Post by Hiko on Mar 4, 2018 18:09:14 GMT -5
Turnover had come and gone, her class had graduated, and Mollin was left with younger weyrlings. Daltilith, while he didn't mind the other, younger dragons, was both excited and remorseful to see his clutchmates as a real fighting force. Mollin herself was glad for her peers, but couldn't stop the nagging feeling at the back of her head, itching away because the blue wanted so badly to join them.
Well, she sighed, propping herself up on the arm of a chair, you couldn't change the past.
You could, however, avoid the present.
Mollin had been doing her very best to avoid anyone attached to the color bronze. The disaster of the hatching feast still rankled in her, a month later, and she was too embarrassed to approach anyone who might have been aware of the events. A'zael, she planned on avoiding for the rest of her life, if possible.
G'rett... She hoped he hadn't noticed her absence.
That was still too confusing. It was gratitude, she reminded herself, merely an overabundance of gratitude. And an innocent, grateful peck that meant nothing. Time away was good. She'd be able to clear her head, think straight, and understand it was all just a spur of the moment action that meant nothing more than a sign of friendship.
Really.
Besides, there was Daltilith to consider, and Zaelin, and training.
And the Storms' graduation.
That rankled, too. Her peers had moved on, and she was left with mere babes of dragons. She couldn't help but feel older than all of them, despite the attempted efforts in making new acquaintances.
Mollin huffed at herself and leaned hard on her elbow, refusing to think any more on the topic. She had a free afternoon, and had every intention of finishing her book. It was on loan from some cute little harper girl Mollin hadn't caught the name of (but made a point to cause to blush regardless, because if she couldn't be comfortable in her own skin, then no one could), and she could feel the ticking clock of that borrow ending; besides, she wasn't about to be known as a book-thief.
Now, where was she? With a free hand, she opened the book flat in her lap.
Mollin flipped to her marked place in the book and frowned. The Steward of the Hold had just been killed after the death of the Lord Holder, thanks to some machinations of his widow. Their son, some upstart little shit of a lad, had called for a beheading of the noble Steward. The late Steward's son had called his own smallholders together in rebellion, and -
And she couldn't get her mind to focus on the story whatsoever.
She sighed and set the book down. Taking her glasses off, she rubbed at her eyes.
Shells, but what was wrong with her?
Alyx
Well, she sighed, propping herself up on the arm of a chair, you couldn't change the past.
You could, however, avoid the present.
Mollin had been doing her very best to avoid anyone attached to the color bronze. The disaster of the hatching feast still rankled in her, a month later, and she was too embarrassed to approach anyone who might have been aware of the events. A'zael, she planned on avoiding for the rest of her life, if possible.
G'rett... She hoped he hadn't noticed her absence.
That was still too confusing. It was gratitude, she reminded herself, merely an overabundance of gratitude. And an innocent, grateful peck that meant nothing. Time away was good. She'd be able to clear her head, think straight, and understand it was all just a spur of the moment action that meant nothing more than a sign of friendship.
Really.
Besides, there was Daltilith to consider, and Zaelin, and training.
And the Storms' graduation.
That rankled, too. Her peers had moved on, and she was left with mere babes of dragons. She couldn't help but feel older than all of them, despite the attempted efforts in making new acquaintances.
Mollin huffed at herself and leaned hard on her elbow, refusing to think any more on the topic. She had a free afternoon, and had every intention of finishing her book. It was on loan from some cute little harper girl Mollin hadn't caught the name of (but made a point to cause to blush regardless, because if she couldn't be comfortable in her own skin, then no one could), and she could feel the ticking clock of that borrow ending; besides, she wasn't about to be known as a book-thief.
Now, where was she? With a free hand, she opened the book flat in her lap.
Mollin flipped to her marked place in the book and frowned. The Steward of the Hold had just been killed after the death of the Lord Holder, thanks to some machinations of his widow. Their son, some upstart little shit of a lad, had called for a beheading of the noble Steward. The late Steward's son had called his own smallholders together in rebellion, and -
And she couldn't get her mind to focus on the story whatsoever.
She sighed and set the book down. Taking her glasses off, she rubbed at her eyes.
Shells, but what was wrong with her?
Alyx