19.Dec.20, 02:16 PM
“I’ll consider a move but Fort Weyr is my home, I think,” Telgar region was where he was born and raised and his mom did the best she could with the circumstances but she’d also given him a shot at a better life by letting him go to Fort Weyr. And R’nya was practically his dad—at least in his mind. Quinvalis doubted the Weyrleader saw him as a son. Moving Weyrs or even moving back to the tavern were other things he had kind of thought about when he wasn’t sure he could Stand again.
Malvayth promising to tell her babies about him was typical Malvayth and he was smiling as he gave her side a pat. “You’re too good to me but I have a confession.” The itchiest spots seemed to have all been tackled so Quinvalis took a break, tossing the rag in the bucket and stealing Cazan’s cushion since she wasn’t there. “I’m not sure if I’ll Stand again, Mal.” There. He said it. It felt kind of nice to finally tell someone that without skirting around it and using his injuries as an excuse. He glanced over at Aradissicath and knew the gold likely wasn’t fast asleep and might hear him but he also knew Aradissicath would only share what she heard if she felt it was necessary.
“I’m scared. I keep getting badly injured and almost died the last time I Stood. I don’t think I can do it again.” His voice was low, ashamed of what he was saying no matter how much weight was already lifting from his shoulders. “What if next time I do die? What if I’ve used up all of my luck…” being left with scars that he hid under long sleeves didn’t seem too lucky but Quinvalis was well aware that he was lucky to be alive. He’d heard that enough from the healers and others gossiping about him. Zarel hadn’t surprised him when she said kids in the crèche were even talking about him. He was simply used to it.
Malvayth promising to tell her babies about him was typical Malvayth and he was smiling as he gave her side a pat. “You’re too good to me but I have a confession.” The itchiest spots seemed to have all been tackled so Quinvalis took a break, tossing the rag in the bucket and stealing Cazan’s cushion since she wasn’t there. “I’m not sure if I’ll Stand again, Mal.” There. He said it. It felt kind of nice to finally tell someone that without skirting around it and using his injuries as an excuse. He glanced over at Aradissicath and knew the gold likely wasn’t fast asleep and might hear him but he also knew Aradissicath would only share what she heard if she felt it was necessary.
“I’m scared. I keep getting badly injured and almost died the last time I Stood. I don’t think I can do it again.” His voice was low, ashamed of what he was saying no matter how much weight was already lifting from his shoulders. “What if next time I do die? What if I’ve used up all of my luck…” being left with scars that he hid under long sleeves didn’t seem too lucky but Quinvalis was well aware that he was lucky to be alive. He’d heard that enough from the healers and others gossiping about him. Zarel hadn’t surprised him when she said kids in the crèche were even talking about him. He was simply used to it.