Post by Azhdarchid on Sept 6, 2013 22:43:28 GMT -5
Someone was shaking him by the shoulders ahead of his dead wings. L'xon, L'xon, she said, so many times it started to lose meaning. Sounded funny. He was surprised he could feel her at all, because he couldn't feel his wings at all. L'xon, L'xon...
"Lex!"
He opened his eyes. He didn't like what he saw: his wife, naked. She was hitching on her skirts, but the implication of the whole scene was that all that dragon nonsense had been some unusually protracted dream. But his mind was already settling in, undeterred by the nightmarish quality of reality. Only he couldn't focus on her for too long: the peach in her skin faded, and his head tipped back against not a bed but hard earth. For just a moment he left that world, found himself with the wind to all sides, and not able to move but the clouds were circling together, reaching after him. They would keep him safe. Then Eywren's hands were clutching the sides of his face and hauling him awake. She had him up on his elbows, and then she stood away from him.
"Halventh," he said. That second of detachment had devastated the notion of past being present, but he could not tell where he was instead. Eywren had all her clothes on now, except her sandals, which she was holding in one hand. Her skirts and forearms were speckled with dirt. Her hair had become unpinned but he could still see the pins hanging in it, useless. She had been looking around nervously till he spoke, pulling her shoulder strap to order. But when he made his noise she shook her head, frowning, open-mouthed. Was she panting or just confused? She was the one who should have known what was going on.
"What?" she asked, and L'xon stared through her. She backed up and grabbed wherhide trousers off the ground a little further away, tossing them over his groin. "You should get dressed. Do you know what's going on? I heard screaming up the road." He was still looking at the veil she had thrown onto him. Eywren's frown evolved into a scowl, but her voice remained pressed with concern, even when she said "I thought the rider controlled the dragon" and, startled, L'xon fixed his attention back on her. "I need to go." And she turned to do just that, but hung at the outer pole supporting the stall's canvas top. "I will send a healer back for you." Her eyes flicked to his hand. They were so bright in her flushed face. "Please throw that away before anyone sees it. I'll get in trouble."
L'xon turned over his hand, fingers tingling as he finally unclutched them from a length of cloth. A ribbon, translucent and dyed in gaudy sunset from end to end. He could see the gouges his nails had left in his palm beneath it. Had she been wearing it around her hair? But then what had the pins been for? He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Collapsed off his elbows again and hit the dirt. Eywren did know her way around a provocative scent. He could almost get back in the game. If he could get up. If he could feel his wings. If he could feel...
Halventh.
The dragon's eyes opened, still beating red. His eyelids did not wax out all the way, and he could not see Wenth too well. He noticed his talons, continuously slipping out of hers whenever she did make contact, like trying to seize on ropes of water. But she was speaking to him, and the next time her right foot stamped against his he clutched his toes into the gaps between hers. From there it was all reflex after reflex, connecting talons and tails and necks. He pressed but did not twine, resting one wingclaw against the shoulder of his savior. Feeling Wenth's heart at its anxious but normal pace sent his fluttering to match, the warmth of her hide seeping into his muscles.
A few lengths off the ground, he witnessed the tan's final straining flap and responded with an electric spasm of his own wings. A fighter specialty, a buzz of airflow to add to their cushion. And as quick as lightning, it sapped the energy back from him and he detached. His throat found what remained of his spirit and evacuated it in a howl as he landed heavy on his back paws, plummeting forward from there and falling over himself till he landed on his side in an untended field well off from Western. The blue got out one more groan before his head dropped to the grass, jaws still agape.
Not dead but asleep, and without harm. Mifth had proven a few green lines on his hide, and a dark bruise crossed his keel, but Halventh colored up to at least half his normal powdery potency in conjunction with his abrupt stillness. Even asleep he took huge breaths, but with several minutes of these settled to a softer breathlessness.
"Lex!"
He opened his eyes. He didn't like what he saw: his wife, naked. She was hitching on her skirts, but the implication of the whole scene was that all that dragon nonsense had been some unusually protracted dream. But his mind was already settling in, undeterred by the nightmarish quality of reality. Only he couldn't focus on her for too long: the peach in her skin faded, and his head tipped back against not a bed but hard earth. For just a moment he left that world, found himself with the wind to all sides, and not able to move but the clouds were circling together, reaching after him. They would keep him safe. Then Eywren's hands were clutching the sides of his face and hauling him awake. She had him up on his elbows, and then she stood away from him.
"Halventh," he said. That second of detachment had devastated the notion of past being present, but he could not tell where he was instead. Eywren had all her clothes on now, except her sandals, which she was holding in one hand. Her skirts and forearms were speckled with dirt. Her hair had become unpinned but he could still see the pins hanging in it, useless. She had been looking around nervously till he spoke, pulling her shoulder strap to order. But when he made his noise she shook her head, frowning, open-mouthed. Was she panting or just confused? She was the one who should have known what was going on.
"What?" she asked, and L'xon stared through her. She backed up and grabbed wherhide trousers off the ground a little further away, tossing them over his groin. "You should get dressed. Do you know what's going on? I heard screaming up the road." He was still looking at the veil she had thrown onto him. Eywren's frown evolved into a scowl, but her voice remained pressed with concern, even when she said "I thought the rider controlled the dragon" and, startled, L'xon fixed his attention back on her. "I need to go." And she turned to do just that, but hung at the outer pole supporting the stall's canvas top. "I will send a healer back for you." Her eyes flicked to his hand. They were so bright in her flushed face. "Please throw that away before anyone sees it. I'll get in trouble."
L'xon turned over his hand, fingers tingling as he finally unclutched them from a length of cloth. A ribbon, translucent and dyed in gaudy sunset from end to end. He could see the gouges his nails had left in his palm beneath it. Had she been wearing it around her hair? But then what had the pins been for? He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Collapsed off his elbows again and hit the dirt. Eywren did know her way around a provocative scent. He could almost get back in the game. If he could get up. If he could feel his wings. If he could feel...
Halventh.
The dragon's eyes opened, still beating red. His eyelids did not wax out all the way, and he could not see Wenth too well. He noticed his talons, continuously slipping out of hers whenever she did make contact, like trying to seize on ropes of water. But she was speaking to him, and the next time her right foot stamped against his he clutched his toes into the gaps between hers. From there it was all reflex after reflex, connecting talons and tails and necks. He pressed but did not twine, resting one wingclaw against the shoulder of his savior. Feeling Wenth's heart at its anxious but normal pace sent his fluttering to match, the warmth of her hide seeping into his muscles.
A few lengths off the ground, he witnessed the tan's final straining flap and responded with an electric spasm of his own wings. A fighter specialty, a buzz of airflow to add to their cushion. And as quick as lightning, it sapped the energy back from him and he detached. His throat found what remained of his spirit and evacuated it in a howl as he landed heavy on his back paws, plummeting forward from there and falling over himself till he landed on his side in an untended field well off from Western. The blue got out one more groan before his head dropped to the grass, jaws still agape.
Not dead but asleep, and without harm. Mifth had proven a few green lines on his hide, and a dark bruise crossed his keel, but Halventh colored up to at least half his normal powdery potency in conjunction with his abrupt stillness. Even asleep he took huge breaths, but with several minutes of these settled to a softer breathlessness.
