==== September 4, 2013
==== W'rin, Valiuth
==== W'rin is awoken from his after flight sleep, there is no time for rest.

Who W'rin, Valiuth
What W'rin is awoken from his after flight sleep, there is no time for rest.
When 1 turn 3 months and 24 days until the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr



Ground Weyrs
Spacious by necessity, the slightly grimy atmosphere of these weyrs house couches made to fit dragons of various sizes and in various states of health, each with feeding and watering stations near to hand, as well as the necessary medical aids to treat any draconic illness. A small alcove offers up a different view: Healer's records stashed in meticulous order on a shelf, a cluttered desk full of hidework in process, and a polished small basin where fresh water may be poured. Above it, a small rocky shelf protrudes, holding various cleaning supplies in neatly labeled containers: redwort is most prevalent, followed by numbweed.

« Arise! Sleeper! » So sudden the tumultuous sea rages W’rin is startled from his slumber, eyes flying open. This ceiling is not his. Fuck. Slow and easy breaths forced as he attempts to orient himself, but the shrieking winds over the waves crossing swords makes for a futile endeavor. His eyes draw closed as he senses the soft feminine heat next to him, but in the dark the breathing is not right. This is not his weyrmate. Corelle. Childhood friend. Recent transfer. Weyrwoman. Oh, fuck!.

The realization is sudden. « Weyrleader! » The crash of Valiuth’s thunderous voice is victorious, and yet the ship rises and falls upon the troubled waters, crates and boxes crashing into the darkened waves which batter the old wooden maiden. Fucking dragon!

« These seas are not for children to captain! Did you not doubt our ability to be victorious under their leadership? » It was an unfair question, but no less true. N’thu was a good kid, but untried and in a place like Igen there was no room for fumbling, for self-doubt, but most especially for inaction.

But not me. The walking mountain of a man would not hesitate to say he was a damn fine wingleader. The best at Igen, good by any weyrs’ standards. But that was his purpose. Everyone has their part; it is his marching mantra, for his riders, for females, especially for the chromatics of his wings. His dragon’s inability to understand W’rin would make a fucking horrible weyrleader had always been a point of contention in their relationship.

« Uncertainty has no place here. The time is nigh when the beast approaches! Rise W’rin. There are things to be done. » The tempest still roars, but the shouts of men break though the sheets of rain as wood groans trampled under heavy boots. Metal glistens as harpoons are caught in a glimpse of moonlight, before darkness envelops the sky again.

Work. Cordage rings as the sturdy old ship rises and dives, racing forward in search of the monster. Wait no more for the beast to come, to beat him back and wait again. No, now it is they who will seek the destroyer, it is too the battle they charge.

Slowly W’rin eases himself out of the bed, pants pulled off the floor. There will be no morning after for Corelle, but she’s the kind of woman that understands the work of busy men. The kind of woman who wouldn't bother with politics when there were lives on the line. He’d make it up to her, spend some time on the sand, certainly she would not expect it of him, but for now there is much is much to do. Work. Whatever hurricane blows in his head, it is nothing compared to the one Igen has yet to face.

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