Who

Veresch

What

Sometimes the past is a dangerous place.

When

It is late morning of the thirteenth day of the fifth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

North Bowl Hideout

OOC Date 13 Mar 2016 22:00

 

veresch_default.jpg

igennorthbowl.jpg

North Bowl

In the quieter spaces of the Northern Bowl, there is less activity; all is kept serene for young, forming draconic bonds. Beneath the sweep of skies' ever-changing colors, this round little panorama hosts the short distances between the Hatching Cavern and the weyrlings' ultimate destination: the barracks and training grounds. More packed dirt and tiny little hillocks than clean white sand, the floor is an uneven thing, a startling trap for the unwary and the clumsy. Further onward, the Ground Weyrs beckon, a haven for those who may seek medical attention.

It is the forty-third day of Spring and 84 degrees. It is a clear day.


Timor: moon3.jpg Belior: moon1.jpg

The heaps of sand weren't as comfortable as river pebbles would have been, and not for the first time Veresch missed the freedom of movement she had before Candidacy.

Before Candidacy. BC.

It was odd how much of a lustre events seemed to have BC. How much the friends she didn't get to see on a daily basis anymore ached deep in her bones. Onari. F'in. Mistress Taren that ran the tiny food shop deep in the bazaar. Wing.

Counting backwards like jewels on a necklace, her mind skittered away from other dear friends, now lost to their own lives like the sands sifting from her hands. Sacitca. Chel. Her first two friends at this Weyr. Alec. Kyara. Rev. Prymelia. K'ane. R'xim. Mayte. Cha'el. Most of them down in Southern, and others just… down. She attempted to pour little mounds of sand for their memories, erect some kind of temporary cenotaph, but the wind was blowing too fiercely to allow that.

Her shoulders buckled under the weight of the past turns, and without wanting to, her memory spun back to Ista-that-was, the pristine beaches and long-forgotten faces. They didn't make sense anymore, not as anything but a pale smear, but snatches still came through clear: her brother's arms, the smell of the ocean, the laughter at a beach party. The way everything felt wet from the humidity alone. Flip-flops made of twine slapping against sand as she ran and ran and ran.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and stuffed all the memories back BC to roil in the dark spaces of her mind. Dusting her hands off took a second. Getting up and walking took an age, but she stiffened her jaw and did so, back to the class they would soon have.

BC was a dangerous place, and today of all days she couldn't spend much time there.

Add a New Comment