Difference between revisions of "Logs:Home Alone"

Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.

What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable.

T'mic was there when Jorrth raised his head and let out that gut-wrenching keen. He was there, in the training cavern, at the seat at the table that was his second home at night, with the work that he could never stay caught up on. And then he was there, at his dragon's side, with his forehead pressed to Jorrth's, his heart pounding and his stomach wanting to jump all over the floor.

"Jorrth."

« She didn't find anyone, T'mic. No one. »

T'mic pulled his head back to look at those whirling eyes, yellow and orange. It was the first he'd seen of that colour since... ever?

'"She's gone? He was breathing too hard.

« Between. » He'd seldom heard Jorrth whisper, too. Not for serious.

T'mic went to put his head back to his blue's.

Jorrth butted him once, gently, and then moved away.

"Jorrth."

« They're not back yet. »

He felt Jorrth reaching out to all his siblings. Sort of like he'd felt everyone on the sands, but different.

T'mic's heart was still pounding; his belly was still squelching; his breathing was still too fast; his ears were still ringing from the keen.

But he knew how to calm himself down a little.

And he tried, and joined Jorrth with the others, to do the best he could.