He felt simultaneously better and worse after his conversation with Cynosuth. He supposed that was a balance of sorts, if balance equaled one bad weight (Macuith’s and C’lusi’s injuries, Cynosuth’s concerned reprove) and another (everything else bottled up inside) on opposite ends. When Sophrosunth settled on his weyrledge once more, he felt tired, as if the conversation had drained him like a wing drill. It had been close a few times, but at least nothing embarrassing happened.

Well, nothing more embarrassing than getting a reality check by your sister at any rate. But that, he could stomach. And speaking of.

< FelaMine...? > She was reading on her bed, the beginnings of a flower crown beside her. There was a bucket of meat at the foot of the bed. Soph was quite confused.

She looked up. “Oh hey, back already. Go ahead and eat up, I gotta return this bucket to the kitchen asap.”

Soph glanced at it. < Er...Why did you— >

“Well,” Fela began cheerfully, briskly, “I thought since you were being childish, I should treat you like one. Butchered it nice and thin for you. You’re going to eat it all right now.”

The blue continued to gaze self-consciously at the bucket of meat, which barely constituted a snack for an adult dragon. < I see. > This response didn’t seem to appease her, which made him fret, but he wound closer and pulled the bucket away, tipping it over to dig the contents out with a snout and a claw. In a few short minutes he nibbled his way to the end and found that it had sharpened his hunger rather than helped it. He wondered if that was the intent.

“Anything happen while I was away?” she asked as she bookmarked her position in the book.

< Er. I did speak to Cynosuth, yes. > He hesitated before summarizing what they talked about.

“You gonna do what she asked?” Fela prompted once he finished. There was an undertone to her question that was hard to pick out even for Soph, but it was frighteningly similar to the way her mother phrased her words: always couched with this silent opinion that screamed judgement at anything that didn’t fit her personal tastes. Or maybe he was reading too much into it, letting Fela’s visit that day bleed into his unguarded mind. She was still wound about it; he instinctively wished to appease and soothe in response.

< Yes, > he replied, trying not to sound sheepish. < I...believe enough space has been given. >

“Good.” She hopped off the bed and went to him, rubbing a hand against his snout in spite of the gore still there. Her smile was tight. “You’ll come with me tomorrow, then. We got plenty‘ve people to see there. Oh! ‘Fore I forget.”

Wiping her hand absently on his neck (fair enough), Fela went to a handbasket at her desk, dug past the napkins and breadcrumbs, and pulled out a small egg. “Help me watch this, will ya?”

Soph eyed it curiously as he licked his lips. < A flit? I didn’t think you wanted one. > Previous reasons had ranged from “already have one big goober thanks” to “I don’t got time to train one” to “my sisters had like five between them I’m sick‘ve that s**t.”

“Don’t eat it,” she teased, bringing it closer for his inspection. The egg was a milky brown with flecks of tan. It reminded Soph of hot chocolate. “I figured you’re a big boy now, you can handle not getting jealous of a younger sibling. Plus I got a good feeling about this one.”

< Oh? >

“Yeah. If it’s got any smarts at all, he’ll be a pretty blue like you, and you’ll love him. Or if nothin’ else, it’ll get through that thick skull when I don’t.”

The dragon’s eyes greyed slightly, growing flecks of yellow. < You are there, dear heart, > he mumbled. < I’m afraid there isn’t much in there at the moment, however. >

“Well, we’ll fix that. And add a bit of color while we’re at it.”

< As you say. >

Fela looked skyward as if it had an answer to something she wouldn’t ask him. Then she took a deep breath and set the egg back in the basket. When she turned to him, she jutted her pointer finger at him like it was an arrow ready to get loosed.

“Will you grow a Faranth-damned spine, Soph?”

Ah. So that was why she had been exasperated so quickly these days. His instinct was to immediately shy away and seek shelter. He settled for letting his head droop, his wings pulled close.

Fela muttered a curse and whirled away from him, grabbing the bucket in an afterthought. “Maybe think about that for a lil’ while you mope,” she growled.

< I, ah... > Soph felt small again, only finding shreds of bravery when not looked at, desperate to find whatever magical words would set things right again. < I-I will go hunt for tonight. Please don’t worry. >

She didn’t answer as she exited the weyr.

He didn’t blame her. Not counting his own mistakes (their mistakes, he tried to correct himself), Fela’s family life had grown fraught with drama. And whatever thing was burgeoning with A’myl was now mostly on hold while he and Viyanakerth healed from their own injuries. As her bonded, her life partner, sometimes it was required of him to just take what venting she decided to do.

Besides, Fela had a point. She always did. How could anyone wrestle up the energy to argue, let alone him?