====September 13, 2013
====Hannah
====Reflections into the meaning of friendship, and a love that made something terrible into a thing of beauty.

Who Hannah
What Reflections into the meaning of friendship, and a love that made something terrible into a thing of beauty.
When There is 1 turn 3 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Hatching sands, Southern Weyr

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Hatching Sands
The Sands are surprisingly soft to the feet and to the eyes: rich grains of gold commingle with the ground basalt-black that mark the shores of Azov's Sea. The whorls of lighter color pattern into the sands, larger-grained and often settling at the top, as golden driftwood against dark shores. … but the moaning from above sounds like the chorus of the damned, lessening the natural beauty here below.
Type 'help here' for info on how to set/use the sands.
Gold Dhiammarath is here.
Obvious exits:
Archway


Silence. It has its own special pressure when absolute. Dhiammarath’s shining irridescence catches the moons light, glittering when the cloudy seas part to show the ghostly galleon that rides so high against the tide. Serenity cloaks the empty cavern left when the twined-hand lovers finally took their leave. Only when no one is left do I retreat from behind my hiding spot from behind the shadows of my sleeping lifemate. My steps are hesitant after I uncurl myself from where I’d found solace in the softness of pale, pale hide. I am careful, for Dhiammarath deserves the sleep she’s dropped into. The deepest of slumbers that forfeits the dreamer.

The eggs loom like ghostly lumps beneath the sands where they lay buried until it’s time for Candidates to walk these hallowed halls. To me they rise up like waves upon the ocean’s frozen shores, for even the smallest of my love’s slumbering children is over half again my own height. I refrain from touching them for even the dreamers that sleep within need their sleep. Their dreams will be made flesh soon enough, but for now, they are still ours. Mine and Dhiammarath’s.

The faint glows have dimmed, dappling the sands like fading stars to night’s devouring depths, but I am no longer afraid. I feel… relief. I feel pride for our accomplishment today, but as with anything that winds down the ribbon of Life, happiness is touched by sadness. Alone, I give into the fear that drives, turning from the quietly slumbering dragon and her eggs to find that which has weighed heavily upon my thoughts since the moment I laid eyes upon it.

In perfection, it rests so sturdily upon the sands. My steps carry me closer to the sight of wooden beams nailed together with nary a crease to show fault to the builder’s workmanship. Slowly, I touch fingertips upon the sanded smooth surface of wood and test the edges with the first, gentle press that sinks the edge into the soft pad of fingertip. When I withdraw my hand, I have the faint outline of a line that will fade like mists ‘pon the moor.

So many hands made this this thing that sits here, but it is hard not to see what was here before. The beauty of the thing made with love. Made for me. I shouldn’t have gotten up on it…

…"You want to try it out?!"


… but how could I say no? In the face of such work, such sweat, such tears. Of knowing that this moment exposed the most vulnerable part of a friend. I was in love with that monstrosity as soon as I saw it for what it represented. For what I yearn for. For what got left behind.

The eerie screams that wind through the sands when the wind blows further stirs the memories that surface like sea foam upon a raging sea. The fear that surged when I got on it. When I realized just how badly put together it was…

…Just be careful okay, until I can make it safe?


… I never realized that it wasn’t safe. That the wood would shift beneath my weight. Even in memory, my heart races and I feel the beads of perspiration spring up at my temples as my breath catches. Remembered terror makes my hands clammy enough that when I press a palm to this sturdy platform it leaves a brief, lingering print of where I touched. I skip over the memory when Dhiammarath’s deep slumber trembles in time to my racing heart. A tear slips free from my eye, for all that’s occurred.

I hold out an arm, catching the light of Belior’s cool grace from where it hangs like a seed pearl on the apex of the horizon. My skin is pale, too pale. In this light, the remaining discoloration of my skin looks like blooms of shadow that dance in irregular intervals. I don’t even look at my face these days, though it’s healing to a sickly, putrid color. The cut is mostly scab. I quiver, chilled as memory cuts through the heat of the sands, pouring the stomach-dropping sense of memory.

Even in slumber, Dhiammarath’s tranquility embraces me, curls around me, reminding me that for all that the past exists it is not the now. In the now I stand staring at another platform that was made, resting innocently upon the sands…

…”Jedi and I thought it would be a good idea for you three to have a new one.”


… Perfect in workmanship. I can tell that the many hands that made it, made it with care in mind, but it’s not the same. I was afraid of it…

"It won't fall?"

”It won't fall, Hannah. I promise. Do you want me to go up there before you do?”

”Yes.” "Jump on it."

"IS THIS GOOD?!"


… and that’s shameful to admit, but the truth. But never has anyone made a fool of themselves for the entire watching weyr like Th’seus did… for me. Even now, the ridiculous image of his over the top flailing makes me laugh and shake my head. Warmth gathers just beneath my throat; it’s a warmth that blooms outward that chases the chill of memory. Ruined by the guilt that follows soon after…

"What's going on?"

"I'm sorry. I should have realized."


The low wind of conversation, braided into the whispering sounds of the voices of the galleries, made a low hum of words that couldn’t be heard by anyone else, but they weigh heavily on my heart.

”She put so much work into that platform all for me…”

"I know that she did.”


But does anyone know how much that meant to me? Dhiammarath does, but she also knows how deep the well of solitude had gotten. How separate I had become. Alone, I had become an island, adrift in a sea of maybe. Of what was, trapped by the past and fearful of the future.

Finally, I find myself facing the stairs. The perfectly formed stairs that promise stability. If it can hold up to the abuse that Th’seus was giving it, it will hold my weight. I know it; I am not stupid. I am not that lost to fear. That first rush of hesitation melts away as embarrassment still enflames my cheeks. It’s one thing for everyone to “know” something, but it’s different to have it announced like that. Fucked. A cheap, taudry word for what is as far from that as anything could be. A flight is not… it’s not… She should know better, but still everyone is human. We are awfully small and not as strong as we think we are. Right now, I feel weak and caught in the storm that carries me into the unknown.

My chest rises in the deepest breath I can take as my feet take the steps one at a time. My platform was forged in the fires of human passion, only to be choked on the fumes of selfish rage, shattering in the maelstrom of fear and pain. We are frail… and so fearfully and wonderfully made. Every step is tenuous lest the ground suddenly fall away. At the top, I see the potential, finally in this platform that’s for all of us. It may not be forged in the same way, with the same love attached to it, but I can’t squash the work of the folk that made it. They are mine. My residents. My riders. Southern Weyr is ours in ways that can only be understood when viewed through the looking glass of the children we are about to birth here.

Guilt still drags the steely claws in my back, though I give a little twirl. The pale silver of my dress catches the moonlight. Cerise’s training has made my limbs more graceful as I have dutifully practiced. And this platform is so large… and empty. The perfect stage upon which to dance to the dreamers that slumber upon the sands. I throw myself into another twisting move, feeling the subtle pain of a body still healing but is healed. In the silence and solitude, I practice the flowing movements of the dance steps I’ve been taught; I feel as transient as the moonlight, and as frail as mists.

They know nothing.

What happened is still between us.

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