[PRP]Exhale vanilla lace [Misuth | Alluith]

[Spockat]

It was hard hearing a dragon so young fall to thread. Sh’vel was patient as his darling Misuth relieved her most painful moments in the weyrling’s agonized echo. Her enormous bulk shivering from snout to tailtip. Her head pressed into the cozy darkness of her remaining wing. It was a.. difficult set back. Healers can make a bone heal stronger, numb the sting of knotted tight scars. They could remove the pieces of her too jagged to fit back together without pain. It was much harder to remove the fear that rattled around in her skull, the crushing guilt.

If she was only a bit faster, perhaps the dragon’s flame would not have tangled her into thread. Perhaps Misuth would have been there to help sweep - and keep the young ones safe. She wasn’t very good at it… but there would have been plenty more to learn. Plenty more to offer the weyr instead of a soft, useless mouth to feed. Try as Sh’vel might, he couldn’t silence those thoughts that burned painfully deep. Each scored dragon might have been one she could have spared from pain. It was a bit of a curse for her to be such a sentimental thing.

Misuth was looking up with longing in still the winter night. Moons and stars dancing around the bitter cold and bright skies, clearing her head a moment. Her tattered remnant of a wing flicking uselessly as if to lift her to chase the stars. The pale milky light did nothing to hide scores, burns. Sh’vel found it easier to shrug his twisted arm into a sleeve. To grow his hair to distract from the ripple of healed skin across his face. Misuth was at least happy hers seemed less ruffled, or perhaps all his fear was only for her. Maybe she should try to be a little stronger, a little braver. Then perhaps he wouldn’t need to be strong all the time for the both of them.

Winter wind rippled through her, and she couldn’t begin to care about the long walk back to her drafty ground weyr when the winter sky looked so perfect - chasing away some of her more tangled thoughts.

Prism Shine

 

[Prism Shine]

Night was the veritable worst time of the day. During the long hours training, drills, even rising to fight thread now -- it kept her mind busy enough to pass by without event. But now, in the near stillness of night, Alluith grew restless. She was never a solid sleeper -- even from a youngling in Benden’s halls, she was more of a frequent napper than a solid night sleep type of dragon. It worked for their lifestyle, looking out for the large skybrooms and able to do laps around woodcrafthall at any given hour.

But the shift to a Weyr was a disruption, a bump in her carefully manicured order of life. Twelve turns hadn’t led to her suddenly falling into line so quickly, but she was loyal to Rh’tyb -- and his reasoning had been sound, after all. They could do so much more if they rejoined a Weyr, and they were doing such good. Actually searing thread from the sky -- what more could a dragon want?

The stars gleamed above her, shining with a radiance she knew was brighter in a lightless forest, and Alluith yearned for her freedom.

Duty and desire may war in her, but she had made the ultimate decision, and now was a High Reaches wingdragon -- to sear thread from the sky, to fall into line under order. It was the natural balance of things, and yet -- here, no one could touch her. Perched out on her ledge, wings half spread as if to leap into the sky and leave it all behind -- the Weyr, dragons, even her rider if she may dare. Yet her gaze drifted below -- far below, to another that found no peace this night. She had been still healing when they had transferred in, and yet Alluith couldn’t get the visions of the young dragon out of her mind. Bandaged, bloody -- doomed to a life on the ground.

Perhaps her perspective was a touch… skewed.

Having trouble sleeping this night, young one? Alluith let herself fall from her ledge, drifting down closer to the young adult. It would be any guess to her which of the weyrs closest to the ground was hers, but that wasn’t her concern for now, not when she was curious over the other green. Her touchdown was gentle, graceful -- one she had once worked tirelessly to perfect, especially outside a Weyr. Forgive my intrusion, if you would rather not be disturbed. The night is late, and I daresay I believed I was the only one without duties up to watch the moons arch. She could return to her ledge with no issue, should her company not be wanted. But did loneliness not desire company?

Spockat