Sat Aug 10, 2024 5:56 pm
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Cr'dile had very little inclination to join the mourning party. It was the hounding voice chiming in at the very back of his skull that berated callousness into a corner. He was not one to shirk away from his responsibilities, especially on the rare occasion when they failed him (because it would never be the other way around).
That candidate had been an idiot. A useless lump. Immovable. If they'd only grabbed on, reached out for the straps on Dazth's back when Cr'dile threw them to safety ... Instead they'd fallen like a log. And gotten their throat ripped out as recompense.
Clearly, becoming a dragonrider was no destiny for the candidate, even from the beginning. Survivalism failed to take root in their essence. So why was there such a shadow looming over his thoughts?
Dazth presented the image of family garbed in obsidian being transported to Fort Weyr the moment Cr'dile awoke from a restless sleep. He made himself presentable with a splash of water and chewing on that mint-flavored stick for dental health, replaced with the solid shoot of bamboo that was cleaved nearly in half by his grinding jaws. A quick comb through the hair, a splash of wine to dumb down the darkness. He donned his funeral garments and joined the procession. His mouth was firmly in place when he went to greet the parents. Cr'dile's apologies felt automated. It wasn't really him saying it, nor did he feel total remorse.
Yet the image of the mauled individual heartened the strength of his hands as he clasped their fingers between his and uttered condolences.
"They were a strong candidate," he told them in a carefully levelled, somber tone. "Even moreso, a resilient individual who did not back down. Brave until the very end. The flame of their candle may have been snubbed but the heat of that fire will transcend to challenge Rukbat where it sits."
Cr'dile didn't mean it. Not wholly. But at least the family would, hopefully, be comforted.