The Weyr of Dragons
Copyright 2012 skribe
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They’re laughing. I’ve forgotten why long ago. Laughing as only children can laugh with hope and joy as their companions. The warm sun is shining. The Alpine breeze tells of the passing winter. Birds sing. And then it stops, paused, that one perfect moment frozen: laughing faces haunting the crucible of my mind.
I no longer know why I am out here. What once was a sworn duty and a tempting prize has become ash. I feel as though I have been served a magnificent feast only to discover too late it poisoned, burning my throat and gagging. A poison of my own making.
The ship runs itself and I am once again a useless passenger, fragile and cumbersome. Now, as we are at last nearing The Edge I find myself morose and filled with doubt despite all the successes so far.