Writing Mission #1
Also posted on the Yahoo group, here's a short moment from Roa's past.
She is curled up on a footstool set just beneath the window, peering outside with a sort of rapt intensity. Thread is only a ghost. A boogeyman to frighten children or awe them with tales of heroism. It is not a current enemy, a taker of lives. Not yet. So the heavy metal shutters that should keep this window covered are instead pushed aside, revealing the outdoors to a small face surrounded by a tangle of dark hair.
“He may not be able to make it today,” is the gentle alto of a woman’s voice behind the child. She twists to peer up at the lady so like her in features and color. There are only slight differences. The child has a widow’s peak where her mother does not. And her eyes are more almond than the woman’s. But the matching pale skin, dark hair, blue eyes, all declare the pair’s relationship.
“He promised,” the child insists, pushing herself up onto her knees as if the very motion could summon the one under discussion.
“Your father’s very busy, Roa. I know he promised, but he can’t just--”
“Look!” The child is on her feet now. Bare feet, followed by trousers and a boy’s shirt, the outfit much better for running wild than that boring girls’ fare. She’s springing off the footstool and running for the cothold’s door, skidding along the way. The woman lingers behind to watch the blue dragon that has just winked into the sky descend and land gently. Then Analia begins walking out of the cothold after her daughter.
The long, slender figure that has slid down from the blue’s neckridges is already crouching, arms open wide, for the child bearing down upon him. He hasn’t even removed his flight goggles. “You came you came you came...” It’s a running cadence uttered by the girl as skinny legs propel her forward until she collides with the rider, body flattening into his, arms securing themselves around his neck. Laughing, he stands, twirling the child in circles that make her shriek before he finally slows, catching his breath and grinning. Roa peers up at him and gently lifts his flight goggles, settling them atop his head. “You came,” she murmurs a final time.
“Did you ever have a doubt, my dear?” His voice, as ever, rolls warm and pleasant from his lips. Roa adores her father’s voice.
“I didn’t,” the child protests as her mother makes her languid way towards the pair. Her lips hold that small smile, part fondness and part resigned exhasperation, that only her lover can coax to her lips.
“Hello, J’lor.”
“Ana,” his voice deepens, becomes a different sort of warmth, as he shifts his daughter on his hip so that one arm can be opened. An invitation which Analia declines with a shake of her head.
“I’d like to speak with you.”
“Of course.” The unaccepted arm lifts and pulls the riding cap from his head, plopping it lightly onto Roa’s so it sits hiding her face nearly to her chin. She pushes it up and attempts to somehow settle it on her head more plausibly. His hair, light brown, draws to a soft point in the middle, above his forehead. “After dinner, tonight? I promised Nera I’d help cook. But first...” and his head dips down to catch Roa’s eyes. “A swim I think?”
The blue dragon who had settled, quiet and still, warbles cheerfully at the suggestion. Roa nearly squeals with excitement.
“Now, if you please. Have you heard the rumors yet?”
“Hmm?” J’lor looks over at Analia, clearly distracted but making a noble attempt to listen. The cause of such distraction may be the child in his arms trying to reach the blue muzzle feet away.
“Four dragons with knotless riders flamed a trading caravan en route to Crom. Three people died.”
This time, J’lor is sharply focused, setting the child down to go say her greetings to Vellath. But then he relaxes, the easy smile returning. “Rumors do tend to get exaggerated. I’m sure no one--”
“People are getting killed, J’lor!” Analia takes a step forward, her voice tight and hushed to keep Roa from noticing. “How much longer can this go on?”
“Nera assures me--”
“Nera sees to herself!”
“Ana!” The bluerider steps back as if slapped. “Please. If you wish to discuss this after dinner, I shall do so. Right now, I’d like to take Vellath and my daughter for a swim.”
Analia only shakes her head again, slowly, but the pair know each other too well by now. J’lor can already see by the set of her expression that she’s resigned herself to heeding his wishes. In response he steps forward to place a light kiss on her lips. “Keep that safe,” he whispers, “and return it to me later.” The sweet little game they play. And then she watches as J’lor swoops down to heft Roa high into the air and settle her carefully onto Vellath’s neckridge. She can hear him instructing her on how best to hold the straps as they walk away.
Father and daughter. Without a care in the world.
She is curled up on a footstool set just beneath the window, peering outside with a sort of rapt intensity. Thread is only a ghost. A boogeyman to frighten children or awe them with tales of heroism. It is not a current enemy, a taker of lives. Not yet. So the heavy metal shutters that should keep this window covered are instead pushed aside, revealing the outdoors to a small face surrounded by a tangle of dark hair.
“He may not be able to make it today,” is the gentle alto of a woman’s voice behind the child. She twists to peer up at the lady so like her in features and color. There are only slight differences. The child has a widow’s peak where her mother does not. And her eyes are more almond than the woman’s. But the matching pale skin, dark hair, blue eyes, all declare the pair’s relationship.
“He promised,” the child insists, pushing herself up onto her knees as if the very motion could summon the one under discussion.
“Your father’s very busy, Roa. I know he promised, but he can’t just--”
“Look!” The child is on her feet now. Bare feet, followed by trousers and a boy’s shirt, the outfit much better for running wild than that boring girls’ fare. She’s springing off the footstool and running for the cothold’s door, skidding along the way. The woman lingers behind to watch the blue dragon that has just winked into the sky descend and land gently. Then Analia begins walking out of the cothold after her daughter.
The long, slender figure that has slid down from the blue’s neckridges is already crouching, arms open wide, for the child bearing down upon him. He hasn’t even removed his flight goggles. “You came you came you came...” It’s a running cadence uttered by the girl as skinny legs propel her forward until she collides with the rider, body flattening into his, arms securing themselves around his neck. Laughing, he stands, twirling the child in circles that make her shriek before he finally slows, catching his breath and grinning. Roa peers up at him and gently lifts his flight goggles, settling them atop his head. “You came,” she murmurs a final time.
“Did you ever have a doubt, my dear?” His voice, as ever, rolls warm and pleasant from his lips. Roa adores her father’s voice.
“I didn’t,” the child protests as her mother makes her languid way towards the pair. Her lips hold that small smile, part fondness and part resigned exhasperation, that only her lover can coax to her lips.
“Hello, J’lor.”
“Ana,” his voice deepens, becomes a different sort of warmth, as he shifts his daughter on his hip so that one arm can be opened. An invitation which Analia declines with a shake of her head.
“I’d like to speak with you.”
“Of course.” The unaccepted arm lifts and pulls the riding cap from his head, plopping it lightly onto Roa’s so it sits hiding her face nearly to her chin. She pushes it up and attempts to somehow settle it on her head more plausibly. His hair, light brown, draws to a soft point in the middle, above his forehead. “After dinner, tonight? I promised Nera I’d help cook. But first...” and his head dips down to catch Roa’s eyes. “A swim I think?”
The blue dragon who had settled, quiet and still, warbles cheerfully at the suggestion. Roa nearly squeals with excitement.
“Now, if you please. Have you heard the rumors yet?”
“Hmm?” J’lor looks over at Analia, clearly distracted but making a noble attempt to listen. The cause of such distraction may be the child in his arms trying to reach the blue muzzle feet away.
“Four dragons with knotless riders flamed a trading caravan en route to Crom. Three people died.”
This time, J’lor is sharply focused, setting the child down to go say her greetings to Vellath. But then he relaxes, the easy smile returning. “Rumors do tend to get exaggerated. I’m sure no one--”
“People are getting killed, J’lor!” Analia takes a step forward, her voice tight and hushed to keep Roa from noticing. “How much longer can this go on?”
“Nera assures me--”
“Nera sees to herself!”
“Ana!” The bluerider steps back as if slapped. “Please. If you wish to discuss this after dinner, I shall do so. Right now, I’d like to take Vellath and my daughter for a swim.”
Analia only shakes her head again, slowly, but the pair know each other too well by now. J’lor can already see by the set of her expression that she’s resigned herself to heeding his wishes. In response he steps forward to place a light kiss on her lips. “Keep that safe,” he whispers, “and return it to me later.” The sweet little game they play. And then she watches as J’lor swoops down to heft Roa high into the air and settle her carefully onto Vellath’s neckridge. She can hear him instructing her on how best to hold the straps as they walk away.
Father and daughter. Without a care in the world.