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a desert triumvirate of Hold, Weyr, and Mine. Thread's return and bandit raiding brought strife between weyr and hold, but the bandits' recent defeat has returned the region to an uneasy peace. Now, a shipwreck on a forgotten continent and the decision to settle this rediscovered land has opened up a world of opportunity to Vaioa, if only they can handle the dangers.








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Desert Nights; [Open]
Topic Started: Dec 7 2012, 04:48 PM (239 Views)
Pandion
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Strange Bird
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Ferel sighed as he hunkered down beside the pot of klah that was kept warm by the heat of the night hearth. He hadn't been able to sleep since he'd gotten here, and it was starting to show on his young face--heavy bags drooped beneath his eyes, and his usually pale skin was now a pasty shade of grey. It was hot in the day, cold at night, and even still the air was much drier than he was used to.

Above everything else, however, he was homesick. The few dreams he'd managed to have in between bouts of fitful slumber were filled with images of his parents dying to Threadfall, scored beyond recognition as their dragons went between forever.

If they died, would they send for him? Would they tell him? If he became a rider himself, like he hoped to do, would they tell them if he died? He had been too young and arrogant for it to matter before. He had never dreamed of a day when Thread would take his parents or their dragons--until now.

He'd had to get out of the barracks, even though he was sure it was frowned upon; he just couldn't stay there in his bunk, surrounded by dozens of others as they slept in peace. A chill ran down his spine as he thought of Thread, and he reached to take a small cup of klah to warm himself again and to force himself to wake up further. The night hearth was small and safe--better yet, it was frequented by Riders.

Maybe, if he was lucky, one of them would come in from an overnight flight and have time to speak to him. He just needed someone--anyone--to tell him what to expect. He'd have told the Candidatemaster, but--well... he felt silly doing it. Most of all, he didn't want them to think him a coward and refuse to let him Stand because of his night-time anxieties.
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Normally she didn’t go into the Weyr’s dining hall, but Breesk was complaining that he wanted a snack and she herself was a little peckish. It was late so the woman was surprised to spy a young boy sitting next to the night hearth. What was he doing up? If he was a fosterling he would be asleep after a hard day’s work, and if he was a candidate he should be in the Barracks after curfew. With a small frown she walked over to the boy. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked, she looked him over and saw the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping very well.

Breesk sat next to his handler’s side, the size of the average canine now, Breen could visible tell how much he would grow in a day. He shifted slightly on his haunches; he wanted to greet the boy but the training that Breen had been working to instill in the brown wher kept him at her side. The wher often forgot that his size could hurt.
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Ferel blinked up at the woman, raising his brows at the sight of the good-sized wher that accompanied her. On instinct, he inched away slightly; his father had never cared for whers, and he hadn't quite overcome that ingrained prejudice.

"Yes," he muttered at length, hugging his bony knees up against his chest as he finished his small cup of klah. "But I can't sleep."

He frowned, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his arm.

"Please don't tell them I'm out. I know I'm not supposed to. I just had to get away for a little while," he explained, looking up at the woman once more. "I keep having these dreams--" Almost immediately, he cut himself off, turning his head away.

The Wherhandler no doubt had better things to do than to listen to his childish worries about his parents and their dragons succumbing to the next Threadfall. That was the worst of it, he thought; for all he knew it was foolish to even consider it (especially since that was the entirety of a Rider's job, fighting Thread), he just couldn't stop himself from worrying. Before, at the Weyr, he'd have gotten news immediately. But here? So far removed from Benden, and with them so busy?

If something happened to them, he'd be none the wiser.

"I'm sorry," he added, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair and suppressing a sniffle. "I'll go back to the barracks soon. Would you like some klah?"

He got up, moving to get a cup so that he could offer the Handler some of the warm, soothing mixture.
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Breen raised an eyebrow at the boy’s words, so nightmares were keeping him up. Well she could understand that, there were several times when her memories turned into nightmares. He reminded her so much of her little brother, when she had still been a runner and she had stopped by her parent’s station she had been able to see the lanky brother. She was sure he was running the traces now, abet several years older. She was tempted just to leave, she didn’t think she was that good with kids. But when he suppressed a sniffle, Breesk gave her a look that made her sigh. She sat down on the ground next to him, “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she told him as she accepted the cup he got for her, “Nightmares are a serious business.”

Breesk lay down on the ground with a sigh, his head resting in his handler’s lap, his body curled so he was in front of both Breen and the boy. She took a sip of her Klah and rubbed Breesk’s head. “I’m Breen and this is Breesk,” she told the boy, “Alright, why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worried?” She said it in a way that it was a reasonable request. Breesk blinked at the boy, humming softly as Breen scratched his headnobs.

A sleepy chirp brought Breen’s attention to her flit who had just arrived. Apparently the brown flit got tired of waiting for her and Breesk to return to their rooms at the Hold so he had come searching for her. He draped himself around her shoulders his eyes whirling slowly.
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For a moment, the boy eyed both handler and Wher with a bit of uncertainty; he really hadn't had much experience with Wherhandlers before, but he'd heard such awful things about how aggressive and frightening Whers could be if they weren't properly trained. When the creature hummed with contentment as his handler stroked its headknobs, however, Ferel began to relax. For a Wher, it seemed perfectly tame.

"I'm Ferel," he replied, making himself comfortable by the fire as he examined the older woman. "I came from Benden before I was here."

Quietly, he ran his fingers over the little scars that still marred his young face; if he didn't have enough to worry about with his parents being so far removed, he certainly had his past failures to haunt him. He could only imagine how disappointed they would be if they learned he failed to Impress again.

A flit fluttered in at that moment, the dark firelizard settling on the Wherhandler's shoulders, and Ferel found himself jerked out of his reverie as he watched the creature's jeweled eyes with interest. It was certainly a handsome little thing--and it had scars, just like he did.

"I'm... well, I'm worried about my parents. They're both riders, out there at Benden. I'm not really scared of fighting Thread, or of them fighting Thread, since that is their job, but... I just don't know that anyone would get me word if they died," he explained, gesturing with his spidery fingers as he talked. "Do you think they would? Or-- I'd just like the chance to tell them good-bye for the last time, if that ever happened. I know it's silly, but..." He shrugged one shoulder, looking away with a bit of embarrassment.

True, he felt a little better now that he'd admitted it all--but he also felt weak for ever having to do so in the first place. He couldn't imagine a real Rider having worries like this; they were strong, and brave, and surely they never stayed up all night worrying about things like this.
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She listened as Ferel spoke, Vaioa was quite a distance from Benden, and quite a distance for someone so young to be away from his family probably for the first time. She eyed the small scars on his face, wondering how he had received them. Judging by how he said that his parents were riders, she guessed hatching sands injuries. She could understand his fears, “It’s not silly,” she told him, “I was raised a Runner, and there are plenty of dangers for Runners on the Traces. Tunnelsnakes, Wherries, Bandits, I was always so worried that something would happen to the members of my family out on Traces, not knowing if something would happen to them or not. One of the reasons I switched to being a Caravan Guard when I was eighteen, was to make sure people got home.” She sighed not liking the memories brought back by that statement. Breesk huffed at her and licked her hand, he had found that if his handler was allowed to wallow in her memories she would get into a very dark mood.

With a small smile, Breen rubbed her wher’s neck, “After a while I learned that there are always Runners on the traces, always messages being brought to and fro. Weyrs are no different; news from one is always being brought to others by the sweep riders.” She wasn’t sure if her words would comfort the boy, but she tried to get across how he wouldn’t be in the dark message wise. “I still have contacts in the Runnercraft, I can make sure that you get messages back and forth to your parents.” While Runners weren’t as fast as a dragon, they were more reliable in her opinion. After all she was bias towards her heritage.
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"Really? You were a Runner?" Ferel asked, surprise lighting his grey eyes as he looked her over with renewed interest. Being a Runner was always dangerous work--even without Thread threatening to fall at any moment. For her to have gone through all that and survived... well, it certainly made him feel quite a bit better.

"Thank you," he added, remembering his manners as he averted his eyes once more. "It's good to know they'll tell me if something happens. One less thing to worry about here."

Out of the corner of his eye, he examined the way her flit and wher relaxed lazily in her company. A twinge of longing plucked at his heart, and he let out a soft sigh as he rubbed his fingers over his scars once more.

"What's it like? Impressing, I mean. I tried once, but a little blue scratched me all up because I got sc-- uh... because I moved," he explained, quickly correcting himself; he was in deep enough trouble by being out at night because of his fears. He certainly didn't need to add more by saying he'd been frightened by the Hatching when he'd stood on the hot sands. After all, he knew what it was like, now. He wouldn't be frightened this time around.
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She smiled at the boy, his surprise at her admitting she was a runner amused her, sure she didn’t look it now, but she could still pound the dirt if she needed to. In fact she did it every night just to keep in shape, well that and Breesk needed the exercise. “It’s no problem,” she told him, “Ease of mind is a very important thing.”

When he asked about impression she thought, “Honestly? It was a little intimidating. Wher impressions are different from Dragon impressions, though I’ve heard that those can have their moments of fright as well.” She rubbed Breesk’s head, “Unlike with dragons… any female that isn’t gold is culled at birth, though there are exceptions, very few…” She shook her head, “But that wasn’t what you asked. Impression was something that I will never forget, and can’t really explain. It was like I had been missing a part of me that I hadn’t know was gone until Breesk spoke. Then he nearly knocked me out when he clocked me in the jaw with his wing.” She smiled as the brown wher licked her hand. “I don’t hold it against you.” She reassured him. “But both dragons and whers can be a little over enthusiastic when they want to reach the person they are meant for, which can be a little frightening, since they are quite single minded.”
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