Post by kolstoi on Oct 14, 2011 23:11:24 GMT -5
It was terrible trying to sleep at night. In the dark, quiet hours when the Weyr slumbered, Gwen would toss and curl on her cot in the candidate's barracks, unable to escape the mournful keens of Grenth that crashed about in her head. During the day it wasn't so bad, with many other things to occupy her time with, but at night it verged on unbearable. The endless dirge was so repetitive and fraught with emotion that Gwen sometimes caught herself echoing it aloud, murmuring quietly under her breath like it was a familiar lullaby. She wondered if the Riders, with dragons of their own, had similar issues, or if maybe their beasts keep the litany from them. Or, maybe, the thought had struck her, they didn't hear Grenth because they were occupied with the crazed yammerings of their own dragons, whatever they could be.
Gwen didn't know much about dragons.
What she did know was that the swirling of hatred, fear and loss in her head hit her squarely in the heart, too. Weyrwoman Maai was dead, survived by her gold only because of the precious eggs laying unhatched on the sands. Gwen's tender little heart wept for the Weyr, and the girl herself had frequently begun to shed tears over the situation, unable to comprehend why anyone would be so depraved as to commit murder.
Her heartache just made her miss her family all the more. The Weyr had become a dark place, shadowed in mourning and fear. So many people were angry and frightened, and it was all that Gwen could do to wake in the morning and ply herself with her chores. Presently, she sagged against a shelf full of documents, dustrag clutched tightly in one hand, face pressed into the curve of one upraised arm while she cried. She was so tired, and so confused. With all of the chaos that was rippling through the Weyr, Gwen wasn't even sure if she wanted to stay and be a candidate any longer. Eventually, she tired herself out, and hardly noticed as her body sank to the floor, head coming to rest on a lower shelf as she fell asleep.
Gwen didn't know much about dragons.
What she did know was that the swirling of hatred, fear and loss in her head hit her squarely in the heart, too. Weyrwoman Maai was dead, survived by her gold only because of the precious eggs laying unhatched on the sands. Gwen's tender little heart wept for the Weyr, and the girl herself had frequently begun to shed tears over the situation, unable to comprehend why anyone would be so depraved as to commit murder.
Her heartache just made her miss her family all the more. The Weyr had become a dark place, shadowed in mourning and fear. So many people were angry and frightened, and it was all that Gwen could do to wake in the morning and ply herself with her chores. Presently, she sagged against a shelf full of documents, dustrag clutched tightly in one hand, face pressed into the curve of one upraised arm while she cried. She was so tired, and so confused. With all of the chaos that was rippling through the Weyr, Gwen wasn't even sure if she wanted to stay and be a candidate any longer. Eventually, she tired herself out, and hardly noticed as her body sank to the floor, head coming to rest on a lower shelf as she fell asleep.