Logs:The Voice
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| RL Date: 14 August, 2011 |
| Who: Sedark, Tsaheyluth, Unknown |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Riding sweeps, Sedark and Tsaheyluth encounter a very strange phenomenon. |
| Where: Skies over Fort Area |
| When: Day 28, Month 6, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| It's sweeps duty, one of the more challenging tasks for Sedark and Tsaheyluth to complete properly. The blue is raring to go, the promise of unsupervised flight enough to make him endure Seze's endless inspections of her rudimentary harness before they're finally aloft. Then he's off, flying the agreed-upon pattern for a good quarter of an hour before becoming restless. His speed picks up, his rider curses, and it's hell on wings, a blue streak of giddiness in the sky. « Woooohooooo! Yeeeah! » At first, it's just a whisper, the suggestion of a presence that reaches out, not seeking a specific mind. No words accompany the gentle brush against Tsaheyluth's mind, only a faint ripple of rainbow light that pulses a single time and retreats all at once. (Unknown to Tsaheyluth) To Unknown, Tsaheyluth is rushing past in a whirlwind of jungle foliage, delight in speed and freedom overtaking his rider's orders to fly proper sweeps, at least in this moment. His radar is keen, however, and it's a sudden about-face that makes the world spin, his mind a mess of sounds and colors as he searches for that suspicious, whispering presence. « What's that? Who's there? » "What's the matter, you beast," Sedark grumbles fondly, relieved that Tsey has stopped his joyride and yet put off by his sudden wariness and circling. She receives little feedback from the hair-trigger blue and is forced to dig into his mind as well, searching for the cause of his shift in energy. Joy at finding a voice out there rushes forth, reined in at the last moment before it can become too overwhelming. The voice that accompanies it is feminine, smooth and clear, the question turned about. « Who are /you/? » is asked through the twist of that rainbow of colours, the beams of light bending to take on the form of a ribbon, woven as far through the blue's mind as she's allowed to get. (Unknown to Tsaheyluth) To Unknown, Tsaheyluth projects, « Hey, I asked you first, » Tsaheyluth counters immediately, still whirling in tight circles to pinpoint the spot of the voice. His mind clings to the ribbon of color, snagging it on brambles and vines that hold fast. « You're not Fort, are you? Are you in trouble? » The secretive, hidden nature of the voice is enough to intrigue him, pulling him farther away from duty with each word. « You're lost? » Sedark is just a bystander in her dragon's mind, unable to hear what he's hearing but still sharing every ounce of his reaction: intense, strong, curious. Her own face goes from frustrated to intrigued as the blue's questions grow more precise, and after a nagging heartbeat or two he is obliged to share with her: whispering rainbows, mysterious voices of allure. His wingbeats slow, wheeling on a warm updraft as he tries to pinpoint the location. « No... » is thoughtful. « I am where I am meant to be. What of you? Are /you/ where you are meant to be? » The other end of the ribbon drifts, giving away no secure location; nothing more than the voice woven through it. « Fort. You are of Fort? » she questions. A brief silence follows, before she declares, « You are young, » amusement lacing her voice. (Unknown to Tsaheyluth) To Unknown, Tsaheyluth weaves through the questions to find their answers, still suspicious. « Show me, » The landscape of the Fort area far below him is but a brief image before returning to humid jungles, the light of this unknown voice a strange star in his twilight sky. « And you're no spring chicken, » He decides at last, wrapping up the tail of that ribbon to keep in his memory, the fleeting distraction of handing the loose end to his lifemate before his mind returns with the rush of a waterfall, « I am meant to be with my rider, and she is Fort. Is that what you mean? » To Tsaheyluth, Unknown responds with the image of trees shot through with bright, unnatural colours, tainted by the light of her voice. Trees, one undistinguishable from the next; just trees, trees and more trees. Perhaps even the /same/ tree, multiplied. « No, I am not a... chicken, » she agrees, a dry edge to her words. « Who is your rider? Your /she/. She is Fort and you are not? » Deliberately misconstrued or not, she twists her answer about again. To Unknown, Tsaheyluth falls silent at the trees, watching their colors and numbers swirl by with awe. Eventually his reply is quieter, serious. « I am what she is. She is what I am. You should understand. » Growing tired of this labyrinthine conversation, he soars up into the twilight sky, leaving behind garish trees for clear-cut stars. « We are free. » The colours dim slightly and it's a murmured, almost sad, « ...I /should/ understand... » that follows Tsaheyluth's declaration. Whether she does or does not, she moves on swiftly, not quite pleading, « Show me? Free. » Eagerness drowns out any trace of desperation, the connection kept via the ribbon faltering and beginning to fade. (Unknown to Tsaheyluth) The vast sense of the world, a dark sky unending and dotted with stars, a distant horizon; below is the thick, earthy jungle, ripe for exploration. Every opportunity, every nuance of life and living at his granite claws. Feeling some semblance of leverage over the unknown voice, Tsaheyluth shares openly his mental world mixed in with flashes from the real thing: a wing of dragons and riders, all colors. Every image is sky-bound, sharing the feeling of strength in his wings, the wind in his face, the togetherness of rider and dragon. This is free. (Tsaheyluth to Unknown) Sadness is what Sedark can untangle from the emotions and images shared through her link with Tsaheyluth, teasing out the quickly-hidden desperation and longing in the words, the questions evaded or turned like protective barbs. She is lost, The weyrling concludes heavily, not reaching with great amounts of logic. I don't know how. A pause. We have to keep going. All that's shared is examined carefully, as much true feeling as is possible drained from it all and stored away somewhere, leeched down what remains of the ribbon and hidden. « Thank you. » Quiet. Appreciative; gone is the cocky, bright teasing of before. There's the sense that these concepts are not new, but distant, a weight on her there now that wasn't present before. She manages, « I... » before the ribbon frays and is sliced through, a last request transmitted before it's snapped. « Your name! » (Unknown to Tsaheyluth) Warming to sincerity, less guarded and even kind, Tsaheyluth lingers one last time over the whispering voice, interference building in the back of his mind - static, his rider, his duty to carry on. There's a return of appreciation, the ribbon still caught and tangled in bare branches. The urgency of her last request hits him hard, as if their separation were not by choice, the connection yanked forcefully apart in a burst of overwhelming static, scrambled images and warped noises. « Tsaheyluth! » (Tsaheyluth to Unknown) And then there's nothing. The frayed edges of the ribbon drift and melt away, leaving an emptiness where there was once a voice. (Unknown to Tsaheyluth) Sedark gasps at the distressed reaction of her lifemate when they finally dive away from the magnetic voice, trying to calm his keening, the overpowering feeling of loss and confusion that has overtaken the young blue. « I lost her, » He cries, frustrated and helpless. « I lost her! » |
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