Cold Minimalism

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 9th January 2026

Characters: H'run, Oselle, Amarella
Description: H'run adjusts to his new minimalist lifestyle. In stages.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 10, day 21 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: K'mai

H'run

The silence when H'run awoke had a beautiful echo to it. He lay in the dark listening to the sound of his own breathing and thrilled at the sense of emptiness in his weyr. No wardrobe bursting with fabrics, no cutter of cosmetics and perfumes on his dresser, no mound of leather riding jackets and straps by the door. He'd given it all away and felt... free. Untethered by items or other attachments, and like he could just float away into the aether. Two whole mornings now he'd woken up like this.

The bluerider pulled back his covers and then immediately pulled them back up to his chin as his bare skin met cold air. Sharding Dragonsfall and its weather could go to Red Star. The only thing he missed was his robe. It had made frigid mornings like this bearable.

"Faranth take it," H'run muttered. There was no help for it. Even a commitment to misery didn't deserve crawling from bed straight into an ice box.

He dressed quickly and skipped breakfast and the stares from his wingmates in the Dining Cavern in lieu of the Headwoman's office. She was already awake and a steady stream of drudges were moving in and out of her office on mysterious missions that H'run had no interest in learning more about. He pushed his way through and flashed what he hoped was a brilliant smile at Oselle. "Good morning, Headwoman!"

"Good morning, bluerider." She nodded at the middle-aged woman at her side, who left with a sheaf of hides and closed the door behind herself. Oselle looked H'run up and down and was pleased to see that he'd taken the time to brush his curly hair, at least. His sweater was wrinkled and his knee-high boots had scuffed toes. "Please, sit. To what do I owe the honour of your company?"

"Ah, well, there's been a mistake." H'run flopped into the chair opposite her desk with the liquid grace of someone still waking up. "I seem to have been a bit hasty when I cleared out my weyr and I was wondering if you still had my robe?"

Oselle suppressed a small smile. "Your robe?"

"Yes. A fine woven woolen outer layer, silk lining. Emerald green." It matched the colour of his eyes, and he felt a twinge of shame asking for it back-- it was the one that K'mai had brought to him in Dolphin Cove. There were _memories_.

That being said, he'd also had a longer, better and stronger relationship with the robe than he'd ever had with K'mai. "It's a bit worn at the elbows and cuffs. Quite distinctive, though."

The Headwoman pretended to think for a moment so that she could make the dragonman squirm. "You know... I think I still do have that. Shall I send it up for you today?"

"Thank Faranth!" H'run slumped in his chair with relief. "I would be simply _lost_ without it."

"Is there anything else you'd like me to see if I can retrieve for you?" Oselle asked.

H'run hesitated. He was committed to his new, pared down lifestyle, but a simple chest at the bottom of his bed was only half full. "Well... I had a pair of black ovine slippers that I do miss. And there was this one sweater with the softest wool that was so blue it looks black..."

The Headwoman nodded. "I'll see what I can find, but I can't promise you anything."

"That you try is all I ask." H'run pressed his hands against his chest and bowed in gratitude. "I have taken enough of your time this morning, my lovely Headwoman. I do hope that you have an excellent day."

"Thank you, bluerider. You as well," Oselle said to H'run's retreating back. As soon as he was out of her office, her assistant Amarella returned. "Did you hear any of that?"

Amarella nodded. "Good thing we set his things aside. Do you really think he'll be back for the rest of it?"

"If I were a betting woman, I'd bet you a mark," Oselle said dryly. "See to it that his robe, slippers and sweater are waiting for him on his bed by the time he returns from afternoon drills. And tuck a little sachet of lavender in there as well, please. I think he needs a little caring."

"I'll see it done, Headwoman," Amarella promised. "Was there anything else?"

"No. You're dismissed. And see to it that someone updates me on the whereabouts of that tithe train from Revilar Valley before the Kitchens riot from the lack of fresh flour."

Last updated on the February 8th 2026

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Cold Minimalism