Cali's Follies

[Calingaladha]

Mystery, mayhem, and a distinct lack of mayonaisse.

[Calingaladha]

Lark had been to the infirmary and sent along with advice almost as quickly once his symptoms showed no sign of worsening. He couldn't do public work, not like this, but he could try and process the horrible things he had seen, and smelled, in the clinical cavern.

He reclined on the bed in his quarters, a rivulet of saliva threatening to roll down his chin, and he blinked furiously to clear his eyes, tears glistening just so on his cheeks. His lute was clasped in his hands as he closed his eyes and swallowed. There was so much damn saliva!

He started to hum to himself as he gently strummed the strings, finding a suitable tempo for the tune that had begun to form in his head, and he eventually began to sing.

My lass, she left without a word,
Deaf to the pleas I voice.
The frightful things she'd overhead,
I did not do by choice.

For dreadful illness fills the Weyr,
And takes us all in turn.
The rumbles in my gut, I fear,
Do more than groan and churn.

My love, return here swift and well,
I wish each night to see ya.
I'm sorry that you had to smell,
Explosive diarrhea.


Then, try as he might slurp it back, a glob of drool fell to the strings, ending his song as grossly as anything else.