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There are some lights!
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Topic: There are some lights!  (Read 615 times)

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on: January 28, 2018, 10:08:56 AM There are some lights!

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Dutch Galaxy

In this chapter, Theman has returned to Wind’s Home High Paddock by sea, with a new herd of animals. That night, his insomnia gets the better of him and he ventures outside into the cold to think.

Today’s musical accompaniment is provided by a trio of Stan Rogers songs: 
Fogarty's Cove
The Mary Ellen Carter

The mug of hot spiced wine, piping hot just a few scant minutes ago cooled rapidly in the predawn cold. The moons were both down, lending neither light nor warmth to this, the coldest night so far this season. Theman wrapped his furs about him even more tightly as he sat in the forecourt of the Wind’s Home High Paddock living hold. His breath left an icy cloud in front of his face. He could not sleep. His mind kept returning like a bored harper to scenes recalled from his return from the warmer Hold and Weyr, down south:

The Captain’s voice as their ship - no ragtag craft but this, a proper ship, three masted - approached Sea’s Cry Hold  informing him of impending weather as “the wind is blowing some cold today, with just a wee nip of snow.” Yeah, just a ‘wee’ nip. Three days they were hold bound by that blizzard. Still, the time in that hold had been entertaining, as the local harpers had some very interesting songs to sing.  Still, Three Days. Three.

The face of the young over at Far Cry, after two days leading his beasts inland, the young - underfed and eager for food, yet still politely allowing the stranger (himself) to have first pick from the fare. Perhaps it was the face of that wide eyed young girl, barely three turns, which triggered his impetus to leave fully three quarters of his herd and most of the fodder he bought along behind. The hold’s beasthandler was dismayed, until he learned that Theman ‘just could not handle the small herd all the way back to Wind’s Home and that he would return in the spring.’ Those animals were some of the best milkers in that small herd. Theman knew the milk, cheese and butter those goats would supply to the hold would go a long way towards erasing those pinched faces.

The welcome sight of Northwest Passage, and the odd notes of the revelers inside, intruding on his solitary march with twenty head.

Theman drank another sip of the now stone cold wine and looked across the deep valley towards the far side to the west. THoughts of some of the tunes played for him by the Far Cry Sea Hold and later Far Cry Harpers caused him to smile in remembrance. Strange tunes he had not heard before. He hummed quietly.

He moved to get up, losing grip of his mug and tumbling it down to the flagstoned court. “Shards!” Theman struggled with the catch on the cover of the glow basket. The cover flipped up, down, up again, before falling and staying. Theman secured the glow’s cover in the open position, looking for his mug. That’s when he saw it. There, across the wide valley to the west, about halfway up the facing mountain, just in line with what would be revealed as Big Island Lake below. There. A flash. Two more in rapid succession, followed by a long, lazy flash.


Quickly, he picked up a rock and started inscribing on the rock faced table before him, thought of his mug and the wine fled from his mind. Dot dot, dash dash. “Yes, this must be drum code!”, he thought. All too soon, the lights ended. With his trusty ‘inscription rock’, as well as other objects he found on his person, Theman tried to place a marker on the table, pointing to where the source of lights had been.

Having accomplished his task, and looking around the valley below him in the gathering grey of pre-dawn, he saw it. There, over by the box canyon on this side, just the other side of the north paddock. Must have been a green to be so small, emerging from between. A lighter shadow against darker shadows. Not so small a shadow though however that her rider wasn’t visible to Theman as a shadow against shadows. And what was that? A passenger? The mysterious dragon disappeared into the canyon as Theman lost sight.

Finally, thoroughly frozen in the night air, yet greeted by the first pale rays of dawn from over his shoulder, Theman gathered his mug and wrapped the furs even tighter about him as he turned to go back inside the beasthold. He had taken a scant dozen steps before he felt a hand on his shoulder, as a soft voice whispered “Theman...”.

Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate....
- Dutch

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