==== June 2nd 2013
==== C'zan
==== C'zan thinks.

The Wasteland
Metal, twisted and deformed, lines the edge of this small, small ledge. Bars, deeply rusted are sunk into the stone, acting as a barricade to the unwary, to prevent a long fall. Near the dark mouth of the entrance to the weyr, some of the ledge has crumbled away, leaving a gap for the incautious foot. Sand is heaped in little random piles, blown by the wind into whatever form it chooses, lending this ledge an air of desolation, despite the brown that calls it home.

Rukbats setting rays turn the Igen sky a bloody gold, washing the sandy landscape with a horrific glow. As he leans on the rusty bars that line the edge of his ledge, C’zan’s eyes are turned inward, to the red gold inferno in his mind.

Khallth is unsettled, and so the wasteland is buried in a conflagration that stretches from horizon to horizon. Alone, with only his rider for company, the brown can let the fire run loose.

It suits C’zan’s mood tonight. He’s maudlin, can feel the alcohol running in his veins, turning his thoughts back to those dark, dark days back in the past. Within and without, the blaze tinges his skin red, a reminder of the blood that once adorned them. The blood that he can still see, in the quiet moments.

A curious wind stirs the mental flames, converting them into cavorting figures. Khallth is a simple, solid presence, sunk in C’zans pores, his blood and his bone. The fire subsides a little as the brown wordlessly puts aside his disquiet to bring everything to bear on his rider.

“I still wonder if we did the right thing,” C’zan says, and his tongue feels thick in his mouth, struggling over the simple words. “Or was it the right thing, with the wrong intentions?” He turns and his eyes momentarily focus on the dark entrance to the weyr, and to the stack of purloined hides that still haven’t found their way from the past to Igen’s archives.

The mental wind picks up, as if to scour away all the doubts, all of the worries. Khallth considers his riders words with all due care and attention. «Yes.» he says simply, finally, mental voice deep and rasping.

C’zan laughs, a harsh sound, as his fingers grip the cup that accompanies him everywhere. The liquid within sloshes over the rim, and spills down over his hand, alcohol stinging in the cuts made from handling the hides. With the bite of the pain as an accompaniment, C’zan brings the cup to his lips and lets the alcohol sear his throat and burn its way into his stomach.

Khallth neither approves, nor disapproves. He simply /is/.

The red on his hands is changing now, darkening as the sun goes down. With a trick of the mind, it could be green, that rich vivid shade that runs though Khallth’s veins. That lifeblood.

Gunfire disapproval, sharp and staccato echoes from the ruined buildings as the fire winks out, shrinking down into a small blaze in a tattered brazier. «That was the past.» Khallth says sternly.

The alcohol and the reminder melts the lump of ice that has sat in C’zan’s chest for so very long, but he knows that it is only a temporary thing. Soon enough, it will be back. But for the moment, empty and light, he takes comfort in his bond. “It’s different,” he says softly, to the uncaring night.

«We must trust.» Khallth states, but not who they should trust. Night spills over the mental wasteland now, a velvet, comforting blanket that hides the worst of the ravages of time from the eye. He wraps his rider in all the mental protection that he can muster.

And C’zan is grateful for it. For a minute, there is nothing else in his head but his dragon, and the calm and the peace that he so needs. He simply is, they simply are. But all good things must come to an end, and finally C’zan sighs, and comes back to himself. “What’s done is done,” he says, rueful. “The past can’t be changed again.” Another drink, and this one burns down the same path as the last one.

«Trust» Khallth reiterates, as the dark mental sky is lit with a thousand constellations, winking stars formed into the pattern of people and dragons of Igen. One constellation glows brighter than the other, a subtle reminder that there is one, above all, that C’zan should trust.

C’zan splutters as he tries to laugh and swallow at the same time. “Khal!” he protests, the alcohol in his bloodstream switching his mood from maudlin to cheery in the blink of an eye. C’zan chokes and chuckles at the same time, hanging onto the railing as he tries to compose himself. Khallth slithers out from the weyr to regard his cackling rider with one curious eye.

Still chortling quietly to himself, C’zan pours the rest of the alcohol over the edge of ledge, not bothering to check if anyone is going to get a surprise shower. He turns to face his brown, and in an excess of emotion, steps forward to wrap his arms around his dragon’s head.

«Silly» Khallth projects, accompanied by a wave of warmth. «Sleep now.»

“Tomorrow is a new day,” C’zan says, leaning his weight on his dragon. Carefully, the brown slithers backwards into the weyr again, taking his rider with him.