Frayed

Writers: Duskdog
Date Posted: 28th April 2025

Characters: Chandrany
Description: Chandrany’s mother is worried about her.
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 6, day 5 of Turn 12

Chandrany

The leather was stiff under Chandrany’s fingers, but she liked the work. The heavy, rhythmic pull of the needle through the tough material, the satisfaction of each tight stitch -- it was soothing, uplifting. Making things with her own two hands had always been a passion of hers, and though she was new to working with leather, she decided that she liked the feel of it almost as much as she liked the scent of it. It made her think of the future: of dragons’ wings flashing in the sun, of flying higher and faster than the clouds, of doing something _important_.

She sat cross-legged on the floor of her family’s cramped quarters, bent over the half-sewn strap, a spool of heavy thread resting in her lap. Across the room, her mother was sorting linens, folding each with a practiced flick of her wrists and stacking them neatly into a basket. The smell of clean cloth and hide oil filled the room, warm and ordinary.

"I think I’m really making progress," Chandrany said, breaking the companionable silence. "Now that I’ve got the hang of hide and leather, it’s not so different from cloth. By the time I Impress and get to the point where we’re almost ready to fly, I'll be able to make my own straps better and faster than everyone else. And I’ll know for sure that every stitch holds."

Her mother only hummed noncommittally and pressed the last of the folded linens down flat with her palm.

Chandrany plunged ahead anyway, pulling the thread tight with a satisfying _snick_. "I’ve been practicing all kinds of things. Not just sewing. I’ve been helping out washing some greens. I mean, I know that’s nothing special -- every kid in the Weyr has done it -- but I’ve been really paying attention, you know? To all the spots that get the most grimy. And the spots that tend to need extra oiling, and just how much to use. I’ve even been looking over maps and Threadfall charts, when I can talk my way into the archives. I think they’re sick of seeing me."

She laughed a little, self-conscious. "Some of the others think I’m being a try-hard. But I want to be ready. I want to be…" she hesitated, searching for the right word. "_Good_ at it. I don’t want to be one of those riders that everyone has to make excuses for."

Her mother set the basket aside, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was carefully neutral, but Chandrany could feel the change in the air, like a sudden drop in pressure signaling the coming of a storm. It was the kind of sense honed from turns of living with someone, of knowing them best and knowing that they know _you_ best.

"You’ve been thinking about this a lot," her mother said at last.

"Of course I have," Chandrany said, almost too quickly. She bit back the defensive edge in her voice and focused instead on another stitch. "It’s important."

There was a long pause. Then, carefully, her mother said, "Chan... maybe it’s time to think about other things, too."

Chandrany’s needle froze midair.

"You’re getting older," her mother continued, as if she hadn’t noticed the tension strumming through her daughter’s frame. "Most girls your age… well, you know. Not everyone gets to be a dragonrider. It’s not shameful to have a place in the lower caverns. You like to sew. You could sew for the Weyr. Help with the laundry. Cook, even. Good work. Work people rely on."

"I _am_ helping," Chandrany said stiffly. "But that’s not all I’m meant for."

"You said the same thing about being a harper," her mother said, her voice low but not unkind. "You were sure you were meant for _songs_, then. And when it didn’t come easy, when it got hard, you gave it up."

"Is that really what you think happened?" Chandrany snapped, looking up, scarcely able to believe her ears.. "I didn’t _give it up_. You _know_ that! They pushed me out! I just… I was taking longer to learn, that’s all. Because… because not everyone learns the same way…"

"I know," her mother said quickly. "I know. I’m sorry. I know you tried. But it’s how things are, Chan. You get your hopes so high. And when it doesn’t happen the way you dream, it... it breaks you. I just don’t want to see that happen again."

Chandrany’s throat burned, and she bent over her stitching to hide it, jabbing the needle through the leather too hard and nearly stabbing herself in the thigh.

"You think I can’t do it," she accused quietly, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

Her mother’s hands twisted together. "I think... it’s not wrong to want happiness. _I_ want you to be happy. But you have to be ready for it to look different than you imagined. You have to be willing to find pride in whatever the Weyr asks of you. That’s how you live a good life. Not by hanging all your hopes on something that might never come."

Chandrany didn't answer. She knotted the thread sharply and set the leather down, her fingers trembling.

Her mother came to kneel beside her, reaching out like she might tuck a stray lock of hair behind her daughter's ear. But Chandrany jerked away before she could.

"I _will_ Impress," she said, her voice shaking with the force of it. "You’ll see. And I’ll be _good_ at it."

The words hung heavy between them, heavier than any scolding could have been.

Her mother’s hand fell back to her side, and after a moment she stood up, gathering her basket. "I hope you’re right, love," she said, very quietly. "I hope so."

Chandrany didn’t watch her go. She just picked up the leather again with clumsy, furious fingers and stabbed the needle through, again and again, sewing a future only she seemed to believe in.

Last updated on the April 30th 2025

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

Frayed