Who

Tallarn

What

…but longs for one. Just one…

When

It is night of the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date 21 May 2017 07:00

 

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Resident Terraces

Scoured by sand, storm, and sun, the bleached-gold face of the caldera wall is punctured here by gaping rock maws: within reside a multitude of little abode-brick buildings, colorful hides stretched across windows and doorways to protect against more unfortunate weather. No traditional dormitory, this: Igen's weyrfolk live in family groups or packs of singletons in these cozy brick abodes, dwellings doled out on a first-come, first-serve basis. Here and there, steep stone staircases wend their way between spacious stone ledges, their outer edges protected by the ingenious use of stone blocks to prevent being pitched over the side in high winds. Below, the Central Bazaar is spread, replete with the sounds of everyday life in the Weyr: the bawl of beasts, the shouts of bargains being made, and the happy laughter of the occasional child all raised in a cacophony life.


They think I'm stupid.

I know it.

I see it in their eyes. I can see. And the things people say… I'm not deaf either. My ears work. I can't tell them, though. Mute. I wouldn't tell them if I could… drudge. But sometimes I want to scream it at them. I think I know what it would feel like to scream. A Harper, the last one to try to help me learn to read, let me feel his throat as he spoke. As he sang. Shouted. It felt like dragons humming on Hatching Day. I never miss a Hatching. When the dragons greet the little ones, I feel like… I could greet them too. Maybe. I make the shapes with my mouth I was taught, but the humming isn't mine and only my good wishes reach the Sands. I hope. The Harper lessons ended over a Turn ago and I went back to work. But, I've never missed a hatching since… hoping that… It's dumb.

I am stupid.

I wish the Harper had never let me feel him sing. I wake up sweaty from monstrous nightmares, a dream-wrought shout on my lips, risen in my chest, expectant. Hoping to feel the hum in my throat. But there's only silence. The hammering of my heart in my ears, my ragged breath. The creaking of ropes as I lay down again. The cruelest part of the nightmare? Waking up before I hear my voice. Just once, I want it to catch me before I start awake so I can scream while it tears me to shreds.
Just once.

It's dark. No telling what time it is. I've escaped the beast once again. Damnit it all. I've tried so many times to still my mind and heart and dive back into the shadowed bazaar alleys and dead end service corridors where no glowlight reaches that it's habit. I've tried so many times, I know when sleep won't come. Like now.

I can hear murmuring not far. A couple together in the darkness. Sharing their thoughts. I will never have that. A lover to pour my heart out for. I tried. I can write a little. She didn't laugh. Or look disgusted. Her gentleness made me love her more and I never felt more alone. Pity is crueler than the claws of my nightmare.

I am alone.

The blanket is rough in my hands, balled into fists. Just once. If I could turn and face it. And scream. I'd stop it in its tracks.

I know it.

But I'm a coward.

A coward who will always wake before the moment of truth. A coward who will never amount to anything. Or mean anything to anyone.

Alone.

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