Difference between revisions of "Logs:Greater Good"

Maybe it was the hangover making D'kan squint into the distance. Maybe it was the sea spray. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe he had something in his eye. Or both eyes. It sure wasn't the sunshine, because on this cold winter day, there was barely a hint that Rukbat might be somewhere above, hiding behind clouds of steely grey.

Farther south along the coastline, Kazavoth was having a grand time crawling among the slimy rocks, exposed now the tide was out. There were just so many things revealed, and while the brown chattered merrily along their mindlink, D'kan had become a pro by now at pushing it to the background of his mind, white noise to meet the rise and fall of that coming from the surf.

A splash from the direction of his lifemate made D'kan turn from his study of the horizon, but it was just Kazavoth trying to see if he could somehow rearrange High Reaches' coastline one large rock at a time. Or something. Even Kazavoth didn't seem to have any clear motive or goal. He was moving rocks because he could, perhaps. Maybe if D'kan tuned into the chatter...

« -- but if no one checks under the rocks, how does anyone know there is nothing underne -- »

... no, but it didn't matter. D'kan's boot slid to the side as he shifted his stance before climbing down another level closer to the water. A small burlap sack dangled from one hand, its contents causing the bag to sway. The weyrling knelt to grab a couple rocks, adding them to the sack. They were good, polished rocks, with some heft in the hand, but they only gained any real weight when added together. He reached for one last rock, palm sized, the scent of brine rising in a strong waft. Perfect.

He climbed back up to a small plateau that looked almost due north. To the north and a little east lay the Hold. What had been "home", once. It hadn't been for some time, though, and he was reminded as another splash came from somewhere behind him and to his left, but as there was nothing alarming on that mindlink, he didn't look. D'kan upended the burlap bag and dumped his collection of rocks into a bumpy pile that clattered hollowly. Just to the side, he retrieved what had once been the nose end of a small ship's bowsprit.

By the look of it, the length of seasoned hardwood hadn't been part of a ship for a very long time, and the polished end of it had a much darker area, polished from Turn's of repurposed use. This? This was just one of its uses.

D'kan bent to pick up one of the rocks, then squinted toward the northern horizon, where deep, dark gunmetal grey water met the hazier, blander sky. Briefly, he checked in mentally with his lifemate, but Kazavoth had found something to study, and both splashing and mindlink chatter had gone quiet. Perfect. The weyrling checked his grip on the stick, then tossed the rock straight up into the air. He watched it rise, watched it fall, then chock! Away it flew, disappearing seconds later into the ocean, the sound of its entry lost to the waves.

Why did this feel so good? So clean? There was nothing to it, but this never failed him. There was something so... so solid about it. Chock! Maybe it was the simplicity, D'kan mused, as he studied the rock in his hand. Except, it wasn't really all that simple. A rock was not simply a rock. Just ask any Minecrafter. As he observed the current rock's textures, its pocks and ridges, its speckled range of colors, for a brief instant he almost felt bad about hitting the others into the sea.

A sudden snort sounded behind him, and D'kan turned to see Kazavoth emerging from the lower levels. His paws and talons were caked with the heavy silt of the low-tide beach, and the remains of some long-dead vegetation clung to the end of his tail. The rider let out a snort of laughter and turned back to the north, shaking his head before lofting the stone, followed a second later by another hollow chock!

« D'kan, » came his lifemate's voice a moment later, part peevish, part intrigued. « Please, you must take care of this at once. It will. Not. Go. » The unnecessary image of the offending dead sea plant was shared along with the... request.

Unconcerned, the weyrling turned back to his activity, picking out another rock. This one was far smoother, nearly all one color, and therefore of less cause for concern, should he be relocating it away from its little rock family. "Don't worry, Kaz. I don't think it's carnivorous." Loft, and chock! "Why not swim it off?" he added, glancing back again. "I thought that was part of the point of flying all the way out here."

Kazavoth puffed out his chest, indignant at being made to wait. A buzzing sensation along the mindlink indicated he was about to explain to D'kan just how indignant, but that soon faded to nothing as the brown drew a couple steps closer.

« What is that you are doing, D'kan? Can I try it? » Curiosity was colored by a wash of sky blue pricked through with glittering yellow as the aroma of freshly gathered hay tickled the senses. « I could send the rock so much farther. »

D'kan set the end of the stick on the ground and closed his eyes for a couple seconds, emotions warring quietly. This spot, this diversion, they were his. Had always been his. It had been one of the perks of coming to visit his father's family at the cothold. And now? Shared. Everything in his life was shared now. Hard to believe that a few months ago he'd been afraid of moving into a space that only he and Kaz shared.

Some of his thoughts must have leaked to Kazavoth, because the brown retreated a step and lay down, dangling waterlogged flora forgotten. Even the mindlink went quiet as the dragon switched into observation mode.

Now that he had an audience, however, D'kan felt a little less inclined to continue, except... Kazavoth just had this look about him. He was inquisitive but not really obtrusive, aside from the fact he was right there, staring at D'kan. A quiet groan escaped the man's lips as he bent to pick up another rock. "Just one. Then you need to go swim," he instructed, though it was halfhearted at best.

Loft. Swing. cr--dock... plop. Brown rider and dragon watched as the quartz-veined rock careened off the stick to ping off a boulder to the right, ricocheting into the water just a pace from the shoreline. For several more seconds, the two stared at the spot where the rock disappeared, even though it was washed over immediately by the next wave.

Silence was filled first by gentle heat, like a warm hand at the back of the neck. Then something akin to lavender and mint mixed with... mud. « D'kan? » The mud fell away but was then replaced by something tangier, of the sea. « Is that what we came here to do? »

A hollow thunk sounded as the thicker end of the stick hit the ground, while the other end dangled still from D'kan's hand. "No, Kaz. That..." He stopped, drew a deep breath, and turned to look at the brown. "Go swim, all right? Just not... over there," waving over his shoulder. "I'm not done hitting stuff." For several seconds after, the two stared at each other across the short distance, then Kazavoth leapt into the air, sending drops of silt and grit flying, while a vaguely dragon-shaped outline of muck remained on the ground. The color commentary in D'kan's head picked up again, but he was able to shunt it to the side, if just barely. It was focused just enough on Kazavoth and his poor forgotten hide, that the brown wasn't forcing his mindvoice into his rider's head. Those moments were never quite pleasant.

He tried to regain those first feelings of clarity, but his thoughts were interrupted once more by a splash, this time as Kazavoth dove into the water to his left. D'kan thought of his childhood. Of coming to this spot with his grandfather, cousins, others. His parents. The stick thunked against the ground again while he squeezed the rock in his other hand, fingers pressing against the rough surface.

Once again, he had meant to finally make it to the Hold. How many times had he said he would, now? It was today he finally recalled this spot. Once a solid day's travel, it had taken D'kan and Kazavoth a matter of minutes to veer from their course toward High Reaches Hold, flying instead to the cothold. It took even less time for them to reach this little spot of rocky beach, now too eroded for his father's family to use it, but still reminiscent of... what? Home? Safety? Stability?

Perhaps of simpler times. When the world hadn't seemed so big, so complicated, so illogical and harsh. Of a time when D'kan, still Kaeden, couldn't have imagined his own parents turning on him, from him, away... so emphatically away. Of a time when he knew his loyalties simply because he'd never had to question them. Had never really been questioned. And now?

D'kan looked to the northeast, unable to see the Hold from here, but he would have known where it was even before Kazavoth came into his life. Before we went to the Weyr, this spot signified the farthest he had ever been from the Hold. This had been his entire world. And now?

He tossed the rock into the air and went back to swinging that stick. The pop of the impact felt so sharding good. The arc of the rock as it sailed away, the splash as it entered the sea. He was reduced to this. A child's game. Hitting rocks with sticks. Maybe those rocks would resurface in a hundred Turns or more, for some other aimless soul to knock them back into the waves. Feeling like this was the greatest impact he could have on the world right now. His entire world. This little strip of land. This plateau. This rock. This stick. This sharding headache, Faranth.

It was a first, at least. Now he was learning about hangovers. And still, he picked up another rock and turned to face the north. Still, he lofted that gritty little thing, and still he swung at it with more strength than skill, and still, he sent it flying into the sea. "What were they sharding thinking," he said aloud as the stick whooshed through the air. Chock! He grabbed another target and lined up. "What is it, punishment?" Loft, swing, chock!

Anger building again, as it had last night, he reached for another stone. "And..." Loft. "Faranth!" as he swung, nicking the rock just beneath and sending it high as it arced over the beach. He watched it fall into the water with a deep bloosh, then snatched up another smaller rock. "Maybe we can eat these," he growled as the wind started to pick up, his hand gripping the oval of polished granite. He uttered one of the darker expletives he learned ages ago on the Hold's docks, then let out a much more colorful one rather loudly as he swung. Chock!

Fuming now, he watched the granite sail, waited for the sound of its landing, but the wind and waves drowned it out, just as they did his curses. The sky, which had been a hazy grey for the past hour or two, was starting to more closely resemble the stormy waters, but D'kan paid it no mind as he reached for one of the dwindling number of stones. Again, he tossed the rock in the air, and again he swung as hard as he could, no longer caring if he hit the mark or not. Chock! Not waiting to watch it land, he reached for another, ignoring the dull burn in the heels of his palms.

Shells! Holds play this crap all the time! Loft. But this? Swing. Excuse me, sir, chock! there's a hair in my soup. Loft. "What, they're going to send another?" Swing-thud, as the rock hit the ground. D'kan snatched up the fallen rock and lofted it high again. With a solid chock!, the stone went flying, his farthest yet. While still far from winded, his breathing had increased, though as much from emotion as exertion. Something deep and primal seemed to rage within, bubbled to the surface, then erupted with a roar as if the weyrling were trying to throw his very rage into the ocean, like so many stones.

When it was done, his throat sore, D'kan stood there staring at the northern horizon, not really seeing it. It may have been the increasing presence of Kazavoth as the brown rose from the water to fly up the coast, water falling in sheets from his body, then rivulets, then droplets as dull and grey as the sky. It may have been he had nothing more to say, or scream, or hit. As the anger left, something colder, emptier took its place. It was too passionate to be apathy. Too heated to be disappointment.

Perhaps... disenchantment. This little bit of land had once been his entire world. The more he learned about the larger world, the less impressive it all seemed. Here he was, a rider of High Reaches, like some sort of hero out of a story. Except there were no heroes, and the stories were what one person told another person just to get through the day. Shells, he wasn't even a rider. Not really. Just a weyrling. A weyrling with a sharding stick. What was he going to do, march into the sharding council chambers and tell them how it was supposed to be?

D'kan could feel Kazavoth's mindvoice pressing into his head, but he fought it off a little longer while staring down at the last few stones left. He nudged them with his toe « -- we could eat fish, D'kan. There were so many fish -- » to scatter them, then turned to find his riding gear and Kazavoth's « -- Southern! We have not been to Southern ye -- » riding straps. They needed to be oiled again. As the brown likely did, after that dip in the ocean.

« D'kan, why does it rile you so? » Kazavoth touched down where the dragon outline of muck was still barely drying in the wind. « We will not starve! We will not freeze! I can take you to warm places, D'kan. »

"Yeah?" the weyrling cut in, heaving the straps to his shoulder as he prepared to put them on the still-damp brown. "What about the others? The ones who can't just... fly around Pern? Can't fend for themselves?" Anger flared again, and he nearly overshot the mark as he tossed the ends of the straps over Kazavoth's neck. That was what bothered him most. It wasn't that he couldn't figure out who was right. It was that no one was right. He had to lean against Kazavoth's shoulder for a moment so he couldn't cinch the leather too tight. Buckles in place, he started slipping into his own gear.

Is it too much to ask for leaders who lead? he thought, jamming arms through sleeves. « We could lead. » What were they sharding thinking? Helmet came crashing onto his head, strap buckled hard enough to pinch. « To think is to be. » Gloves... no, instinct held him in check. Gloves were pulled into place rather than tugged, stretched, or ripped. "Exactly," D'kan replied aloud, turning to Kaz as he buttoned his jacket, as if the dragon's comments made the most sense in the entire world. Maybe they did. "We know what they think now, don't we? Because of... of this." Apparently Kazavoth was just supposed to know what "this" was, and he did not question it.

"They're supposed to be looking out for us. For everyone. Not... not posturing like sharding children," he gritted through clenched teeth. Kazavoth drew close to the ground as his rider began to climb. Once strapped in, with the age-worn stick tucked away, both rider and dragon remained motionless for several seconds.

« Perhaps... you do not see it all yet, D'kan, » Kazavoth ventured, though it was as thin as the wafted scent of jasmine that laced through the words, trying so hard to soothe. Too hard. « Is not the greater good simply a part of being? Are the Other's people going hungry? Do our own eat too much? » The last was dismissed as soon as he said it, brushed away with a burst of citrus and fresh herdbeast blood. Kazavoth could never eat too much, could he?

It was no good. D'kan's mind continued to churn. Briefly, too briefly, he thought of the first home, his parents, his old life. Not yet. The second home, then. With its spires and its caverns and its people. Deflating slightly, D'kan relented. It was home. They should return. To do what, he still had no idea. What he did know was that it was not a good time to try taking the short trip between. The longer flight would do D'kan good, and therefore, both of them. Like it was supposed to work.