Post by Kit on Aug 4, 2010 20:25:38 GMT 10
Title: Flights
Rating: G
Prompt: One day here and the next day gone
Summary: The world does not stay still for her, even when bedbound.
“Magic.”
Paraskeve looked up at the young Honoured Dedicate, and knew it was wrong to laugh. But she stood there, dark and beautiful and certain-sure, and her voice was like a poppy dream. She could taste it in her own laughter, heavy and sweet, with faint bitter catches at the back of her throat, the corners of her mouth. A Water Dedicate flinched. She was too loud and bright for these walls, for the watercool fabrics and swathes of strength that moved through people’s hands every day, binding and keeping safe. Her coughs were louder, but the laughter shocking, somehow.
It felt good.
Moonstream only laid a hand on her forehead. “Even I have seen you watch the looms, Novice Aygry.”
Paras flushed, laughter slowing to a half cough. “I never learned,” she said. “Not that there was ever time—”
“—And so you never knew. You shall work there now.” A pause. A serious look. “Once you have been released from here.”
“Weaving? I can learn? But I’m too old, surely—”
“—it has been some time,” Moonstream murmured, “Since I made bandages, but basic work is not difficult. And, in your case, imperative.”
Paras’s head ached. “Honoured Dedicate? Please.”
Her smile was kind. “Master Niklaren is occupied at present, but he shall be in to talk to you. As shall Dedicate Birchfall. She’ll be the one best able to tell what sort of a threadwitch you are.”
The names flew past her, nonsensical, and Paras had to look away to cover another flash of laughter.
“Forgive me,” she managed, in a rough whisper. “But,” softer and lower, still. “I’ll believe all that when I see them.”
Rating: G
Prompt: One day here and the next day gone
Summary: The world does not stay still for her, even when bedbound.
“Magic.”
Paraskeve looked up at the young Honoured Dedicate, and knew it was wrong to laugh. But she stood there, dark and beautiful and certain-sure, and her voice was like a poppy dream. She could taste it in her own laughter, heavy and sweet, with faint bitter catches at the back of her throat, the corners of her mouth. A Water Dedicate flinched. She was too loud and bright for these walls, for the watercool fabrics and swathes of strength that moved through people’s hands every day, binding and keeping safe. Her coughs were louder, but the laughter shocking, somehow.
It felt good.
Moonstream only laid a hand on her forehead. “Even I have seen you watch the looms, Novice Aygry.”
Paras flushed, laughter slowing to a half cough. “I never learned,” she said. “Not that there was ever time—”
“—And so you never knew. You shall work there now.” A pause. A serious look. “Once you have been released from here.”
“Weaving? I can learn? But I’m too old, surely—”
“—it has been some time,” Moonstream murmured, “Since I made bandages, but basic work is not difficult. And, in your case, imperative.”
Paras’s head ached. “Honoured Dedicate? Please.”
Her smile was kind. “Master Niklaren is occupied at present, but he shall be in to talk to you. As shall Dedicate Birchfall. She’ll be the one best able to tell what sort of a threadwitch you are.”
The names flew past her, nonsensical, and Paras had to look away to cover another flash of laughter.
“Forgive me,” she managed, in a rough whisper. “But,” softer and lower, still. “I’ll believe all that when I see them.”