IC Date Reference: Set shortly after the Gather. Approximate IC date 184.108.40.206.
There had been a lot to think over.
Assasination attempts on Weyrwomen would do that for you.
As the sun began to sink low towards the top of the Rim, the very first of the stars beginning to twinkle as the sky turned from blue to a swirling mixed of pinks, oranges and greys, Tyne had let her eyes wander over the colours whilst she let her thoughts drift. It had been a busy day of cleaning and repairs in the slowly developing project that was the firelizard clinic. The ache that clung to her limbs was one of the satisfied sense of a good day’s work. Nevertheless, she had climbed to one of her favourite spots and had let the world continue to drift past her.
Whooping and trilling, the firelizards had gone on the prowl, diving after the insects that had begun to emerge as the day’s temperature began to lower. All except Bobbin. As Tyne settled herself down on a smooth rock, legs folded up into a cross-legged pose, the gold had immediately climbed into her Mistress’ lap with a quiet and contented hum. Almost absently Tyne’s fingers had begun to run over the smooth, well oiled hide. With some special ointment, even some of the old scars had begun to fade.
If only that worked in real life.
Well, maybe it did. In an analogical sort of way.
With her eyes drifting over the sky, her hand moving in slow and steady rhythm and the cheerful glee of the fair lifting her, Tyne found herself coming back to the same questions that had been a low and heavy presence in her mind more and more of late.
Who was she?
What was she?
Why was she here?
After the shock of the attempt on Kassia’s life had faded, Tyne had realised that what replaced it was a deep sense of relief. Relief that that life was no longer hers. A life of being in the public eye, a life of being sought after for one favour or another. A life of every little move being watched, measured and judged. In many ways, it was a relief to have the anonymity that Myrandith’s death had afforded her. But the thought felt treacherous. Like a nasty whisper of betrayal. Like she was somehow admitting that the loss of her dragon was somehow a good thing. And that prompted a surge of emotion that made her suck in breath like she was drowning, feeling the familiar grip about her heart that sent pain blossoming through her chest and Bobbin crooned softly, sending a warm strand of loving concern and Tyne clung to it, clung to the colourful strands that webbed through her thoughts like colourful tethers.
No, it wasn’t a good thing. But it had been a thing. And as much as part of her wanted to say that it was a good thing that she was beginning to move away from its overwhelming presence, moving away from the pre-defined identity that was Goldrider Tyne, she couldn’t shake the chewing thought that to do so was to… forget. As if she ever could. Or ever would. So why did it feel so… unforgivable? Why was the idea of continuing to live, to thrive… trying to feel wrong?
There was a lot she had now that she was grateful for. Things she had now that she probably never would have had the opportunity for. Good things. Things she had found on her own and weren’t gilded by golden threads running through knots. It had reminded her that there was a world that wasn’t built on politics and niceties. Good things built on people coming together and treating each other just like… other people. She understood why so many felt awkward around her, understood that the hurt they caused wasn’t intentional. Unfortunately, all it did was raise questions about who she was.
She had been the girl with the gold dragon.
Now she wasn’t.
Now, she was… well, she was the girl who had had a gold dragon. The girl who could speak to the firelizards. The girl who... just wanted to know where she fit in. Even the fumblings of those who didn’t know how to address her only solidified her displacement. It was so peculiar how not having a rank, a title could be so disconcerting. Even after the firelizard clinic was established - what then? She wasn’t a Dragonhealer or a Beastcrafter. She couldn’t even claim an Apprentice’s knots. It was funny how much you came to realise how much it mattered when you didn’t have a rank anymore. How did you trust someone when you couldn’t glance to their shoulder for that little visual affirmation, that little visual clue that you didn’t even realise you were looking for. Oh, she knew she wanted the firelizards to have a place that was theirs, knew that they needed their own roost. Perhaps that was why it was so important. Perhaps that was why it had struck such a poignant chord. They needed a place. So did she. Maybe that was what brought them together.
And then there was R’zzon and Panagath. Who had quietly and gently inserted themselves into her world like they had always been there. Had quietly added reinforcement to her fragile world that she hadn’t even noticed that she needed. And after her talk with the blue, her understanding of where the dragons’ voices came from had changed. Had realised that they didn’t try to lay claim to Myrandith’s shadow, didn’t try to fill the gap. But came from a different place altogether. His reasoning that Myrandith was… merely waiting. Just out of sight. The idea had brought a strange calm as if somehow, the idea of waiting for one another until the time was right had slotted into an empty space in a jigsaw she hadn’t noticed she was completing.
There were things to live for.
Things she wanted to live for.
And she was allowed to keep on living.
= End =
Nutmeg on the Wizzy.
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