• • G'taeo and Xerbith • •

• Coming to terms with the past •

by Neishai

Ryslen

It was warm and cave-like in there. There was a soft, golden glow illuminating the room, but I didn't see the source. There was a large glass bowl, with handles and a flat bottom laying on the table. It was still hot, the steam filled my nose with a sweet, spicy smell. But you sat there, Gero, just staring at it, longingly.

It was as if you were waiting for somebody, you wouldn't eat until they came. Until She came. But you knew she would never come, so you just sat there staring at it, waiting for it to get cold.

Why wouldn't you eat it?

Tears filled G'taeo's eyes, threatened to fall. He lay against his dragon's lemony hide, looking down at Ryslen from their ledge, as they often did. Xerbith was relaxed, but Gero could feel a shiver of sympathetic pain ripple through the dragon's body. He gazed at Vanhi for a moment, fluttering above his yellow nose cooing softly. Such an odd little creature, the dragon thought to himself, with not a hint of reproach.

"I..." G'taeo cleared his throat. "Spiced yams, it was a family recipe she'd made me once or twice. It had special seasonings in it that she refused to disclose to me, until I finally guessed what they all were. It was, as you say, both sweet and spicy...and buttery. Sometimes they put some sweetened, whipped cream on top." His smile was warm yet distant as he quietly evaded the real issue.

Make me some. I want to try it, Xerbith announced suddenly.

"But you're a dragon, you eat live, writhing meat!"

The Yellow chuckled. Whoever said a dragon could not eat other things?

Gero had absolutely no idea how to react, so he merely stared.

• • •

He found himself in the kitchens, peeling yams of all things. Cutting, seasoning, and cooking yams. It did not take so very long. Several of the kitchen crew showed some serious interest in his latest venture into the wide world of cuisine. Most of them were women. But mostly, he was caught up in a conversation with his dragon, a very deep conversation.

Xerbith had come to the conclusion, in his very dreams, that Gero was waiting for an impossibility. He could not, would not move on with his life until he let Layla go. Her memory could remain, her legacy -- maybe just the little things, like spiced yams -- could remain, but he needed to let her rest.

He wasn't altogether sure if Xerbith had made the connection between the 'yams' and his own life, but it was clear to Gero, which in the end was all that mattered.

It's late, the dragon had said. She worked hard on it, so let her sleep and eat the yams without her. She would want it that way, he had said at one point. Gero had to wonder.

And now, G'taeo thought to himself as he climbed the stairs to their rooms, holding a steaming glass container in his mitted hands, I'm going to share it with you. No doubt you'll eat most of it, but you'll always make sure there's enough for me, and for Vanhi as well.

Frenzy!