to chart your course (Elora) | 13.15

[Moo]

shortly after Saphireth's Hatching

Well, it hadn't been a bloodless Hatching, but it was a Hatching all the same. The woman waited patiently and watched on as the remainder of those left standing, as well as the spectators, exited the Sands and left the lucky two Riders with their dragons. For a three-egg clutch, she considered, the Hatching had been surprisingly full of commotion.

That's what he had liked best about her, though. About being with her. The uproar. The ferocity.

When it was her turn to rise and and exit the stands, the woman did so without fuss and without word. She had watched Elora leave earlier and knew the general idea of where to go. No one would begrudge an old woman for wandering the halls. She was fine.

(But anyone watching and paying close enough attention would see that something was wrong, would see the tension in her jaw and note the death-grip she held her purse. There was one, once, who always paid attention to the little things like that. But he was gone now, lost to the darkness as black as he was. It wasn't the girl's fault, but then it was…it was.)

No one stopped her on her way into the heart of the Weyr, as she traced Elora's steps further up and further in. It was probably for the best; it needed to be kept a private affair, anyway.

It didn't take her long before she spied the DarkBlue Rider in one of the quiet, lower hallways of the Weyr. Her hands, usually so steady and calm in her line of work, trembled at the very sight of Elora. She gripped the purse she even tighter, but even then she wasn't sure if that was to stop her hands from shaking or to prevent her from throttling the girl.

It wasn't her fault, but it was.

She leaned against the bulkhead and took a slow, deep breath in and out. Sometimes age was as good a mask as any, and if she could play her fears off as catching her breath, then it was all the better. After a moment's rest to bolster her courage, the woman straightened up and silenced her worries, her fears, her deep, burning resentment. This had to be done, even if it hurt. She had cried enough and would grieve no longer. He had asked it of her and she couldn't refuse that request. And once she was taken care of, that was the last of the requests she had to honor.

As she walked up to Elora, the older woman cleared her throat to catch her attention, although she was certain the girl was aware of her already. She stared pointedly at the tall, coltish slip of a girl, and when she spoke, her voice was as cold as her eyes.

"So…we meet at last, Elora. You don't know of me, but I know a lot about you. Granted, I had hoped to be introduced under far better circumstances, but…the lifestyle of a Weyr does, occasionally, get in the way of us simple Holdfolk. No matter...I'm here at the request of my son."

[Nicole]

"So…we meet at last, Elora. You don't know of me, but I know a lot about you. Granted, I had hoped to be introduced under far better circumstances, but…the lifestyle of a Weyr does, occasionally, get in the way of us simple Holdfolk. No matter...I'm here at the request of my son."

Elora had not heard her approach. Hadn't heard her feet tramp down the hallway, hadn't even seen her until she started speaking.

She could see her feet now, the bottom half of her outfit, as she slid down against the wall she had been leaning at and wrapped her arms around her knees. She looked calm, peacefully calm, to anybody who would be looking at her; but inside, her stomach was in knots, and it was taking all of her energy not to cry.

But the calm mask was a necessity, these days. Too many people hated her. Had wanted to see her flinch. To be calm was to be ignored, and left alone, where she could function and mourn in peace.

She didn't look up at her, even as her lips pressed into a line at the last word. Son. She knew where her mind wanted to jump - to the same place it had when blood had flashed on the Sands, when the small Jungle had flashed between - but that wouldn't have made sense. And if that was the case - if she was -

She swallowed hard and kept her feet locked on the woman's shoes.

Do you need me? Saphireth's voice seemed distant, the DarkBlue lost in momentary grief once more. Leave the woman and come back.

I can - I can handle this. And I know you don't want - I mean - take your time, love.

Saphireth resettled herself in on the Sands, watching as everybody departed; and Elora slowly raised her eyes up towards where the woman was.

Her eyes were a whirlwind storm of rage and loss and fury and mourning. The mask of calm never reached them.

"You have the advantage of already knowing who I am. And you're correct. You should have been introduced under far better circumstances, simple Holdfolk or not." It dawned on her then that the woman's tone came across as sarcastic; that her voice was cold. Elora's tone had matched hers out of habit, not out of an intent to be malicious.

But she should not be here. "How may I help you?"

[Moo]

She did not look away from Elora when she lifted her eyes up, though she had to admit (only to herself, of course) she was a little surprised by the intensity of the girl's gaze. Those were sad eyes. Angry, too. She pursed her lips together as she listened to Elora's response, one entirely too scripted for her taste. Truth be told, it wasn't what she had expected from her.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She had been told Elora was a tempest and a woman not to be winked at or messed with (as she had gathered from the just-like-new state of her son's quarters), and so she had been anticipating an over-reactive, immature young Weyr girl. But that wasn't what she discovered today, not entirely. She knew how to read people -- it was a lifestyle, not just part of her trade -- and she could tell the feeling behind the girl's reply was genuine. Slightly rude, and a little hurt, but genuine.

It would do.

The woman tossed the heavy purse toward Elora, hoping it would make a considerable sound when the girl caught it. It was entirely too generous, in her opinion, but it had been N'kio's decision and his alone.

"My son left that specifically for you, along with a few other things back in Cliffside. You can collect them at his house at your leisure -- however, I recommend that be soon. I don't know when this Weyr of yours will bring in a new WatchRider, but they'll take over his house just as he did with our last one. But that," she said, and gestured toward the purse, "was what I was to bring you first."

She crossed her arms against her chest and let out a little sigh, her eyes focusing now on the leather satchel.

"Started saving 'em a while back, he did. Never told anyone about it, but when I went through his effects one day, he had left a note with them. It's inside there, too. Sorry to say I read it -- didn't realize it was a personal letter from him to you. I'll let you read it when you wish, but the gist of it said something like...He knew you wanted to make something more of your life. Travel around with your dragon, see the world, much like he would've done out at sea. Said you had it in mind to be some sort of...ambassador for the Weyr, as he put it, but that to start out anywhere, you needed the Marks to get there. Or, at least, from one point to the next. It's a considerable amount, Elora. I hope you put it to as good a use as he thought you would."

She slowly raised her eyes up to Elora, and perhaps for the first time, tried to truly look at her. Hers was the last face her son had seen, and it was...difficult, all things considering. But she was just a girl, and perhaps...perhaps she had truly felt as strongly for him as he had for her. The woman smiled painfully and shook her head, as if the memories were too much for her to even think about.

"My son knew his life was as moored to our Hold as a runner is to the earth," she continued, her voice wavering with emotion, "and for the greater part of his life, he was content with that fact. But on one, uneventful day, he and Metanath left Cliffside to deliver reports to your Weyrwoman and returned within the accustomed time. There was nothing unusual about that. Only...something had happened that day that seemed to change his mind entirely, his and that big, Black dragon of his."

She chuckled. "Kept ravin' on about a woman who gave him - a dragon, he reminded everyone - a massage, and bothered anyone he could to get another one. And from that day on, he had this different air about him...I can't really explain it. You changed something inside him and Metanath, girl, and we all saw it to be true. You must've meant a lot to him."

[Nicole]

Elora just managed to get her hands up in time to catch the purse, and the noise as it hit her hands made her miss the first few words the woman spat out - but Cliffside came through loud and clear, and there was no denying who she was anymore. She had known, hadn't wanted to know. It hurt to know that.

Not knowing what else to do, she clung to the bag in her hand, her fingers rubbing against the soft leather fabric of the exterior, and watched and listened to the woman talk.

The more she talked, the tighter Elora's heart grew. The tighter her heart grew, the more everything hurt. The more everything hurt, the more she fought her tears.

It took all her willpower not to rip open the leather bag and grab the letter, cling to the little bit he had accidentally left for her. But with that willpower gone, she couldn't stop the tears, and so she ducked her head and let her hair hide her face. Still, it would take a blind man not to see the water droplets splash against the bag.

It took a good moment to compose herself again. When she looked up at his mother, red rimmed her eyes, and the water tracks glistened down her face.

His mother finished. She opened her mouth to reply - but her tongue was dry, and her lips were beginning to crack, and there were no words to reply to this.

On the Sands, Saphireth had closed her eyes. But the connection between her and Elora was strong, and even if Elora could not think of a response, she could.

So she reached tentatively for the woman's mind and brushed against it once with affection. Thank you. She cannot say it, but your words mean more than what you have put in her hand.

And Elora, aware of what Saphireth had said, shut her still-gaping mouth and bowed her head once more.

[Moo]

Thank you. She cannot say it, but your words mean more than what you have put in her hand.

Even though the feminine voice was unfamiliar in her mind, she didn't glance around to find the speaker, keeping her eyes fixed on the weeping girl before her. She knew the voice belonged to a dragon. After all, she had spent a good portion of her life listening to Metanath talk -- ever since he had been a weyrling, in fact, and practicing for his WatchDragon position. So hearing another dragon's voice in her mind wasn't strange in the least, even if she was disheartened the voice did not belong to her son's dragon.

It also was, however, no stretch of the imagination to figure out that the voice belonged to the DarkBlue mother on the Sands. Saphireth, her memory reminded her. Metanath had been practically crowing her name ever since she had hatched.  Her lips lifted at that memory, then lessened slightly as she considered Saphireth's message. She was uncertain if she should respond in kind to the dragon. She hadn't expected any sort of thank you or regard for what she had brought, but this...it was a nice gesture.

And, from what she remembered about Weyr protocol, she knew it was more common for a dragon to not speak to another person (besides its Rider) than to speak aloud at all. So...it was much more than a simple thank you. But Saphireth was not the one she wanted to reply to.

The woman stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Elora's shoulder. She kept quiet for a little while as she considered what was best to say in return. There were so many things she had wanted to say earlier -- all out of anger, though, and without consideration for anyone else. But now that she was here and had finally met Elora, even for this briefest of moments, she knew she could not remain angry at her.

When she spoke, it was little more than a whisper.

"Thank you for being a part of my son's life. I wish it had been for longer, if only for his and his dragon's sake. I had misjudged you and your feelings...and for that, I apologize."

She removed her hand and lowered it to her side once more.

"I'll leave you be, now. I know you'll be wanting to collect yourself after the Hatching today. Please, tell your dragon 'thank you' for me for her message. I...I appreciate hearing another dragon's voice more than you know." She tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt at one, and instead moved back and toward the entrance of the hallway. Her work done, it was time, at last, to leave the girl and return home.

But there was one more thing she had to say. 

"Elora, I...I don't know if you'll be wanting to come back to Cliffside after everything, but know this: You meant a lot to my son, and so you'll mean to me as well. It's not anything much I can give you, but you're always welcome in my home...if you so wish."