Weyr Life Drabbles: Prompt word #6: "Hours"
Mirrim sits amongst the huddle of lower caverns women, alone.
Neatly stacked bandages stand beside jars of numbweed and a basin of warm water on a table; beneath it are the skins of fellis-laden wine. Everything is in order.
Caring for the wounded is easy for her; she can lose herself in her task. Waiting is the worst part of these hours.
The other women sit patiently in the chill cold of the weyrbowl, waiting for the injured dragons to emerge. But every time broad, bronze wings darken the sky above, Mirrim's heart trembles.
Let it not be Monarth!
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
chesneycat) wrote,
