Logs:Coda
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| RL Date: 6 October, 2015 |
| Who: Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Igen Area |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: A far-flung friend's finale. |
| Where: Igen desert |
| When: Day 7, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snow / Sunny |
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| The firelizard missive finally found her as Alida was hurrying back out to mount up on Ilicaeth's neck, the woman fresh from a bath, post-drills. The sky-shaded little blue's eyes whirled a moderate azure, but they were flecked liberally with yellows and swirls of grey as he held out his foreleg to offer the blonde the message upon it. She not only recognized the flit as one of Pyrite's - via her first clutch - but also as belonging to the youngest son of the matron of a certain gypsy trading caravan. With a quick frown, Alida settled herself more firmly between Ilicaeth's 'ridges, gently plucked the message from its little tube, and offered 'Fred' (oh, the humor of children) a snippet of jerky she always kept about her. While the little bloke tucked into his reward - balanced upon her shoulder - the bluerider unrolled the well-worn scrap of hide, and read quickly. As green eyes parsed what unpleasant reason had prompted the Clan to send this rare message, Fred uttered a sad-sounding croon between bites. « Already told the Hall's dragon ta pass on the word... » To the Harper that meets with her, once a sevenday, to help hone her guitar skills. Only the briefest feeling of disappointment welled within Alida at having to miss this testing, much-beloved time; but some things just couldn't wait. Should "not" wait. Not twenty minutes later, the bluepair winked into Igen's sere sky, and soon winged their way down to the caravan's winter home at the fringes of the southern-most desert. This time, there were no gaggles of children running to greet Ilicaeth as they usually did. Instead, all of the gypsies were sere of features, somber of voice in their greetings of Alida and the blue dragon...the reason for such soon enough presented to the rider in the recumbent form of her first real tutor, laid out in state in the back of a wagon. He looked odd in death, lacking the vitality of the man she'd slowly come to know over the Turns. "We called you as soon as we could," the matron sighed out quietly as they stood in vigil over the body of the man. Alida understood what was not spoken: they had their private rituals and mourning to conduct before an outsider - even a beloved outsider - was admissible. For a moment, the thought of this made the blonde bitter, but now was not the time or the place. And she did not "want" to feel that way right now...not in conjunction with this death. "How..." the bluerider murmured quietly. "Sometime during the earliest morning. He must have been twiddlin' on his guitar...did it more often, since he rose whenever his body bid, these last few Turns." The matron looked bereft for a few moments, then steeled herself and went on. Desert folk were pragmatic by sheer necessity. "Our healer," lower case, but spoken with just as much gravity as the 'approved' Crafter "...says it was likely a massive brain or heart spasm. Very sudden." And very, very fatal. Closing her eyes for a long moment, Alida finally found enough of her inner reserves to reply steadily, "Thank you for summoning me." "T'was only right." The 'wake' lasted the entire rest of the day: tales told, songs sung about her mentor's life - good and bad - trinkets offered to make his final rest peaceful, dances of mourning and wild abandon performed...all in honor of the man who'd ultimately turned down the formality and fame of the Hall in favor of a life of freedom. Alida joined in on every facet of the 'celebration,' including the drinking...but she didn't consume to tipsiness, as did some others. It just didn't feel 'right.' And later that night, when the pit in the sand was dug deep enough, the gently-wrapped body of the Harper was lowered with all dignity into it, and atop him his guitar, drum, and wooden flute... all of them soon covered forever beneath meters of sand. There was no sign, no stick, no marker to show where he was laid to rest. The desert claimed all quickly enough. Memories were all that they - or anyone - would have. |
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Comments
Edyis (21:16, 6 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Aww, Alida. -hugs-
Leova (23:28, 6 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
That is one pricey burial, with his instruments. How sad for Alida. I appreciated the note of their more private rituals, it really rang true.
Alida (14:46, 8 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
- nods to Leova* They're a little superstitious about objects that are tied very very closely to a dead person. They wanted to keep them...but were concerned that it would be an affront to him...so they unhappily decided to bury them with him.
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