Difference between revisions of "Logs:An Escape"

With hour neither late nor early, there was unrest. The place Azaylia had come to know as being alive with chaos was utterly dead. She took care in slipping free from her cot, the sticky impact of her bare feet drowned out by the sleepsounds of dragonets and weyrlings.

Hraedhyth was nowhere near as stealthy. The young queen took no care in stepping on ill-placed tails, padding after her packmate with weighty steps. Still, there had been no grand announcement upon being roused by distressed thoughts, and though she was unsure, she didn't lash out. Yet. Curiosity was already bordering on dangerous confusion.

The cold was worse than Azaylia could have anticipated. She braced herself even while passing through the training cavern, skin already trembling and harvesting itself into tight bumps. Her feet had gone from frigid, to pained, to numb far faster than she had expected. It suited Azaylia fine, one less distraction from the stream of thoughts that had been plaguing her for days.

Constantly watching for Hraedhyth's moodswings. K'del not being Weyrleader. When. Soon? Her near-failed exam. The extra classes assigned by Harpers. Their barely contained horror at her ignorance.... or had she just imagined that? The slew of notes from said lessons and copied records that were piled next to her cot. The words she had reread over and over, struggling to understand and retain. All the names she had to remember. The events. The Lords. Ladies. Weyrfolk. Satiet. Raids. Hanging. Meteors. Exiles. It was only a matter of time. They'd all see what kind of stupid, lowborn hick of a weyrwoman she was. With so many queens, there was no need for her. No matter what K'del or even Madilla said. What could she do? Why was having a dragon with a gold hide supposed to make a difference? It didn't. It hadn't, not for Tiriana. And she knew what they said. Knew how some looked at Hraedhyth. Pity. Curiosity. Fear. Could she blame them? Yes.

Azaylia stood in the bowl, icy fog creeping up to her knees to continue where her nightgown ended. She could see Hraedhyth's red gaze out of the corner of her blurred eye. The gold's rage and confusion added to her own, their bodies tensing, muscles coiling in silent harmony.

The drums had begun up the dragonet's waking, and they continued to pound harshly within her skull. Hraedhyth's flames threatened to escape their hearth, licking hungrily at the crude stone that dared to contain such fire. Pressure poured onto them both, this time the rumbling far too deep to even hear. No, they felt it in their core, swelling in an attempt to force Azaylia's resolve to crumble. The last, weak tether meant to maintain peace in a mind that was hungry for war.

Run.

Deadened feet stung, and Azaylia felt as though her dragon's fire was licking at her heels as she took off into the bowl. The first few breaths filled her lungs with icy venom, but she didn't stop.

Run.

Hraedhyth lurched forward, surprise doing nothing to slow her as youthful limbs worked what muscles they had. She straightened out and found her balance. With head lowered just over her lifemate's shoulder, the young queen kept a pace that would have her with Azaylia. Not faster, not slower. With her.

Run.

Arms and legs that had been neglected were pushed to their limit. During it all Azaylia had reached up to yank her hair out of it's messy bun, wavy locks trailing behind her. Possibly for the last time. The drums were her footfalls, rhythmic and harsh as she fed off of her dragon.

She would not stifle the warrior gold that night.

Though, even Hraedhyth had limitations. The raw, roaring emotions slowly but surely trickled away, leaving twin trails that stung Azaylia's cheeks as her frozen body overheated.

A step too far and the weyrling crumpled into something familiar. There was no more energy to think about notes and lessons, or what anyone thought of them. There was barely enough left in her to pick herself up and blindly lead Hraedhyth back to the barracks. Azaylia didn't even notice when she had begun to shiver and thaw, or when her body took it's painful revenge in the form of phantom needles.

Nestled beneath several layers of blankets, they couldn't compared to the warmth of Hraedhyth's appeased flames. She basked in them. The beat of her heart and the pounding in her head slowed to something like a lullaby, though that tapered off as the young queen succumbed to sleep.

Azaylia was not far behind, and despite all her efforts that night a thought lingered behind her closed eyes.

Run.

But,

Don't run away.