Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Feb 10, 2014 23:16:08 GMT -8
3076.02.28 | Early Evening | Paths and Lake
The lake was rippling. The lake had been rippling for the past few hours.
Maybe we should go for a run?
Silence. Nothing moved for a second, then the Purple dragon edged closer and laid his head against his rider’s back. They were safe here, on the far side of the lake. No one was likely to be here this late.
“I don’t even know why I feel like this!”
K’tar jumped up, stomping the ground.
“It’s not like he ever cared. Shards, I hardly ever saw him. Famoran was more my dad than he was, but… Shard it what’s wrong with me? He was still my father.”
Yes, Viarth said they're out there, Korith affirmed, looking down the slight path that wound off and away from the main one.
They arrived sometime later. Korith hadn't been easily able to walk the whole path and so had waited back until Holt arrived to fly in the small distance. Viarth had said K'tar didn't know.
Holt walked up to the edge of the water. He saw the large Purple across the ever rippling surface. He wondered if K'tar had the presence of mind about him to notice. He started to walk around the edge when Korith flew in. Holt walked in, his steps silent in the covering of waterfall sounds. He sat on a rock not too far from K'tar, but not next to him. He didn't say anything, but hazel eyes tracked his friend slowly. And he waited.
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Feb 13, 2014 0:47:02 GMT -8
K’tar stared at the small waterfall, his fists clenched at his sides, aware of nothing that was going on around him. He still couldn’t summon up the grief he knew he should feel. Or rather, grief he had aplenty, but it was more than over-weighted by anger. He was angry at himself, angry at his father, angry at his brother. No matter if the evidence ever materialized or not, K’tar had little doubt that his brother was the one responsible.
With a growl, frustrated beyond measure by Lord Famoran’s cool insistence that he not visit Stormy Plains until things settled, K’tar turned around, intending to step towards Viarth, only…
“What are you doing here?” he exclaimed, staring at Holt. He was horrified, as only a young adult caught crying could be. Of all the people he could have listed that he didn’t want to see him like this, Holt would have been near the top, if not at it. Then, abruptly, as if the words had been a trigger, K’tar collapsed sideways against Viarth’s head, sobs wracking his perpetually thin frame.
The exclaimed question scratched at his soul. He had intended to support, help, not this. Not upset him further. And then his friend was crying. Horrid, wracking sobs whose resonance pulled in others to experience their anguish.
Sitting on a rock was no longer in the plans. Reluctantly, for he now felt unqualified for this work, Holt rose and walked over to K'tar. He hesitated. "Hey."
"I, Viarth told us, that your dad died. ... I'm sorry."
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Feb 13, 2014 1:20:58 GMT -8
K’tar could barely even react to Holt’s voice. Somewhere, a part of his mind heard, and understood, and calculated, but that was not the part in control. He needed… he wanted…
Turning, he latched onto Holt, clinging to his friend. He’d held himself to function, to acting like nothing was wrong, and now it was as if all that control had deserted him, leaving him a sobbing wreck that couldn’t even let go.
“I… why does it hurt this much? He wasn’t ever there! Shard that thread-bait…” whatever he said next disappeared behind gulping sobs.
Finally, he shook his head and glanced up, meeting Holt’s eyes briefly before returning his gaze to the ground at his feet.
“I must look like something the wher dragged in,” he said, clinging to humor even though its brittleness was plain.
There they were. He had said it. Holt's expectations were all over the place. They truly had no way to anticipate what actually happened.
His muscles tensed at the touch, and he felt uncomfortable in his perceived inadequacy to support K'tar's grief. He looked at his crying friend, and in that very strange picture all sense of judgement left him. Here was a human, hurting. And here he was, a human, doing whatever he could. So he put one arm around his friend and let him cry. The raw sobs scratched deep, a faded reflection of the source of pain. He couldn't imagine. So he stood there.
"Hm," Holt acknowledged K'tar's words. He wouldn't call his friend a wher. "You look like you need pie."
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Feb 19, 2014 18:33:09 GMT -8
K’tar managed a smile, though it was twisted out of any resemblance to his normal, jaunty, and cocky grin. Pie sounded good. Pie sounded very good.
Viarth reached out with his nose and touched K’tar. Pie is good.
K’tar almost laughed, but swallowed back against it when it threatened to come out a sob. “Where… Your parent’s place? That really good bubbly pie?” Some trace of something, hope perhaps, entered K’tar’s voice, flickered in the very backs of his eyes. He staggered slightly, but was clearly prepared to follow Holt to wherever.
"Yeah," Holt affirmed. "Yeah, my mom's pie. Whatever kind, it'll be the best. Her's always are." Now, as for managing them all the way to Cliffside, Holt wasn't sure how it would happen. But if K'tar wanted pie as much as his expressions indicated it would happen somehow. Furthermore, where there was pie was his mom. And she had more life wisdom for these sorts of things, Holt was sure. "You okay to ride?"
And so Holt lead on. He had a lot of faith in Viarth to take care of the crew over on his end. Korith edged in to the tight spot, though Holt trotted a ways to give his Blue some more room. In practiced time he was up on Korith's back and ready to fly. Korith gave Viarth the same image he always did for Dragon Ridge. Likely unnecessary, but the habit comforted the Blue.
And they were up and away and circling down into the new landscape, a light mist of water fluttering down from the sky.
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Feb 20, 2014 22:48:12 GMT -8
Viarth, after remaining in place long enough for K’tar to secure Altahyr-canine, followed Korith into the air, holding the image of DragonRidge tightly until they emerged from between, high over a distant landscape.
Likewise, Viarth was content to follow Korith to the ground, the same place they’d landed at other times. He liked it here.
K’tar released Altahyr from the straps and then slid down himself. He nearly fell when he landed, his legs buckling under him. He started to step towards the buildings, towards Holt’s parents’ house, then froze and glanced back at Holt, clearly desiring his friend to lead still.
Without much in the way of conversation it felt like a short trip. They landed and Holt was on the ground after K'tar, who had fortunately kept his face off the ground, even if his knees weren't as lucky. He was catching up when K'tar wobbled again - I bet that smarts, Holt thought. "Almost there," he encouraged and gave the Purple Rider a light pat on the back.
Melinna came out of the house, hands still wet with laundry soap and dripping water. Her face was a mixture of motherly emotions trying to decide on which to act. She caught up to them and without consciously deciding she hugged K'tar. She had quiet tears in her eyes. Korith hadn't said much, but she knew.
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Mar 17, 2014 16:52:11 GMT -8
K’tar nodded a little jerkily, acknowledging Holt’s words. He took another few steps, maybe more, maybe less. He looked up then, just in time to be enveloped in a hug by Holt’s mother. He stiffened for a second, then something broke, leaving him clinging to this comfort. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, tears slipped down his face.
Altahyr pressed up against K’tar’s leg, then shifted so that his head was wedged between K’tar and Melinna. K’tar’s hand found the fur along Altahyr’s shoulders and he buried it there. He was embarrassed by crying, but relieved by it, embarrassed by being unable to stop, yet not sure he wanted to.
Still clinging to his best friend’s mother, he cried.
Melinna let him cry. She rubbed his back in slow, small circles. Grief would sort itself as it would. She had cleaned so many scrapes and consoled so many young ones from the camp, but it had been so long since the last death that affected her closely. Still, Melinna felt the old grief from a loss of her own and she let it resonate with K'tar's sorrow. And sorrows had to be fed, it was the way of mothers.
Holt stood off to one side. He put one hand on K'tar's shoulder. He hoped his mom would ask him to do something so he wouldn't keep standing there feeling so useless.
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Apr 1, 2014 18:43:33 GMT -8
Altahyr cocked his head to the side, watching. He cocked his head to the other side. Watched some more. Whining, he pressed forward, applying the side of his warm body to the humans’ legs, and pressing his cold nose against K’tar’s hips.
K’tar choked on a laugh, one hand reaching down to rub Altahyr’s ears.
“Shards, I’m sorry,” he choked out. He swiped the back of his left arm across his eyes and under his nose. “I didn’t mean to cry all over you.”