Logs:The Witch of November
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 11 October, 2014 |
| Who: Alida, Ilicaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Bad tidings for Alida |
| Where: Southern |
| When: Day 13, Month 13, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunny, warm. |
| Mentions: Jaecar "Farsights"/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Slightly backdated. |
   |
| The near-blinding sunlight of the South shone down powerfully upon the pale skin of the woman's face, neck, hands and arms, but its summer-time glare went unnoticed by instinctually-narrowed, vert eyes. The heat of Southern's afternoon - even in this private little cove - likewise went unnoticed, though she was still clad in a cable-knit sweater more suited to the North's current winter...the things sleeves having been mindlessly shoved up to lower biceps, earlier. The blocky, silent blue dragon hunkered down practically atop his rider likewise understood that he'd have to open his wings soon to shelter his lifemate from the merciless sun, lest it redden her vulnerable hide to boiled lobster hue. But for the moment, he let the baking heat soak into her skin while he did what he could to try and sustain her *inside*. He'd been just over a sevenday late contacting her a few times before - damn the weather and the sometimes oscillating ocean currents - and so those extra days accruing to the man's schedule moved by noticed, but relatively easily. His ship and crew were well-seasoned, sturdy, knowledgeable, after all. As the extra handful of days with no word wore into a hand-and-one-half of them, she felt the definite stirrings of dread within, the bone-numbing cold of High Reaches doing nothing to help offset that emotion. The concern within was almost palpable by this time, and it finally drove her to speak with her Wingleader, beg an hour free from her duties to check up on him. In and along Ista's bustling ports, she checked, double-checked, triple-checked every dock and ship, all the good inns and scummy dives, each captain and harbormaster, until she'd found one man who'd mentioned that The Guiding Star had indeed been into his port two days ago. The crew had unloaded their cargo, then sailed off. Where their next stop was was not something spoken of to any not in the business, but a few quick coins in his hand convinced the harbormaster that she was due that destination and date: Tillek. They'd likely be there in another week, with good luck. There was no way she could contact the ship in that time, given the inconstancies of the ocean and weather, and so the woman - a little less full of dread, and more full of confusion and concern - departed with her lifemate back to their icy home. Perhaps he'd had a change of heart, or something terribly important kept him quiet out of necessity. A sevenday later, blue and rider were at Tillek, awaiting the ship, instead finding it had arrived during the previous evening: good luck with weather and currents, indeed. With dawn only recently arrived, the sun kept her from clearly viewing the deck of The Guiding Star, and its captain...who had finally seen her as she strode down the pier, towards the gangplanks and rope ladders. He'd gestured at her to wait as he descended, thus saving the woman from a possible unpleasant time trying to scuttle onto the ship - landlubber that she was - her keen eyes only noting his hesitant, dour features and wincing eyes when he finally stood toe-to-toe with her. Her heart gave one monstrous thud, then fell like a meteor. "T'was the first day of this month, ma'am..." the captain's low, respectful baritone informed her, his features touched with ample hints of compassion, his eyes never leaving hers. "Ran inta' that big blow out at sea. It was a huge storm...bad as any I've seen in my decades." The woman's features, her eyes remained as flat as the stone her dragon out beyond them imitated. "He was blown overboard, bluerider...from the mast down t'the ocean." Swallow, head shake. "We tried lookin' fer 'im...but we lost another sailor as well, doin' such." As he hesitated in the face of her utter lack of reaction, the tall, rangy man slowly reached for the woman's hand, managed to take the near-nerveless, damp thing into his own paws for a solemn squeeze. "He was a damned good man, 'rider... and a good sailor. And he truly cared for you." As nothing else was left to say, the captain finally let go her hand, reached around to his back to unsling a miniature guitar case, and gravely passed it over to the woman: a ukelele's worn but well-tended case, the instrument inside. It was that instrument that she was now, finally looking down at, Alida having mindlessly opened the case and drawn it out from within, its gently polished wood warm in the sunshine...almost as warm as Jaecar's smile had been. Lifting the ukelele slowly into position, the blonde's fingers hesitated, but could not keep from strumming those strings that had often-times accompanied her on guitar when they felt the want of shared music. She was half-way through their favorite sea ballad when the tears began to flow like the incoming tide, their unstoppable sting blending with the salt-laden air until spray and sorrow melded. The ocean echoed the woman's grief for an hour, a lamentation that so many women before her had uttered...and would continue to as long as humans went to sea, and left their loved ones behind. At his rider's back, broad chest nestled firmly, supportively against his lifemate's spine, Ilicaeth mantled his wings about Alida, his grey-eyed self giving utterance to one long, low, and sonorous groan before enclosing her in his arms, as well. |
Comments
Edyis (05:47, 11 October 2014 (EDT)) said...
Poor Alida.
Leave A Comment