2024-07-16 - [6.2] Motion. And repeat.

Xijemynth listens in on Issrodeth and Igith's conversation. She's quite curious, and it's a subject she has endless attention for. She loves the idea of flying -- even now, when Mother's dream is but a distant memory in the texture of her mind. But no matter how much her mind might forget, her body remembers. Her wings recall the motions and repeat them, sometimes setting her egg to wiggling. Her talons clench as if egg-fluid could someday be even a poor substitute for air.

Xijemynth doesn't understand at first why they're discussing Valyth. What did he have to do with flying? Was it because he was bronze? Did that mean they would all have to fly with a bronze someday? Was that part of a Weyrleaader's job? Would they be otherwise restricted if they didn't? The thought alone was enough to chase a scathing snort from her, and she thought she understood Igith's tone towards the male.

She didn't know what exactly a Weyrleader did, but it sounded just about as fun as being Gold. Which was to say, not fun at all. If she, Xijemynth, was in charge, she had half a mind to not pick one at all, for all the good they apparently did the Weyr. Either that, or dole out the role as punishment.