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!
03.Jul.13, 09:40 AM
R’nya lifted his head slightly, and tilted it upright again as he shifted to watch Rhaedalyn relocate into the seat on the other side of the table, sad grey eyes watched her seat herself, and R’nya rested his chin lazily on his crossed wrists. Her apology caused the bronzerider’s eyebrows to arch upwards, and he continued to study the girl as she pouted. “Do not be sorry,” he murmured, expression altering to be a frown. “You did nothing to be sorry for.”
His gaze dropped, lowering to look at the weave of grain through the wood of the table, seeing but not really seeing it. The words he had spoken should have been applied to himself, but R’nya had never really found it all that easy to follow his own advice. He studied the table for several long minutes, the only true sound within the hut the quiet murmur of their breaths. R’nya had never been one to need the sound of voices, but there was always a time to speak. The bronzerider licked his lips, the frown returning.
“I grew up at Fort, born and bred.” He didn’t want to recount his entire history, but some points were important, and he was unsure how much Rhaedalyn knew about him, either from common gossip (which was remarkably unreliable) or through wrangling out of I’shan (even more unreliable). It was best to clear any misconceptions with R’nya given facts. “I Impressed Xyreith three years before the Plague hit.”How much are you going to share, sir? Not much. Pain flickered over the bronzerider’s features, and he felt Xyreith shifting, and the sudden appearance of the dragon’s face beside the closest window was not missed.
He sighed softly, and his attention shifted back to Rhaedalyn, though his gaze itself was still far away. “My father lost his dragon to the disease, and threw himself off the balcony of his weyr.” They were only the first of many, and R’nya allowed the silence to say as much, gaze shifting back to the table. He could not bring himself to name any others, and the eye peering in the window from his dragon outside swirled in shades of sickly yellow and greys. He sat up straight, suddenly, and folded his hands in his lap, frowning once more.
“We try not to think about it,” his tone indicated that Xyreith was the other part of that equation. “But some nights the past refuses to be ignored. The woman that rides the green Xyreith flew; for a moment, she had the face of another.” A pause, and the frown deepened for a moment. “It startled me.” Xyreith’s snort was audible to the pair, even if his words were for R’nya alone.That’s putting it lightly! R’nya ignored him, leaning forward to reach Rhaedalyn, brushing his fingers lightly over the hands holding Rumour. “I am sorry I startled you, in turn, my dear.”
Sitting up straight once more, R’nya dragged the dessert closer to him, and poked at it with the fork, delaying actually eating it. It was not that he did not trust Rhaedalyn’s cooking, or even that he didn’t want to eat it; he just wasn’t sure his stomach would enjoy it. If his stomach did object, he was not keen on the various ways Rhaedalyn would respond to not only his being sick, or even being sick over something she had fed him, but the combination of those two, in addition to it being something she cooked for him.
Mostly, though, he did not want her to leave just yet, because he was not ready to face the rest of the past by himself. He knew he could not keep her much longer; the girl had both a dragonet and her reputation to keep intact, and R’nya would hate to cause her issues on either scale. He continued to pick at the dessert, nibbling on small forkfuls as he stared at the table, resigned.
His gaze dropped, lowering to look at the weave of grain through the wood of the table, seeing but not really seeing it. The words he had spoken should have been applied to himself, but R’nya had never really found it all that easy to follow his own advice. He studied the table for several long minutes, the only true sound within the hut the quiet murmur of their breaths. R’nya had never been one to need the sound of voices, but there was always a time to speak. The bronzerider licked his lips, the frown returning.
“I grew up at Fort, born and bred.” He didn’t want to recount his entire history, but some points were important, and he was unsure how much Rhaedalyn knew about him, either from common gossip (which was remarkably unreliable) or through wrangling out of I’shan (even more unreliable). It was best to clear any misconceptions with R’nya given facts. “I Impressed Xyreith three years before the Plague hit.”
He sighed softly, and his attention shifted back to Rhaedalyn, though his gaze itself was still far away. “My father lost his dragon to the disease, and threw himself off the balcony of his weyr.” They were only the first of many, and R’nya allowed the silence to say as much, gaze shifting back to the table. He could not bring himself to name any others, and the eye peering in the window from his dragon outside swirled in shades of sickly yellow and greys. He sat up straight, suddenly, and folded his hands in his lap, frowning once more.
“We try not to think about it,” his tone indicated that Xyreith was the other part of that equation. “But some nights the past refuses to be ignored. The woman that rides the green Xyreith flew; for a moment, she had the face of another.” A pause, and the frown deepened for a moment. “It startled me.” Xyreith’s snort was audible to the pair, even if his words were for R’nya alone.
Sitting up straight once more, R’nya dragged the dessert closer to him, and poked at it with the fork, delaying actually eating it. It was not that he did not trust Rhaedalyn’s cooking, or even that he didn’t want to eat it; he just wasn’t sure his stomach would enjoy it. If his stomach did object, he was not keen on the various ways Rhaedalyn would respond to not only his being sick, or even being sick over something she had fed him, but the combination of those two, in addition to it being something she cooked for him.
Mostly, though, he did not want her to leave just yet, because he was not ready to face the rest of the past by himself. He knew he could not keep her much longer; the girl had both a dragonet and her reputation to keep intact, and R’nya would hate to cause her issues on either scale. He continued to pick at the dessert, nibbling on small forkfuls as he stared at the table, resigned.
