Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
15.Aug.18, 11:47 PM
N’mor had been eavesdropping as he finally got to eat some food, covered in soot and ash and exhausted, to a couple of healers talking about some of the patients they’d had to send onward to the Healer Hall. N’mor wasn’t surprised; Ista Weyr and Hold we’re both filled to capacity with refugees from the fires, both injured and fine. His curiosity was peaked, though, when they started talking about some of the dragons they’d been tending to - again, not surprising. Rhezalth had a nasty burn on his left wingtip. It wouldn’t stop them helping more after a rest, but was enough to need a constant coating of numbweed.
It was the familiar name that caused N’mor’s fingers to numb and drop the mug of water he’d been sipping from. No one paid him any heed as he got up and interrupted the two exhausted healers, peppering then with questions until he had the information he needed - Z’rin was injured, he was holed up in a spare room, and he should be fine.
Honestly, N’mor was shocked by how little that reassured him; and slightly terrified by how much he cared about the blue rider’s well-being. He’d been listening for names he knew - his father, R’nd, T’ryn... he hadn’t expected Z’rin to be on the list. Stupid. The idiot was just as reckless and insistent on being helpful as anyone else in N’mor’s damned life.
He didn’t realise he was angry until he stomped into the room and apparently woke Z’rin up from his drugged sleep. N’mor cringed even as he swiftly made his way to the bedside, dropping to his knees and murmuring questions wrapped up in berating the blue rider. But he was already out of it again. N’mor sighed, and stood up slowly.
The desire to stay constantly by his lover’s side was outweighed by his stubbornness not to be as attached as he clearly was, which meant N’mor recklessly threw himself and Rhezalth into assisting with the efforts against the fire. Ferrying people to and from locations, and barely remembering to eat. He let Rhezalth bathe, washed by excited hold brats under the guidance of weyrlings and weyrbrats; N’mor himself bathed before collapsing into the chair beside Z’rin’s bed. He was out like a light before Rhezalth joined Varralath.
The strange routine repeated, and N’mor was again dead to the world, stretched out as much as he could be on the chair, when Z’rin woke up. Rhezalth debates the pros and cons of waking his rider, in the process allowing Varralath to update Z’rin, before Rhezalth decided the other man wasn’t going to fall unconscious again right away, and gently prodded N’mor awake.
The bronzerider woke with a startled little snort, coughing and brushing his hand over his face as he blinked blearily at the room. Z’rin’s soft words of thanks had N’mor’s heart soaring in relief, before he scowled in irritation, both at his emotions and at Z’rin being thankful. The only thing he should be thankful for was that N’mor hadn’t finished the fires job and killed the idiot for being so reckless!
“Satisfied?” N’mor asked, snarking, standing up quietly and making his way to his lover’s bedside. Despite his acidic tone, his touch was gentle as he brushed away the stray tears and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Z’rin’s temple, surprising himself. “You were a damned fool,” he added, scowling, tone low and fingers gently brushing through Z’rin’s hair.
It was the familiar name that caused N’mor’s fingers to numb and drop the mug of water he’d been sipping from. No one paid him any heed as he got up and interrupted the two exhausted healers, peppering then with questions until he had the information he needed - Z’rin was injured, he was holed up in a spare room, and he should be fine.
Honestly, N’mor was shocked by how little that reassured him; and slightly terrified by how much he cared about the blue rider’s well-being. He’d been listening for names he knew - his father, R’nd, T’ryn... he hadn’t expected Z’rin to be on the list. Stupid. The idiot was just as reckless and insistent on being helpful as anyone else in N’mor’s damned life.
He didn’t realise he was angry until he stomped into the room and apparently woke Z’rin up from his drugged sleep. N’mor cringed even as he swiftly made his way to the bedside, dropping to his knees and murmuring questions wrapped up in berating the blue rider. But he was already out of it again. N’mor sighed, and stood up slowly.
The desire to stay constantly by his lover’s side was outweighed by his stubbornness not to be as attached as he clearly was, which meant N’mor recklessly threw himself and Rhezalth into assisting with the efforts against the fire. Ferrying people to and from locations, and barely remembering to eat. He let Rhezalth bathe, washed by excited hold brats under the guidance of weyrlings and weyrbrats; N’mor himself bathed before collapsing into the chair beside Z’rin’s bed. He was out like a light before Rhezalth joined Varralath.
The strange routine repeated, and N’mor was again dead to the world, stretched out as much as he could be on the chair, when Z’rin woke up. Rhezalth debates the pros and cons of waking his rider, in the process allowing Varralath to update Z’rin, before Rhezalth decided the other man wasn’t going to fall unconscious again right away, and gently prodded N’mor awake.
The bronzerider woke with a startled little snort, coughing and brushing his hand over his face as he blinked blearily at the room. Z’rin’s soft words of thanks had N’mor’s heart soaring in relief, before he scowled in irritation, both at his emotions and at Z’rin being thankful. The only thing he should be thankful for was that N’mor hadn’t finished the fires job and killed the idiot for being so reckless!
“Satisfied?” N’mor asked, snarking, standing up quietly and making his way to his lover’s bedside. Despite his acidic tone, his touch was gentle as he brushed away the stray tears and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Z’rin’s temple, surprising himself. “You were a damned fool,” he added, scowling, tone low and fingers gently brushing through Z’rin’s hair.
