Who

Vosji (and Iskanzivoth)

What

It's just locusts. It's not the haunting screams of dead weyrlings.

When

The night of this scene.

Where

Vosji's weyr

OOC Date 13 May 2018 04:00

 

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Vosji's Weyr (The Pernicious Miasma)

Canines and bugs.

Disturbingly large off-season locusts, maybe, but just insects: that was a relief, for sure. It hadn't been anything that — it hadn't been anything. Or, more importantly, anyone.

It was that time of the clutch; the time in which everyone learned to go ::between::, and not everyone made it back out again. Vosji rarely lost more than a couple. Five had been the most, and she'd been an assistant then. A huge clutch. Five of nearly fifty.

Five was too many.

Any were too many, and it played on her ability — or lack thereof — to sleep.

Those screaming locusts had sounded like the screaming she woke with every early morning. A chorus of screams. The souls she'd lost to the icy reaches of ::between::. The embodiment of the sound in her mind had frightened her deeply, and it had disturbed her lifemate as well. Rarely did anything disturb Iskanzivoth enough to let him show it. He was even more collected than she.

This had.

She hadn't fought him on wanting to find its source, and when a group of weyrlings so desperately wanted to hunt the menace (the dragons, whether their riders were motivated or not), it was just another excuse to go along and let Iskanzivoth help solve the mystery. Not the mystery of what was in her head, but of what was emulating it.

Deep in the throes of nightmare, when she heard those sounds at night sometimes Vosji thought the world was mocking her. And wasn't that terrifying. The idea that anything real like that would happen because of her. Because of her fears.

« Fears make you stronger. Makes you a better leader, so long as you're not letting them swallow you up. »

Why was it that a dragon was so wise about these things? Half the time, he talked like he had more experience with life than she did. Only a little over two decades old, and with maybe a third of her memory capacity. He was intelligent for a dragon, especially for a blue, but he was a dragon.

« But, » he argued, « I use the memories you have, the ones I borrow, I use them far better than you do. »

He was right.

He was right that being afraid of losing them made her a better Weyrlingmaster.

That never softened the blow, or made it easier to sleep through the night.

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