Who

D'har, Searuth

What

Searuth takes his rider to task over D'har's latest method of dealing with old wounds.

Allusion to possible alcoholism, some angst

When

It is late night on the 14th day of the 4th month of the 13th Turn of the 12th Pass.

Where

The Shaded Precipice (Searuth's Ledge), Southern Weyr

OOC Date 22 Feb 2018 07:00

 

Dhar24.png searuth_default.jpg

« Why are you doing this again? »



The Shaded Precipice

Dark granite thrusts defiantly from the face of the Bowl wall, scarred and strong to define ledge wide enough for a bronze - or a smaller dragon with a friend of comparable size. Another outcropping shrouds the back half of the ledge in shadow, granting visitors some decent shelter from any inclement weather before setting foot in the cave that shelters Searuths couch and the hanging-blocked entrance to D'har's abode.


There’s no true solace to be found in the bottom of a bottle.

D’har knows this; it doesn’t take a tremendous amount of logic to understand that living a functional life means not allowing oneself to chase after such temporary comfort over and over again. Still, he lets himself walk the edge. It’s enough to dull the senses and lessen the pain of old wounds that never seem to heal enough for his liking.

Searuth hates it when his lifemate resorts to this.

His eyes are vermillion in the pitch dark of the stormy, moonless night, irritation made undeniably visible in those twin lanterns. Yet the midnight blue remains sheltering D’har from the steadily drumming rain, watching intently as the dark-eyed bluerider sits staring out into the night’s nothingness, tilting a wineskin to his lips at regular intervals.

« Why are you doing this again? » In mimicry of the real weather, the normally moonlit nightscape of Searuth’s mind is obscured by clouds, a fearsome and jagged bolt of lightning tearing the darkness and throwing the forested landscape of his more intimate self into stark relief before settling black into a tableau of ominous black silhouettes. « You once found more comfort in weaving, or mating, or letting me help you through these times. »

D’har pulls the wineskin from his lips and corks it, flinging it away into the shadows before draping his forearms over his knees and letting his head hang between them. » I still haven’t unpacked my weaving tools, for one thing. Mating is what started all this, and… « The list of lame excuses falls short when it comes to his dragon. Searuth, his heart and other half, should be the one he entrusts with every difficulty. He has no good reason for not discussing his troubles with his lifemate. » I’m sorry, Sear. I just… «

« Just what? Do you not see how cowardly you are being? »

D’har grits his teeth, lifting his head to let it fall back against the cold stone wall of his weyr and shoving a hand through his hair. » Yes. I do. «

« I did not choose a coward. Yet you feel that dulling your mind with wine is preferable to confronting your problems. Did I misjudge? »

That is enough to cut through D’har’s buzz and reach clear to his heart. » Searuth… « Still the words will not come, refusing to come to any semblance of order like dried leaves tossed by an unruly breeze.

Again the lightning blazes, the thunder crashing through the blue’s inner night with rattling force. In the wake of the rumbling, a lone canine howls, mournful. Distraught, despite the anger in the storm. « Answer me, D’har! »

» I’m not ready to face it! I don’t know the answer yet myself! « The self-assured facade the bluerider wears so effortlessly before all the world can’t help but crumble when he’s alone with his lifemate. It’s a much-needed fracturing, painful though it may be.

Two Turns? Three? He hasn’t consciously kept track of how long it’s been since she disappeared from his life, taking the part of his heart he’d dared to risk in taking a chance on love with her. He’d left a few months later, fleeing from ground zero, as it were. Yet some part of him knows it’s been as long as he’s guessed - more than enough time to have healed.

He thought he had. He’d made a new start at Southern, wiped his slate clean, vowed to keep things simple and have his fun. But he’d never let himself fall in love again. He’d keep his emotions close, never to be unfurled from within his heart by the desire to have someone to share passion with, to confide in, to protect and to share life with, ever again. Searuth was - is - enough.

Yet he hasn’t been able to disengage himself so easily. His lifemate reads this as easily as an open book and calls him a fool for trying to deny what he has no control over. D’har doesn’t want to feel so that he can escape the truth of what he’d had and lost…and what his heart of hearts desires, no matter how much he tries to deny it.

Faranth, he can’t even put it into words. He has no choice but to feel it. It makes him keenly aware that his tolerance for pain - emotionally - is staggeringly low, and he feels like an utter weakling for it. His lifemate is all he needs…and yet cannot restore the part of his heart that is now scarred from the tearing dealt by an unforeseen assault.

» I don’t want this. «

But he doesn’t want to lose himself. If he were to close it off completely, he wouldn’t be D’har anymore. The prospect scares him more deeply than he can properly say.

» Why won’t it just go away? «

« It isn’t finished with you yet. Your trials will not leave you until you’ve learned the lessons they offer. And you cannot do that while you’re running from them.»

Stubborn man that he is, he wants to dig in his heels, to tell Searuth that it isn’t that simple. But what he’s doing right now is the simple thing. Fleeing is easy.

He knows his blue is right. But he can’t think of anything else to say, and he doesn’t know what he can do about it right this moment. Lifting his head, he tries to peer through the darkness, seeking out that splotch of shadow within shadow that might be the discarded wineskin.

« You don’t need it. » Thunder rumbles, a susurration of many small, leathery wings rising from the trees and rising toward the clouds in its wake. « Why not seek Haquith’s out again? »

» Don’t start, Sear. « Not that he’s denying where his thoughts have wandered several times tonight…

« You enjoy her. And it’s clear she enjoys you. It is a good place to start. »

» I know what you’re trying to do. Please don’t. « Kindred spirit that Alyna is, it would be incredibly easy for him to abandon his caution and let himself feel more. It’s already bubbling just beneath the surface, and if he isn’t careful…

« What about Niamyth’s? I’m sure she would be glad to see us both. »

» Searuth. « He wonders if anyone else has a dragon that tries so hard to be a covert matchmaker. » Stop it. Just… « His brain scrabbles to find purchase on something that will further ease the frayed edges of his soul tonight. He can’t have anymore alcohol tonight, doesn’t know if taking someone to his bed will truly help considering the source of what ails him… No. His comfort tonight must be with his other half. As it should be. » Let’s go flying. «

The blue perks up at that, giving an approving rumble. « Where? » He knows D’har doesn’t mean Southern; the weather isn’t right for what they need.

The ebon-eyed bluerider levers himself to his feet, steadying himself with outstretched fingers touching the damp stone wall. » Let’s go to Telgar. « One of the few places on Pern that seems not to be tied to some regret or other. » The mountains will look incredible in the moonlight. And the cold will do me good. «

With an approving rumble, Searuth readies himself for his riding straps. And once D’har is bundled up into his leathers, they’re off and gone from the jungle Weyr in a matter of seconds, not to return until sometime past midnight.

There can be no escape from his pain, not until he deals with it. But for now, at least, there is a balm to be found in doing what he and Searuth do best, far away above the moon-silvered mountains below Telgar Weyr.

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