Windra's Warblings

[Windra]

One-Shots n' Good Stuff

[Windra]

Goodbye Lullaby

TW: Mentions of wanting to do harm.

He would. Not. Stop. Crying.

Day three of newborn swaddles, spit-up, colic. Day three of little to no sleep unless one considered the brief moments of blinking to be a restful nap. Adair had not brushed her hair in days. Nor had she a proper bath. It was difficult to discern of the smell wafting off her was from her son's puke or her own sweaty pits.

At 22, Adair hadn't thought she'd be a mother. She certainly wasn't material for it. But one folly with a rider who didn't know how to time things properly ...

"Please hush." Her pleading fell on deaf ears - after all, it was difficult to hear anything over the din of her son's constant shrieking.

No amount of rocking or singing was doing the trick. He was constantly at her breast but pulling away instantaneously. She was beginning to consider something was wrong with her. After all, her milk hadn't come in yet and maybe that was nature's way of letting her know she really wasn't up to snuff. She hadn't dared sit down. Finding a soft spot to ease her bottom would lead to the inevitable drifting of her own mind ...

... and when that happened, the newborn's screams would wake her. White noise shrouded her mind at times. Frustration, anger. When the desire to hold the youngling flirted dangerously with the urge to throttle.

Adair began to sob.

She tried to blubber out words but they were incoherent amongst her own rolling tears and wracking heaves. The headwomen had tried to help but the idea of them coming in willy nilly was repulsive and the young woman shrieked for them to leave her alone, every time. Perhaps the offer they'd made wasn't such a bad one. Maybe if she'd considered it a little longer ... Was it too late to go back on her decision?

Her shuddering chest startled the babe. His shouting quelled, big blue eyes gazing up at her in what could be intermingled fear and confusion. She must be a large blur to him. What features could he see?

He. Adair hadn't even thought of a name. She didn't want to - that meant attachment, something she wasn't sure she desired.

A moment of silence. Short-lived, wonderful silence.

Broken immediately by more cries. But this time ... Something wet rolled down her chest. Her blouse was suddenly immediately soaked. The shock gave Adair pause. She exposed her breasts and knew the scent immediately. So, it seemed, did the babe. It must have been an instinctual drive, for her actively lunged to her bosom with the careful guidance of Adair's shaking hands. She grimaced - sharp pain surged from her chest. This subsided as the newborn suckled. This time he stayed there, breathing softly with each gulp.

Adair's tears slowed to trickles. She inhaled quietly. "Finally."

Milk. Beautiful milk.

Several minutes later, the boy pulled away. Well not so much pulled away as ... drifted off. His eyes were closed, mouth still open and twitching in a sucking motion, but his limbs were limp. Soon the breathing was replaced with snoring. And ... Adair had to admit, he was cute when his face wasn't cherry red from screaming. She touched his face, stroked that gelatinous cheek that wobbled softly.

An emotion flared in her chest. Adair, indignant, shoved it away immediately.

The woman carried the babe to its crib, humming and walking slowly as if on eggshells. Placing the newborn down was a delicate operation but one that rewarded her with the prospect of warm water and soap. As she tiptoed across the room to seek out the bathing quarters, Adair resolved to approach the headwomen tomorrow. After sleep.

She wasn't cut out for this.

But the Weyr creche? They were.

[Windra]

Message in a Bottle

Being confined to the Weyr during her Weyrling years wasn't really her style. But traveling with a growing dragon was not something one could take in stride. Naira had groaned and groused until Naath could take it no longer and banished her from their combined living quarters.

I am not a hatchling. Please burn this ridiculous amount of energy or put it to use with something more important.

"Yes boss."

This was a rare day of no chores, no Thread, no nothing but training and drills and ... well, not for her. Asking Naath to tell the weyrlingmaster she was sick was a moot point. The dragoness would never lie. So she would just do her own thing and reap the consequences later. At least Naath would be safe at Semaca. Radar accompanied her, at least providing some means of companionship.

Lucky her there was a caravan gearing up to leave for the pirate hold. Naira paid enough marks to join their journey - and more to secure a means of returning.

It was early morning when Naira finally beheld the sea.

Radar flew from her arm to scout out fish caught in tide pools. Naira sat on the sand, setting an empty wine bottle next to her hip and unrolling a scroll of old hide from her pocket. Her handwriting had never been the best.

To whoever finds this,

Congratulations! There is no prize.

Truthfully there's no real point to this letter. I'm bored. Locked away at home - for my own good right now, but that'll change shortly.

If anybody comes across this, write to me. I live at Semaca Weyr. I am a greenrider, and her name is Naath. Send a fire-lizard with your words and let's become pen pals. Or something.

Sincerely,
Your New Best Friend

How horribly lame, but it helped to soothe the strange lament rolling in her stomach. Naira shoved the hide into the bottle and corked it tight. With a wide swing she threw it into the horizon, where it plunked into the sea. Rugged waves rolled it to and fro. By the time the sun was fully at attention, it had vanished beyond where she could see.

She lay back and let the warmth grace her, the smell of salty air tickle her nose. The Hold's bustle was prickling at her ears and Naira was far from the only individual out on the beach this morning. Radar settled on her chest with his catch and proceeded to use her as a brunch plate.

Wish you'd come with me, Naath.

The silence heard was profound and lasting, but Naira could feel the connection. Naath was there mulling over what to say.

She felt herself drifting into a blissful catnap when the response interrupted her daydreams.

Next time.

[Windra]

Out of Your Element

"This is ridiculous!" Sc'let made a grand display of thrashing rolls of gauze to the floor as she passed out of the infirmary. They would give her a pass this time. After all, her mounting frustration was both palpable and understandable. Stricken blind by errant Thread. No longer to face it in combat.

But also not eager to relinquish what little she could do now because of a stupid, pathetic defect that made it really hard to see anything but blurred outlines and shapes.

"How the forsk am I be's gonna train as a healer?" she snapped. Edwyth's loving touch pressed against her heart but that was also a sticking point. His constant wallowing was turning her mood from irritated to downright sour. "Ed, I cinnae be's seein' SHIT so whadda they think I'mma do, sense the wound with mah third eye? Faranth's sake!"

Edwyth drew in a slow breath. His shoulder was haunched and shoulders low. Perched upon the fireheights, he could gaze upon what his rider no longer could. Dark blue whirls closed tight against the magnificent backdrop of snow capped mountains and wild flocks of migrating wherries. He wished he could dash his own eyes from his skull. They want me to be a rescue runner, Mine, he whispered. And for you to -

"I'M NOT GONNA SIT ON MY ASS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE, EDDY!" She slung her fist into a wall. Skin cracked and heat trailed between her knuckles. Somebody - somebodies - nearby gasped and a flurry of feet hurried into a different corridor. Sc'let's bubbly personality dissolved into the magma that bore High Reaches Weyr into life. "And stop forskin' MOPING, ya couldn't do a forskin' thing 'bout al dat ya ... ya ... "

Edwyth's heart breaking was the agony that slowed her breath. Sc'let turned her back against the wall, sliding against its abrasive surface with her back until her ass was on the ground. Scarred and useless eyes blinked shut.

Her Bonded, her brown, her lifemate - he was quiet now. She could see him in her mind's eye: a broken auburn shadow haunting the rocks, eyes sunken and wings drooping. Not long ago he had been so small ... bursting from that egg to meet her with rainbow whirls.

Sc'let reached out her hand to cuddle the imaginary dragonet's cranium, feeling with her memory the warmth of his hide slick with albumen. His rich color, his happy demeanor. The love. The joy.

"I love ya, Edwyth." The illusion faded as Sc'let drew her wounded fingers close enough to her face to see the drawn red ooze. Frayed edges could barely be discerned. She smeared it with her other hand and the whole appendage became a blur of crimson. "This ain't on you, baby. I don't be's resentin' ya for one bit, but hearin' ya so sad - it's gratin' on me. Yer not like that. It's hurtin' mah heart and I wanna ... "

Fight? Fight what? Was she going to punch Thread? Hah! Maybe they could transfer to Semaca and she could punch a spotty. She heard that had been wildly successful before.

I love you. But I can't shake the feeling that this horrible outcome could have been avoided if I had been more attentive.

"The Thread was blue, Ed! Everybody was forskin' up. Shit was surpsin'." It was funny, the way the red ran. Hilarious that it was so ... not intimidating when it could barely be seen, not that she would've run from blood to begin with. "Healin' ain't for me, kiddo. But ah, you. Yeah, you. You'd be's the best damn rescue dragon High Reaches ever seen!"

Sc'let would make her way to Edwyth. They would meet in the middle, since there was no conceivably safe way for her to traverse the heights. And she would snuggle him, pepper his leathery flesh with kisses and scold him for starving himself due to sorrow. At least her darling, best boy brown ... the bestest thing in High Reaches ... would be able to prosper still. Save folks. Maybe fly a hawt girl dragon and find that love he was always blabberin' on about.

She had no idea what she would do, though.

Problems for another day.

[Windra]

Will-o-the-Wisp


Retsuko found herself spending far more time in her parents' quarters these days. After the wher attack ... after the camping trip ... She wasn't exactly where she stood in Fort Weyr. Was it worth remaining a candidate? Was she worth staying one, to anything? To anybody? Perhaps drudgery was more her calling ... Or maintaining her scribe craft, pursuing it to a higher level. Finding love. Having kids.

Honestly, who would love a mangled mess like herself?

She still dipped into candidate lessons, though it was more as a formality. She grew detached, uneasy, and sad. And her parents saw it every day.

One evening they summoned her to their room long before chores could begin. Suddenly she stood before a pot of sand, held over burning coals similar to the ones Retsuko handled with her bare fingers the night of the attack. She shrunk back slightly, alert, until her mother pressed her ahead with a steady grip to her shoulders.

"You need somebody to take comfort in," said her mother. "And by extension, one should take comfort in you."

There were other fire-lizards in the quarters. Her mother's brown Geode and her father's green Sprite. They perched on windowsills, crooning at the little oval sitting comfortably in the sand.

"Sprite rose," her father told her, standing between their room and the hallway. "Gave away most of 'em, but this one looked like it belonged to you."

It was red. Well, reddish, with splotches of white that reminded her of her own complexion - her own hair. Retsuko dared to approach, holding her arms to herself. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Don't you think it is?"

"I don't think I can be ... trusted ... to care for something," she answered honestly. Heiro had been disappointed in her. The whole Weyr was. Her actions may have caused a wildfire. What did she do to deserve a fire-lizard?

"All those events," Kaitilinn settled in with a dominant tone, "were things well out of your control. You tried to help that wild brown, and it didn't see things the same way as you and snapped. If his head was clearer, he might've realized you were trying to be of assistance. And the woods? How could any of you have known that pack would stalk and separate you? You did what you could, in that moment."

Tolivier's shadow passed to her left. He was a frail looking man with an indomitable jaw and receding hairline. "And with your track record, darling, a fire-lizard would be a good means for you to communicate with us. And everybody, in case of an emergency."

Sprite and Geode cocked their heads to the side. As the egg began to shake, they started to hum.

Kaitilinn gave her a little shove. "Go on then. Say hello." She shoved a bowl of shredded meat into her daughter's hands.

And at just the right moment. As Retsuko stumbled towards the pot, the first hairline cracks appeared. Bits of shell cascaded off damp wings that stretched achingly into the sky. Flaming greens spilled color into the dim room.



As it finally spilled from its encasement, it unrolled from its tight ball and glanced around. Vision was blurry right away, but it would clear. Her long tongue licked goop from the ridges below her eyes, which blinked rapidly with effort to make it easier to view her surroundings. Immediately a blinding hunger set in, and she reared back on her haunches, creeling.

The sound of it sent a need in Retsuko to comfort the thing. She gathered it against her for warmth, but it wasted no time in sniffing out the meat and scarfing it down - dangerously, because she did not want to chew. Retsuko had to forcefully pull bits from its maw and tear them into smaller pieces, worried the green might choke. Between starving gulps, the redhead rubbed egg slime from her hide with a towel ... until eventually the bowl was empty and her nose bumped into the rigid snout and stared into the judgmental gaze of a green fire-lizard who knew what she wanted.

For a flicker of a moment, Retsuko feared it was going to snap at her nose and she shriveled back, gasping. "P-please - "

But instead, it thrust its head beneath her chin and ... rubbed it, warbling happily. There were swirls of rainbows and joy. And strength. It vibrated off her in waves.

Retsuko was chosen, whether she was certain or not.

[Windra]

For the first sevenday after the Dragon's Day celebrations, Zinaida's coin purse jingled with marks. Then she vanished for a few days and returned with empty coffers and something precious tucked into a crucible filled with sand so hot that it was a small wonder the contents within hadn't hard-boiled.

"For bustin' your arse this past turn and a half," she told Naira while setting the object of newfound desire upon her weyr's hearth. There was no need to stifle her and Naath's living quarters with the heat from a fire considering the seemingly endless warmth radiating from Rukbat, so Naira often wondered what the point of such a thing was ... until now, of course. "You best be treatin' this thing delicately. It wasn't cheap!"

A fire-lizard egg.

The shell was white but opalescent. When you looked at it askance, across the room, or at differing angles it would appear to change color. It was bigger than she imagined them to be, but still not impressively larger than a wherry egg. Or maybe this one was the smallest of the clutch?

Naath wasn't all that interested, so she said, though Naira caught her side-eyeing it on several occasions. Radar was definitely keen to watch. He hardly left his perch above the hearth to leave the thing - only to hunt. And then he came right back to feast on the stone and litter her room with bits of fur and bone until Naira's heckling would cause him to fly out squawking (to return later and repeat this venture).

"What do you imagine it to be?" Naira asked Naath one evening, musing on its color.

The dragon did not shrug, though she could feel the action with her voice. A fire-lizard.

It must have been a week before it began to shake. Radar's entire being fluffed up, his trills sharp and surprised. Naath, who was enjoying an afternoon nap after a hearty feast of plump wherries, cracked open her outer lid to survey the noise.

The little one is emerging. You have a few mere moments to gather the essentials, or you will lose it.

Naira had been counting on this moment but was, at that moment, ill-prepared. She didn't know she could run so fast, hurrying to the kitchen for some meaty scraps and blasting back in a full sprint. Lungfuls of air couldn't enter her chest fast enough. "Not yet?"

Soon.

No sooner had she stepped towards the crucible than the sound of crrrraaaaack pierced her ears. Naira used tongs to set the crucible on the stone floor, carefully scooping the shell into her hands despite how the sand within seared. "C'mon you. Not gonna let you unfurl onto something so blasted hot."

A little black peak poked through, followed by ...


... white!

A patchwork of slate gray and alabaster. Through the dampness of egg slick and muck, she could see patterns on its wings resembling feathers. In fact its mouth looked so much like a beak. Almost a baby bird! It even opened its - his - mouth and creeled hungrily, just like a chick.

"C'mon, beak guy ... bird guy ... " Naira chewed her cheek thoughtfully. "Beak ... Man. Eat up."

Several hours later, the white fire-lizard was curled inside the nest Radar called his own abode. And the raven perched his chest atop the creature's body, as if to warm and protect it.

[Windra]

The Uncertain Vibe



Amanita muscaria. Amanita ocreata. Lactarius indigo.

One for bliss. One for death. One for survival.

Mushrooms, like whers, were so many in number and no two were the same. Distinct differences were sometimes hard to spot - because one that could cure a sickness often bore so many similarities to one that could stop your heart. Retsuko had read the scriptures of them - taxonomy and uses jotted down in aged hides as a reference for curious foragers. The sketched images were crude at best, although the descriptions had been intricately worded. Retsuko could bring them to life with a deep thought.

It was funny to be here ... Back in the Candidate barracks when the others were gone to the Touching. Fresh eggs on the sand laid by their golden Weyrwoman and yet Retsuko felt no desire to see them. Sure she was habitually curious and of course there was the coursing doubt threading its way between her conscious thought and wayward dreams. Yet ever since Mackenzie suggested a wher egg to her ... and since her parents had acquired this one, still at least two weeks from hatching ... well, Retsuko could not see past it.

She wanted to there at the beginning. But after that first night, when she curled next to it while it simmered on hot sands kept to heat on the embers of coals, the girl could not fathom being apart from it. Her hands wandered over its interesting shell. Every knot, every wrinkle, was cemented into her brain by now. Retsuko wondered at its name. At its color. What would it be? Who would it be?

Strong, quiet, considerate? Like Osk?

Motherly, wise, unfettered? Like Kenziesk?

Brutal, fierce, unloving? Like the black that had bitten so hard into Heiro's arm?

It was hard to imagine something coming from so small (it wasn't really small) of an egg to be a murderer, yet she feared that perhaps it might mistake her as food. But as the days lingered that terror grew into more and more of a joke that snickered at the back of her brain. She listened to Ronica's teaching of whers and served to uphold her promise in updating Weyr records on them. There was so much to learn ...

"Won't be long now," she whispered, crossing her legs and pulling a blanket close as she counted the spots of her shell's mushrooms. Dusk was fast approaching. The handlers would be out soon. She would attend her duties with the other wher candidates while the duals and dragons would return from the Touching. "What will you be ... to me?"