Majel, Dyxath


Each month they've been together, he asks her for an explanation. It helps.


It is after midnight of the eighteenth day of the seventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Weyrling Barracks, Igen Weyr

OOC Date


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Weyrling Barracks

A cluster of small buildings punch out from the facade here, each just spacious enough to admit growing weyrlings and little else beside. Each has its own sturdy little hide covering their openings to provide a modicum of privacy to their occupants and a stone basin meant for both meat and water squats ready before each door. To one side, the Weyrlingmaster's office sits, the one large building in the space. Here, the pale salted walls are covered with various charts, maps, and informational diagrams. In the small yard before these buildings, a table and chairs is set, a small hearth against the opposite wall holds a cavernous kettle kept a-boil with various meals, while a smaller hangs from an iron tripod for klah.

Majel awoke with an uncomfortable groan.

Breathing in and out through her nose, she rolled over and stared into the darkness, unseeing. It was hard to say for certain, but she guessed it was somewhere between midnight and the second or third hour of the next morning.

A hint of cigar smoke unfurled itself into her awareness, followed soon after by the metallic chink she's grown to understand as being a precursor to illumination.

Dyxath was still shuttered with weariness, but gave a rustling sigh before large, glowing eyes appeared just to her left, whirling a cautious yellow-green. You’re unwell, he husked.

I’m perfectly fine, Majel said sharply, wincing afterward as another stab of pain seized somewhere below her waist. You’ve already forgotten, haven’t you? Even with him, she found that she masked her embarrassment with brisk, pointed inquiries.

You’re hurt, Majel. It’s more lucid, growing into a choppy sort of alertness.

I do hurt, she grated out between deep breaths, but it will pass, Dyxath. Be easy. This is - normal. Normal enough for human females, at any rate.

His nose bumped gently against her shoulder. Makes me glad I’m not one, if that’s the case. Do all female humans feel like this as often as you do?

Regularly, she reminded him again. The first time she gave this explanation, she hastily worked to come up with a comparison that didn’t involve discussing mating flights. It’s a necessary precursor for us to have offspring. She was almost successful.

He was silent this time, aside from curling himself around her in a wordless attempt to offer succor with the soft drizzle of rain just audible off in the distance.

Majel meant to thank him for the distraction, having long suspected that his inability to remember that her courses occurred every thirty-or-so days like almost-clockwork was a charming obfuscation to keep her focused through the first few hours of pain before the bleeding hit.

Pressing a hand to the nearest bit of his hide she could reach, she found herself wondering if perhaps he had heard anyway, even as a series of baritone hums, pitched low, soothed her back to sleep.

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