Post by Xinnai on Sept 18, 2008 21:34:28 GMT -8
Set six turns ago. Turn 94. High summer.
They were crippled with their desolation, absolutely devastated by it. Draconic and human minds alike could not absorb the very grim reality of their shared situation. The green and her rider sat on a large stone outcropping, far away from the monolithic influence of Telgar Weyr. They needed the absolute stillness of stone and trees as a salve to heal their raw and turbulent souls.
K'houry sat pillowed against Finneth's chest, cradled within her emerald forelegs as they watched a brilliant sun sink beneath the horizon, painting bloody fingers across the sky, fingers that grasped at any of the darkening blue they could reach, dragging the color down into the silken ocean of peach colors that surrounded it as night swept in to take possession of the day.
The man lifted a wineskin to his lips, taking a heavy swig and feeling the alcohol slide into his belly to sit upon that which was already accumulated. The liquor provided him no warmth, not when he was already so excessively inebriated that if he were to stand, he'd fall on his aging face. He just felt the swimming in his head and the vague keeling of the world. Piled by his side were another four wineskins-most of them empty. He'd drink himself into a heavy stupor before the night was done. He wanted to, needed to.
He had to get the images out of his head, had to drown them in the amnesia-induced effects of the wine. He wanted to feel numb. He wanted to forget the overwhelming grief that filled him. Despite his efforts, despite the absolute volume of the alcohol he'd consumed, he saw the cause for such grief. And its effects.
It had been yesterday morning. Just one day since his entire world had been blown to absolute sharding smithereens. He took another deep pull from the wineskin, wiping a shaking hand across his mouth. He'd taken Finneth down to the lake for a bath. The green beauty always got finicky when she hadn't bathed for a few days. As a treat, he'd taken them down early, early enough that few people were up and about. Just a little Finneth and K'houry time.
They returned to their weyr quite a bit later, dripping wet and in high spirits. K'houry shook his head, water spraying in all directions, reflected in the sunlight as the greenrider pushed dark hair back from his brow. He shaded his eyes from the sun sun as he slid from Finneth's neck, noting a dragon in the sky.
"Isn't that Tiath, my love?" he asked curiously, invoking the name of Finneth's longtime weyrmate and the dragon of his own.
She, however, seemed puzzled. I do not know. She knew of her blue's fondness for sleep, a liking that nearly rivaled his own of her. Tiath wouldn't willingly be up at such an hour. The green tried to sense if her love resided within the stony carapace of the weyr, but could not. It could be. It does look like him...[/color]
K'houry shrugged, unconcerned, and ducked into his residence, standing for a moment to let his eyes adjust. Voice rose then, in happy comfort. "G'bral! Are you up yet?" He moved through to their sleeping chamber, hoping the bluerider was indeed up and about. He'd been down with pneumonia the last few days, a sickness that had made K'houry slightly nervous. After all, they weren't as young as they had been. Sighing, thinking of the gray hairs he'd found intruding the last few weeks, the man pushed aside the curtain, ducking inside.
He saw his lover then.
G'bral was sprawled between the bathing room and their own couch, spread-eagled on his back. His mouth hung slack, mirroring his open eyes. Staring. Wide. Transfixed. K'houry was at the bluerider's side in an instant, a broken sob knifing through his throat. The worst of the macabre situation was knowing already that G'bral was gone from him. That nothing could be done. The broken, grief-filled cry he heard from Finneth only confirmed it. K'houry grabbed at his head as heart and soul splintered, then fractured into pieces.
K'houry hurriedly drank from his wineskin, the liquor spilling over his chin in his senseless hurry for some sort of relief. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to feel. He just wanted to be and hope and he'd die soon. But not by his own hand. That had already been decided. He couldn't stomach inflicting such pain upon his dear, sweet Finneth. So he'd just be. And hope that fortune would be kind to him...
They were crippled with their desolation, absolutely devastated by it. Draconic and human minds alike could not absorb the very grim reality of their shared situation. The green and her rider sat on a large stone outcropping, far away from the monolithic influence of Telgar Weyr. They needed the absolute stillness of stone and trees as a salve to heal their raw and turbulent souls.
K'houry sat pillowed against Finneth's chest, cradled within her emerald forelegs as they watched a brilliant sun sink beneath the horizon, painting bloody fingers across the sky, fingers that grasped at any of the darkening blue they could reach, dragging the color down into the silken ocean of peach colors that surrounded it as night swept in to take possession of the day.
The man lifted a wineskin to his lips, taking a heavy swig and feeling the alcohol slide into his belly to sit upon that which was already accumulated. The liquor provided him no warmth, not when he was already so excessively inebriated that if he were to stand, he'd fall on his aging face. He just felt the swimming in his head and the vague keeling of the world. Piled by his side were another four wineskins-most of them empty. He'd drink himself into a heavy stupor before the night was done. He wanted to, needed to.
He had to get the images out of his head, had to drown them in the amnesia-induced effects of the wine. He wanted to feel numb. He wanted to forget the overwhelming grief that filled him. Despite his efforts, despite the absolute volume of the alcohol he'd consumed, he saw the cause for such grief. And its effects.
It had been yesterday morning. Just one day since his entire world had been blown to absolute sharding smithereens. He took another deep pull from the wineskin, wiping a shaking hand across his mouth. He'd taken Finneth down to the lake for a bath. The green beauty always got finicky when she hadn't bathed for a few days. As a treat, he'd taken them down early, early enough that few people were up and about. Just a little Finneth and K'houry time.
They returned to their weyr quite a bit later, dripping wet and in high spirits. K'houry shook his head, water spraying in all directions, reflected in the sunlight as the greenrider pushed dark hair back from his brow. He shaded his eyes from the sun sun as he slid from Finneth's neck, noting a dragon in the sky.
"Isn't that Tiath, my love?" he asked curiously, invoking the name of Finneth's longtime weyrmate and the dragon of his own.
She, however, seemed puzzled. I do not know. She knew of her blue's fondness for sleep, a liking that nearly rivaled his own of her. Tiath wouldn't willingly be up at such an hour. The green tried to sense if her love resided within the stony carapace of the weyr, but could not. It could be. It does look like him...[/color]
K'houry shrugged, unconcerned, and ducked into his residence, standing for a moment to let his eyes adjust. Voice rose then, in happy comfort. "G'bral! Are you up yet?" He moved through to their sleeping chamber, hoping the bluerider was indeed up and about. He'd been down with pneumonia the last few days, a sickness that had made K'houry slightly nervous. After all, they weren't as young as they had been. Sighing, thinking of the gray hairs he'd found intruding the last few weeks, the man pushed aside the curtain, ducking inside.
He saw his lover then.
G'bral was sprawled between the bathing room and their own couch, spread-eagled on his back. His mouth hung slack, mirroring his open eyes. Staring. Wide. Transfixed. K'houry was at the bluerider's side in an instant, a broken sob knifing through his throat. The worst of the macabre situation was knowing already that G'bral was gone from him. That nothing could be done. The broken, grief-filled cry he heard from Finneth only confirmed it. K'houry grabbed at his head as heart and soul splintered, then fractured into pieces.
K'houry hurriedly drank from his wineskin, the liquor spilling over his chin in his senseless hurry for some sort of relief. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to feel. He just wanted to be and hope and he'd die soon. But not by his own hand. That had already been decided. He couldn't stomach inflicting such pain upon his dear, sweet Finneth. So he'd just be. And hope that fortune would be kind to him...