VIGNETTE: Iovniath's Third Flight
Date: Day 28, Month 13, Turn 25
Synopsis: Iovniath's flight interrupts turnover father-son bonding. At least that means he's sober.
During the afternoon there had been skating: the boys were old enough, now, to get a thrill out of being whirled around the ice on someone's shoulders, and after seven-- no, eight-- winters, K'del was plenty confident enough on skates for that. It felt good to be out on the ice like that; it felt relaxed. Tonight was for weyrfolk alone, and that meant no dignitaries to talk to, no formal duties to attend to. For tonight, all that mattered was having a good time, saying goodbye to one turn, and looking forward to the one to come.
He was looking forward to a good night to come, too: once the boys were handed over, one darkness meant a more adult atmosphere. Dancing, drinking-- later, dancing of another kind.
Despite early naps, the combination of too much excitement and too much sugar dissolved tempers rapidly as the afternoon wore on. K'del felt quietly guilty that the nursery staff on duty would have to deal with (he suspected) not only his own two, but plenty of others inclined more towards tantrums than fun. He lingered, acquiescing to requests for another story, another cuddle, another kiss.
He didn't notice, at first, the hard line of muscle tensing down his back. He didn't notice the chill wind rustling through the back of his mind, Cadejoth's ever-present silken chain turning sharper and colder, winding tighter and tighter. He was halfway through his story when it hit him, Cadejoth twanging into action, a rush of freezing air sending him shuddering.
Two sets of eyes watched him expectantly, waiting to hear what happened next. His mind went blank.
"Papa?"
"I have to-- I have to-- shells, I'm so sorry."
He fled, hating himself, hearing the sudden tears of his disappointed sons. The nearest nanny looked up in surprise, her eyes widening as he explained, "Iovniath." At least she got it, nodding instantly and giving what he assumed was intended to be an encouraging smile.
The caverns were quiet - quiet enough that each footstep seemed to echo the sound of his pounding heart. Cadejoth was in the air, now, making his way to the feeding grounds where Iovniath had already begun to blood her kills. How had he not noticed? Had he been so busy he'd paid no attention at all?
He could taste the warm blood in the back of his throat, and it set his heart racing faster still, his own blood rising in his veins.
They gathered in Tiriana's weyr. Later, as always, he'd remember only snatches of the flight itself. The sensation of cold winds beneath his wings; the rush of air above him; the rush of heat that surged through him; the longing and the need. He wouldn't have been able to say if it had been a long flight or a short one, for it felt like both at once: lasting forever, over in an instant.
By now, he wasn't even really surprised when Cadejoth's wings tangled with hers; wasn't surprised as he found himself crossing towards the (oh so) pregnant Weyrwoman.
At least... well. It wasn't as though it was the first time he'd have to manoeuvre his way around a woman shaped like that.
Synopsis: Iovniath's flight interrupts turnover father-son bonding. At least that means he's sober.
During the afternoon there had been skating: the boys were old enough, now, to get a thrill out of being whirled around the ice on someone's shoulders, and after seven-- no, eight-- winters, K'del was plenty confident enough on skates for that. It felt good to be out on the ice like that; it felt relaxed. Tonight was for weyrfolk alone, and that meant no dignitaries to talk to, no formal duties to attend to. For tonight, all that mattered was having a good time, saying goodbye to one turn, and looking forward to the one to come.
He was looking forward to a good night to come, too: once the boys were handed over, one darkness meant a more adult atmosphere. Dancing, drinking-- later, dancing of another kind.
Despite early naps, the combination of too much excitement and too much sugar dissolved tempers rapidly as the afternoon wore on. K'del felt quietly guilty that the nursery staff on duty would have to deal with (he suspected) not only his own two, but plenty of others inclined more towards tantrums than fun. He lingered, acquiescing to requests for another story, another cuddle, another kiss.
He didn't notice, at first, the hard line of muscle tensing down his back. He didn't notice the chill wind rustling through the back of his mind, Cadejoth's ever-present silken chain turning sharper and colder, winding tighter and tighter. He was halfway through his story when it hit him, Cadejoth twanging into action, a rush of freezing air sending him shuddering.
Two sets of eyes watched him expectantly, waiting to hear what happened next. His mind went blank.
"Papa?"
"I have to-- I have to-- shells, I'm so sorry."
He fled, hating himself, hearing the sudden tears of his disappointed sons. The nearest nanny looked up in surprise, her eyes widening as he explained, "Iovniath." At least she got it, nodding instantly and giving what he assumed was intended to be an encouraging smile.
The caverns were quiet - quiet enough that each footstep seemed to echo the sound of his pounding heart. Cadejoth was in the air, now, making his way to the feeding grounds where Iovniath had already begun to blood her kills. How had he not noticed? Had he been so busy he'd paid no attention at all?
He could taste the warm blood in the back of his throat, and it set his heart racing faster still, his own blood rising in his veins.
They gathered in Tiriana's weyr. Later, as always, he'd remember only snatches of the flight itself. The sensation of cold winds beneath his wings; the rush of air above him; the rush of heat that surged through him; the longing and the need. He wouldn't have been able to say if it had been a long flight or a short one, for it felt like both at once: lasting forever, over in an instant.
By now, he wasn't even really surprised when Cadejoth's wings tangled with hers; wasn't surprised as he found himself crossing towards the (oh so) pregnant Weyrwoman.
At least... well. It wasn't as though it was the first time he'd have to manoeuvre his way around a woman shaped like that.