Thud, thud, thud, thud

Idara’s trying to focus on the sounds of her feet hitting the floor.

Thud, thud…thud…thud

Is that her feet? Or is that her heart?

Thud…thud…thud…thud

She can’t hear her feet over her heartbeat in her ears. The blood’s rushing, deafening. Her feet are slowing. Her lungs are on fire. Her legs ache.

Ahead, the rest of the group is pulling away. Even the younger candidates are running faster, and here she is at the back struggling to even jog. In the shorts she had to get from the stores, hideous brown things that were the least scratchy ones she could find. Her light shirt is tucked into the waistband, but she wishes she could bring herself to loosen it, feeling sweat beading on her back. No…she wants to keep her dignity, though here and now she can feel it slipping away.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of it! She was supposed to be a gold candidate! Not to have to train with the rest, as if she were expecting to Impress a fighting dragon. Gold riders didn’t have to do that sort of thing! They represented the Weyr, spent time with bronzeriders, had dinners with Lord Holders! They didn’t have to run laps and do chores!

Angry tears sting in her eyes. Was she angry at the situation? Angry at her misconceptions about candidacy? Right now the anger at being embarrassed trying to keep up with the group is the red hot ember in her chest.

She has to stop. Her legs hurt, and there’s a stitch in her side she can’t ignore. Coming to a stop, she bends over, hands on her thighs, trying to breath through the pain. The tears are flowing over now, and she lowers her head as if catching her breath, using the opportunity to dry her face on her sleeve.

She has to do this. If she has any hope of getting what she wanted, she has to do this. She wants to throw herself down and cry, and not go a step further. But that isn’t going to help now. This isn’t daddy refusing to buy her something, or mother not letting her go on a shopping trip.

Sucking in a hot breath, certain the tears have finished, Idara lifts her head. Pushing back her hair, damp with perspiration, she puts one foot in front of the other. She’s even further behind the rest, but she struggles along on shaking legs. She’s going to do this. Red-faced, sweating, and burning with pain and anger, she’s going to do this.