====November 30, 2013
====In the aftermath of facing W'rin, Trek does some soul-searching.

Who Trek
What In the aftermath of facing W'rin, Trek does some soul-searching.
When Spring, 7 months and 3 days until the 12th Pass
Where Weyr Pass Road, near Igen Weyr



Weyr Pass Road

The temperature begins ever-so-gradually to drop as you travel further into the foothills of the Central Pass. Largely inhospitable and difficult to traverse, it is no wonder most traffic converges on this narrow dip through the mountains: a hospitable pass that runs east-west, deep-rutted with the marks of centuries' of wagon ruts and runner hooves. To your northeast, Igen Weyr is now clearly distinguishable from the other mountains in the range, and the eastern roadway splinters, a trail running up towards the plateau at its feet.

As soon as Trek could fasten her riding belt to Kanyith's straps, the blue launched into the air, urgency fueled by the emotions radiating from Trek along their link. The sudden cold of evening meant those normally helpful thermals were fighting his efforts, so it was a slow drag to gain altitude.

Once the inn disappeared from sight, however, altitude no longer mattered. « Get me down, » Trek urged her lifemate while she tried to fight a sick feeling that seemed to want to bore its way out from her very core. Kanyith barely touched down in time as the rider's gloved hands were already fumbling once more at her belt clips. She stumbled her way down to the ground, then lurched a few steps away from the blue before her knees buckled. There, fists clenched against the gritty soil, she heaved her dinner across the unforgiving sand.

Kanyith watched from the short distance, eyes whirling brightly against the dark sky as his hide all but faded to invisibility with the evening's shadows. The slim blue hunkered down, wings tight against his back. This was not a time where he could help. Only wait.

After a few minutes, Trek was able to draw back, knees scuffing against the ground as she pulled away from the mess. She spat twice while peeling gloves off hands gone suddenly sweaty, then, far enough away from the smell of sick, she pushed herself around and lay on the ground, eyes staring up at the dusky sky where only the first few hazy stars were visible. A torrent of emotions washed over her in waves as she raised the back of a shaky hand to her lips briefly, then let it fall to her side.

Sweet relief the ordeal was finally over, after so many sleepless nights spent wondering if she would even be able to walk away from the confrontation.

Bone deep guilt at what she'd been forced to do.

Ecstatic elation that she had walked away, successful in the mission.

Bottomless burning rage at what she'd been forced to do.

Sickly giddy satisfaction that the evidence had been enough.

Furious skin-prickling rage… So. Much. Rage. It tore at her from the inside, an alien writhing in her soul. She wanted to tear her nails down her face to peel away the layer of herself she'd just tarnished forever. Her bones should be cracking, her pores should be expelling sulfur, her organs should explode!


Perhaps it was Kanyith's gentle pressure on her mind, like some unseen hand steadying her psyche, but like some cold splash of water, she began to breathe. Then again. Again.

Her eyes closed, shutting out the darkness. The cold, arid breeze washed over her, and she imaged it taking the rage. Leeching it from her skin. Her bones. Her soul.

It was not enough, but it would have to be.

The entire process had only taken a handful of minutes, but as Trek pushed herself to a sitting position, her body protested, muscles aching, joints tense. Now that the initial tide of emotion was on the ebb, the desert's chill knifed through her, despite her riding leathers. Kanyith stirred as his rider rocked herself to her feet, still shaking hands brushing sand and grit from her clothing, dislodging the granules from her knuckles..

Trek spat again, boots scuffing as she made her way back toward her lifemate, trying to tug her gloves back into place. Far more slowly than moments before at the inn, she hauled herself to Kanyith's shoulders and clipped in. Silently, she instructed the blue to contact Iolarth so she could share the news with N'cal. The message conveyed to the other blue was simple. « It is done. Success. We must meet soon. »

Again, the dark dragon took to the skies where all daylight was now truly gone, allowing the desert's crisp air to sharpen the net of stars. Rather than skipping Between, the pair flew the rest of the distance back to the looming Weyr in the hopes the rushing air would help clear Trek's head. The fury had been checked, rage banked to silently smolder.

A sick slick of oily residue remained, however, clinging to Trek's mind and spirit. Did he truly believe she was so petty? That she had wanted it to go this way? She had tried to give him the option. Those letters could have remained hidden forever. What did she care where he dangled his hang-down?

Before the rush of anger could return, she stamped down on it and continued forcing herself to breathe. The assumptions hurt, even if they were expected. This wasn't what she had wanted. Why was she the one sticking her neck out? Had W'rin bothered to ask himself that? Trek doubted it. Whatever high regard he might hold for himself, she certainly didn't share it. Faranth, what had Setelle seen in him? Piggy little eyes that got even smaller when he was angry? That's what Trek saw.

It was that field of anger where she had won, though. It was an important lesson to keep in mind. A lesson she would likely need to put into practice, and soon.

Kanyith greeted the watchdragon as they soared over the Weyr's perimeter and angled for their ledge over the bazaar. He asked if he should visit Iolarth's first, but Trek declined. There would be time enough for that in the morning. For now, she severely needed a bath and a shot of anything strong enough to get this taste out of her mouth. All that plotting might have ended in success, but Trek couldn't help but wonder why it felt so much like defeat.

But enough of that. Time to look forward. Two months was not a lot, but it was better than nothing, and the stakes were too high to dwell on tiny details like moral character…. Right?

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