Post by Hiko on Feb 17, 2018 16:06:18 GMT -5
((Set a week after the Hatching Feast.))
Mollin scrubbed at Daltilith's hide in silent frustration.
The day had started fine. Fatigue from lessons and a hunger roiling in her stomach, but emotionally, she'd been level.
And a single trip to the dining cavern ended it.
“Didn't she slap A'zael the other night?”
“Lovers' quarrel, obviously. He's the father of her child, you know.”
“But isn't he with Danovelith's rider?”
“Ooh, a love triangle? How tragic!”
“But didn't she leave with Mastromideth's rider?”
“Now that is a proper bronzer!”
When the gossip had devolved into girlish giggling, Mollin could tolerate no more. Hunger had fled her, instead giving way to impotent rage. It wasn't uncommon to hear the odd whisper of her name or her situation in the kitchens, and she'd given everyone an eyeful the night of the feast, but too much was too much. Rather than earn a name for herself by slapping the smug looks off of the talkative cavern girls, she merely left the dining hall.
It was then that Dalti had complained of an itch.
Soapsand in hand, she worked at the dragon's blue hide, allowing herself to take some small comfort in her lifemate's happy croons of enjoyment as she worked out the itches. His skin was peeling, and Mollin had a moment of panic as she worked to slough the dead skin away. The dragon had suffered with her through all of the past Turn, without any complaints. But suffer he did, and it was obvious in the appearance of his skin.
“I'm sorry, Dalt. I've neglected you for far too long,” she told the dragon quietly. The blue in return only snorted.
You're taking care of me now, though. Keep scrubbing! It feels so good!
“Of course, love.”
By the time she was done with the dragon's bath, her hands were red and raw from the grit of the soapsand. At least they could both enjoy the oiling. Daltilith gave a shake, flicking excess water from his hide and looking like a well-groomed canine for the effort. Despite her earlier annoyances, Mollin laughed at the sight.
What? the dragon asked, confused at the mirth.
“Should I get you a bone? A nice collar? If I took a leash to you, we could even go on walks.”
I am not a dog! Daltilith retorted, then added in afterthought, But a collar would look fine on me, wouldn't it? Silver would bring out my hide.
“Don't go vain on me now, Dalt.”
How else am I supposed to attract Hawedith?
It occurred to her, then, just how old Daltilith was. Of course, he'd stopped referring to his clutchmate as “Hawey” some months back, but had it been in a growing interest of the green, rather than the blue merely growing up? Mollin frowned at the loss of time. No longer was he some waddling hatchling, but instead a fully grown, fully male dragon, with wants and desires of his own.
“Don't... Don't go getting ideas, Dalti. We've still got training to finish.”
The blue snorted again and laid his head in his paws, unrepentant as his rider continued to oil his hide.
Mollin scrubbed at Daltilith's hide in silent frustration.
The day had started fine. Fatigue from lessons and a hunger roiling in her stomach, but emotionally, she'd been level.
And a single trip to the dining cavern ended it.
“Didn't she slap A'zael the other night?”
“Lovers' quarrel, obviously. He's the father of her child, you know.”
“But isn't he with Danovelith's rider?”
“Ooh, a love triangle? How tragic!”
“But didn't she leave with Mastromideth's rider?”
“Now that is a proper bronzer!”
When the gossip had devolved into girlish giggling, Mollin could tolerate no more. Hunger had fled her, instead giving way to impotent rage. It wasn't uncommon to hear the odd whisper of her name or her situation in the kitchens, and she'd given everyone an eyeful the night of the feast, but too much was too much. Rather than earn a name for herself by slapping the smug looks off of the talkative cavern girls, she merely left the dining hall.
It was then that Dalti had complained of an itch.
Soapsand in hand, she worked at the dragon's blue hide, allowing herself to take some small comfort in her lifemate's happy croons of enjoyment as she worked out the itches. His skin was peeling, and Mollin had a moment of panic as she worked to slough the dead skin away. The dragon had suffered with her through all of the past Turn, without any complaints. But suffer he did, and it was obvious in the appearance of his skin.
“I'm sorry, Dalt. I've neglected you for far too long,” she told the dragon quietly. The blue in return only snorted.
You're taking care of me now, though. Keep scrubbing! It feels so good!
“Of course, love.”
By the time she was done with the dragon's bath, her hands were red and raw from the grit of the soapsand. At least they could both enjoy the oiling. Daltilith gave a shake, flicking excess water from his hide and looking like a well-groomed canine for the effort. Despite her earlier annoyances, Mollin laughed at the sight.
What? the dragon asked, confused at the mirth.
“Should I get you a bone? A nice collar? If I took a leash to you, we could even go on walks.”
I am not a dog! Daltilith retorted, then added in afterthought, But a collar would look fine on me, wouldn't it? Silver would bring out my hide.
“Don't go vain on me now, Dalt.”
How else am I supposed to attract Hawedith?
It occurred to her, then, just how old Daltilith was. Of course, he'd stopped referring to his clutchmate as “Hawey” some months back, but had it been in a growing interest of the green, rather than the blue merely growing up? Mollin frowned at the loss of time. No longer was he some waddling hatchling, but instead a fully grown, fully male dragon, with wants and desires of his own.
“Don't... Don't go getting ideas, Dalti. We've still got training to finish.”
The blue snorted again and laid his head in his paws, unrepentant as his rider continued to oil his hide.