She just couldn’t summon the energy to care anymore. Shayled fell onto her cot with a groan, not even bothering to take off her outer clothes. Her body sagged into the linen and she drew up the blankets over her head, more like a child than the woman she was.
More often than usual, in the past few days, Shayled had questioned her suitability for this sort of life. The idea of one more meeting or one more decision made her want to scream. Was she really cut out for this? How did Nillipa survive?! At the very least she was thankful for Dei’r and Valyth, the wingdelegates and -leaders, Amind and Igith, and every unranked rider and dragon who had been willing to step up and make sense out of the chaos.
Eventually, Shayled had to concede that this was her lot in life. Even if she wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Nillipa or the goldriders of legend, this was what fate had dealt her and she should do her best. But she’d do her best tomorrow, after getting a few hours of sleep...
Her last, half-dreaming thought before plunging into deep sleep was: what if Gwillanth had hatched blue? Would Perte be ecstatic or a little disappointed? Shayled could have been S’led, hah, or even worse Shay’d, sharpest gossip-slinger in Dunespike. Alas...
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Aside from the obvious cloud of the quake, what is bothering Shayled? Why? What factors contribute specifically to her distress, drawing from other prompts in this week and in previous weeks? What elements of the situation are Shayled ignoring? Do you agree with Shayled’s logic about the hand that fate dealt her? Why or why not? Do you interpret Shayled’s thoughts about a blue Gwillanth with a different tone than she seems to?