Difference between revisions of "Logs:Disconnect"

First Vienne, and now Kazavoth.

H'kon's boots hit the stone of their ledge, and Arekoth shifted, and pinned him with a sharp look. H'kon busied himself in loosening and removing the brown's straps.

He'd not felt his dragon so beyond his control since their early days together. And yet now, some ten - no, eleven - turns later, and he felt just as young, just as lost. Not inexperienced, not after so long, but somehow, that made things worse.

You are blocking me.

Arekoth pushed his wing even farther back, and H'kon gave a harder tug on the straps.

That is not what I mean.

« My mistake. »

And you know it. The straps fell, and H'kon squatted to gather them. Arekoth made his way for his couch.

"Hold."

He tried not to act surprised when the brown did wait. Arekoth caught it anyway. It was in the flare at the periphery of H'kon's mind, the laughing colour.

Straps in hand, he marched around to the dragon's front, stared into the eyes he knew best. Vienne. You mocked her.

« She probably deserved it. » Unapologetic.

And your Kazavoth? Deserved the cut?

« Earned it. » Proud.

You cannot simply do these things. "You cannot keep them from me in this way."

Arekoth resumed his path to the couch, and H'kon had to dance out of his dragon's way, and still took a bump from the brown's leg.

« I'm not, » was only once he'd settled. H'kon waited it out, and ground his teeth.

And yet each new foolish act is a surprise. He wondered grimly what else his dragon may have been up to, that he'd not found out about.

« Well if you're not going to listen. » It was the cold that chilled H'kon to silence, the emptiness of the dragon's mental night.

Arekoth did not speak to him as H'kon moved about the weyr, stowed the gear, changed from riding gear to his heavy fisherman's sweater, set up a brazier to take some of the dampness from the spring air, and fetched the dragon's oil.

All the while, Arekoth did not speak to him, and H'kon played over the events of the last few days - into those of the last turn.

All the while, a knot grew in his stomach, guilty.

He began at Arekoth's headknobs, and works his way down the dragon's form. All the while, quiet. All the while, uncertain. All the while, displaced.

Only at the dragon's haunches did it begin to occur to H'kon that, maybe, these were all really the reasons.