Who

Vosji, Iskanzivoth

What

Thinking. Not the best thoughts. Not the *worst* thoughts, either.

Sad?

When

A few hours after Touch and Go.

Where

Lost Oasis, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 30 Mar 2017 04:00

 

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Lost Oasis

Blocked from view in the south by one of the largest sandstone formations jutting from the desert, this lovely oasis is truly a hidden jewel in the sand. Leagues away from any trace of civilization, it boasts a tranquil blue pool of fresh water and shallow stream fed by an unseen spring beyond a dark crevice in the bluff. Trees spring up against the rock, providing merciful shade and filling in the narrow recesses surrounding the water. The height of the outcropping funnels a near-constant light breeze through the place, cooling the air considerably in comparison to the desert beyond.

However, for all its beauty, there is an unaccountable air of fear and uncertainty about this oasis. At night, the otherwise friendly wind can cross the space with a low, unnerving howl, and creatures passing in the shadows do so in nervous, unseen movements. This has, unfortunately, been a place of grisly discoveries for Igen Weyr - most likely due to its out-of-the-way nature. Sweep riders have observed no renegades, bandits, or criminals of any other stripe in the area thus far, adding to the mystery here.


They didn't go back to their old thinking place, for Vosji had been pushing Iskanzivoth to think of himself as an Igen dragon as long as their tenure there continued, and so she'd insisted on the determination of a new one. He had agreed, and it didn't surprise her that when they went out deliberately searching a thinking place, they ended up where they did.

It was far from their first weyrling death, but these were the ones that hit the hardest.

The ones where it wasn't together. Where no one went ::between:: simultaneously to never return; they had to be separated, and making sure they touched each other in those final moments weren't enough to still Vosji's nerves or shaking hands. In some ways she knew it was a miracle that she and Iskanzivoth still lived, as young as she had been when he chose her.

« Couldn't let you become a sissy goldrider, » he intoned, a grin around his mental voice, a momentary distraction from the grief running through him that left her with physical pain. « Er, no offense to the ladies. »

You like the golds. She couldn't actually speak, voice too shaky from crying — and probably hoarse from it, too, if she'd let herself try. There was no reason to, so why bother?

« Of course. I'd never not like someone because of the tint of their hide, but there's nothing 'gold rider' about you, my dear. You should stop sulking, it's dishonorable. »

Vosji looked up from where her head had been resting against her knees, arms folded. Dishonorable? When have I ever been that? There was a little bit of teasing in it, but mostly a whole lot of 'how dare you,' some of which was serious. She'd been in the role a long time; she had come to it from the next-highest position in the wings a blue could hold at the time. Her honor was sacroscant, which was probably a large part of the true reason Iskanzivoth had chosen her. No one spoke of dishonorability and Vosji in the same sentence.

Her lifemate, though, snorted at her. « Zsyrunath would never have approved of this behavior. »

Like it doesn't hurt you!

« I mourn quietly. I grieve gently. I continue on and press forward, » came out in the dragon's eerie wisdom tone. He sounded like an intelligent old ex-Weyrleader grandpa, sometimes. Where he got it, she had no idea. Always managed to sound smarter than he was and like he remembered everything he'd experienced, possibly twice over. « We have lost many. You have lost many. This is hurting you more but it is not different. ? » The question mark hovered on its own, a lack of understanding not quite spoken.

"It is different," she whisper-croaked. They didn't leave together, was too hard to say out loud. I couldn't do it. I couldn't die on the ground without you.

They were never codependent in an unhealthy way, but they were far closer than many pairs they knew; it wasn't just a dependency on existence and what being a dragonrider was, but a true supportive friendship in so many ways. Neither tried to force the other or dictate their lives, though Iskanzivoth had railed against the transfer at first. Vosji didn't fully trust anyone in the world except him anymore, and he adored her so utterly he'd never do anything against what she wanted. He could never be scheming like some others' dragons. He could never keep secrets from her. He would never want to. They never had walls up; they always shared the completeness of everything, two very different minds operating as a single extended unit.

It made things easier sometimes and harder at others, because they didn't have true spats, but sometimes they had fights, and how did one live with one's dragon's disapproval?

Especially when the exact thing that was scaring her was the idea of living without him?

Without even thinking on it any longer, she pulled herself to her feet and hugged him around the snout. "I can't," she forced herself to find words. "I can't even think about it."

« You will never have to. »

"We can't ever be sure."

« I won't allow it. »

"You won't be able to make that decision. I tried, but it was too late. Maybe I failed — "

« You did no such thing. You are good at your job. You are good at this. You helped, you did your best. Casualties happen and we mourn and we live ever more for them. Now, shut up and have more rum. »

Vosji sighed, shaking her head, unable to make the grin stop from forming on her face no matter how much her soul had temporarily crawled into the pit of her stomach and died. Wiping tears away, she plunked back down (this time on his paw) and did exactly so.

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