04-21-2025, 03:16 PM
Throughout the expedition to the Far Western Continent- a turn long, at least- both O'sias and K'das had made sure to send letters back home, plus or minus K'das' less-than-professional sketches of the landscape; The general tone of the letters had been consistent- No sign of the missing expedition, but all was well. Those had come to an abrupt stop when threadfall returned. O'sias and Sundath had both been lucky, comparatively; Injuries that would take time to heal but did not keep them from flying for a significant period of time.
He'd watched so many get eaten alive by thread that fateful day. And K'das had...
His screams cut short, Ardeth's piercing cry before they flickered between forever would haunt him.
The weyr they had settled into out of desperation had at once become a sanctuary and a grave. A mysterious bastion they were forced to shelter within. They were stuck here now, most too injured to return to what had once been their homes. And he was alone.
No. Sundath protested quietly. They'd both been lingering by the makeshift infirmary. Their compatriots, many barely clinging to life, among haggard healers trying to make lifelines out of their remaining supplies. Dimly O'sias wondered how many of his fellow wingmates would survive the next few days. How much more keening and grief would they endure..? How long would they suffer like this? Would they have enough riders to make it through the next threadfall? ...O'sias. Please. We should- we must return to High Reaches. They need to know. We have to...
His voice faded to grim white noise washed out by distant and agonized cries. O'sias wasn't sure how long he sat in silence, gripping the edge of Sundath's saddle with tense, paled knuckles. There was no help he could really offer beyond an extra set of hands.
At some point Sundath shifted to stand and unfurl his wings, pushing past the sore pain in his haunches and flanks from still-healing threadscore. The bronze's voice rang clear in O'sias' mind once more. Give me an image of High Reaches. While he could cobble together his own from memory, he wanted some response from his rider. There had been too much empty, gnawing silence. They will worry.
O'sias nodded numbly. He was right. D'ayl and D'ory both had to know. He'd have to...figure out how to tell them both. D'ory was only twelve. K'das had envisioned their entire lives together, had hoped to bring something back for them both from this expedition. There was nothing left of him now. All O'sias had was the dagger he'd given him, and whatever they'd left behind at High Reaches. He didn't know if he would ever comfortably step foot in their weyr again.
They will have us. They will need us, too. Sundath insisted, his voice strained but firm, his eyes a hollow white. I do not want to be here without them for much longer.
O'sias did not, either. They were...all he had left. After a long pause, staring at the injured dragons and their riders in the distance, he pressed into his dragon's mind an image of High Reaches. Had the Weyrs fared any better? Or were they clinging to life just as much?
Sundath raised them both into the air with a series of powerful wingbeats. The smell of blood and ichor and crackdust followed them through the darkness of between. They emerged into the midday air of High Reaches, the weyrbowl alive with a wing's drills and what remained of the the day-to-day life of the weyrfolk.
The bronze settled into a clearing, not too far from one of the entrances to the lower caverns. He did not want to return to their weyr. Not now. They should have returned home with him, the four of them standing proud despite everything. K'das would have had so much to say, about the expedition, about threadfall. And Ardeth would have been stalwart through it all. Instead the space beside them was empty.
There was some small measure of relief when Sundath could still feel Daella And Dory's presences both. But even that could not shift the heavy sorrow in his voice as he graced Daella's mind first. Daella. O'sias and I return. We are in the 'bowl. Please bring Dory with you- urgently. There is... The reality of his life, an aching emptiness, brought him pause. K'das and Ardeth are not with us, anymore. Please.
He strained to sound more hopeful as he spoke to Dory, too. Instead his mindvoice was thick with exhaustion and sorrow. But maybe it would be better, for him to hear the words from his parents' mouths. Son, we're...we are here. Can you meet us, with your mother? I...O'sias must speak with you. And maybe the omission would tell him everything. If not, Dory might know the full weight of the matter by the time he stepped out into the weyrbowl. That brought an entirely different feeling of dread that settled upon the pair, as heavy a weight as death had been.
O'sias stared at the hole where his weyr was, no longer inviting, something as black as the shroud of grief that followed them both.
He'd watched so many get eaten alive by thread that fateful day. And K'das had...
His screams cut short, Ardeth's piercing cry before they flickered between forever would haunt him.
The weyr they had settled into out of desperation had at once become a sanctuary and a grave. A mysterious bastion they were forced to shelter within. They were stuck here now, most too injured to return to what had once been their homes. And he was alone.
No. Sundath protested quietly. They'd both been lingering by the makeshift infirmary. Their compatriots, many barely clinging to life, among haggard healers trying to make lifelines out of their remaining supplies. Dimly O'sias wondered how many of his fellow wingmates would survive the next few days. How much more keening and grief would they endure..? How long would they suffer like this? Would they have enough riders to make it through the next threadfall? ...O'sias. Please. We should- we must return to High Reaches. They need to know. We have to...
His voice faded to grim white noise washed out by distant and agonized cries. O'sias wasn't sure how long he sat in silence, gripping the edge of Sundath's saddle with tense, paled knuckles. There was no help he could really offer beyond an extra set of hands.
At some point Sundath shifted to stand and unfurl his wings, pushing past the sore pain in his haunches and flanks from still-healing threadscore. The bronze's voice rang clear in O'sias' mind once more. Give me an image of High Reaches. While he could cobble together his own from memory, he wanted some response from his rider. There had been too much empty, gnawing silence. They will worry.
O'sias nodded numbly. He was right. D'ayl and D'ory both had to know. He'd have to...figure out how to tell them both. D'ory was only twelve. K'das had envisioned their entire lives together, had hoped to bring something back for them both from this expedition. There was nothing left of him now. All O'sias had was the dagger he'd given him, and whatever they'd left behind at High Reaches. He didn't know if he would ever comfortably step foot in their weyr again.
They will have us. They will need us, too. Sundath insisted, his voice strained but firm, his eyes a hollow white. I do not want to be here without them for much longer.
O'sias did not, either. They were...all he had left. After a long pause, staring at the injured dragons and their riders in the distance, he pressed into his dragon's mind an image of High Reaches. Had the Weyrs fared any better? Or were they clinging to life just as much?
Sundath raised them both into the air with a series of powerful wingbeats. The smell of blood and ichor and crackdust followed them through the darkness of between. They emerged into the midday air of High Reaches, the weyrbowl alive with a wing's drills and what remained of the the day-to-day life of the weyrfolk.
The bronze settled into a clearing, not too far from one of the entrances to the lower caverns. He did not want to return to their weyr. Not now. They should have returned home with him, the four of them standing proud despite everything. K'das would have had so much to say, about the expedition, about threadfall. And Ardeth would have been stalwart through it all. Instead the space beside them was empty.
There was some small measure of relief when Sundath could still feel Daella And Dory's presences both. But even that could not shift the heavy sorrow in his voice as he graced Daella's mind first. Daella. O'sias and I return. We are in the 'bowl. Please bring Dory with you- urgently. There is... The reality of his life, an aching emptiness, brought him pause. K'das and Ardeth are not with us, anymore. Please.
He strained to sound more hopeful as he spoke to Dory, too. Instead his mindvoice was thick with exhaustion and sorrow. But maybe it would be better, for him to hear the words from his parents' mouths. Son, we're...we are here. Can you meet us, with your mother? I...O'sias must speak with you. And maybe the omission would tell him everything. If not, Dory might know the full weight of the matter by the time he stepped out into the weyrbowl. That brought an entirely different feeling of dread that settled upon the pair, as heavy a weight as death had been.
O'sias stared at the hole where his weyr was, no longer inviting, something as black as the shroud of grief that followed them both.