03.Nov.18, 10:43 AM
Sliding down from Thallyath, and feeling her dragon walking along behind her, Casa peered through the dim moonlight curiously. It was a clear night, and both moons were out, if not full, so while it was hardly good lighting, they weren’t stuck in pitch darkness, either. It kind of made the shadows look longer and darker, though, and Casa shivered to herself, feeling a chill wander down her spine. Closing the distance between herself and T’ryn, she took the hand he offered her without thought; she didn’t twine their fingers together, but held his hand with a gentle firmness that may have belied her discomfort with the sudden silent, dark and cold Weyr. It was so different from Ista!
“Weyrwoman Katila and Mutusoth. She was the first to banish her Weyr south.” She spoke quietly, gazing around curiously, imagining (unintentionally) all the sick and dying dragons, all the desperate riders. “I don’t remember the name of her Weyrleader.” She paused thoughtfully, even as they made their way towards the Weyr, footsteps crunching on the frosty ground. It didn’t look like there was any snow, but it was certainly cold enough for it in Casa’s opinion! “I don’t think he survived, though; I know Mutusoth died in the Plague – they never even tried to go South.” She felt, as she spoke their names with quiet reverence, as if she could feel their presence, and that of their dragons. It was making her skin crawl and she heard Thallyath snorting uncomfortably behind her, like a spooked horse.
Holding the glow stone that T’ryn had handed her in her non-hand-holding hand, Casa fidgeted with it as they made their way inside. “Definitely the Weyrwoman and Leader’s rooms,” Casa agreed, wondering what kind of papers might still be left lying around. She knew the Weyrs had been ravaged by the wher handlers and who knew who – or what – else since they were abandoned, but she hoped to still find something interesting. “I’d like to see the Sands, too,” she admitted. Someday, she’d be trapped on the Sands with Thallyath, and she was curious to see how different High Reaches was to Ista. Not that she wanted to move to this Weyr; it was so cold!
“Weyrwoman Katila and Mutusoth. She was the first to banish her Weyr south.” She spoke quietly, gazing around curiously, imagining (unintentionally) all the sick and dying dragons, all the desperate riders. “I don’t remember the name of her Weyrleader.” She paused thoughtfully, even as they made their way towards the Weyr, footsteps crunching on the frosty ground. It didn’t look like there was any snow, but it was certainly cold enough for it in Casa’s opinion! “I don’t think he survived, though; I know Mutusoth died in the Plague – they never even tried to go South.” She felt, as she spoke their names with quiet reverence, as if she could feel their presence, and that of their dragons. It was making her skin crawl and she heard Thallyath snorting uncomfortably behind her, like a spooked horse.
Holding the glow stone that T’ryn had handed her in her non-hand-holding hand, Casa fidgeted with it as they made their way inside. “Definitely the Weyrwoman and Leader’s rooms,” Casa agreed, wondering what kind of papers might still be left lying around. She knew the Weyrs had been ravaged by the wher handlers and who knew who – or what – else since they were abandoned, but she hoped to still find something interesting. “I’d like to see the Sands, too,” she admitted. Someday, she’d be trapped on the Sands with Thallyath, and she was curious to see how different High Reaches was to Ista. Not that she wanted to move to this Weyr; it was so cold!