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[columns][center][item=feverfew][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#0086CE][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]the measure of a treasure[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]2,515 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[center][font=gabriola][size=7][i][color=#158E67]“[/color][color=#168D6F]H[/color][color=#178C76]e[/color][color=#188B7E]a[/color][color=#198A85]l[/color][color=#1A898D]t[/color][color=#1B8894]h[/color][color=#1C879C] [/color] [color=#1D86A3]i[/color][color=#1F85AB]s[/color][color=#2084B3] [/color] [color=#2183BA]w[/color][color=#2282C2]e[/color][color=#2381C9]a[/color][color=#2480D1]l[/color][color=#257FD8]t[/color][color=#267EE0]h[/color][color=#277DE7].[/color][color=#287CEF]”[/color][/i][/size][/font][/center]
[right][font=Garamond][size=4]~ a popular proverb[/size][/font][color=transparent]___________________[/color][/right]
[color=#005F49]The egg had been laid in the Southern Icefield. Its parents weren’t nearby, and hadn’t been for some time, but this was not because it had been abandoned. It had been stolen from the nest.
There are some areas along the Icefield’s coast that are so inhospitable as to be nearly inhabitable. They aren’t devoid of life, however—certain beings live here. There are dragons, there are beasts, and—so more superstitious folk whisper to one another—there are [i]fairies [/i]here.
Or sorcerers, or elementals, or mysterious spirits...Whatever the label, it was believed that these dragons weren’t entirely of this world. The harshness of the icy cliffs was such that only those who could travel here were the most dedicated researchers...or the most desperate rogues.
The pirates came to the southern coast. By dint of luck, they had acquired certain enchantments, which they put to good use: Immediately around their ship, the waters were calmer, and a steady breeze pushed it on. One of the brigands fluttered across the channel. She was nearly invisible against the snow, for she wore a cloak that shone in all shades of silver.
When she reached the purported fairies’ cave, the cloak darkened, shrouding her in shadows. She slipped inside, and there found the nest. Three beautiful eggs...She chose what seemed to be the largest and healthiest, and then she fluttered back to the ship. The anchor was raised, the sails were set, and it turned, vanishing into the frostbitten night.[/color]
[center][url=https://thewindbloom.tumblr.com/post/165344336011/smoke-banners-that-i-never-posted-here-at-least][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/ac5b1225d575e3d2890d3ecae86b061f/tumblr_inline_ow8jhdDcs71soemy4_500.png[/img][/url][/center]
[color=#005F49]And that was what the hatchling awoke to, deep inside his egg: the sudden rocking motion, the sense that something was wrong.
He heard the wind howling, the creak of timbers and hawsers. And then voices that chilled him worse than blizzards ever could—
“We’ve acquired a great treasure, and no mistake!” It was followed by harsh cackling and cheers. “This pretty thing’s worth its weight in gold....It’ll set us up for life!”
No mother, no father, no safety...He was getting farther away from home by the minute, and his captors did not mean him well.
They must have known he could hear them, but they simply didn’t care. They spoke freely of the treasure and gems they’d be paid for procuring this “fairy child”.
And then they addressed the egg directly, exhorting it to hatch. “Come on, we know you’re in there!” they bellowed. They’d set the egg in a rough nest fashioned from a crate and straw, and they jiggled it impatiently, rapping on the tough shell with cutlass pommels. By lantern-light, they could see the hatchling inside, how it writhed about in anxiety.
“Get outta there already! You’ll be worth much more to us then. Come on, ye squirmin’ whelp, out with it! [i]Hatch![/i]”
There was no choice. Forcibly removed from his parents’ home, the hatchling was rapidly losing the magic that would have kept him alive inside the shell. He needed to break out before he died—or before the pirates grew impatient and bashed the egg open themselves.
As a result, the hatchling, when finally he emerged into the world, was sickly and frail. The pirates’ lean, hungry faces fell noticeably when they first saw him. His limbs were spindly, his wings sparse and limp. He stared mournfully up at them with beseeching eyes.
“This ain’t no fairy,” snarled a monstrous Imperial, looming directly over the little Skydancer’s head. Rank air blasted from his nostrils, and the hatchling, keening in fear, tried to shrink back into his shell.
The rest of the crew tittered at this. “Not even a hedge witch, I’ll wager,” hissed a Coatl. She tested the edge of her cutlass blade suggestively. “Though he’ll make a nice set o’ toothpicks....”
The Nocturne captain shoved the Imperial aside. “Don’t get yer rancid stench all over him! Just ye wait—a few days, and his magic’ll bloom. All snow-spirits have it, and once it shows, he won’t be able to stop it.” Imitating his larger crewmate, he snorted air at the hatchling’s face. “It’ll burst like water through a dam, and he won’t be able to hide it then.”
The pirates flung the hatchling into an iron cage. This they set in the darkness of the hold, and as they sailed on, they waited.[/color]
[center][url=https://thewindbloom.tumblr.com/post/165344336011/smoke-banners-that-i-never-posted-here-at-least][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/ac5b1225d575e3d2890d3ecae86b061f/tumblr_inline_ow8jhdDcs71soemy4_500.png[/img][/url][/center]
[color=#005F49]The hatchling had heard enough words through the eggshell to understand what the pirates wanted of him. But even if he hadn’t, their hard faces and hateful looks told him that he was in a bad place. And when the pirates became impatient, their harsh words erased any lingering doubts he might’ve had.
“Where’s your magic, then?! Been a fortnight since we took you. You’re tellin’ us we did all that hard work for [i]nothin’[/i]?!”
The captain did try to stay his crew’s anger at first. But as the child continued evincing no signs of magic, even his temper soured. The hatchling realized that if magic did lurk within him, it didn’t matter—he would die at these ruffians’ claws before his “powers” ever manifested. He curled up tightly inside his cage, weeping piteously.
Days passed and things grew worse...but death did not come, not to this child. Instead, rescue did.
Ironically, it was the pirates who engineered this, though they hadn’t intended to. They’d spotted a galleon on the horizon. By then, they’d decided that their captive had no special magic after all, and that he would fetch only a paltry sum of gold.
And so to make up for this loss, they’d decided to attack the galleon. The pirates ran up their colors, and they cheered when they saw the galleon turn, evidently preparing to draw up alongside them. With such ugly tempers, they were spoiling for a fight, and striking down these uppity merchants would make the plunder all the more sweeter.
They got a fight—but there was no plunder for them that day. The merchant galleon they faced was the [i]Exaudi[/i], and its captain and crew had bested many dangers before. A band of undisciplined pirates was hardly a challenge to them.
After most of the pirates, including the captain, were cut down, the rest fled. They flapped away over the choppy waters, preferring to risk death by drowning than by the blades of the [i]Exaudi’s[/i] crew.
They left their foundering ship behind. The galleon crew quickly searched it, looting it of any valuable supplies. Not that there were much—the pirates had been banking on the hatchling instead.
And finally he was found, still in his cage in the hold, only vaguely aware of what was going on. The [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=41353811]First Mate[/url] of the [i]Exaudi[/i], a blood-red Skydancer, crouched before him.
“Oi, lad, can you hear me? What’s your name?”
The hatchling could only mumble. The constant abuse from the pirates had taken their toll, and he was now in the throes of a high fever. Unable to rouse him, the First Mate smashed the lock apart with his cutlass instead. He took the child aboard the [i]Exaudi[/i], and the galleon continued on its way, leaving the pirate ship to sink beneath the waves.[/color]
[center][url=https://thewindbloom.tumblr.com/post/165344336011/smoke-banners-that-i-never-posted-here-at-least][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/ac5b1225d575e3d2890d3ecae86b061f/tumblr_inline_ow8jhdDcs71soemy4_500.png[/img][/url][/center]
[color=#005F49]“What’s your name, kid? Hey, what’s your name?”
It seemed incredibly important somehow. The hatchling struggled to hold on to that question; as the fever closed in on him, the rest of the world seemed to shrink away.
He was somewhere warm and soft and bright. It rocked steadily, and so he knew he was still on the sea, but it was so different from the darkness of the pirate ship. No hurtful words, no blows...This seemed to be a much better place.
Still, the fever had taken hold of him, and the [i]Exaudi’s [/i]crew were hard-pressed to shake it off. Because while they were fantastic sorcerers, sailors, and swordsdrakes, there was not one among them who specialized as a healer.
“Do we still have any of that tonic left?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Pyrea says it takes time to work. The results won’t be immediately apparent.”
“How far are we from the coast? Can we get a healer out here?”
“Pyrea...I should call Pyrea.”
The medicine did seem to be working. Blearily, the hatchling opened his eyes. There was a great desk nearby, with an [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31031764]Imperial[/url] seated before it and several tools on its surface. Through the haze, he watched the Imperial make a sign before an upright crystal panel. It glowed, and then the image of an older Skydancer appeared upon it.
“We are approaching the southeast coast of the Sunbeam Ruins,” the Imperial reported. “If you hire a fast launch or a transporter, you can meet us halfway. Please, you should hurry. The little boy needs you....”
The hatchling slipped back into darkness. He woke up again, some hours later, as a new voice rang in his ears.
“...some feverfew...and blueberries for flavoring. No use making it unpalatable,” growled the old [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=19148364]Skydancer[/url]. The hatchling recognized her from the comm crystal: deep red and purple scales, orange feathers framing her stern face.
She looked placidly at him. “Ah, you’re awake. You should have some water.”
“Py...rea?” he whispered. He also remembered her name.
Her feathers bristled. “The crew have been talkative, I see. Don’t strain yourself too much—but, oh, before I forget: Do you have a name?”
“No,” he whispered. He took the cup of water from her, drank gratefully. “N-never...”
He shivered, staring past her for a moment, remembering a rank darkness and faces glaring through iron bars. “Never...got one...”
It hung there for a moment, and then Pyrea rustled her wings. “It’s all right,” she said, her voice brisk, professional. It actually helped—quickly shuffled him past the bad memory and on to the task at hand. She held out another small bowl, this one filled with syrupy green medicine. It smelled faintly of blueberries.
“Now drink up. Here...Do you need more water?”
But the medicine was cool and soothing on its own, and the hatchling sighed as relief overwhelmed him. He lay down again, and in a few minutes, he was snoring peacefully.[/color]
[center][url=https://thewindbloom.tumblr.com/post/165344336011/smoke-banners-that-i-never-posted-here-at-least][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/ac5b1225d575e3d2890d3ecae86b061f/tumblr_inline_ow8jhdDcs71soemy4_500.png[/img][/url][/center]
[color=#005F49]Some days after he’d been rescued from the pirates, the hatchling’s fever broke. He sat up and yawned, looking around his cabin.
There was no one else nearby, and the ship was rocking gently, probably at anchor. He slowly padded into the corridor. Ahead were the stairs leading up to the deck; he could hear the swish of the waves, the distant hubbub of a harbor.
As soon as he popped up ondeck, he found himself in the shadow of a sleek, dark Imperial. She blinked at him in surprise, and then her face was lit by a dazzling smile.
“Ah, you’re awake! Welcome back to the waking world, little one.” She reached down, gently ran a claw over his mane. As he tried not to flinch, she boomed, “You gave us quite a scare. We weren’t sure if you’d pull through—but you really are quite a fighter!”
The hatchling searched his memory, trying to pick up this Imperial’s name. She was different from the one he’d seen, and the only name that came to mind was: “Pyrea?”
“Why, no—she left this morning after determining that you were out of danger.” The Imperial nodded formally, her hat plumes bobbing. “I am Captain [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33548824]Mara[/url], master of the [i]Exaudi[/i]. We are pleased to have you on board...” And then she coughed, suddenly a bit subdued. In quite a different voice, she said, “I must apologize for the inadequate care you initially received. We have never had a medical emergency on the [i]Exaudi [/i]that our on-board supplies couldn’t handle....But I know better now. We shall have to ensure that in the future, our passengers and crew will have more comfortable journeys...”
It was easy enough to pick up her feelings: The hatchling understood that they hadn’t expected to find him, and the ship didn’t normally take children aboard. But then, his had been a somewhat different case.
He turned his head towards the harbor. “It is home?” he chirped—after his ordeal, he was still struggling to put words and sentences together.
“Mm, yes, now that you’re awake, there’s not much reason to remain on board. Would you like to meet my clan, little one? Oh, but before I forget, what is your name? My crew tried asking you, but I’m afraid they didn’t quite catch your answer....”
There it was again, that question. What names had he heard? His parents had never given him one, and the insults the pirates had hurled at him could hardly be considered names. He thought about the trading galleon instead. Soft blankets, cool water, and medicine made from...[/color]
[center][url=https://thewindbloom.tumblr.com/post/165344336011/smoke-banners-that-i-never-posted-here-at-least][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/ac5b1225d575e3d2890d3ecae86b061f/tumblr_inline_ow8jhdDcs71soemy4_500.png[/img][/url][/center]
[color=#005F49]“Feverfew? That’s your name?” Pyrea frowned, evidently remembering that he’d said something different. But then she shrugged it off, muttering, “An apt name, all things considered. You had quite a bit of it, if I remember correctly.”
The newly-named Feverfew nodded, his face resolute. He dug up one word, scraping the barrel of memory: “Th...Thank.”
“You’re welcome,” Pyrea responded, gravely inclining her head. She watched with the same impassive expression as Feverfew looked around the infirmary. His pale eyes fastened on the medicines stocked in neat rows in a glass-fronted cabinet.
“Want. I...w-want...” He stammered, gestured ineffectually to the medicines. The healer arched an eyeridge. “Oh, you don’t need those, young drake.”
“N-no. Be...like...you. Can I? I want...” He gestured emphatically to Pyrea this time.
She frowned speculatively at him. “A physician? You want to be a physician? I suppose it isn’t an unusual reaction, all things considered.
“But the physician’s path is a demanding one, just so you know. You’re young yet; you may want to look at other options first. We have many artisans and skilled workers who would be willing to take on an apprentice...”
Her low, calm voice faded into the background. It wasn’t disrespect on Feverfew’s part; he was simply contemplating the journey that lay ahead. It would be a fine thing to sail the seas again. The crew of the [i]Exaudi [/i]had shown him that sea travel could be comfortable—and with a physician along to assure everyone’s good health, it would be safer and more pleasant for everyone aboard.
“Still, if your mind is set, I suppose arrangements could be made for the necessary lessons. Are you up to it? Not that I’m trying to stop you, mind.” And for the first time, Pyrea actually smiled: The corners of her mouth stretched wryly, but it was a smile all the same. “Aboard a ship, any competent physician is a real treasure, well worth their weight in gold.”
When Feverfew had last heard those words, he’d been filled with terror. The pirates had looked at him with hunger in their eyes, and spoken freely of cages and chains...
But now there was no fear. There was only excitement, as the words twisted themselves inside-out and turned themselves into something new. It was like leaving the pirate’s ship all over again and finding himself aboard the warm and friendly galleon; and realizing that yes, there was always a better way....
“Yes,” he said, and now his voice was steadier, more confident. He straightened his skinny frame. “I want to be...a physician.”[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#0086CE][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
[size=2][color=#9494A9][b]Notes:[/b] This story was originally submitted to the [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/qnc/2836692]MistJam 2020 Story Contest[/url] (“Windy Words ~ Plunder” prompt), where it won second prize.
[/color][/size]
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..
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the measure of a treasure
written by Disillusionist
2,515 words
|
“Health is wealth.”
~ a popular proverb___________________
The egg had been laid in the Southern Icefield. Its parents weren’t nearby, and hadn’t been for some time, but this was not because it had been abandoned. It had been stolen from the nest.
There are some areas along the Icefield’s coast that are so inhospitable as to be nearly inhabitable. They aren’t devoid of life, however—certain beings live here. There are dragons, there are beasts, and—so more superstitious folk whisper to one another—there are fairies here.
Or sorcerers, or elementals, or mysterious spirits...Whatever the label, it was believed that these dragons weren’t entirely of this world. The harshness of the icy cliffs was such that only those who could travel here were the most dedicated researchers...or the most desperate rogues.
The pirates came to the southern coast. By dint of luck, they had acquired certain enchantments, which they put to good use: Immediately around their ship, the waters were calmer, and a steady breeze pushed it on. One of the brigands fluttered across the channel. She was nearly invisible against the snow, for she wore a cloak that shone in all shades of silver.
When she reached the purported fairies’ cave, the cloak darkened, shrouding her in shadows. She slipped inside, and there found the nest. Three beautiful eggs...She chose what seemed to be the largest and healthiest, and then she fluttered back to the ship. The anchor was raised, the sails were set, and it turned, vanishing into the frostbitten night.
And that was what the hatchling awoke to, deep inside his egg: the sudden rocking motion, the sense that something was wrong.
He heard the wind howling, the creak of timbers and hawsers. And then voices that chilled him worse than blizzards ever could—
“We’ve acquired a great treasure, and no mistake!” It was followed by harsh cackling and cheers. “This pretty thing’s worth its weight in gold....It’ll set us up for life!”
No mother, no father, no safety...He was getting farther away from home by the minute, and his captors did not mean him well.
They must have known he could hear them, but they simply didn’t care. They spoke freely of the treasure and gems they’d be paid for procuring this “fairy child”.
And then they addressed the egg directly, exhorting it to hatch. “Come on, we know you’re in there!” they bellowed. They’d set the egg in a rough nest fashioned from a crate and straw, and they jiggled it impatiently, rapping on the tough shell with cutlass pommels. By lantern-light, they could see the hatchling inside, how it writhed about in anxiety.
“Get outta there already! You’ll be worth much more to us then. Come on, ye squirmin’ whelp, out with it! Hatch!”
There was no choice. Forcibly removed from his parents’ home, the hatchling was rapidly losing the magic that would have kept him alive inside the shell. He needed to break out before he died—or before the pirates grew impatient and bashed the egg open themselves.
As a result, the hatchling, when finally he emerged into the world, was sickly and frail. The pirates’ lean, hungry faces fell noticeably when they first saw him. His limbs were spindly, his wings sparse and limp. He stared mournfully up at them with beseeching eyes.
“This ain’t no fairy,” snarled a monstrous Imperial, looming directly over the little Skydancer’s head. Rank air blasted from his nostrils, and the hatchling, keening in fear, tried to shrink back into his shell.
The rest of the crew tittered at this. “Not even a hedge witch, I’ll wager,” hissed a Coatl. She tested the edge of her cutlass blade suggestively. “Though he’ll make a nice set o’ toothpicks....”
The Nocturne captain shoved the Imperial aside. “Don’t get yer rancid stench all over him! Just ye wait—a few days, and his magic’ll bloom. All snow-spirits have it, and once it shows, he won’t be able to stop it.” Imitating his larger crewmate, he snorted air at the hatchling’s face. “It’ll burst like water through a dam, and he won’t be able to hide it then.”
The pirates flung the hatchling into an iron cage. This they set in the darkness of the hold, and as they sailed on, they waited.
The hatchling had heard enough words through the eggshell to understand what the pirates wanted of him. But even if he hadn’t, their hard faces and hateful looks told him that he was in a bad place. And when the pirates became impatient, their harsh words erased any lingering doubts he might’ve had.
“Where’s your magic, then?! Been a fortnight since we took you. You’re tellin’ us we did all that hard work for nothin’?!”
The captain did try to stay his crew’s anger at first. But as the child continued evincing no signs of magic, even his temper soured. The hatchling realized that if magic did lurk within him, it didn’t matter—he would die at these ruffians’ claws before his “powers” ever manifested. He curled up tightly inside his cage, weeping piteously.
Days passed and things grew worse...but death did not come, not to this child. Instead, rescue did.
Ironically, it was the pirates who engineered this, though they hadn’t intended to. They’d spotted a galleon on the horizon. By then, they’d decided that their captive had no special magic after all, and that he would fetch only a paltry sum of gold.
And so to make up for this loss, they’d decided to attack the galleon. The pirates ran up their colors, and they cheered when they saw the galleon turn, evidently preparing to draw up alongside them. With such ugly tempers, they were spoiling for a fight, and striking down these uppity merchants would make the plunder all the more sweeter.
They got a fight—but there was no plunder for them that day. The merchant galleon they faced was the Exaudi, and its captain and crew had bested many dangers before. A band of undisciplined pirates was hardly a challenge to them.
After most of the pirates, including the captain, were cut down, the rest fled. They flapped away over the choppy waters, preferring to risk death by drowning than by the blades of the Exaudi’s crew.
They left their foundering ship behind. The galleon crew quickly searched it, looting it of any valuable supplies. Not that there were much—the pirates had been banking on the hatchling instead.
And finally he was found, still in his cage in the hold, only vaguely aware of what was going on. The First Mate of the Exaudi, a blood-red Skydancer, crouched before him.
“Oi, lad, can you hear me? What’s your name?”
The hatchling could only mumble. The constant abuse from the pirates had taken their toll, and he was now in the throes of a high fever. Unable to rouse him, the First Mate smashed the lock apart with his cutlass instead. He took the child aboard the Exaudi, and the galleon continued on its way, leaving the pirate ship to sink beneath the waves.
“What’s your name, kid? Hey, what’s your name?”
It seemed incredibly important somehow. The hatchling struggled to hold on to that question; as the fever closed in on him, the rest of the world seemed to shrink away.
He was somewhere warm and soft and bright. It rocked steadily, and so he knew he was still on the sea, but it was so different from the darkness of the pirate ship. No hurtful words, no blows...This seemed to be a much better place.
Still, the fever had taken hold of him, and the Exaudi’s crew were hard-pressed to shake it off. Because while they were fantastic sorcerers, sailors, and swordsdrakes, there was not one among them who specialized as a healer.
“Do we still have any of that tonic left?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Pyrea says it takes time to work. The results won’t be immediately apparent.”
“How far are we from the coast? Can we get a healer out here?”
“Pyrea...I should call Pyrea.”
The medicine did seem to be working. Blearily, the hatchling opened his eyes. There was a great desk nearby, with an Imperial seated before it and several tools on its surface. Through the haze, he watched the Imperial make a sign before an upright crystal panel. It glowed, and then the image of an older Skydancer appeared upon it.
“We are approaching the southeast coast of the Sunbeam Ruins,” the Imperial reported. “If you hire a fast launch or a transporter, you can meet us halfway. Please, you should hurry. The little boy needs you....”
The hatchling slipped back into darkness. He woke up again, some hours later, as a new voice rang in his ears.
“...some feverfew...and blueberries for flavoring. No use making it unpalatable,” growled the old Skydancer. The hatchling recognized her from the comm crystal: deep red and purple scales, orange feathers framing her stern face.
She looked placidly at him. “Ah, you’re awake. You should have some water.”
“Py...rea?” he whispered. He also remembered her name.
Her feathers bristled. “The crew have been talkative, I see. Don’t strain yourself too much—but, oh, before I forget: Do you have a name?”
“No,” he whispered. He took the cup of water from her, drank gratefully. “N-never...”
He shivered, staring past her for a moment, remembering a rank darkness and faces glaring through iron bars. “Never...got one...”
It hung there for a moment, and then Pyrea rustled her wings. “It’s all right,” she said, her voice brisk, professional. It actually helped—quickly shuffled him past the bad memory and on to the task at hand. She held out another small bowl, this one filled with syrupy green medicine. It smelled faintly of blueberries.
“Now drink up. Here...Do you need more water?”
But the medicine was cool and soothing on its own, and the hatchling sighed as relief overwhelmed him. He lay down again, and in a few minutes, he was snoring peacefully.
Some days after he’d been rescued from the pirates, the hatchling’s fever broke. He sat up and yawned, looking around his cabin.
There was no one else nearby, and the ship was rocking gently, probably at anchor. He slowly padded into the corridor. Ahead were the stairs leading up to the deck; he could hear the swish of the waves, the distant hubbub of a harbor.
As soon as he popped up ondeck, he found himself in the shadow of a sleek, dark Imperial. She blinked at him in surprise, and then her face was lit by a dazzling smile.
“Ah, you’re awake! Welcome back to the waking world, little one.” She reached down, gently ran a claw over his mane. As he tried not to flinch, she boomed, “You gave us quite a scare. We weren’t sure if you’d pull through—but you really are quite a fighter!”
The hatchling searched his memory, trying to pick up this Imperial’s name. She was different from the one he’d seen, and the only name that came to mind was: “Pyrea?”
“Why, no—she left this morning after determining that you were out of danger.” The Imperial nodded formally, her hat plumes bobbing. “I am Captain Mara, master of the Exaudi. We are pleased to have you on board...” And then she coughed, suddenly a bit subdued. In quite a different voice, she said, “I must apologize for the inadequate care you initially received. We have never had a medical emergency on the Exaudi that our on-board supplies couldn’t handle....But I know better now. We shall have to ensure that in the future, our passengers and crew will have more comfortable journeys...”
It was easy enough to pick up her feelings: The hatchling understood that they hadn’t expected to find him, and the ship didn’t normally take children aboard. But then, his had been a somewhat different case.
He turned his head towards the harbor. “It is home?” he chirped—after his ordeal, he was still struggling to put words and sentences together.
“Mm, yes, now that you’re awake, there’s not much reason to remain on board. Would you like to meet my clan, little one? Oh, but before I forget, what is your name? My crew tried asking you, but I’m afraid they didn’t quite catch your answer....”
There it was again, that question. What names had he heard? His parents had never given him one, and the insults the pirates had hurled at him could hardly be considered names. He thought about the trading galleon instead. Soft blankets, cool water, and medicine made from...
“Feverfew? That’s your name?” Pyrea frowned, evidently remembering that he’d said something different. But then she shrugged it off, muttering, “An apt name, all things considered. You had quite a bit of it, if I remember correctly.”
The newly-named Feverfew nodded, his face resolute. He dug up one word, scraping the barrel of memory: “Th...Thank.”
“You’re welcome,” Pyrea responded, gravely inclining her head. She watched with the same impassive expression as Feverfew looked around the infirmary. His pale eyes fastened on the medicines stocked in neat rows in a glass-fronted cabinet.
“Want. I...w-want...” He stammered, gestured ineffectually to the medicines. The healer arched an eyeridge. “Oh, you don’t need those, young drake.”
“N-no. Be...like...you. Can I? I want...” He gestured emphatically to Pyrea this time.
She frowned speculatively at him. “A physician? You want to be a physician? I suppose it isn’t an unusual reaction, all things considered.
“But the physician’s path is a demanding one, just so you know. You’re young yet; you may want to look at other options first. We have many artisans and skilled workers who would be willing to take on an apprentice...”
Her low, calm voice faded into the background. It wasn’t disrespect on Feverfew’s part; he was simply contemplating the journey that lay ahead. It would be a fine thing to sail the seas again. The crew of the Exaudi had shown him that sea travel could be comfortable—and with a physician along to assure everyone’s good health, it would be safer and more pleasant for everyone aboard.
“Still, if your mind is set, I suppose arrangements could be made for the necessary lessons. Are you up to it? Not that I’m trying to stop you, mind.” And for the first time, Pyrea actually smiled: The corners of her mouth stretched wryly, but it was a smile all the same. “Aboard a ship, any competent physician is a real treasure, well worth their weight in gold.”
When Feverfew had last heard those words, he’d been filled with terror. The pirates had looked at him with hunger in their eyes, and spoken freely of cages and chains...
But now there was no fear. There was only excitement, as the words twisted themselves inside-out and turned themselves into something new. It was like leaving the pirate’s ship all over again and finding himself aboard the warm and friendly galleon; and realizing that yes, there was always a better way....
“Yes,” he said, and now his voice was steadier, more confident. He straightened his skinny frame. “I want to be...a physician.”
~ The End
Notes: This story was originally submitted to the MistJam 2020 Story Contest (“Windy Words ~ Plunder” prompt), where it won second prize.
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[columns][center][item=broken clay pot][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#97AF8B][font=garamond][size=7][size=4]{ a story for rufus }[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/clan-profile/287397]ZipZapZoom[/url]
special thanks to Barrdwing
[color=#9494A9]373 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#7B3D1D]"It was an accident, I'm sorry!"
"By the Great Forger, Rufus, it's always...just..an..apologetic accident..." The elder coatl's voice slowed until he was pronouncing each syllable like an individual word. All about the teen's feet were tiny, cobbled figurines scuttling about trying to... Well, it looked like they were trying to clean Rufus' nails of clay and soot.
"I-I-I know---" the tundra sniffed. It was true. Tundras were walking fire hazards, and when they weren't especially talented at being swift and anticipating their fellows' and masters' needs and orders, they tended to make a mess of things. Rufus had the double indignity of being called spiral-addled. Too hyperactive for his own good most of the time, too eager to try things, and too likely to accidentally create a new vent than to scuttle around them with any success.
Too likely to create a new vent. Moving, cobbled parts.
"I found a new clay spot, well, I swear I didn't dig that hole, it just sort of opened, and the little cousins broke their dollies, and then some fell on my foot, and I sneezed, and blew fire everywhere, and now they won't stop moving. They promised they would when my foot was cleaned, like the job would be done..I mean, of course they didn't speak, that's not...not possible...like them moving...uhm. You do see them moving, don't you?"
"Rufus of Runk and MultiScorched, I believe you're double blessed. Perhaps we should find you the right mentor."
"Uhm, I'm sorry." Rufus mumbled, immediately interpreting the words as another failure on his part.
Little of the frightened and uncertain tundra remained now. Being correctly placed under the right masters turned him in a sure creator. He never second guessed his senses now, and though he rarely liked to venture far from his creating, he had a soft spot every time he saw an awkward little one.
There was a reason Rufus' den buzzed about with scraps of pottery no good to add to a real golem, but with too much life to fade away. It was a tiny army with one goal just like his first: wordlessly explain to the faltering ones that there was purpose to every life. One just had to find the right place.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#97AF8B][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
[size=2][color=#9494A9][b]Credits:[/b] The original post by [i]ZipZapZoom[/i] can be found [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/drs/2733636/1#post_40159145]here[/url]. Initial headcanon (in Rufus' bio) was provided by [i]Barrdwing.[/i][/color][/size]
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{ a story for rufus }
written by ZipZapZoom
special thanks to Barrdwing
373 words
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"It was an accident, I'm sorry!"
"By the Great Forger, Rufus, it's always...just..an..apologetic accident..." The elder coatl's voice slowed until he was pronouncing each syllable like an individual word. All about the teen's feet were tiny, cobbled figurines scuttling about trying to... Well, it looked like they were trying to clean Rufus' nails of clay and soot.
"I-I-I know---" the tundra sniffed. It was true. Tundras were walking fire hazards, and when they weren't especially talented at being swift and anticipating their fellows' and masters' needs and orders, they tended to make a mess of things. Rufus had the double indignity of being called spiral-addled. Too hyperactive for his own good most of the time, too eager to try things, and too likely to accidentally create a new vent than to scuttle around them with any success.
Too likely to create a new vent. Moving, cobbled parts.
"I found a new clay spot, well, I swear I didn't dig that hole, it just sort of opened, and the little cousins broke their dollies, and then some fell on my foot, and I sneezed, and blew fire everywhere, and now they won't stop moving. They promised they would when my foot was cleaned, like the job would be done..I mean, of course they didn't speak, that's not...not possible...like them moving...uhm. You do see them moving, don't you?"
"Rufus of Runk and MultiScorched, I believe you're double blessed. Perhaps we should find you the right mentor."
"Uhm, I'm sorry." Rufus mumbled, immediately interpreting the words as another failure on his part.
Little of the frightened and uncertain tundra remained now. Being correctly placed under the right masters turned him in a sure creator. He never second guessed his senses now, and though he rarely liked to venture far from his creating, he had a soft spot every time he saw an awkward little one.
There was a reason Rufus' den buzzed about with scraps of pottery no good to add to a real golem, but with too much life to fade away. It was a tiny army with one goal just like his first: wordlessly explain to the faltering ones that there was purpose to every life. One just had to find the right place.
~ The End
Credits: The original post by ZipZapZoom can be found here. Initial headcanon (in Rufus' bio) was provided by Barrdwing.
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[columns][center][item=augite fragments][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#D1B047][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]prologue: the statuary[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/1707590]Tues[/url]
[color=#9494A9]214 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#0B1F25]The world is terribly cold and lonely for a statue. No one ever stops to say hello, or offers a moment of their time, just to chat. And certainly no one listens, because statues have nothing at all to say.
But that does not change the fact that statues feel. Deva knows it, because she herself possesses thought, possesses feeling. The eternal winter bite that drifts through the hall has chilled her to her bones, and the pang in her heart when bright music floats down the corridors is not a phantom's pain. She may not be able to move, may not be able to speak, may not even have a beating heart, but she is [i]alive[/i].
How many are like her? How many other statues have minds that whirl and hearts that ache? What would they think of her, if they could see her longing to meet them? And does it matter, if all she will ever know is the frosty embrace of ice?
Deva sits in the hall with a plaque slung round her neck. It commemorates a terrible battle, if the passersby who sometimes read it aloud can be believed. She does not know if this is true, though. She knows nothing but her pedestal and an ache that never leaves.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#D1B047][size=5][b]~ to be continued[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
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prologue: the statuary
written by Tues
214 words
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The world is terribly cold and lonely for a statue. No one ever stops to say hello, or offers a moment of their time, just to chat. And certainly no one listens, because statues have nothing at all to say.
But that does not change the fact that statues feel. Deva knows it, because she herself possesses thought, possesses feeling. The eternal winter bite that drifts through the hall has chilled her to her bones, and the pang in her heart when bright music floats down the corridors is not a phantom's pain. She may not be able to move, may not be able to speak, may not even have a beating heart, but she is alive.
How many are like her? How many other statues have minds that whirl and hearts that ache? What would they think of her, if they could see her longing to meet them? And does it matter, if all she will ever know is the frosty embrace of ice?
Deva sits in the hall with a plaque slung round her neck. It commemorates a terrible battle, if the passersby who sometimes read it aloud can be believed. She does not know if this is true, though. She knows nothing but her pedestal and an ache that never leaves.
~ to be continued
