Mirogol
:Story::Search::Hatchling::Weyrling::Adult:
:Starburst Weyr::Tripaldi Weyr:

Mirogol woke early as was expected of him and dragged on his clothes. His life wasn’t so bad; at least the family here at Hilerik Cothold was nice. They treated him well enough, despite him only being a drudge. He headed to the kitchen where Katriana, the mother, was already up and fixing breakfast. She never yelled at him for not beating her to the kitchens and he got the feeling it was because she hardly slept. She did have a quick temper though and occasionally struck him for not obeying her fast enough.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” Mirogol mumbled as he entered the room and immediately went about helping her to fix breakfast. She hardly looked at him so he made sure to stay out of her way.

Before long her youngest daughter had come bounding into the kitchen, singing and dancing as always. He smiled at the girl then glanced at her mother and went back to what he was doing. The girl danced out of the room and her older sister came down the hall, flashing Mirogol a smile and a wink as she walked into the small kitchen. He blushed and tried to pretend he hadn’t seen it. Elziba was beautiful in his eyes, and no doubt in many other young men’s eyes. She kept her long blonde-streaked brown hair back in a tidy braid and her big brown eyes melted him when she smiled. He knew he was nothing special to look at and a mere drudge to top it off and wondered why she always indulged him by smiling and winking, and talking to him when her parents weren’t around. He knew he was in love with her but that nothing could ever come of it.

“Morning, Mother,” said Elziba as she walked into the room. “Can I help you?”

“No dear, Mirogol and I have it under control, why don’t you go out and find your father, I think he’s checking on the fields. We’re due for a storm and we don’t want the good topsoil to be washed away.”

“A storm?” Elziba replied and Mirogol cringed at the dismay in her voice. Elziba loved bright, cloudless, sunny, blue skies and always ended up depressed when a storm rolled through. He’d never minded a good storm, but had come to dislike them for her sake.

Mirogol watched her in sympathy as Elziba walked towards the door, her shoulders stooped, one of her depressions no doubt settling there. Elziba never got out the door though because as she was about to leave her father came through the door, dripping wet. He took off his jacket and boots and left them by the door, knocking some water out of his hair with a big hand.

“It’s really coming down out there,” he said. “Glad I got up early to check the fields, we might have lost that south end,” the strong man patted Mirogol on the back and nodded to him. Mirogol smiled in reply; glad the big man seemed to like him as more than just the family drudge.

Elziba scowled and silently retreated from the room, taking Mirogol’s heart with her. He sighed and went back to his work, wishing fervently that there were some way for him to cheer her up.

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