lurkingkobold (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lurkingkobold) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
glowfic2015-07-06 08:06 pm
lurkingkobold) wrote in glowfic2015-07-06 08:06 pm
Entry tags:
The author gives some account of herself and family.
So, that was a party. It was nice, right up until it wasn't - almost like having a tribe again, if she didn't think too closely about it. But then it wasn't, and it really wasn't, and now here we are.
Here, in this case, is the floor of the closet of the room she's been sleeping in, in Miles' house, wrapped up as tight as she can manage in the blanket she took from the bed, waiting for her heart to calm enough that she can go back to sleep after a familiar and expected nightmare. The blanket is wrong - it's missing the smell and stiffness and most importantly the weight of the leather blanket she wishes she had - and the floor is wrong and the acoustics are wrong and being alone, with no other kobolds, is so wrong, and she wishes she could go home, just for a day, just for an hour, just for long enough to let everything be right again for a little while.
She can't, of course. In the light of day, with her new strange almost-tribe, she doesn't even want to, wouldn't want to even if she could. But here, now, in the dark, in this space that is right only in that it's less wrong than her other options, that it's small enough and closed enough that when she wakes, shaking, she can be sure that she is alone, that no one has snuck up on her - here and now, she would trade it all for the smell of cookfire smoke and the sound of a hundred sleeping bodies.
Remembering helps, a little. Even if she can't be there now, tribe is something she had, something she knows like breathing, like heartbeat. She can't be there, but, if she was.... it would sound like this, and it would look like this, and it would feel like this...
Eventually, her breathing slows, and she drifts back to sleep.
Here, in this case, is the floor of the closet of the room she's been sleeping in, in Miles' house, wrapped up as tight as she can manage in the blanket she took from the bed, waiting for her heart to calm enough that she can go back to sleep after a familiar and expected nightmare. The blanket is wrong - it's missing the smell and stiffness and most importantly the weight of the leather blanket she wishes she had - and the floor is wrong and the acoustics are wrong and being alone, with no other kobolds, is so wrong, and she wishes she could go home, just for a day, just for an hour, just for long enough to let everything be right again for a little while.
She can't, of course. In the light of day, with her new strange almost-tribe, she doesn't even want to, wouldn't want to even if she could. But here, now, in the dark, in this space that is right only in that it's less wrong than her other options, that it's small enough and closed enough that when she wakes, shaking, she can be sure that she is alone, that no one has snuck up on her - here and now, she would trade it all for the smell of cookfire smoke and the sound of a hundred sleeping bodies.
Remembering helps, a little. Even if she can't be there now, tribe is something she had, something she knows like breathing, like heartbeat. She can't be there, but, if she was.... it would sound like this, and it would look like this, and it would feel like this...
Eventually, her breathing slows, and she drifts back to sleep.