Post by Kaya on Jan 15, 2015 21:56:23 GMT -8
| Fort Weyr | 76.13.25 | Evening |
The meeting of the Weyrs was dismissed for the evening. The leaders of all the Weyrs of Pern would reconvene the next day. The tension was seeped out of the walls where it had built up all afternoon. The crop failures from draught in the north, the lack of food. The lack of reserve in the south, destroyed by the fires. People were starving, mostly outside the Holds and the Weyrs, but hunger is the great motivator. Crime rates were rising unacceptably.
Rilora rubbed her forehead, brow creased. And she had to endure that again tomorrow. If she hadn’t sworn off getting horribly smashed with R’le and her sister again, but it was so tempting now. Nothing went right at these meetings. D’gan helped. She didn’t know how she would be managing through this without him.
But worst of all, the worst had been the stare. That glowering stare that directed all its hatred at her. Anaela, the Weyrwoman of Telgar, had watched her the entire time. Burning little holes in her confidence.
She shook her head. It ached. She had disappeared down this hallway to have some time to herself. Maybe talk about unimportant things with Archith. Decide which dress to wear to the Turnover party. She started to mentally walk through her closet. Blue dress, black dress, brown dress. Yes, the brown one was nice. With the pattern on the top, stitched in. She didn’t notice the footsteps marching down her hallway.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Rilora shivered. She turned to find those hating eyes. She felt her mouth dry. “We have something to discuss.”
“You, can say it tomorrow. At the table,” Rilora protested. She felt the tingling on her neck, her shoulders tightening.
“No, Rilora. Now. Your Weyr goes about its happy little life. Your people complacent, or stupid. That man, the girl…,” Anaela was shaking. “No punishments, reprimands.” She stopped, frowned deeply, her fists clinched.
“Look, Anaela,” Rilora broke in.
“NO, RILORA! He’s dead. B’telli’s dead. MY BROTHER.” Her face twisted, lips ajar, teeth clinched. “And YOU. You did nothing! The council did nothing! NOTHING! HE’S DEAD!” Her fist lashed out. It caught Rilora’s eye socket. She fell back. “So sit there and do nothing. I’ll make sure you pay for it.” Anaela felt a hot tear spill from the left. She breathed in deeply. “B’telli’s dead. And now something you love is going to die.”
Rilora held her face. Her eye hurt. Her head throbbed. She wilted. She said nothing. She heard Anaela walk away. Terrifying.
The meeting of the Weyrs was dismissed for the evening. The leaders of all the Weyrs of Pern would reconvene the next day. The tension was seeped out of the walls where it had built up all afternoon. The crop failures from draught in the north, the lack of food. The lack of reserve in the south, destroyed by the fires. People were starving, mostly outside the Holds and the Weyrs, but hunger is the great motivator. Crime rates were rising unacceptably.
Rilora rubbed her forehead, brow creased. And she had to endure that again tomorrow. If she hadn’t sworn off getting horribly smashed with R’le and her sister again, but it was so tempting now. Nothing went right at these meetings. D’gan helped. She didn’t know how she would be managing through this without him.
But worst of all, the worst had been the stare. That glowering stare that directed all its hatred at her. Anaela, the Weyrwoman of Telgar, had watched her the entire time. Burning little holes in her confidence.
She shook her head. It ached. She had disappeared down this hallway to have some time to herself. Maybe talk about unimportant things with Archith. Decide which dress to wear to the Turnover party. She started to mentally walk through her closet. Blue dress, black dress, brown dress. Yes, the brown one was nice. With the pattern on the top, stitched in. She didn’t notice the footsteps marching down her hallway.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Rilora shivered. She turned to find those hating eyes. She felt her mouth dry. “We have something to discuss.”
“You, can say it tomorrow. At the table,” Rilora protested. She felt the tingling on her neck, her shoulders tightening.
“No, Rilora. Now. Your Weyr goes about its happy little life. Your people complacent, or stupid. That man, the girl…,” Anaela was shaking. “No punishments, reprimands.” She stopped, frowned deeply, her fists clinched.
“Look, Anaela,” Rilora broke in.
“NO, RILORA! He’s dead. B’telli’s dead. MY BROTHER.” Her face twisted, lips ajar, teeth clinched. “And YOU. You did nothing! The council did nothing! NOTHING! HE’S DEAD!” Her fist lashed out. It caught Rilora’s eye socket. She fell back. “So sit there and do nothing. I’ll make sure you pay for it.” Anaela felt a hot tear spill from the left. She breathed in deeply. “B’telli’s dead. And now something you love is going to die.”
Rilora held her face. Her eye hurt. Her head throbbed. She wilted. She said nothing. She heard Anaela walk away. Terrifying.
