Logs:The Worst Kind of Waiting
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| RL Date: 13 November, 2015 |
| Who: Cadejoth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taeliyth tells Cadejoth the sickness has come to Fort. |
| Where: Dragon mindspace |
| When: Day 8, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Erinta/Mentions, Hasander/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, R'oan/Mentions |
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| The Wood is petrified. Nothing lives, nothing breathes. Taeliyth barely dares to be in this moment. « Cadejoth, » she reaches, as the sun sets. « They can't wake her. She would want K'del to know. The sickness is here. » That makes the whole forest tremble. The corruption spreads through her roots, how many might she lose? (To Cadejoth from Taeliyth) To Taeliyth, Cadejoth is immediately alert, those chains freezing with a mental chill that has nothing to do with the fineness of this High Reaches spring day-- and everything to do with the news that has just been shared. « Taeliyth, » he says, expressing emotion in the telling of that name; it's more than he can put into actual words, but then, since when did dragons need them? « Are you... is she...? » There comes the sound of fracturing, as if some great weight had been taken to the trunks of these hardened trees. « I am only as I can be, » Cadejoth will have to fill in what that means because Taeliyth's emotions are on lock-down. « Dee is sick. They tell me the fever will come down. They will make it come down. She will wake. The rash is all over her back. » There's a stilted pause and then she brings it to mind, the horrible image of it that she saw with her own eyes, and without bidding it to do so, the terrible fall of Dee in the hot springs, of some tall blonde man catching her just quickly enough that she didn't hit the floor when she fainted. Then sudenly, there's a shudder that's akin to a body-wracking sob. Dragons don't cry, do they? Then the trees are still again, eerily still. (To Cadejoth from Taeliyth) « Taeliyth. » What more can Cadejoth do, or say, or feel? There's no staccato merriment, no rattle and clatter, in his thoughts, today. That image has struck him deeply-- his rider, too. Perhaps his rider most of all, but who can say, now, where one ends and the other begins? « She will be well. She will recover. » Now is not the time to ask about Fort, but perhaps the question might escape, unspoken, all the same. « She will be well, » though. Because that's the most important thing. (To Taeliyth from Cadejoth) « Share it, » is a directive from a voice that is strong beyond her youth, resolved. « To your dragonhealers. At least they will not mistake it, should it make it so far as you. » Certainly, Taeliyth hopes it won't, but she doesn't really have much emotional space to spare for that brief sentiment. « So I tell myself, » she admits, but does she believe? She's not the optimist her rider is known to be. « She's not the only one. Other riders... and their children, or weyrmates. » There's a pause. « This can only be the beginning. » And that is a terrible, terrible thing. (To Cadejoth from Taeliyth) To Taeliyth, Cadejoth's promise is immediate: « I have already done so. We will do everything we can. » For Taeliyth and her rider; for all the others who have already been taken down, temporarily or forever. « High Reaches is doing everything it can to prevent it spreading further. We know Fort is, too. But you, Taeliyth... focus on your rider. She's what matters, for now. Let others think further afield. » Like Cadejoth, even if his sphere of focus is different to what hers might be. « How is... » A pause. « He asks after Elaruth's. » « Yes, » Dee. « And those other dragons who are with me, waiting this horrible wait. » That makes her so-- something, a feeling she can't put into words but that roils in the stomach and unsettles the whole. Taeliyth is quiet a moment, controlling that feeling carefully before she answers. « Hattie lost a son. Days ago. The headwoman is doing her work. She grieves. » (To Cadejoth from Taeliyth) Waiting. Is any wait as heartbreaking as that one? Cadejoth cannot possibly imagine; it ices his chains further, leaves his voice not far off a howl at the moon-- but he will stay calm, not only for Taeliyth, but for all those others who must also wait. « Oh, Taeliyth, » is all he can say to that last, sounding (just for a moment) so very much like his rider. « All will be well. Fort will be strong again. And so will your Dee. » (To Taeliyth from Cadejoth) To Cadejoth, Taeliyth is quiet some moments. « I hope so, » is fervent. « There will be death, » she says it soberly, but as a dawning realization. « Perhaps not Dee. » Please, not Dee. « Prepare, » she impresses one last time and then her touch slips away. Not gone in the most frightening way that is never to return, but focused back where she should: on Dee, even if all Taeliyth can do is wait. To Taeliyth, Cadejoth does not reach after the retreating queen-- he would not intrude like that!-- but a sense of him remains, nonetheless: he and his will not forget them, in this hour of need. |
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