Post by tovaana on May 28, 2021 0:02:33 GMT -5
TaxxTurn 2761. Month 5
Oh Nessa,
Why aren’t you here with me? Father says there are no eggs on the sands at Mavros anyways. You’d love it here.
Cionessan paused his fine lettering and looked at the small parchment. They’d had this conversation for the past four years, how each wished the other had chosen differently. He supposed it was an ongoing joke of some sort, that just maybe she’d change her mind. What more could she learn of dragons that she hadn’t already? Couldn’t she just show up on the sands when there were eggs, and instead spend her precious time at the Harper Halls? It just made more sense.
He sighed through his nose, jaw tightening. He’d told his father to fetch him for the next gather like he usually had when his family had been at Ierne. With these thoughts he went back to his ink.We’re starting to learn more than just copying old songs – we’re learning the art of music, how influential one can be with their words. I must not be very good, since I still haven’t convinced you that your dragon can wait a few turns while you sing with me. Ah, well. I’ll see you at the next gather, save me a bubbly pie.
Father told me that he’s moved the family to Mavros. Tell me about it. Are you liking it there? What friends have you made? Don’t leave a detail out.
With the greatest care, your other and more important half
Cionessan.
With special care his dark fingers rolled up the parchment the best he could. He needed to get himself a flit of his own, but for now he borrowed his friend’s bronze that was reliable at sending messages. He tied it with a ribbon and stood up, tapping his hand with the message thoughtfully. He’d heard of Mavros, the Weyrhold, mostly because it was now his job to know things. His world was starting to open and widen to what harpers could really do and accomplish. When people thought of power, they thought of the leaders – Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen… but who painted their heroics on parchment and immortalized them? A smile flickered at the corner of his lips and he moved, calling out his friend’s name. “I need to use Silver for a letter. Yes, another one. Who do you think it’s for?” He snickered, handing the ghostly pale bronze his note and his friend to pass on the imagery of his father’s bronze.