Chapter Title: but it belongs to me
Chapter Summary: The pain is a relief.
Written for the fan_flashworks challenge bury. Ft the oft overlooked lower caverns of Benden Wyer, bronzeriders being bronzeriders (not, for once involving sex) and Mirrim being murderous, which, fair enough. She can have a little murder, as a treat.
Pre Mirrim Impressing Path. Not that I really see any reason why dragonriders can't help out, once they've passed the 24/7 rapid growth phase.
Life in each of Pern's seven Wyer's has its dangers, just as a life in beasthall or at sea is one spent at risk of a trampling or storm. Long watches on the ridge, dragon fall and clumsy dragonettes all take their toll on the health of dragonrider. Away from such lofty pursuits, it is numbweed accidents (and the entire process of rendering numbweed) that are one of the worst that can happen to workers in lowercaverns. Like loosing a limb, while it stays attached and prone to further injury besides.
Mirrim is not clumsy enough to have such an accident. Nor absent minded, or distracted, or simply morbidly curious. No, she none of the things that lead to a tonguelashing, and yet. Here she sits, for all of Pern as if she had only the one arm.
It comes with the additional burden of having to deal with her ruined shirt, the lingering smell, and the embarrassment of messing up the production of an entire cauldron. The women will have to gather more to make up for the spill loss, which means organising another trip, rounding up a blue or two to courier them south and back again and entire process, stinking up the caverns.
Her shirt is gone, replaced with an overlarge tunic with a torn sleeve that still needs repair. Mirrim certainly isn't going to be the one to do it. It is, somehow, the worst of indignities.
If she catches that fool of a bronzerider who was so busy running through he didn't notice he knocked her arm into the pot - but that will have to wait. Mirrim is confined to her stool, using her one good arm to stir stew. Marona will deal with it, if he hasn't fled her wrath already. Any wingrider, no matter their seniority or lack thereof, can only last so long before he needs klah, or new soapsand.
She feels nothing, but that's never stopped her before. She has turns of experience helping Brekke run Southern. Some fool of a bronze isn't enough to stop her mind from working through the lists of things that need doing, and how the lists will need changing, now ...
Knocks against the side of the chair. Still nothing.
...
Shards and shells, she is going to murder him.