Writing Mission #2
I have never used so many italics in my whole life. Anyhow, it's 4 parts guilty, 1 part pleasure.
There’s Koriscanth. There’s Morelenth. Arinth, Yimarth, Gwybodaeth. They’re all fine bronzes.
They are, yes. Tialith’s tone is the epitome of exhausted patience. They have had this discussion before. Many times. So many that the gold can still vividly remember the last several.
I just don’t understand what it is about that one that has you so charmed. Roa is laying in her cot, staring up at the ceiling. It is dark in the barracks and there are soft snores and sighs all around her.
I am not charmed. We are friends. Can I not have friends? Tialith is curled up on her couch, eyes closed.
Oh love, of course you can. I only wish you would spend less time with this one, particular friend.
You spend time with your particular friend. The image of a specific boyish grin is sent from dragon to rider, the thought batted away from Roa’s mind as quickly as it comes.
That is entirely different.
Is it.
Hush. And anyhow, I’ve stopped.
Because she is back.
Because he is happy.
Ruvoth is not happy, so I shall continue to see him.
“Tia...” Roa’s hands have lifted to conceal her face, and the word is more of a moan muffled against her palms. Tia, please. I can’t. Not him.
Why not?
He stares at me. And he’s got too many faces. I can’t read him at all.
You don’t mind the stares. That is what frightens you?
Hush. He’s practically feral.
You asked him for help.
I’d hit my head. I wasn’t thinking straight.
You are thinking straight now?
Better, at any rate.
And you are still thinking about his stares.
I am thinking about how I wish you would leave off with Ruvoth!
If you say so.
Hush.
There’s Koriscanth. There’s Morelenth. Arinth, Yimarth, Gwybodaeth. They’re all fine bronzes.
They are, yes. Tialith’s tone is the epitome of exhausted patience. They have had this discussion before. Many times. So many that the gold can still vividly remember the last several.
I just don’t understand what it is about that one that has you so charmed. Roa is laying in her cot, staring up at the ceiling. It is dark in the barracks and there are soft snores and sighs all around her.
I am not charmed. We are friends. Can I not have friends? Tialith is curled up on her couch, eyes closed.
Oh love, of course you can. I only wish you would spend less time with this one, particular friend.
You spend time with your particular friend. The image of a specific boyish grin is sent from dragon to rider, the thought batted away from Roa’s mind as quickly as it comes.
That is entirely different.
Is it.
Hush. And anyhow, I’ve stopped.
Because she is back.
Because he is happy.
Ruvoth is not happy, so I shall continue to see him.
“Tia...” Roa’s hands have lifted to conceal her face, and the word is more of a moan muffled against her palms. Tia, please. I can’t. Not him.
Why not?
He stares at me. And he’s got too many faces. I can’t read him at all.
You don’t mind the stares. That is what frightens you?
Hush. He’s practically feral.
You asked him for help.
I’d hit my head. I wasn’t thinking straight.
You are thinking straight now?
Better, at any rate.
And you are still thinking about his stares.
I am thinking about how I wish you would leave off with Ruvoth!
If you say so.
Hush.