impress all the things! (isaac)

[tuathade]

Merceth backwinged, hovered just above the sandy floor of the wallow for a half-second before letting himself drop. It was a heavy landing, and C'ross jolted forward, taking a firmer hold on the riding straps for support.

I think that was a little better. The bronze's wings folded smoothly against his back, and his head curved around to observe his rider questioningly with his solitary good eye. The man nodded, one hand loosening its grip to reach forward and rub at the dragon's scarred shoulder.

"We'll get it right. Give it time."

It wasn't easy for the two of them. They had never precisely fit the ideal image of the dragon-rider pair: where some seemed to act and think in unison, complementing one another, Merceth and C'ross had always had a relationship based upon mutual challenge. They were not two halves of a whole, but two strong individual personalities bound to one another by telepathy... and now they were dependent upon one another. It was weird, getting used to the feeling of a dragon in his head, looking through his eyes and utilizing his senses directly. The loss of an eye meant the loss of his depth perception and half of his field of vision, a handicap that C'ross would have to compensate for.

It was likely that C'ross and Merceth would never be able to fly as squadleaders again. But after meeting with Lanakirene for one last checkup, and some discussion with one of the new Wardens, it had been decided that they would gradually return to regular shifts. Only one shift a day, at first, until Merceth was re-acclimated to the long flights. Then two, then - if all went well - back to the usual three.

He slid down his dragon's shoulder, undid the riding straps. It felt good to fly again, even if he could feel a sympathetic ache in his chest from the sudden strain on muscled laid up for months. Still, he could feel the dragon's quiet satisfaction at a successful flight, lingering in the back of his mind like a warm glow. If I'saac was in, C'ross intended to tell him the good news.

[giftwrapped]

I'saac was numb. It wasn't the same numbness he had grown used to, though. It was a different sort of numbness, the kind that came with shock, rather than the kind that came with being dead inside. There was...it was strange. The emptiness in his head had changed, now, abated somewhat. He reached out, hesitantly, afraid that once again he would find the yawning blackness he had learned to slowly shut himself away from, and instead, he found something else. Something different.

All strangeness and animal curiosity and primitive thoughts. And not just the one, which only filled a part of the blackness. There were two of these presences, and though one was closer than the other (he had heard this was the case with whers, in the rare case someone pairbonded) they were both...there. Filling that hole. He had heard of dragonless men collecting firelizards, and of women collecting children (though he didn't quite see the similarity, there. As far as Isaac was concerned, children weren't a piece of wholeness in your soul so much as they were a small part of your soul budded off and sent out into the world on its own autonomous legs - which scared the shit out of him). It filled the void, they had said.

But I'saac had never been good with firelizards, and children were completely, unfathomably out of the question. So he had accepted C'ross's gift of a canine, and accidentally bonded a glowbug when the things started making an appearance. But right now, neither Puppy nor Rig seemed at all happy with the situation. Puppy was curled up on the other side of the room, muzzle on his feet as he contemplated what he saw as a horrible abomination - Isaask had snapped at him when he had ventured too close, and though I'saac had chastised the wher, the canine was keeping his distance until he decided what to make of the entire new thing. And Rig...well, she just seemed to dislike the whers on principle, though he wasn't sure why or what her reasoning on the matter was. She had just said No a lot.

This was getting a little crazy. At least for now, though, the babies were both asleep, spilling out of his lap and sprawling across the bed that I'saac and C'ross shared. Their bellies were full, which was good. And now they were both asleep. Eventually, they would wake, and he'd have to stuff them full of blood porridge again, but for now, he could relax. The recipe for the porridge had already been committed to memory (in truth, he disliked the traditional mixture, and had every intent of discussing the possibility of something else with Lanakirene); I'saac had little enough intent of living in the wherhandler barracks.

The heavy thud of something landing outside made him look up, though, and he tensed instinctively. He had not intended for this to happen. Faranth help him if C'ross decided he wasn't happy with the new situation.