Post by Avu on Feb 13, 2009 17:45:51 GMT -5
You're sleepy, Leweleth noted amusedly, eyeing His through gleaming eyes as the brown twitched his tailtip, neatly curling his head around to rest upon the stone lip of the weyrledge on which he was perched. T'kal blinked, rubbing his eyes, lips twitching in a grin at the dragon. One hand was curled loosely around a flute of wine -- the brilliant color of Benden red glittered in the dim light as night approached. Perhaps wine hadn't been a particularly good idea, after what had happened to Shmee, but he needed something to take away the tight stress that had grown in his chest to the point of strangling him. And wine was easily accessable, and Leweleth wasn't particularly worried -- Benden red was always good, and it hadn't been red wine that had killed the Weyrwoman -- and besides, the brownpair simply weren't suspicious. "Obviously. See the dark, Leth? That means it's night, soon. And night means humans sleep. So do dragons -- but no, you sleep most of the day, too."
Leweleth snorted. You do nothing if not exaggerate. Moth sleeps all day. Don't you, Moth? the brown added to the half-grown feline, who mewled as her white form squirmed against T'kal's side. Grinning slightly, T'kal picked up the kitten, ignoring the sleepiness that threatened to overwhelm him, and rocked the female against his chest, running one hand through her fur, his grin spreading as she broke into a throaty, rumbling purr, all but vibrating against him as he continued to stroke rhythmically, carefully balancing the flute of wine in the other hand. Leweleth sighed, quietly pleased by the kitten's affectionate ways -- the brown wouldn't be nearly as happy had the kitten been a she-demon in disguise -- and rested his head along the weyrledge, one lid dropping quietly over his eyes.
The brownrider's hand dropped slowly from the kitten's arched back, and his head fell backwards slowly to rest against the pillow. His entire frame settled along his bed, on which he had been perched, and the flute of wine tipped gently, the sparkling red liquid falling in a brilliant waterfall to the floor, splattering there and spreading in a blood-red stain as his hand dropped, fingers limp as Moth meowed insistently, butting at his negligent hand for attention, but none came. Eyes half-opened stared blankly at the ceiling, and time seemed to slow down and freeze as Leweleth panicked, the brown's head whipping around and his lungs expanding in a mighty bellow, agony and terror and loss etched in the dragon's cry. Moth hissed as the kitten squirmed away from the loud, and she pressed against T'kal, clearly seeking the assurance she had always recieved when she had been scared.
None came, and Leweleth's wings snapped open -- though it was dark evening, and night had begun to settle upon the Weyr -- and he flung himself into the air, rapidly ascending, now in silence. One last distressed, wailing cry emerged from him, and then the brown was gone. His dark brown form had disappeared from the face of Pern -- into the dark, cold between. But unlike all those other times, as a Weyrling and on his return trip from High Reaches Weyr and in hours of pure bliss spent with His -- this time, the brown wouldn't be coming back.
Below that spot in the sky, the dragons' deathsong began, moaning and whipping around the Weyr.
Leweleth snorted. You do nothing if not exaggerate. Moth sleeps all day. Don't you, Moth? the brown added to the half-grown feline, who mewled as her white form squirmed against T'kal's side. Grinning slightly, T'kal picked up the kitten, ignoring the sleepiness that threatened to overwhelm him, and rocked the female against his chest, running one hand through her fur, his grin spreading as she broke into a throaty, rumbling purr, all but vibrating against him as he continued to stroke rhythmically, carefully balancing the flute of wine in the other hand. Leweleth sighed, quietly pleased by the kitten's affectionate ways -- the brown wouldn't be nearly as happy had the kitten been a she-demon in disguise -- and rested his head along the weyrledge, one lid dropping quietly over his eyes.
The brownrider's hand dropped slowly from the kitten's arched back, and his head fell backwards slowly to rest against the pillow. His entire frame settled along his bed, on which he had been perched, and the flute of wine tipped gently, the sparkling red liquid falling in a brilliant waterfall to the floor, splattering there and spreading in a blood-red stain as his hand dropped, fingers limp as Moth meowed insistently, butting at his negligent hand for attention, but none came. Eyes half-opened stared blankly at the ceiling, and time seemed to slow down and freeze as Leweleth panicked, the brown's head whipping around and his lungs expanding in a mighty bellow, agony and terror and loss etched in the dragon's cry. Moth hissed as the kitten squirmed away from the loud, and she pressed against T'kal, clearly seeking the assurance she had always recieved when she had been scared.
None came, and Leweleth's wings snapped open -- though it was dark evening, and night had begun to settle upon the Weyr -- and he flung himself into the air, rapidly ascending, now in silence. One last distressed, wailing cry emerged from him, and then the brown was gone. His dark brown form had disappeared from the face of Pern -- into the dark, cold between. But unlike all those other times, as a Weyrling and on his return trip from High Reaches Weyr and in hours of pure bliss spent with His -- this time, the brown wouldn't be coming back.
Below that spot in the sky, the dragons' deathsong began, moaning and whipping around the Weyr.
