Logs:Give Me This
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| RL Date: 17 April, 2015 |
| Who: R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Monaco Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Following a reluctant farewell and a long silence, Leiventh finally talks. |
| Where: Igen Desert, Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Oriane/Mentions, M'kris/Mentions |
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| The hum of the wind gliding over the sand dunes became a welcome sound, after a fashion. It was noise, sound, not initiated by him, and certainly not coming from the silently steady, immobile bronze. A hundred times he thought about leaving, and a hundred times he discarded the idea; he couldn't leave Leiventh, even if the stubborn bronze seemed determined to see their end borne from lack of food and water. He hadn't imagined it would end like this. He didn't feel it was their time. But for once, the decision was out of his hands. He waited. He slept. Once he saw, on the distant horizon, a gold dragon lift off, circling into the sky. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Leiventh, but the thought died as the gold abruptly plunged and vanished into the blend of unending sand and the shimmer of the heated air. He couldn't cry, even if he'd wanted to. But he did want to, a little. --- He tried to lick his lips, but the lack of saliva over cracked lips made it worse. Even in the shade of the tent, the desert sun beat down, relentless, heating the air inside. He felt the urge to step outside, to feel the breeze on his skin. The thought engaged him, and he wasn't sure how long he lay there, imagining it, before he actually started to move. He pushed to his feet -- started to, but the world tilted, and fell back. Eventually, later, he crawled. The last of the water had gone the day before, rationed even as it was. In the light, Leiventh's bronze struck, the crimson gleaming. His heart beat rapidly at the movement he saw -- perceived? Come. Was it Leiventh speaking, or simply his imagination, like it had been the time before, and the time before that? The desert played tricks on the mind, moreso now that he was dehydrated. He wavered there, at the edge of the tent's shade, struck by indecision and lethargy both. It is time. A wave of cool wind accompanied the words, spinning around him, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment at the thrill of his dragon's touch, drinking it in as eagerly as he would have cold water. He didn't care where, what, why, why now. For once, he obeyed without question. They lifted skyward together. The tent quickly grew into a dot, his eyes oddly fixed on it, his cheek pressed against Leiventh's hide, breathing in the scent of dragonskin, feeling his heatbeat steady. Cold. Freezing cold. Doubly so, after the heat of the desert. And yet he welcomed it. --- Some part of him sensed where they were even before he saw the distinctive beach, the huts, the home that had been his and Leiventh's for a time, until they'd been exiled. His heart began thudding heavily in his chest again. His, why? echoed only in his head, not passing cracked lips. « Because it is time. » Time for what? In lieu of answering, Leiventh banked, taking them past Oriane's weyr. There, in all her glory, Evielth glowed, bright and unmistakable, drawing attention as was her due. A beat of silence. Things moved slower than normal; his thoughts scrambled. Relamoth. Yanvath. What was the bronze from Telgar's name, and why couldn't he remember? They had to come, and soon. « No. » We have to-- « No Relamoth, no Yanvath, no Rayaveth. No plots, no plans, no scheme. Just you, and me, trying to win. » But... M'kris. « No. » The bronze brushed there mere thought of Monaco's Weyrleader aside, as if it were nothing. « We have always done it your way. I want this. Do not fuck me on this, R'hin. » It shocked him to silence; Leiventh wasn't given to swearing, and it made him, perhaps as intended, silent enough that the bronze could continue after a pause. « Give. Me. This. » His concession came without words, just as Leiventh touched down. --- There was some comfort in familiarity; in being here, in Oriene's weyr, in seeing the shock on M'kris' face, and others. He hadn't the energy to stand, to play the triumphant return as he'd hoped (imagined?); he settled for slumping against the liquor cabinet, hunting amongst the bottles with his gaze until he found water; he gulped all of it, feeling the liquid course down his throat in cold splashes, even as Leiventh just as greedily drank the hot blood of the beast he felled. It was the first time in a long time he'd simply given into the flight, and not fought to keep control, not fought for something else. They rose, together, into the sky. He felt pain, felt someone near him -- and it pulled him away for a beat -- but Leiventh twisted, and pulled him back in, and he was there again and nothing else mattered but the air under their wings, the surging beat that drew them ever higher in pursuit of a single-minded, unified goal. They didn't win. But it didn't matter. He felt a moment of disorientation, a rush of cold winds and a quivering of bassy-crimson splashes. « Thank you. » It didn't matter that the dragon withdrew, fell into silence after that. For now, their momentary accord was enough. --- He remembered falling. He remembered a woman, her softness and cool skin a balm to his own, overheated one. He remembered Maiga, the pretty barmaid, waking him from his stupor, shooing his companion out and pressing something cool into his hands. He remembered her words, and why they made him cold despite the heat that persisted. "You should leave. For your own good. M'kris and his are distracted for now, but they won't be forever." --- Leiventh was exhausted, or he was. One or the other didn't matter. They moved on instinct, Leiventh flying west, using the winds off the ocean to stay aloft with barely any energy. When the wind died, they landed on the beach, brought to a halt like a ship run around. He slid -- fell, more than dismounted, relieved in the shade of Leiventh's bulk, the warm sand underneath, and the cold of the bottle Maiga had given him. It revived him for a time, for long enough. Leiventh. This is not our time. The bronze didn't move, didn't respond. But he felt a stirring of cold winds stretching out, and he relaxed. Some things, when you'd been together as long as Leiventh and R'hin had, no longer required words at all. Gossip: Monaco's senior rises There wasn't a great deal of fanfare before Oriane's Evielth rose in Monaco on day 22 of month 7. The fact that the senior threw her flight open to all comers suggests perhaps she was looking for a change in leadership, but if that were the case, undoubtedly the outcome disappointed her. M'kris' bronze Feyzeth once again captured the queen, and has retained the title of Weyrleader. It's rumored there was a fair few fights over the results, with the faction of those shut out of positions of leadership growing increasingly restless, particularly with the status quo. |
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