tahariel: (Dragonbird - fly)
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Dragonbird


Still going! I'm trying to up my daily wordcount at the moment, get my brain trained for production, but time always vanishes when I'm concentrating on writing - I look up and it's been over an hour and a half and I've written maybe a thousand words, max. I don't know if this is normal, but I think the problem is that I was much more prolific back in high school and so I can't help but compare my current writing speed to my old one, even though I probably spend more time thinking about what I'm doing these days and thus produce better quality work (I hope.)

As an update to my previous whine about this, Curie is still not 100% sure about Bren, but she seems to have sort of decided she likes him. Naturally, things are about to go tits up, but that's when it gets really interesting :D

And just to satisfy my own ego, have an extract!



The air snapped crisp with autumn, light creeping thieflike through the bronzing leaves as it rose, tangling between dark-wooded branches and thickets until it reached the edge of the cleared landing grounds, where it poured in all at once. Pachua’s back couldn’t precisely be called warm any longer, after so long outside in the dark, but it wasn’t quite cold, either.

Curie lay curled comma-like under covers for a long while, until the birds started singing and Pachua lifted his head to join in; the vibrato of his song shook the lead from her limbs and so she rolled onto her back, stretching out the kinks from her spine. Not a foot above her head pitted and knotted boards gave off a smell like wet pitch and old growth, close enough for her to count the grain; as the dragonbird breathed in and out she rose and fell with it, the tip of her nose nearly brushing against the wood. The rain she had predicted had caught up with them shortly after Al Gwn had left to nurse his self-loathing two days before, and it had taken some cajoling to prod Pachua into shifting to lie under the open-sided wooden shelter at the far end of the grounds instead of just staying prone and half-freezing in the chill descending from the sky. It hadn’t fully stopped all the next day, occasionally slowing to a drizzle before thickening again and blurring the landscape into a haze of blues and greens. Must have finally worked itself out overnight. She had fallen asleep to the sound of heavy drops thrumming against the boards.

She shifted and leant over Pachua’s side, judging the curve of his belly with the ease of familiarity. Not so distended as it had been, but still less sleek than it was on non-feeding days. Hard to tell how it would settle once he’d relieved himself, but it’d probably ease back into a proper line today. Reaching out with one arm, she brought her hand down to slap hard against his side, earning herself a grunt and a twitch, but little more; his flesh gave under the impact much as it should do, the solidity of his swollen belly gone. In all likelihood they’d be right to fly.

After all the moisture in the air her hair was a rat’s nest of tangles, so once she’d dressed Curie sat down to drag a comb through it, gritting her teeth as she tugged it through the knots. Pachua rambled out into the sunlight to flop upon the damp earth and sun himself warmer. Even his scales seemed more brightly coloured as he soaked in it, absorbing light.

Ap Gwn arrived not long after, dark hair slicked back with water and shoulders straining at another tatty shirt, weapons swinging at his waist. His long legs made short work of striding over to the shelter, and once he was there he stood over Curie near-quivering with barely-suppressed energy. He’d already packed all his things, just as he had the morning before, slung over his shoulder ready to leave the instant she conceded. “Well?”

She looked over at Pachua, who, ruffled at the disturbance, had gone over to the trees to leave his mark for the next ‘bird to fly in. “I reckon we can leave today, yes,” she said, holding up a hand to stopper his next words. “Once I’ve had some breakfast, Ap Gwn, I’m not a snake. I eat more than once a week.”

“I know,” and he tossed her a paper-wrapped package; warmth bled out from its contents, and it turned out to be a hunk of still-warm meat wrapped in some grainy bread, a small lump of cheese to eat with it. “Water, too,” he said, and handed her the canteen instead of throwing it.

“Ta,” she said, and bit into the roll hungrily, the kind gesture winning him the effort of her not telling him to stop hovering like a starving mutt waiting for her to drop some scraps. He’d come out the morning before to ask if they might be travelling that day, and had sat with her a while in the morning before she made it clear she intended to spend the day out in the shelter with Pachua and Father’s book. It had been quiet once he’d gone, the silence he left behind him louder than his talk had been. It had seemed like too much effort, and too much of a concession, to go to the inn later on, though it would have been good to get warm, and it would not have troubled Pachua to spend some of the day alone. She would be seeing plenty of the man for the next couple of days as it was, Curie told herself, and took a long swallow of the water Ap Gwn had brought her, tilting the canteen to her lips. She’d have no time to miss the company, if that was what it was that had nearly moved her to go indoors.

Once they were saddled he slid up behind her close and warm, his arms less hesitant today about wrapping around her and pulling her tight against his body. Curie set her mind to flying and whistled them into the air. Pachua obliged with a sweep of outstretched wings.

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December 2011

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