Who

Prymelia, Issaeryth

What

Prymelia and Issaeryth look back on the road they've traveled together thus far.

When

It is afternoon of the tenth day of the ninth month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr, Star Stones

OOC Date

 

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Star Stones

Jutting from the jungles, the caldera's northern most edge has been fashioned into the necessary star stones; two great boulders push up against the sky, weathering the winds that scour the ever-encroaching lichens that cling to the humid-moistened rock. A singular stone, so obviously man-made, serves as the eye-rock, long forgotten with only the wind's erosive touch to keep the greenery away. The stones stand upon the flattest point of the caldera, and any who climb the winding stairs, up the mountain's face, will be treated with a view worthy of the effort of the climb of the seemingly endless stone steps. Far and away, the entire weyr is exposed as are the vast jungles and terraced fields that dot the horizon. The Southern Barrier Range looms above the weyr, and from this vantage point, one can see the snows that clings to the summits. The winding Black Rock River sparkles far, far below. The ledge itself is small, however, so only a few brave souls and possibly one dragon could fit up here. With no handrails, the edge of the star stones's ledge offer a danger to the unwary who think to stand where the rock curves down into the bowl below.


Theme music: Delta Goodrem - In This Life


High above the Weyr, with the merriment at The Tipsy Kitten in full swing, a young woman lightly touches her finger to the bits of crepe paper and random scatters of glitter glued to the lurid boots on her feet. There’s a smile attached that graces the pretty line of her mouth. Fond. Warm. Perhaps a little melancholy as her gaze drifts down, down, down. Down to the clearing where it all began over a turn ago.

Nope, nope. Nope nope nope. He's not pulling up. He's not pulling out of his dive. As a matter of fact, there's a certain EVIL GLEE, so very un-Dhioth-y, as he abruptly backwings into his CRASHING LAND… right on top of Prym's wagon. Sorry dude, did you need that? Because it's under a few TONS of dragonweight, and said dragon is looking INORDINATELY PLEASED with himself as he reaches out to sniff oh-so-delicately at Prymelia and look POINTEDLY to K'ane.
(Excerpt from Crash, Boom, Searched )

Oh the horror. The all consuming anger and despair when her life had literally come crashing down about her ears. With everything she’d owned stuffed into every little nook and cranny of that wagon decimated and with nowhere else to go, she’d taken that white knot that had been handed to her. Too shocked to do anything other than rise to a challenge set her by the enormous Dhioth.

While some had struggled with the strictures and routines of candidacy, Prymelia, with little choice, had fallen to it all as a means of distraction. Having been through it all before so recently in Igen and come away dragonless, she was sure of the same again and used to the time to plot the recovery of her trading life.

« But you were wrong. » Issaeryth’s observation was given in the smooth rolling tones of the consummate storyteller while she followed her beloved’s thoughts

“Aye, love. But I didn’t know that then.” Came Prymelia’s soft answer as she shifted in her position between neatly folded forepaws to stroke the back of her hand against warm celadon hide.

« Tell me more. » The content green urged.

“There was the egg touching that stirred such a deep longing in me that I could barely breathe.”

Let It Go Egg
Oh, trader. There is so much anguish and dismay in your life. Gentle are the fingertips — fingertips? — that trace the outlines of all the hurts, limning the lines that tattoo your soul with darkness. Your family. Your father. Your wagon. Your life. It accumulates as a burden, dragging you lower, pushing you down. You can't breathe. You can't see. All is dark and there is no way out. A single snowflake drifts down into the inferno of your own anxiety, dropping upon the very tip of your nose and melting not, a diamond — a true diamond — scintillating. Let go of your anger. Let go of your rage. There is life to be lived, and t'is not worth carrying around the weight of your burden: you are without peer, you, unique, light as a feather and reborn through frost rather than phoenix's fire.
(Excerpt from Egg Caresses #2)

« That was me! » Issaeryth declared.

“So it was.” Prymelia confirmed. “Even then, snuggled away in your shell, you know what I needed. What I yearned for.”

« I did. » Came Issaeryth’s firm reply. « You were mine and I was yours. It was written in the stars. More. » She demanded. « Tell me more that I might remember it all. »

Fond the smile that slipped out for Prymelia had quickly come to learn how fickle a dragon’s memory could be.

“Nathanael, Nevik, Kultir, Lindenn, Niyati, Koreiraj, Quentin, Dione…”

« Stop. You’ve got some of them wrong. » The green interrupted suddenly the list of names of those her rider had served her candidacy with.

“No I didn’t.” Prymelia countered.

« Yes you did. Their names are: N’tael, N’vik, K’lir, L’denn, Ko’rei, Qu’inn… »

Laughter peeled across the Spring air, silvery and light. “Well those were their names before they found their bonded.” The redhead explained.

« They weren’t very good names. » Issaeryth decided with a little sniff. « Continue. »

Settling back against her green, and drawing her legs up, arms wrapped about her legs Prymelia dropped her chin to her knees. “It was hard work. Glorified drudgery but I didn’t mind. We had some fun too, building snowmen…”

« Desecrating the Weyrlingmaster’s boots. » Pointed that remark stiffened by a lick of displeasure for such a willful act.

“He deserved it.”

« No. He didn’t. You were a petulant child. »

“Oh please. He loves them.”

« You don’t know that. »

Without irrefutable proof Prymelia couldn’t argue that point. Instead she sought distraction in an arch tone. “Who’s telling this story? You or me?”

The huff from Issaeryth dusted specks of sand upward. « Fine. »

“Good. Now where was I?” Slowly but surely the young woman spun their tale out careful to embellish to her green’s standards of storytelling. From out of the telling of finding each other on the sands…

Your old life shattered with the sundering of your wagon, Prymelia, but fear not, for your future is forever changed in this moment that hangs eternal, this one heartbeat roaring in your ears. This is a story for the ages, clad in sumptuous silk and parching desert heat; this is a story in drifting incense and the heady intoxication of unwatered wine. « It started with an egg, » so muses a voice of cultured elegance, so heartbreakingly beautiful; so sweet the susurration of sound that you may yet cry upon the Sands. Every striking syllable washes clean the damage of your days, breathing new life and dawning fortune onto the fate of your changed future. For your future will never be as it was before, Prymelia. « … and it ended with a new beginning. Fitting, I think, for this the story of our lives. » It is obvious Issaeryth thinks so. Perhaps then, so should you, rider.
(Excerpt from Hatching At Hurricane Harbor )

…and their journey through weyrlinghood together, several smaller scenes were picked out and shared between the two, turning them over with affectionate recollection. Even the harder times and those somewhat embarrassing…

… “Riding? Did you hear that, Issa!?” Try as she likes, Prymelia is unable to contain that wide grin that breaks free. For her part, the celadon green fairly quivers from nose to tail. FINALLY!! “You let me know if I’m too heavy, yes?” That to her bonded and then the redhead, concentrating hard on hand and footholds, makes her way up the side of green hide, swings her leg over with the ease of one all but born on the back of a runner and…winds up…facing her dragon’s butt end. “Uh…” Maybe no saw that!! And already she’s scrambling to correct an error she of all people, shouldn’t have made….
(Excerpt from About Face )

Thievery was explored with a cluck of tongue from the green and a smug expression from Prymelia. There were of course questions too, ones which the redhead artfully dodged by once again employing distraction.

Afternoon drew into twilight, the dying strokes of Rukbat’s last touches igniting the sky in a palette of mauves and oranges and yet the pair lingered above their home.

Home.

« Will you join the others now? » Soft was the sisal whisper of Issaeryth’s query.

“No.” Prymelia’s reply was just as quiet touched through with a deep and abiding sense of belonging which for now, she wanted to keep just between the two of them. “Let’s go flying.”

A thoroughly approving croon rolled from the sturdy green.

« It started with a broken wagon. »

“And ended with love.”

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