Ertineth could just scream he was so frustrated. But he kept it in. He always kept it in.
He looked down on the Weyrbowl and the pretty little tents there, and he knew under them were a (small, now) clutch of beautiful eggs. Gwillanth was resting beside them and her rotten mate not much further. Ertineth wanted that so badly; he wanted to look over the colorful shells and call them his own, to have the Weyr look up to him and take his word as law. And he wanted the peace of being left alone.
Hy’n had never shared his silly little goals. A brown, safeguard a clutch like female dragon could? Command a Weyr? Sit back and give orders? A silly dream. Ertineth resented them for being publicly them and being able to dress to change themselves, to have the freedom of choosing whether to be a leader or follower in their personal endeavors, to have flair and color.
Ertineth was just brown. Stuck in the middle. Nothing special.
They’d transferred to Dunespike to get out from under the thumb of regressive Weyrleaders and yet Hy’n had been the only one to benefit. Ertineth could have wailed to the Sky for answers, but he was too proud...
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Ertineth has a shocking amount of bile. Why? What are your initial reactions as his thoughts become known to you? Do you have sympathy for this position, or do you find it despicable, pitiable, confusing? Why do you think he feels boxed in? What might prevent him from following his heart? How do you think Ertineth’s past at a more “regressive” Weyr may have shaped him? What comfort do you think Ertineth takes from his pride?