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!
29.Aug.18, 09:01 AM
Z’rin wasn’t alone in his train of thought; N’mor had heard a lot of whispering between exhausted dragonriders about how much more in synch things would have been, if there had been actual wings in order, rather than the rather muddled up, thrown together combinations that had been put to use. N’mor had found himself in charge of his own small group of individuals, mostly younger riders like himself, and he’d found the challenge both exhilarating and slightly intimidating. He hadn’t thought he couldn’t do it – he did believe in himself, and he brought his whole ‘wing’ out in one piece – but the fact that there had been so many unexpected lives riding on whatever choices he made… well, it had been rather weighty.
N’mor laughed softly again, and shook his head slightly. “I’ll wash your hair for you later.” A sponge bath was probably all Z’rin was going to get for a while, and N’mor wasn’t sure the bluerider would want him doing that! N’mor himself wasn’t particularly worried either way; there was nothing at all sensual about a sponge bath when one was injured, but he also knew it could be – for some – more uncomfortable to be bathed by a Healer than a lover. He was happy to follow Z’rin’s lead, there at least! N’mor’s lips were twitching into a playful smirk and a quip was on the tip of his tongue when the dragons started keening, and his hand reflexively clutched around Z’rin’s, the young bronzerider freezing up in horror.
Most people, when they thought of their Impressions, they had all the warm fuzzy emotions and fluffy emotions that came with the bonding, the flurry of activity that followed… Not N’mor; his own memories of Impression were tarnished by being woken up in the middle of the night by the earth swallowing up his home; of dragons keening, including some of his clutch mates. Of his injury. He didn’t remember much after that, until he was conscious and learning to live with one arm, to make up for the time and bonding he’d missed with his dragon. Rhezalth had never seemed upset by the fact that N’mor hadn’t been able to take care of him in the first weeks after his Hatching, but N’mor harboured a deep sense of guilt and occasionally even felt as though his dragon were more T’ryn’s than his, because his friend (were they still friends?) had done so much for the baby dragon.
Who? N’mor finally demanded of Rhezalth, brushing away his own memories and focusing on the moment. He felt his blood run like ice when the bronze gave his sorrowful response; Rhezalth had always been fond of Wydrith; he’d felt like he could both protect and befriend the gold who was so afraid of the world around her. He’d never indicated as much, really, but N’mor would have been surprised if Rhezalth hadn’t chased her at some point in the future. Alas. N’mor dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes and trying to process both his own sorrow at the loss, and the terrible emotions swirling around him from his dragon.
“I should find out what happened,” N’mor said softly, slowly opening his eyes and looking sadly down at Z’rin. Despite his words, he made no motion to move. Did it really matter what had happened? Whether she’d been injured in that moment, or the first day of the fire? Whether it was just the dragon, or both of them? Though he honestly felt it must have been both; Wydrith wouldn’t have gone without her beloved rider. The dragon just wasn’t emotionally strong enough to take that last trip by herself, not from what Rhezalth had told him of her over the Turns.
N’mor laughed softly again, and shook his head slightly. “I’ll wash your hair for you later.” A sponge bath was probably all Z’rin was going to get for a while, and N’mor wasn’t sure the bluerider would want him doing that! N’mor himself wasn’t particularly worried either way; there was nothing at all sensual about a sponge bath when one was injured, but he also knew it could be – for some – more uncomfortable to be bathed by a Healer than a lover. He was happy to follow Z’rin’s lead, there at least! N’mor’s lips were twitching into a playful smirk and a quip was on the tip of his tongue when the dragons started keening, and his hand reflexively clutched around Z’rin’s, the young bronzerider freezing up in horror.
Most people, when they thought of their Impressions, they had all the warm fuzzy emotions and fluffy emotions that came with the bonding, the flurry of activity that followed… Not N’mor; his own memories of Impression were tarnished by being woken up in the middle of the night by the earth swallowing up his home; of dragons keening, including some of his clutch mates. Of his injury. He didn’t remember much after that, until he was conscious and learning to live with one arm, to make up for the time and bonding he’d missed with his dragon. Rhezalth had never seemed upset by the fact that N’mor hadn’t been able to take care of him in the first weeks after his Hatching, but N’mor harboured a deep sense of guilt and occasionally even felt as though his dragon were more T’ryn’s than his, because his friend (were they still friends?) had done so much for the baby dragon.
Who? N’mor finally demanded of Rhezalth, brushing away his own memories and focusing on the moment. He felt his blood run like ice when the bronze gave his sorrowful response; Rhezalth had always been fond of Wydrith; he’d felt like he could both protect and befriend the gold who was so afraid of the world around her. He’d never indicated as much, really, but N’mor would have been surprised if Rhezalth hadn’t chased her at some point in the future. Alas. N’mor dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes and trying to process both his own sorrow at the loss, and the terrible emotions swirling around him from his dragon.
“I should find out what happened,” N’mor said softly, slowly opening his eyes and looking sadly down at Z’rin. Despite his words, he made no motion to move. Did it really matter what had happened? Whether she’d been injured in that moment, or the first day of the fire? Whether it was just the dragon, or both of them? Though he honestly felt it must have been both; Wydrith wouldn’t have gone without her beloved rider. The dragon just wasn’t emotionally strong enough to take that last trip by herself, not from what Rhezalth had told him of her over the Turns.
