Who

Ember

What

A gift is laid in offering.

When

It is late night of the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month of the seventeenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Hatching Cavern Entryway, Igen

OOC Date 20 Jun 2019 07:00

 

66.png


Hatching Cavern Entryway

Ominous, this place, in the way only a chamber of hopes fulfilled and dreams dashed can be. The tunnels of this lofty corridor have a spartan elegance to them, but they are ultimately utilitarian in nature. One leads out onto the Sands, and a blaze of heat accompanies every step towards it; the other leads towards a wide staircase, by which the galleries may be accessed. A threadworn banner hangs high from the curved roof: Igen's three dunes, yellow and black.
Obvious exits:
North Bowl Sands Galleries


Ember's breath runs shallow as she approaches the Hatching Caverns entrance, her hands clutching the small stack of boxes. Where the sands meets rock, she pauses and gulps down the hot air of the volcanic cavern.

"Stupid. Silly." With a sharp jerk of her head, she does an abrupt about face and starts rushing out the other direction. Memories collide in her thoughts. The knicks of the needle to her skin. The well of blood against snow-white cloth. The raven tresses shadowing her vision as she second, third, fourth guesses her decisions.

"No. You are a grown adult, Ember, get ahold of yourself," she lectures herself, the sound of her own voice startling the racing heart. "They aren't going to laugh at you."

Different memories surface, as she turns and slowly approaches the caverns. The jeers of her siblings, the sharp, angry frown of her father. The weight of a meaty fist and the the knobby knees of a girl flailing against life itself. The fear and terror of getting caught, and the horror of staying where she was. A different night catches her vision. A different moon. A different age. Running down the road with a bundle in her arms, the edges piercing flesh and a heartbeat that wanted to suffocate her. A different time, then, when she was chased by desperation.

To the edge she makes it once more when she stumbles, bruising a toe. Catching herself against the wall on the hindbrain instinct of mammalian response, Ember loses contact with her boxes. One of them crashes to the floor with a loud clang.

Fear spikes. What if she's caught? This is taboo. This area is off limits. Her network of information — a vein to which she's learned to tap in any place she lives — reassures her that the clutchparents are briefly away. Well, the human parts. The dragons are in there.

Waiting.

She falls to her knees and tries to stuff the thing that fell out into the box. It's shining gold fur catches a hint of dust that tears at her chest. Her work.

Ember glances behind her, towards the sands, held in indecision.

What if they hate it?

Weakness floods her limbs and she bows her head. "Just forget it." A whispered statement reminding her that she is master of nothing. That she has no good skill that sets her apart from the average Joe. With a heavy sigh, she gathers up her boxes: two large and two small.

With heavy steps, she turns away from the sands, fingers curled protectively around the edges. The boxes themselves are handmade with fabric stitched around them of images of dragons and fire and eggs and jewels, of daggers and attitude and time itself.

"Ember. He'll be right if you don't get on your big girl pants and get it done. You'll prove his ass right, and then where will you be?" Ember's voice shocks her out of her mood and she turns again, towards the sands.

She straightens her spine, squares her shoulders, and marches right up to the edge of the sands. Setting her boxes down, the Candidate arranges them in a pleasing order: big and small. Atop the stack, upon the smallest box, she's placed a little card:

Diem and K'vre

Nasrin and Sa'mael

A clatter of sound hits the rock outside the caverns and Ember jerks back away from her gift. With a small grunt, she makes a mad dash for the Galleries to hide. She might have been seen, but hopefully, her indecision was not noticed. Long after the voices are gone, the girl escapes the Galleries and sneaks back to the Candidate Barracks.

Did they see? Did they notice?

Did they think her weak?

Did they know her secret?

Only when the rosy blush of the coming sun stains the night-black sky does Ember's eyes finally fall shut to brief, fitful nightmares until it's time to rouse.

This day will be nothing short of brutal with that much lack of sleep.

Add a New Comment