flames. Hraedhyth quiets but never truly is, powerful drums keeping up with the beat of her wings. (To Azaylia from Hraedhyth)

After all these turns at the Weyr, and especially given her current preoccupation, it's no wonder, really, that Madilla fails to notice Hraedhyth altogether just now. No - she keeps staring out over the water, musing about whatever it is she's musing about, utterly oblivious to the world around her right up until the sound of soft footsteps on the shore behind her. That's when she turns, finally, unapologetic for the redness around her eyes; despite those so-obvious tears, it doesn't take more than a glance before she's able to smile, and to say in a voice that's only slightly tear-muffled, "Azaylia. Good morning."

Azaylia falters even before Madilla turns, questioning gaze lifted up towards the shrinking form of her dragon. She's caught when the older woman finally does, eyes jerking back down to inspect anticipated redness. Still, she's surprised. She doesn't return the greeting, "You're crying." Said plainly, so much like a child having caught their parent doing just that. "Do you want me to leave you alone?" In the same, quiet breath, "What's wrong?" Despite the offer moments ago, she's taking steps to slip into the familiar woman's personal space. More than just the edge of it, not yet offering an embrace.

"I'm--" Madilla starts to answer, and falters, falling short of the words necessary to explain what's going on. Azaylia's presence does seem to comfort her, though, even if a moment later she's saying, reassuringly, "It's fine really. Good news, not bad news. I just--" One hand lifts to wipe tears away from her eyes; first one, then the other. "Do you know that feeling, when you have been waiting a long, long time in fear of something happening, and then something else happens and you know it isn't going to happen after all?" She's not a pretty crier, Madilla, but that doesn't stop her smile now from being genuinely joyful.

Brown gaze is torn between comforting and intense, flickering much like a certain gold's fire in the silence. When the journeyman tries again, Azaylia's features soften with relief, "Oh." Suddenly startled when she realizes she actually has an answer, "O-Oh, yes, actually. Yes." Smile is thin, threatened by sympathy tears, "Recently, actually. I visited my family." She doesn't go into detail, aware that her situation wasn't a rarity among new dragonriders. "I'm glad it's good news. I was worried." An arm slipping around Madilla's frame, even if the bolder protests by digging into the junior's hip. "I don't.. can I ask? Or..?" Well, Madilla had taken the time and effort to make it vague.

Madilla leans herself up against Azaylia, taking the offered comfort despite her assurances that it isn't, after all, bad news. "I take it that your visit home went well, then; I'm glad." It would take someone particularly perceptive to note the wistfulness buried deep within her tone, and since she's looking away, it's not visible in her expression, either. "It's-- complicated. Family things." She sounds torn, as though she'd like to get something out and off her chest, but isn't willing to let it go. "My son is safe. That's the important thing. Dilan's safe. Will you be visiting your family often, now? When you can?"

Azaylia wraps the other arm around Madilla as best she can once she feels the woman lean against her. Meant to comfort, it's also a touch selfish as her hold spikes with strength- always fond of hugging the healer. Her arms slacken out of surprise, "Dilan?" Pulling back, she's unable to read the healer's face and purses her lips. "He is." Agreeing, promising, as if the danger were something Azaylia herself could defend him from. Another quick squeeze, and she steps back with hands tucking behind her back, restraining herself from more greedy embraces. "I might. More than I was," Meaning never. "When I miss them. But my home is here now... it feels strange going back too often." Never mind Hraedhyth's issues with it.

Madilla's own arm reaches to wrap around Azaylia, though it's awkward given their current positions; she's long since given up hugging her knees, and now lets her feet slide back down to hang off the edge of the boulder. As Azaylia's arms slacken, however, the healer stiffens, and her gaze turns away again. "That's all that matters," she says, swiftly, as though to ameliorate the weyrling's reaction: everything is fine, nothing to see, forget about it. It's not impossible that a link might be made between the news that has been going around the Weyr, this morning, of the Lady Issedi's pregnancy, and Madilla's 'news' - but nor is it an immediate obvious one. Her hands drop, then, towards her lap. "Good. You should. It only needs to be every so often, but... even if your home is here, Azaylia, family is important. You don't want to lose them." Green eyes lift to study the goldrider, encouraging her silently.

Azaylia is a bit damp, possibly the reason for her restraint. It's at least clean sweat, not yet dry enough to smell if that ends up being the case. Lips part to say more, closing suddenly and accepting Madilla's final say with a soft nod. She understands. Tension in her features and frame waver at talk of her family, "I know." Now even more so, with one she so idolizes stressing the fact. "I don't think- I know I won't, now." A smile is there for Madilla when she looks towards the somewhat scruffy almost-rider, hands still behind her back.

"Good," says Madilla, approvingly: she's all smiles, now, and those tears from earlier? Little more than a memory, despite the lingering redness around her eyes. "I'm sure your family must be so proud of you. I know I would be. How's Hraedhyth? You must be in the final stretches of weyrlinghood, I should think, by now?" The healer has lost her intensity, now; her expression, as she glances back at Azaylia, holds interest and affection, and little of that earlier focus.

Madilla's mood, her lack of intensity, is echoed in the otherwise oblivious goldrider's demeanor. "I don't know about proud..." Yes she does, judging by that widening smile. "Maybe my Mama. She's always wanted me to do important things." She tilts her head back, trying to pick out one draconic shape amongst the number of those addicted to flight. "She's fine, thank you." Meaning it, smile growing. Her gaze lowers and she smooths a palm over persistent fly-away strands, "We've been shadowing a few Wings, which I'm pretty sure is the last part? Then people get tapped." Standing a little straighter, there's a glimmer of something hopeful in the young woman. But, "Lilabet is doing well?" Since it has already been stressed that Dilan is safe.

Madilla clearly does know about proud, because there's a raised eyebrow for the goldrider's first remark, and an increasingly amused and pleased smile to replace it a few moments later. "As she ought to be," she replies, easily, shifting her position to one side in order to offer her friend some room on the boulder, should she care to sit. "Good. Yes, that sounds like the end of it. It won't be long until you're a Junior Weyrwoman in full, flying with Iolene, Lujayn and Brieli. Are you looking forward to it?" Of Lilabet, she smiles, a mother's pride oh-so-obvious in her expression. "Lily has decided she's going to be a Harper when she grows up, so she can write stories forever. Of course, the idea of performing in front of anyone terrifies her... so we'll see."

"I'm pretty sure she thought I'd at least make Journeyman Herder." Azaylia admits to what important things her mother had in mind. For once, she's not shy about joining Madilla on the boulder, crawling with dignity sacrificed for efficiency. "Ah..." Interrupting herself with a nervous giggle, "Aaactually..." Carried on an inhale to try and keep herself from just blurting it all out, "I'm going to see if Hraedhyth and I can join a fighting wing. It'll be better for her to be 'in the ranks'." So to speak, as there is no Threadfall. A gasp, quick and excited though her voice doesn't gain any volume, "Does she? Oh my. That's so precious. Has she come up with any stories yet? You should write them down if she does, I want to read them..!" Genuine in her cooing, naturally.

"You might have been Journeyman by now," muses Madilla, glancing sidelong at Azaylia thoughtfully. "And yet, here you are instead. In-- a fighting wing." She sounds surprised, but though it shows in her expression for a few moments, it doesn't last; instead, she nods. "I can see that. For the both of you. I - good luck with that. I hope it works." Of her daughter, her smile is more restrained, now, but there's still that pride... and that quiet amusement. "She's full of stories," she admits. "She's writing some of her own, now. I'll have to ask her if she minds you reading them; it'll be good practice for if she does decide to Apprentice. A few months ago, she wanted to be a Greenrider like her father; we'll just have to see."

Azaylia tries not to flinch at the possibility, or perhaps it's a stifling of longing for what could have been? "Maybe." Madilla's expected surprise helps her retain that smile, "Everyone says something like that." Sounding simultaneously thoughtful and amused. "They're shocked by the idea for a second, and then they just kind of agree." Hraedhyth's reputation proceeds her. Leaning back on her hands, the goldrider tilts her head towards the her, "Please do? I'm sure they're wonderful." A laugh for greenriding aspirations, "She's going to be whatever she wants. And be good at it, too." Said with the utmost confidence, the same children have when making such declarations.

But Madilla is perceptive, and she's watching Azaylia. Perhaps she can't read the goldrider's mind, but she can make assumptions of her own - and she can say, quietly, "Of course, once you're graduated there's nothing stopping you from helping the herders out, when you have the time. Not everyone abandons their craft entirely when they Impress. I suppose," she adds, continuing on to that other topic, "it's because it just seems to make so much sense. I can't blame you for wanting something that will make you both happier." Her knees are drawn back up to her chest, now, and her skirt carefully arranged atop of them. "I know she will. Whatever it ends up being. It makes me glad, I think, that I never married Varens, never moved back to the Hall. I feel like she would have been pushed into Healing, there, and I don't think that's what she needs. She has too much of her father in her."

"Maybe." Repeated, uncertainty and all. "There's work for the weyr, and maybe- hopefully, drills. I..." Azaylia nibbles on her lower lip, "I still visit the stables, from time to time. Help when I can." When the craftspeople allow her, out of respect or from lack of it. "I've also been visiting the dragon infirmary. There's so much to do- that I can do." The words are her thoughts spilling out because she knows Madilla will listen. That she'll understand. "I'm just waiting, looking, for the right fit." Lips curl with quiet amusement, "The more I talk about it, the more I feel like Lily. Maybe I'll want a green dragon next." A thunderous roar from up high: Not funny. She's laughing despite her dragon's protest, trying to look apologetic and failing. "And some of you. It's why she's so sweet." Now the rider's just buttering Madilla up, though of course she means it.

Madilla does listen, holding her silence until after Azaylia has finished talking. Hraedhyth's roar of protest makes her laugh, albeit in an apologetic kind of way. She has a flush of pride for her daughter, pleasure that echoes in her voice when she says, "I suppose so. B'tal was sweet, too, but... perhaps she does get that from me." Much more slow and thoughtful is what she says next, her head now turned back so that she can look out over the lake and consider. "You're still finding your place, that's all. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. Impression... seems to shake things up, understandably. All those things you used to want have to be put aside, but that doesn't mean you stop wanting things, or caring about other things. I don't think anyone would begrudge you taking some time to figure things out, especially once you graduate. You're supposed to need time to adjust. And without Thread... You have so many more options."

Azaylia is gentle in her insistence, "You gave birth to her. Take some credit?" A playful plea through soft laughter. Using her hands to scoot herself off the boulder, those same palms dust off her rump, listening to Madilla all the while. "I do. So I'm taking my time... I suppose." Unsure of even that, of her hesitating because she can, or because she is unable to help it. At least the goldrider keeps busy, in between soul searching. "I... do you drink?" Startled by the idea, as if Madilla is too good of a person to imbibe. "I want to buy you one, if you do. We can talk more about Lily and Dilan. Less about me." Her smile is slightly embarrassed, "I'm fine. We're fine. Everything is... going really well." Surprisingly so. Suspiciously, if she were the pessimistic sort. "Still, I do appreciate you listening." Hence the drink.

Madilla's crooked smile turns more crooked still at what Azaylia has to say, but there's earnestness there, too: she will take credit for her daughter, if the goldrider insists. She's halfway through nodding, watching as the other woman stands again, when that offer is made - and something about it makes her laugh. "I do drink," she confirms. "On occasion, anyway. That's a dangerous thing, though, inviting a mother to talk about her children... and I don't see anything wrong with talking about you. Even if things are fine. Perhaps especially if they are; that's important, too. I'm always here to listen." Now, however, she follows her friend's lead, sliding off of the boulder and onto her own two feet.

Azaylia brightens, "Oh good. We can drink to good news." So long as she's buying, the idea of doing something nice for Madilla more exciting than the prospect of alcohol. "It's not dangerous if I enjoy it." Broken logic, and she knows it, just giving up with a smile and subtle shrug. She bravely accepts her fate, waiting for Madilla before turning and heading for the weyr. If she must, the young woman will humor the Healer with bits about her own uneventful, and yet still busy life.