Post by Azhdarchid on Jul 24, 2012 10:42:03 GMT -5
Rukbat was at a low burn, its last light sputtering into the western sea. Dalibor, by virtue of her great walls, was already dark. But notches in the walls were packed with glows, and similar light sources accumulated around the livestock buildings nestled near the entrance. The stone of the Bowl bronzed under the blue-green luminescence, and looked oily under his foot. Tuss stood where the lake's water gushed fastest from the basin, the broken arch of the southern wall straining its fractured fingers together overhead.
He was standing on the smaller path, away from the tithe road which had herdbeasts driven up it on the sevenday. He was looking out, across the blackness of the island to the reflective twitching of the seas beyond. As he understood it, there had been some discussion to treating the roads with glow-pillars. But the safety of those that had to change the glows out in the early and late twilight hours had become a concern. Fungus light did not deter a wild wher. Sometimes not even sunlight did.
His shoulder lodged a few complaining pangs at the weight he'd slung over it. He was just in from what counted as his work these days, and the expedition's souvenirs were imprisoned in a wherhide satchel. He was...late. The sky had already been running red when he started stumping back to Dalibor, and now despite the wintry cold there was a dusting of sweat over his brow from his attempt at speed.
But on this precipice of apparent safety, anxiety flushed out of him. Maybe it was that he had not experienced the terrors of the island's recent unsettling firsthand, but he could not summon fear for the spectres of wild whers. The darkness beyond the stone soothed in its simplicity. Rushing hisses of seawater in the harbor and the grumbling of dragons at his back did not make-
A roar stretched open across the island. It started at the harbor, and worked like a summons, bringing out a flock of smaller screams in its wake. A second bellow, coming up the shore toward the forest, silenced all the little bells. But as Tuss' senses turned vacuum to all but noise, he could pick up sloppy breathing shuffling along in the distance. Then nothing, till a high, uncontrolled cry of pain burst forth at the treeline. It was not a human voice.
The gray-haired man tried to back up, but a rapid imbalance signaled the effort was not going to work out. He caught himself with the cane and pivoted like a three-legged runner, putting his back to the silence consuming the outer Weyr. He raised his head toward the glowlight, smiling at how easy it was to return to a more civilized night.
He was standing on the smaller path, away from the tithe road which had herdbeasts driven up it on the sevenday. He was looking out, across the blackness of the island to the reflective twitching of the seas beyond. As he understood it, there had been some discussion to treating the roads with glow-pillars. But the safety of those that had to change the glows out in the early and late twilight hours had become a concern. Fungus light did not deter a wild wher. Sometimes not even sunlight did.
His shoulder lodged a few complaining pangs at the weight he'd slung over it. He was just in from what counted as his work these days, and the expedition's souvenirs were imprisoned in a wherhide satchel. He was...late. The sky had already been running red when he started stumping back to Dalibor, and now despite the wintry cold there was a dusting of sweat over his brow from his attempt at speed.
But on this precipice of apparent safety, anxiety flushed out of him. Maybe it was that he had not experienced the terrors of the island's recent unsettling firsthand, but he could not summon fear for the spectres of wild whers. The darkness beyond the stone soothed in its simplicity. Rushing hisses of seawater in the harbor and the grumbling of dragons at his back did not make-
A roar stretched open across the island. It started at the harbor, and worked like a summons, bringing out a flock of smaller screams in its wake. A second bellow, coming up the shore toward the forest, silenced all the little bells. But as Tuss' senses turned vacuum to all but noise, he could pick up sloppy breathing shuffling along in the distance. Then nothing, till a high, uncontrolled cry of pain burst forth at the treeline. It was not a human voice.
The gray-haired man tried to back up, but a rapid imbalance signaled the effort was not going to work out. He caught himself with the cane and pivoted like a three-legged runner, putting his back to the silence consuming the outer Weyr. He raised his head toward the glowlight, smiling at how easy it was to return to a more civilized night.
