Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on May 9, 2014 7:36:37 GMT -8
3076.06.15 | around mid-night
Dragons are diurnal creatures by nature. Like the humans their riders, they could be active by night, and some might even prefer to be so, but still instinct was to rest for the hours of darkness. Some even theorized that was why watchwhers existed, was to cover the nightwatch for dragons. Therefore, it was nothing unusual in that the light of the two moons fell on a quiet, mostly peaceful Weyr.
In one of the weyrs, a young rider rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes. The grey irises were pale things, set in a tanned face under red-brown hair. Sighing, the rider looked over his left shoulder, to where three small scrolls sat, half-hidden under a discarded tunic. He hadn’t read them. He didn’t want to know what they said. It was easier, much easier, to pretend he wasn’t doing this, to pretend that Chantrea’s life was not in danger, when he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
A firelizard, brilliant crimson even in the soft, barely present light from the mostly turned glow, popped into the air over the rider’s head and hissed.
Swallowing, the rider reached over and pulled out the scrolls. The creature landed long enough for the scrolls to be attached to the carry-case, then flew upward and disappeared between. The rider almost hoped the thing got lost there.
They’re gone, K’tarMine?
Just got sent on their way, Viarth.
The rider, K’tar, stared out of his weyr at the moons, then rolled back over and closed his eyes.
Dragons are diurnal creatures by nature. Like the humans their riders, they could be active by night, and some might even prefer to be so, but still instinct was to rest for the hours of darkness. Some even theorized that was why watchwhers existed, was to cover the nightwatch for dragons. Therefore, it was nothing unusual in that the light of the two moons fell on a quiet, mostly peaceful Weyr.
In one of the weyrs, a young rider rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes. The grey irises were pale things, set in a tanned face under red-brown hair. Sighing, the rider looked over his left shoulder, to where three small scrolls sat, half-hidden under a discarded tunic. He hadn’t read them. He didn’t want to know what they said. It was easier, much easier, to pretend he wasn’t doing this, to pretend that Chantrea’s life was not in danger, when he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
A firelizard, brilliant crimson even in the soft, barely present light from the mostly turned glow, popped into the air over the rider’s head and hissed.
Swallowing, the rider reached over and pulled out the scrolls. The creature landed long enough for the scrolls to be attached to the carry-case, then flew upward and disappeared between. The rider almost hoped the thing got lost there.
They’re gone, K’tarMine?
Just got sent on their way, Viarth.
The rider, K’tar, stared out of his weyr at the moons, then rolled back over and closed his eyes.