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+--- Thread: [G] [C] 740.07.25 | Runaway (/showthread.php?tid=4490)
740.07.25 | Runaway - B'kit - 28.Jul.19
The moment they were released by the weyrlingmaster, Beckitt wanted to run away from everything. He’d been running on pure adrenaline and determination and he felt ready to collapse. Misha’s suggestion was so tempting, but he just couldn’t. Not right now. He squeezed his friend’s hand. “I’ll be back in a bit. Go ahead and start without me.” He managed a weak smile, then walked out toward the bowl, needing open air. The closer he got, the more desperate he became, the courage crumbling away and those awful memories flooding back. He sprinted the last few yards, not noticing as he bumped into several people as his throat tightened.
Beckitt found his favored climbing route and yanked off his boots, ignoring calls and questions if he was okay. He barely even heard them at all and soon was halfway to his ledge, climbing higher and higher to get closer to the air. For one breathless moment he couldn’t find purchase, free hanging from one hand, and those terrible words came back. Have you ever wondered what it would be like, to die? To just have everything stop? “Shut up.” He ground his teeth and reached again, finding the handholds and pulling himself the rest of the way. Kitt collapsed on the ledge, trembling.
He thought he’d managed to move past this. Not forget it, never that… but move on. To put one foot in front of the other. The landslide had stolen so many. His mother, friends, and the pain was as fresh as the day it happened. ‘Birdy’, they called him. Well he hadn’t sung for months afterwards, his heart broken. Hadn’t felt like he ever would again. How had he found his voice again?
He knew it wasn’t the dragonets’ fault. They couldn’t help themselves; to have developed under such hatred, such loathing and anger. But how could he face them again? What if they couldn’t come back from that negativity?
What was that sound? That awful keening? He wasn’t back on the sands was he? It didn’t stop until he ran out of breath, his throat ragged. Oh. It wasn’t that maelstrom battering his mind. It was just him.
He didn’t know how long he screamed and cried, the sound catching and bouncing eerily off the rocks. It was still early, the bowl still lit with late afternoon sunlight. Swallowing another sob past the lump in his throat, he began the climb back down to seek his friends. It had been stupid to think he could manage this on his own.