Logs:3 Months
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| RL Date: 15 March, 2015 |
| Who: Nala |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, Southern Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Time passes. Ten events, changes, or realisations. |
| Where: Southern Weyr |
| When: Months 1-4, turn 37 of Interval 10 |
| Mentions: Grace/Mentions, Nalyn/Mentions, M'vyn/Mentions |
| i. Each morning, before drills, she ran, up early enough to try and avoid the heat. Running was not unfamiliar to her, not after Shevena had reassigned her those turns ago, and not after weyrlinghood, but it wasn't something that she'd done again of her own volition - until now. Sometimes, she wove her way through the trees, and other mornings found her making steady progress along the beach. It cleared her mind, more so when she first started, her focus more on telling protesting muscles to shut up and deal with it than anything else. ii. She put in several orders at the Smithcraft Hall, once she felt brave enough to move beyond the Weyr and her self-imposed exile. The charms that Aislara had given her, with the initials of her children, found their way onto a new silver chain, along with the ruby she'd never managed to part with. One of the chunks of hematite that she'd kept was fractured and scattered along the chain, with one or two of the paler, pastel gemstones freed from what few pieces of jewellery she'd left Bitra with. A small, spherical silver cage waited for the stone from the ring M'vyn had given her, if he'd surrender it. If not, well. A cage was still a cage. iii. The battle lost, she let Jynth chase; let him lose, and let the brownrider take her hand and press her up against one of the trees not so far from the small building used for flights. She let the same rider carry her back to his weyr and bed; stayed with him until sense returned and her heart stopped beating so fast. When her thoughts were her own again, she drew him back over her and let the world fade away once more. Later, he asked her why she didn't socialise with their wing. She told him it hadn't gone well for her, in the past. He made her promise to join them the following evening. iv. The mindhealer levelled a calm, non-judgemental look at her. "Why can't you be near him?" Nala swallowed hard. "...Because I still want him to love me. Because I do not know whether it's worse that he despises me and believes everything I do is wrong, or that I want him to love me anyway. How can I want someone like that to love me? I would not tolerate it from anyone else." "Perhaps he counts on that. You've told me that he tells you he only Stood because of you." "Yes." "And you feel responsible for that." "Yes." "Why?" "Because it means that everything that's happened since is my fault." "No, Nala, it doesn't." "I know." "Nala." She looked from her hands and up at the Healer. "It doesn't." v. Encouraged by her new wing, she took to more physical, combat training for the finesse and focus of it, instead of the sheer need to channel her anger and hatred and hurting into something that she could feel. Trying to suppress and swallow down the hurt and the hole that was burning away in her chest, she came out with fewer bruises and other injuries, though initially inflicted far more, until her companions realised how much she had already absorbed, learned and been taught. They ended some sessions in a heap of aching limbs, and she found that, for once, she didn't feel the need to move away from the tangle of bodies. vi. Another visit to the Smithcraft Hall brought her the ring she meant for Aislara. It was a simple band, the tiny, blue-green stone embedded in the curve of the ring. She settled it in its small parcel, along with its slim chain, and hid it in the bottom of one of the drawers that contained her clothes. What she wanted it to mean, she wasn't entirely sure. Something. She'd figure it out. vii. She wrote letters to Grace and Nalyn, for when they were older, trying to explain herself. They could have been neater, but she kept all her edits and mistakes in, believing they would better convey how she felt than pristine, flawless print. Whether she would ever manage to be able to be part of their lives again, she didn't know. Maybe her absence wouldn't matter, later, if they would never remember anything of her being there at all. She missed them, yes, but they would survive without her. Did she want more children? With anyone? No. viii. The records engaged her attention, when she could see to concentrate on them and wasn't consumed by the need to make it all go away by means of exercise or drills or errands asked for. She tried not to drink, except socially. Was half successful. Bit by bit, she made her way through records of flights, tithe, sweeps, noting down anything she felt was slightly out of the ordinary. Transfer (how ironic), births and deaths. Communication with Holders. With Fort. ix. The pastels and the femininity - the not-silks and the long skirts - she'd cast aside with the cutting of her hair, her retreat into boyish clothes and leathers one that had left her believing that it had to be all or nothing - she couldn't keep any element of Nalani's life. Maybe the aunties and the seamstresses felt sorry for her, the little dark cloud of silence, but soon she was spending evening after evening with them, embroidering ribbons and hems for daughters and nieces and granddaughters in return for pieces of her wardrobe being re-styled and stitched; for hand-me-downs repurposed and given new life. Dresses, skirts, blouses. They didn't mind that she was quiet. She found that she didn't mind their constant chatter. x. "Who are you, Nala?" Distantly, the mindhealer swam back into view through the veil of her tears. "...I don't know," she rasped, "but I want to find out." "It's a start." |
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