This was one of the largest lies that Ky’ess told himself; right on par with how he was “okay” after his mother died, and a smaller wide-eyed candidate had bawled into his blue flit for weeks. Nothing had replaced the hole in him that his mother and her dragon had left… but this came pretty damned close.
Already the weyr was beginning to look… bigger, emptier. Some of the personal affects had been removed, taken down to the new weyr for Sh’vel to make things easier for Misuth. All that was left was personal details, things that Ky’ess wouldn’t pack for him -- at least not until the man arrived. It felt… smackingly familiar to pack the personal items of someone, but at least they were still alive to tell him to be gentle with something.
It drew a wet chuckle out of him, as the bluerider scrubbed an eye with his palm wearily. Sleep hadn’t been coming to him easy for weeks now, fussing over Hiraeth, Sh’vel, and Misuth -- and getting himself seen by the healers in between that, and the occasional drink or meal when he remembers. At least his scores had healed some in the weeks since that terrible fall; faded and an angry red, and tender to the touch. But healing all the same. Bruises that covered his face from the bounced catch were mostly healed too. The numerous holes in Hiraeth’s wingsails had mostly healed, and they were toeing the line of being able to go back to active duty.
Chirping from the bag on the other cot, Spiderclaw was making a merry game out of jumping out of the bag set out for Sh’vel, before jumping out -- running in a little circle before pouncing back into it. The young blue flit seemed unaware of his aches-- or trying to compensate with silliness, Ky’ess is never quite sure. Cloud is nowhere to be seen, but he could hazard a guess where -- or with who -- the flit had decided to keep company.
On the ground, Hiraeth flittered and hot-stepped outside the infirmary. His eyes a slide of misery -- deep tonal greys, the occasional drifts of yellow, and the small flickers of purple for his beloved little sister as he waited. With how bad threadfall seemed to be picking up, he didn’t want to be one more dragon clogging the cavern up. No, he had to do better, be better... For himself, for the Weyr. But he mentally reached for Misuth, putting forward the best mood he could of soft happiness just for her. Misuth? Are you feeling up for a walk?
Spockat
