[Vignette] The Same Soul
Morelenth doesn’t bother saying anything when he returns home. There’s nothing left to say, and he simply curls up on the ledge instead, leaving E’sere the entirety of the cave to himself. He’s shut himself off again, retreated within his mind to spaces Morelenth can’t reach and he knows better than to try to. Within a few minutes, he drifts off into troubled slumber, tail lashing idly, and then E’sere can release his thoughts.
Not all at once, though. One by one, so he can sift through them, can take his time to examine each, rolling it over in his mind.
Weyrleader. What else was there, he’d asked. What else for him? He doesn’t know any other life, doesn’t know any other dream. Fulfilling his goal is a death sentence, but he doesn’t have anything else to live for. In anger, he snatches Asshole up from his corner and throws him at the far wall, at the base of which he lands in a heap, tufts of his hair seeping from his body.
Derek. E’sere is rapidly learning to hate him in ways previously reserved for S’lien, and for Lexine, and for Ganathon. He is going to ruin everything, do away with everything E’sere has ever stood for. And someday, he is going to kill him. Someday, he is going to have Aivey kill him, because she is always his, first. E’sere goes to fetch Asshole, setting him upright against the wall, and then retreating back to bed with him, leaving him by the pillow.
Aivey. E’sere didn’t even know where to begin there. Sometimes he thinks they're the same person, and maybe that's why they only had half a soul each. Sometimes she's completely alien to him. He understands that she belongs to Derek; he doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t understand that kind of devotion. He can’t imagine having that sort of relationship with Lexine, and he imagines Derek, dead at his feet, to cheer himself up. It’s hollow comfort, and it doesn’t satisfy him anymore. He imagines Aivey killing Derek, imagines her murdering her father because he ordered it, and he feels a little better. He eyes Asshole and lays him beside himself, in Aivey’s place, and he debates going out again, debates seeing if some island woman was still awake and willing to offer him her company for just a night. He doesn’t. He tells himself it’s not worth waking Morelenth up over, and he turns over and squelches his mind again so he can try to sleep again.
The night seems interminable, and halfway through, he takes Asshole and retreats to the crook of Morelenth’s neck. He doesn’t sleep there, either. He tells himself it’s because of the wind, and he forgets the way the wind howled through the Reaches in his last lifetime.
Not all at once, though. One by one, so he can sift through them, can take his time to examine each, rolling it over in his mind.
Weyrleader. What else was there, he’d asked. What else for him? He doesn’t know any other life, doesn’t know any other dream. Fulfilling his goal is a death sentence, but he doesn’t have anything else to live for. In anger, he snatches Asshole up from his corner and throws him at the far wall, at the base of which he lands in a heap, tufts of his hair seeping from his body.
Derek. E’sere is rapidly learning to hate him in ways previously reserved for S’lien, and for Lexine, and for Ganathon. He is going to ruin everything, do away with everything E’sere has ever stood for. And someday, he is going to kill him. Someday, he is going to have Aivey kill him, because she is always his, first. E’sere goes to fetch Asshole, setting him upright against the wall, and then retreating back to bed with him, leaving him by the pillow.
Aivey. E’sere didn’t even know where to begin there. Sometimes he thinks they're the same person, and maybe that's why they only had half a soul each. Sometimes she's completely alien to him. He understands that she belongs to Derek; he doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t understand that kind of devotion. He can’t imagine having that sort of relationship with Lexine, and he imagines Derek, dead at his feet, to cheer himself up. It’s hollow comfort, and it doesn’t satisfy him anymore. He imagines Aivey killing Derek, imagines her murdering her father because he ordered it, and he feels a little better. He eyes Asshole and lays him beside himself, in Aivey’s place, and he debates going out again, debates seeing if some island woman was still awake and willing to offer him her company for just a night. He doesn’t. He tells himself it’s not worth waking Morelenth up over, and he turns over and squelches his mind again so he can try to sleep again.
The night seems interminable, and halfway through, he takes Asshole and retreats to the crook of Morelenth’s neck. He doesn’t sleep there, either. He tells himself it’s because of the wind, and he forgets the way the wind howled through the Reaches in his last lifetime.