Xadovith is lop-sided.
RL Date: 6/25/09
IC Date: 1/12/20
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr(#276RJs)
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.
It is a rare day of cloudless sunshine, though the temperatures are markedly colder.
As far as winter days at the Reaches go, this one's almost relentlessly pleasant. The sun's out-- though weak and pale in its usual midwinter way-- and people seem almost cheerful in light of it. --Correction. /Some/ people seem cheerful in light of it. N'thei just seems like he always does, which is somewhere between murderous and apathetic. Right now, watching Wyaeth off in the feeding grounds being vicious and cruel with his kill, the rider leaning on the fence in his jacket and scarf and all that stuff, it's hard to tell which way he leans.
Neither way: he's on the fence, of course! Which is around when, in the distance, Vrianth leaves off that ledge above the weyrling barracks she likes to steal, easy wingbeats sending her all-but-gliding towards those very same pens to circle above them. Pity her poor weyrling charges must walk beneath, but then, so must her rider. Trudging.
Dragon> The rangy green hovers above his carnage for a moment before returning to her circling, around and around and around. << They aren't very wild. >> Pity. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth images himself chasing them up into the steaming frenzy that currently dominates the grounds, always giddy to cause a stampede. << Nah, but they ain't so bad if you get 'em runnin'. >>
Since the gliding has also initiated hunting, Xadovith has been keen to watch older, experienced dragons at the task. That being hunting, not gliding. Whether his observations are official or not, he's been trying to learn beyond instinct, and so when that was the direction chosen, he was more than willing to follow. K'ndro would be one of those annoying persons who finds a pretty day like today a perfectly good cause for cheer, walking along as easily as one can with what build-up of snow and ice remains on the bowl floor. By contrast, Xado stalks, a somewhat low-bellied slink that's as close to graceful as he's managed to achieve. Which is really more sinister-seeming intent than grace, really.
Dragon> << Not too much work? >> Surely it's teasing. All that growling and flapping! (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Wyaeth looks up, with a leg hanging gruesomely out of the side of his face, and issues a gravel-and-brass greeting to Vrianth, attracts N'thei's attention to respond with a much less pleasant reaction to her presence, that being a scowl. Or maybe he's just reacting to a gust of cold wind and the grimness of his dragon's version of feeding. Either way, it worsens a little to see the people she drags along with her. Chatty bunch~
Dragon> Masculine pride bristles! << Course not! >> Watch, he'll demonstrate in a moment here. (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
"Pens're busy," Leova asides to K'ndro as they approach, as though he mightn't have noticed their hustle and bustle, much of the herd currently quivering far far not-far-enough away from Wyaeth while a few others just make scattered runs back and forth. The older bronze's greeting gets a gloved hand scraping through her hair, no hat today, but Vrianth tightens her circling about the pens. Expectant. Waiting. For something other than Leova's too-casual, "/Guess/ we might as well see about gliding. Unless... you think /he/ might be too distracting, hm?" Her sideways glance checks with the weyrling: going to let a little thing like that get in the way?
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth lets it be known that she's watching. Waiting. It's almost as though she's... /obedient/.
"Noticed," K'ndro replies with a quirking grin. "Don't think as that'll bother -him- none; he likes studyin' th'movements. Plannin' scenerios in his head." His head dips sideward, no real need, but the indication there anyway as for which 'him' he means. Xadovith turns his head, just -looks- at his lifemate and something prompts a laugh. "Which he, ma'am?" He-in-the-pen, or he-on-the-fence coming in to view? "Xado c'n concentrate jus' fine with distractions about. Better. Makes it a challenge, after all."
Not the best influence, Wyaeth teaches Xadovith nothing /useful/-- unless making the herd run like crazy and try to trample each other in desperate fear to escape the chance of being sliced open with a very mean looking claw is something useful? Probably not. But the older bronze seems to enjoy himself, and hunkers down afterward to watch the chaos continue to unfold. "Don't blame him," is N'thei's introductory remark, introductory warning. "She baits." As if there's a snowball's chance in Igen that Leova's not aware of this.
"Which do you think?" Leova asks the weyrling like it's a genuine question, nothing rhetorical about it, except for maybe a certain dryness about her air. /Vrianth's/ the one happily watching Wyaeth and his inciting, watching the aftermath even, the bumping and thumping and those /noises/ that the beasts make. What big eyes she has! "N'thei," her rider asides to that man. To K'ndro, "He likes it." Wyaeth, presumably. The tormenting of herdbeasts, quite possibly. "Thing is, when you're learning, don't have to be a challenge starting out when it's something what might get you hurt, hm? Now. Get yourself some clear space, facing out /away/ from us, and ask him to show N'thei that hopping thing. Then some wingbeats. But wait for my cue, before putting the two together." Vrianth skims lower, like she /could/ land just beyond the pens, but doesn't. Yet.
On the contrary, while Wyaeth might engender nothing more than a certain disapproval, his vicious delight provides ample opportunity to study how frightened-out-of-their-dull-witted-minds 'beasts move. Which is plenty useful. Xadovith continues his keen observation and seemingly ignores the rest of his surroundings. "Considerin' who it is, ma'am? Both." At least he's honest? Which won't, of course, mean that he'll forget the appropriate salute and "Sir." greeting. K'ndro drops his gaze back to Leova, his head nodding agreement even as his voice disagrees, "Ye ain't in his head." Another nod, this one slightly sharper, and he hitches a shoulder slightly. Just that, but it sees Xadovith turning, albeit slightly reluctantly, away from watching milling herdbeasts and slink-stalking down the beach a ways, tail lashing back and forth as he points his butt at the gathered humans. Shifting, the lean bronze gathers his legs and obligingly hops in place, up-down up-down up-down. "He still wants to use his left more than his right," Mik notes aside to Leova, frowning. But then shadowed wings are unfurling as Xado leans back on his haunches and brings his wings down-and-up in steady beats.
"What," begins N'thei, "makes you think I want to watch whatever that hopping thing is." A look lands pointedly on Leova's knot. /Leova's/ knot. He resolutely does not turn, though watching Wyaeth grab and throttle a screaming doe is not the most palatable things to behold. If he happens to /glance/ back, surely that's just happenstance, as is the brief knit that whatever the hell Xadovith thinks he's doing puts in his brows. In the pens, things just start to die down when Wyaeth does nothing more than flicks his wings and there's renewed panic; if it were possible for a dragon to giggle his ass off, Wyaeth would be doing so now.
"No," confirms Leova, she's not in his head, but it's said with the solid tone that means it's not going to change her mind any. But for K'ndro's description, "Still been doing those stretches we talked about? Just means, got to keep up the practice. And I'll have a look afterward." For N'thei, there's a dry look, a, "Think back to his childhood. Little baby Wyaeth doing hop-hop-hop." Just what every man wants to look back on! And then Vrianth's skidding past the pens to see if /that/ will scare herdbeasts anywhere near as well as Wyaeth's doing it, only she backwings past the fence and actually lands near Xadovith. For a moment, at least. << Timing, >> she notes. And up she leaps, down go her wings, and she relays the put-the-two-together sense of it to Xadovith even as Leova adds, "His turn. Not the same, won't be as easy for him, don't try to match it exactly... but he should get the idea."
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth lets it be known that she suspects, << If you /breathed/ on them, they would run. >>
"Aye, every day," K'ndro confirms. "It's not that he ain't tryin'. 'S jus'..." His frown deepens, as he tries to put into words what he can -feel- so that it makes sense. "It feels stronger. Like when ye start runnin' or reach out t'grab somethin' as's fallin'." A left-handed dragon, ha. Since N'thei doesn't appear to be speaking to him, he, unlike certain other weyrlings we could mention, is content to just give the elder rider the silent treatment. He does, though, eye Leova askance for her last. This is -Xadovith.- Mr Perfectionist. Doesn't matter what K'ndro does or doesn't tell him to do, he'll still try to do better than his best. Not that, at the moment, his best is very good. He watches Vrianth with the same intent observation he'd given the feeding pens minutes before, bobs his head once but doesn't offer her any words. First, testing bob and mini-flap. And again. Just testing the principle, devising a plan. And then, hind legs shove upwards. There's the hop, and here comes the beat... a fraction too
late. WHUMP down comes dragonbutt to earth again.
N'thei, despite himself, does in fact think back on this, imagines a rather weather-beaten bronzeling hopping around, eyes on Wyaeth again. He's betrayed mostly because of the suddenly offended, do-take-umbrage announcement to Vrianth and Xadovith, << That ain't me! >> Despite what he may have been doing or about to do, all for the green's entertainment, he lobs himself up over the fence and glides to a purposefully graceful landing a 'length or two from the others. No sudden *thud* since there's no one to annoy with it. He turns, watches Xadovith land on his butt, and informs helpfully, << Ya messed up. >> Sorry, but even N'thei, leaning his back against the fence now, has to snicker.
WHUMP. "Can tell they're related, all right," Leova murmurs with an eye rolled back to the dust-devil bronze back there. "Xadovith sired by Cadejoth out of Rielsath sired by Wy..." and then, /then/, he lands lightly like that and she's just laughing, laughing, and then it becomes a cough in the cold and she stops. Back to business: "Somehow, reckon you won't mind practicing, Xadovith, hm? Give it another go, and then we'll take a look at your neck." Vrianth, dispassionately: << He'll learn. >>
The offended announcement will actually draw comment from the younger bronze, briefly curious, << Your rider has a poor memory? >> With an extra-special strong puff of garlic scent just for showing-off Wyaeth. After the hop-and-thump, a rustling of wings, before he acknowledges with a borrowed, very drily delivered, << Gee, ya think? >> K'ndro, along with N'thei, can't quite contain a snicker. Shouldn't he be like, worried or sympathetic or something? But, no, it's a singularly amused expression on his face, the smirk twisting his lips almost smug. Though amusement turns to -bemusement- for Leova's comments and laughter both. Oookay. Xadovith repeats the process, complete with those testing false starts. Hop! And, beat! Still wobbly, still not quite-perfect timing, but at least it's not the practically straight-back-down-again thump of last time. Curving, just a little and not intentionally, rightward before he bumps back down onto ground again, with an extra little bounce to keep his feet.
Wyaeth turns a gleaming pair of eyes toward Leova; did she not see the execution of his graceful glide-and-land? Did she not see him alight soundlessly? Related; hmph. "Blame it on the Istan," N'thei asserts on the tail end of the point the greenrider's trying to make. To Xadovith, Wyaeth clarifies, << No, he's just a damn liar. >> And then, proving prophesy, the younger bronze seemed to have learned something though... << Still not so hot lookin'. They all do it so piss-poor, or just this one? >>
Don't knock the showing-off-Wyaeth, says the twist to Vrianth's neck, her glide's height making it that much easier to look down her angular nose at the weyrling. She's doing all that, and Leova... well, Leova only realizes around the tail end of Wyaeth's eyeing, and then she gives him a wide-eyed look and, why not, claps a few times. Like so? Vrianth: << Just him. >> Beat. << The others haven't yet. >> Or mostly anyway, and surely she can't be expected to keep track of them all. Leova: "Come on over, Xadovith, let's take a look." At which point Vrianth lands, lightly like her sire but gauged to take her where would ordinarily be far too close to mere fragile humans. And she eyes Xadovith some more, wings up and back, as territorial as she ever is through each and every one of these inspections.
<< It is about performing well, not looking pretty. >> Such are the words of Xadovith, who will never, ever, be anything even remotely resembling pretty. And so it is that Vrianth's reply might sting a little more than Wyaeth's disparaging, though he keeps this reaction cloaked. Only the brief flicker of something more tender across K'ndro's face, beneath the amusement, gives it away. Still not privy to the joke, due in part to not being familiar with Wyaeth's habits and in part to trying not to pay attention to a conversation that doesn't really include him, the weyrling human maintains his silence. Xadovith coils up himself, and is facing the opposite direction when he uncoils, and stalks over toward the group. A somewhat annoyed twitch for Vrianth's territoriality, as he shoves his head around to scoop K'ndro away from the others and extend his neck for Leova all at the same time. Ain't he clever? "Would ye stop that!" Thwack, gloved hand to tarnished shoulder.
<< Ain't sure if that makes me feel better or not, >> Wyaeth confesses. If Xadovith comprises the entire sample set and he bothced it up royally... He snorts, disappointed, and hunkers down like he's got any business in this venture. The damned-liar shakes his head, as if he never suffered the pangs of an ungainly dragon. << You can still look purty and do it right. >> Witness Vrianth, his head tossed in her direction even while he sort of withdraws a touch from the other dragons. She can be as possessive as she wants to with the little dragons; none of them have the right gold-colored-shine to excite his territorial streak.
"No, no, you can grab your rider /later," Leova informs Xadovith. And it's her rider Vrianth's possessive of, has been ever since finding her on those sands, although certain weyrling lessons and more recent activities can't have helped. Even if Vrianth doesn't rightly remember the same way her rider might. She watches that rider, staring, crouched rather than backing up quite as far as Wyaeth does, her tail twitching but not nearly as much as it might have before his compliment and her own pleased rush of energy in reply. "Get back to balanced, don't pay attention to them right now," and by now it's likely familiar enough how Leova draws a line in the snow with the side of her boot for Xadovith to press his forepaws up to. Only by now, instead of mostly her assessing his balance, she asks the weyrling first: "What do /you/ notice, K'ndro?" Her glance slides from him to N'thei for a moment.
Xadovith knows exactly what he looks like, thanks. Not all sparkly and sleek like Zhikath, nor well proportioned and graceful like Jeibeth. Heck even Isforaith is handomer, if you ignore that withered forepaw. So, for Wyaeth and 'purty' a purely mental snort, derisive and dismissive. And what would lineage show about him and Vrianth, if anything? If she gets to be all possessive of her lifemate, then he should get to be all possessive of -his- right? Humph. Obligingly, if a tad long-suffering or maybe that's just his normal lopsidedness, he inches his forepaws up to the line and settles his lanky frame into stillness. "He ain't s'tilted as when he were little," K'ndro starts to rattle off after a few moments pause to consider. "Th'exercises an' stretches ye got us doin' are helpin' an' we been walkin' regular. Don't think he still quite trusts that side t'work th'way it's s'posed t'but he's determined t'make it work proper same's th'rest 'f us. Him."
Not that it's his business or any of his concern and don't let's go thinking N'thei cares a rat's ass about any of this but, "What's wrong with him?" While he eyes the line drawn in the snow, confused. Poor, ungainly Xadovith gets an insistent, << Don't matter. Don't gotta look pretty on the ground. >> And, with that tone, it's pretty clear that Wyaeth thinks the weyrling bronze is everything but pretty-on-the-ground.
"Yes. Good thing, too: imagine the stretching he'll have to do if it lasts until he's as big as /him/," thumb over her shoulder, there, before Leova takes off her gloves. Stashes them. And sets her palms to the weyrling dragon's shoulder, there where she is on his shorter side, angled enough to very slowly convince the fascia to elongate. "How's that feel? Show Vrianth, Xadovith, please. K'ndro, you explain to the rider. C'mon, boy, relax." It's a gradual sort of traction, not pressed inward like a muscle massage would be. Just a stretch. Meanwhile, Vrianth recommends, << You might like to tease him later, Wyaeth. Right now he is to be... good. >> To behave!
Dragon> Do Vrianth's thoughts hold a glimpse of a whole penful of little Xadoviths running around as the herdbeasts have? They just might. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
"It ain't obvious?" is K'ndro's somewhat disbelieving question across to N'thei. No indignant squawk about how he's -perfect- and don't you go implying otherwise! The man has eyes: everything about Xadovith is assymetrical, each tilt and crooked feature favouring his leftward side. The lean bronze takes a breath and lets it out again in a sigh. Even if he can't remember one examination to the next, his lifemate can. Flashes and pops of annoyed light, << This is tiresome. She is always fussing. >> So much for being good. K'ndro levels a glare at him, and he is not willing, nope nope nope nope! But, eventually, he eases the darkness of his mind, softens it to nighttime shadows and invites Vrianth to come share the stretchy-pully extending muscles sensation. "How's it feel when someone tugs on yer arm when ye don't want t'move? Like that, ma'am."
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth, not the sharpest tool, << Probably wouldn't taste right. >>
And a somewhat disbelieving response is N'thei's, "Why don't you pretend it ain't." Arms folded, brows lifted, he can't help that 'best you watch your tone with me, young man' look; it just comes to him naturally. Distractedly in the background, his attention returning to the pens, Wyaeth promises, << I ain't teasin' him. I'm makin' a good point. >> Regardless of this being the wrong time and place.
<< It is to benefit you, >> Vrianth isn't entirely as private as she could be about replying, though she's quick enough to steal more of that energy in the snap-crackle-pops as long as Xadovith's being so helpful as to provide them. Once he complies with his rider, with hers, Vrianth indulges her own rider by perceptibly sinking into the sensation the young dragon shares. The way the green holds herself changes with it, adopting the left-slanted contours on a twice-as-large scale... only then she tosses her head, gives Wyaeth what might well be a scandalized look, and stretches all over again into something like symmetry. Try /that/, and save the points for later. Leova's changed the way she presses along his side in response, too, to make it easier. Her tone is inarguably mild: "Answer the rider, K'ndro. When I ask you to jump, shouldn't even have to ask how high."
Dragon> Taste. /Taste/. << /Wyaeth/. >> (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> Compare and contrast. A lovely bit of herdbeast flank... a bit of Xadovith's off-kilter haunch... << Thinkin' it won't be the same. >> But if Vrianth'd like him to, he'd take a chomp off the little bronze to be sure? (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Static. << No no /no/. >> No no /no/ no no, in fact. Though a bright blue-green spark escapes somewhere in there, even so. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth, placid; << Just checkin'. >> And not at all eyeing Xadovith over there like there ain't nothing worth eatin' on him anyways.
Dragon> And she must know better, but still. Just in case. Vrianth can't seem to help, << None of them are for eating. The little ones. >> Because they must grow? (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
K'ndro steps a bit to the side so he can better see N'thei, brows quirking slightly. But it's to Leova, "Respectfully, ma'am, ye weren't 'xactly clear. Without usin' his name, in the mix 'f what ye was sayin' I thought ye meant -yerself.-" And while he's trying to be respectful, Xadovith is being anything but, turning his head to hiss at the greenrider, his dully whirling eyes not happy. "Knock it off!" which does absolutely no good. In the middle of a glaring match with his lifemate, K'ndro grits out: "Sir, ye ever seen a person with one leg shorter'n th'other? It's like that, down his right side." A beat, before he's focusing more on his misbehaving bronze, "Xado, I swear, if ye don't behave I will not clean yer couch fer a full seven!" A flat out lie, of course, but apparently he put enough conviction behind it because the young one's head snaps up abruptly. Of course, now he's going to have to relax again.
Don't ask why Wyaeth keep eyeing Xadovith like lunch. Some things a best left a mystery. As is the remark that he shares a touch more loudly, << Damn straight, they ain't for eating. >> Even N'thei gets to hear that one, and it accounts for the slight tightening at the corner of one eye, a tightening that increases when the young bronze actually hisses at Leova. "Look, none of us like her, but that's going a touch far," he contributes, disturbed in his very grudgingly-involved way. It serves to keep him from actually looking to see if Xadovith is disfigured or just incompetent, so that's good?
To which Leova plants her feet and stays put, herself narrow-eyed and focused all the more on the littler dragon. And if she winds up coughing a couple times, meat-breath and all, still: not going anywhere, the way it was with the draft runners increasingly long ago. She doesn't glance at N'thei, and certainly not at Vrianth, herself holding a crouch with an ill-repressed tightness to her pose. Plain and simple, "Now. K'ndro. No one 'round here talks about themselves that way: the rider wants this, the rider wants that. Second, saw you looking at him when you said as how it should be obvious. Third, that's two laps for you longwise," the usual description of going around the Bowl as close to the base of the cliff as he can, "For arguing, tack on three more for changing your story. When we're done. Grab a meatroll on your way past the kitchens, this is going to run into your meal."
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth's eyeing that littler dragon. Grr. (That little contribution from /Wyaeth's/ rider? She noticed. And it's not praise she has, but still. Better.) He is little. And her Leova doesn't feel as if she needs protecting. But still. Grr.
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth projects, << Still sure you don't want me to bite him? >>
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth decides, << If anyone gets to bite him, /I/ do. >> Her own rider's teeth aren't nearly sharp enough.
Dragon> More compare and contrast. Wyaeth's maw... Vrianth's... whose does more damage, sugar? (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Dragon> << Mine. >> And Vrianth images Wyaeth /swallowing/ the poor thing whole, a great lump sliding down his neck. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
For some reason known only to Xadovith and Vrianth, the young bronze winces away, but doesn't look like he's willing to back down. So much for the check up, he's falling into his more natural crouch, belly low to the ground. But his head is held high and his wings mantled, his skinny, whiplike tail twitching agitatedly back and forth. Sullen, the muted hues of his eyes. And K'ndro? Stands there, silent as a stone, his expression striving for careful nuetrality and not quite making it. Either Xado's bleeding over, or he's a bit angry now, himself. And yet, simply, in his baritone rumble, "Yes, ma'am." With a somewhat pointed glare at Xado like: see? -This- is what you do, jackass. Just shut up and take it.
Even N'thei. Even /N'thei/ looks a little daunted by the number of laps and the quickness with which they're being doled out, but far be it for him to raise a question. That it's written all over his face while he eyes Leova... well, at least he keeps his trap shut. "Best I let you two sort this out," he says conscientiously, starting toward Wyaeth, with all his fairly-obvious thoughts about a weyrling dragon rumbling around in his tummy indefinitely. << That'd be weird, pretty sure. >>
And Leova treats it all matter-of-fact: not rubbing it in, not assigning more, though there's a moment where her eyes follow Xadovith's retreat to that lower crouch where she /could/ demand him back. Instead, she's got a simple nod for his rider, though she waits to address him until after she's given N'thei a, "Best so." /Vrianth/ sighs out a long wistful breath and relaxes the tension in her crouch, too, tracking. Says her rider to the weyrling, "That's the way. Now, your other job, it's explaining to him all over again that it /is/ for his good. To help. Not Pass anymore, but don't think you or he's fine with having a tight side. And even if he did, wouldn't be /right/." Only then a corner of her mouth tucks up, something about the wording, words bitten back.
All right and proper, a departing N'thei will get a crisp salute. Even if K'ndro is still scowling slightly. Xadovith makes a displeased noise low in his chest, rustling his wings along his back. Which just deepens the scowl. "Yes, ma'am. As you say, ma'am." Can I go beat up my dragon now, ma'am? Ahem. Waiting for the dismissal. Soonest begun is soonest done, and all that. Five longwise laps. Ouch.
Leova's gaze flicks to Xadovith, pointedly, and back to K'ndro again. "Good luck," she says. And: "Dismissed." Vrianth? Hasn't looked away at all, never mind that long swishy tail. She'll just have to watch them on their way and, maybe, the whole way through.
N'thei, not needing to be dismissed, is already well across the bowl. Wyaeth, not needing to be dismissed, is already winging it up to his usual place on the star stones, with a parting, << Bet he'd be crunchy, though. >>
IC Date: 1/12/20
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr(#276RJs)
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.
It is a rare day of cloudless sunshine, though the temperatures are markedly colder.
As far as winter days at the Reaches go, this one's almost relentlessly pleasant. The sun's out-- though weak and pale in its usual midwinter way-- and people seem almost cheerful in light of it. --Correction. /Some/ people seem cheerful in light of it. N'thei just seems like he always does, which is somewhere between murderous and apathetic. Right now, watching Wyaeth off in the feeding grounds being vicious and cruel with his kill, the rider leaning on the fence in his jacket and scarf and all that stuff, it's hard to tell which way he leans.
Neither way: he's on the fence, of course! Which is around when, in the distance, Vrianth leaves off that ledge above the weyrling barracks she likes to steal, easy wingbeats sending her all-but-gliding towards those very same pens to circle above them. Pity her poor weyrling charges must walk beneath, but then, so must her rider. Trudging.
Dragon> The rangy green hovers above his carnage for a moment before returning to her circling, around and around and around. << They aren't very wild. >> Pity. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth images himself chasing them up into the steaming frenzy that currently dominates the grounds, always giddy to cause a stampede. << Nah, but they ain't so bad if you get 'em runnin'. >>
Since the gliding has also initiated hunting, Xadovith has been keen to watch older, experienced dragons at the task. That being hunting, not gliding. Whether his observations are official or not, he's been trying to learn beyond instinct, and so when that was the direction chosen, he was more than willing to follow. K'ndro would be one of those annoying persons who finds a pretty day like today a perfectly good cause for cheer, walking along as easily as one can with what build-up of snow and ice remains on the bowl floor. By contrast, Xado stalks, a somewhat low-bellied slink that's as close to graceful as he's managed to achieve. Which is really more sinister-seeming intent than grace, really.
Dragon> << Not too much work? >> Surely it's teasing. All that growling and flapping! (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Wyaeth looks up, with a leg hanging gruesomely out of the side of his face, and issues a gravel-and-brass greeting to Vrianth, attracts N'thei's attention to respond with a much less pleasant reaction to her presence, that being a scowl. Or maybe he's just reacting to a gust of cold wind and the grimness of his dragon's version of feeding. Either way, it worsens a little to see the people she drags along with her. Chatty bunch~
Dragon> Masculine pride bristles! << Course not! >> Watch, he'll demonstrate in a moment here. (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
"Pens're busy," Leova asides to K'ndro as they approach, as though he mightn't have noticed their hustle and bustle, much of the herd currently quivering far far not-far-enough away from Wyaeth while a few others just make scattered runs back and forth. The older bronze's greeting gets a gloved hand scraping through her hair, no hat today, but Vrianth tightens her circling about the pens. Expectant. Waiting. For something other than Leova's too-casual, "/Guess/ we might as well see about gliding. Unless... you think /he/ might be too distracting, hm?" Her sideways glance checks with the weyrling: going to let a little thing like that get in the way?
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth lets it be known that she's watching. Waiting. It's almost as though she's... /obedient/.
"Noticed," K'ndro replies with a quirking grin. "Don't think as that'll bother -him- none; he likes studyin' th'movements. Plannin' scenerios in his head." His head dips sideward, no real need, but the indication there anyway as for which 'him' he means. Xadovith turns his head, just -looks- at his lifemate and something prompts a laugh. "Which he, ma'am?" He-in-the-pen, or he-on-the-fence coming in to view? "Xado c'n concentrate jus' fine with distractions about. Better. Makes it a challenge, after all."
Not the best influence, Wyaeth teaches Xadovith nothing /useful/-- unless making the herd run like crazy and try to trample each other in desperate fear to escape the chance of being sliced open with a very mean looking claw is something useful? Probably not. But the older bronze seems to enjoy himself, and hunkers down afterward to watch the chaos continue to unfold. "Don't blame him," is N'thei's introductory remark, introductory warning. "She baits." As if there's a snowball's chance in Igen that Leova's not aware of this.
"Which do you think?" Leova asks the weyrling like it's a genuine question, nothing rhetorical about it, except for maybe a certain dryness about her air. /Vrianth's/ the one happily watching Wyaeth and his inciting, watching the aftermath even, the bumping and thumping and those /noises/ that the beasts make. What big eyes she has! "N'thei," her rider asides to that man. To K'ndro, "He likes it." Wyaeth, presumably. The tormenting of herdbeasts, quite possibly. "Thing is, when you're learning, don't have to be a challenge starting out when it's something what might get you hurt, hm? Now. Get yourself some clear space, facing out /away/ from us, and ask him to show N'thei that hopping thing. Then some wingbeats. But wait for my cue, before putting the two together." Vrianth skims lower, like she /could/ land just beyond the pens, but doesn't. Yet.
On the contrary, while Wyaeth might engender nothing more than a certain disapproval, his vicious delight provides ample opportunity to study how frightened-out-of-their-dull-witted-minds 'beasts move. Which is plenty useful. Xadovith continues his keen observation and seemingly ignores the rest of his surroundings. "Considerin' who it is, ma'am? Both." At least he's honest? Which won't, of course, mean that he'll forget the appropriate salute and "Sir." greeting. K'ndro drops his gaze back to Leova, his head nodding agreement even as his voice disagrees, "Ye ain't in his head." Another nod, this one slightly sharper, and he hitches a shoulder slightly. Just that, but it sees Xadovith turning, albeit slightly reluctantly, away from watching milling herdbeasts and slink-stalking down the beach a ways, tail lashing back and forth as he points his butt at the gathered humans. Shifting, the lean bronze gathers his legs and obligingly hops in place, up-down up-down up-down. "He still wants to use his left more than his right," Mik notes aside to Leova, frowning. But then shadowed wings are unfurling as Xado leans back on his haunches and brings his wings down-and-up in steady beats.
"What," begins N'thei, "makes you think I want to watch whatever that hopping thing is." A look lands pointedly on Leova's knot. /Leova's/ knot. He resolutely does not turn, though watching Wyaeth grab and throttle a screaming doe is not the most palatable things to behold. If he happens to /glance/ back, surely that's just happenstance, as is the brief knit that whatever the hell Xadovith thinks he's doing puts in his brows. In the pens, things just start to die down when Wyaeth does nothing more than flicks his wings and there's renewed panic; if it were possible for a dragon to giggle his ass off, Wyaeth would be doing so now.
"No," confirms Leova, she's not in his head, but it's said with the solid tone that means it's not going to change her mind any. But for K'ndro's description, "Still been doing those stretches we talked about? Just means, got to keep up the practice. And I'll have a look afterward." For N'thei, there's a dry look, a, "Think back to his childhood. Little baby Wyaeth doing hop-hop-hop." Just what every man wants to look back on! And then Vrianth's skidding past the pens to see if /that/ will scare herdbeasts anywhere near as well as Wyaeth's doing it, only she backwings past the fence and actually lands near Xadovith. For a moment, at least. << Timing, >> she notes. And up she leaps, down go her wings, and she relays the put-the-two-together sense of it to Xadovith even as Leova adds, "His turn. Not the same, won't be as easy for him, don't try to match it exactly... but he should get the idea."
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth lets it be known that she suspects, << If you /breathed/ on them, they would run. >>
"Aye, every day," K'ndro confirms. "It's not that he ain't tryin'. 'S jus'..." His frown deepens, as he tries to put into words what he can -feel- so that it makes sense. "It feels stronger. Like when ye start runnin' or reach out t'grab somethin' as's fallin'." A left-handed dragon, ha. Since N'thei doesn't appear to be speaking to him, he, unlike certain other weyrlings we could mention, is content to just give the elder rider the silent treatment. He does, though, eye Leova askance for her last. This is -Xadovith.- Mr Perfectionist. Doesn't matter what K'ndro does or doesn't tell him to do, he'll still try to do better than his best. Not that, at the moment, his best is very good. He watches Vrianth with the same intent observation he'd given the feeding pens minutes before, bobs his head once but doesn't offer her any words. First, testing bob and mini-flap. And again. Just testing the principle, devising a plan. And then, hind legs shove upwards. There's the hop, and here comes the beat... a fraction too
late. WHUMP down comes dragonbutt to earth again.
N'thei, despite himself, does in fact think back on this, imagines a rather weather-beaten bronzeling hopping around, eyes on Wyaeth again. He's betrayed mostly because of the suddenly offended, do-take-umbrage announcement to Vrianth and Xadovith, << That ain't me! >> Despite what he may have been doing or about to do, all for the green's entertainment, he lobs himself up over the fence and glides to a purposefully graceful landing a 'length or two from the others. No sudden *thud* since there's no one to annoy with it. He turns, watches Xadovith land on his butt, and informs helpfully, << Ya messed up. >> Sorry, but even N'thei, leaning his back against the fence now, has to snicker.
WHUMP. "Can tell they're related, all right," Leova murmurs with an eye rolled back to the dust-devil bronze back there. "Xadovith sired by Cadejoth out of Rielsath sired by Wy..." and then, /then/, he lands lightly like that and she's just laughing, laughing, and then it becomes a cough in the cold and she stops. Back to business: "Somehow, reckon you won't mind practicing, Xadovith, hm? Give it another go, and then we'll take a look at your neck." Vrianth, dispassionately: << He'll learn. >>
The offended announcement will actually draw comment from the younger bronze, briefly curious, << Your rider has a poor memory? >> With an extra-special strong puff of garlic scent just for showing-off Wyaeth. After the hop-and-thump, a rustling of wings, before he acknowledges with a borrowed, very drily delivered, << Gee, ya think? >> K'ndro, along with N'thei, can't quite contain a snicker. Shouldn't he be like, worried or sympathetic or something? But, no, it's a singularly amused expression on his face, the smirk twisting his lips almost smug. Though amusement turns to -bemusement- for Leova's comments and laughter both. Oookay. Xadovith repeats the process, complete with those testing false starts. Hop! And, beat! Still wobbly, still not quite-perfect timing, but at least it's not the practically straight-back-down-again thump of last time. Curving, just a little and not intentionally, rightward before he bumps back down onto ground again, with an extra little bounce to keep his feet.
Wyaeth turns a gleaming pair of eyes toward Leova; did she not see the execution of his graceful glide-and-land? Did she not see him alight soundlessly? Related; hmph. "Blame it on the Istan," N'thei asserts on the tail end of the point the greenrider's trying to make. To Xadovith, Wyaeth clarifies, << No, he's just a damn liar. >> And then, proving prophesy, the younger bronze seemed to have learned something though... << Still not so hot lookin'. They all do it so piss-poor, or just this one? >>
Don't knock the showing-off-Wyaeth, says the twist to Vrianth's neck, her glide's height making it that much easier to look down her angular nose at the weyrling. She's doing all that, and Leova... well, Leova only realizes around the tail end of Wyaeth's eyeing, and then she gives him a wide-eyed look and, why not, claps a few times. Like so? Vrianth: << Just him. >> Beat. << The others haven't yet. >> Or mostly anyway, and surely she can't be expected to keep track of them all. Leova: "Come on over, Xadovith, let's take a look." At which point Vrianth lands, lightly like her sire but gauged to take her where would ordinarily be far too close to mere fragile humans. And she eyes Xadovith some more, wings up and back, as territorial as she ever is through each and every one of these inspections.
<< It is about performing well, not looking pretty. >> Such are the words of Xadovith, who will never, ever, be anything even remotely resembling pretty. And so it is that Vrianth's reply might sting a little more than Wyaeth's disparaging, though he keeps this reaction cloaked. Only the brief flicker of something more tender across K'ndro's face, beneath the amusement, gives it away. Still not privy to the joke, due in part to not being familiar with Wyaeth's habits and in part to trying not to pay attention to a conversation that doesn't really include him, the weyrling human maintains his silence. Xadovith coils up himself, and is facing the opposite direction when he uncoils, and stalks over toward the group. A somewhat annoyed twitch for Vrianth's territoriality, as he shoves his head around to scoop K'ndro away from the others and extend his neck for Leova all at the same time. Ain't he clever? "Would ye stop that!" Thwack, gloved hand to tarnished shoulder.
<< Ain't sure if that makes me feel better or not, >> Wyaeth confesses. If Xadovith comprises the entire sample set and he bothced it up royally... He snorts, disappointed, and hunkers down like he's got any business in this venture. The damned-liar shakes his head, as if he never suffered the pangs of an ungainly dragon. << You can still look purty and do it right. >> Witness Vrianth, his head tossed in her direction even while he sort of withdraws a touch from the other dragons. She can be as possessive as she wants to with the little dragons; none of them have the right gold-colored-shine to excite his territorial streak.
"No, no, you can grab your rider /later," Leova informs Xadovith. And it's her rider Vrianth's possessive of, has been ever since finding her on those sands, although certain weyrling lessons and more recent activities can't have helped. Even if Vrianth doesn't rightly remember the same way her rider might. She watches that rider, staring, crouched rather than backing up quite as far as Wyaeth does, her tail twitching but not nearly as much as it might have before his compliment and her own pleased rush of energy in reply. "Get back to balanced, don't pay attention to them right now," and by now it's likely familiar enough how Leova draws a line in the snow with the side of her boot for Xadovith to press his forepaws up to. Only by now, instead of mostly her assessing his balance, she asks the weyrling first: "What do /you/ notice, K'ndro?" Her glance slides from him to N'thei for a moment.
Xadovith knows exactly what he looks like, thanks. Not all sparkly and sleek like Zhikath, nor well proportioned and graceful like Jeibeth. Heck even Isforaith is handomer, if you ignore that withered forepaw. So, for Wyaeth and 'purty' a purely mental snort, derisive and dismissive. And what would lineage show about him and Vrianth, if anything? If she gets to be all possessive of her lifemate, then he should get to be all possessive of -his- right? Humph. Obligingly, if a tad long-suffering or maybe that's just his normal lopsidedness, he inches his forepaws up to the line and settles his lanky frame into stillness. "He ain't s'tilted as when he were little," K'ndro starts to rattle off after a few moments pause to consider. "Th'exercises an' stretches ye got us doin' are helpin' an' we been walkin' regular. Don't think he still quite trusts that side t'work th'way it's s'posed t'but he's determined t'make it work proper same's th'rest 'f us. Him."
Not that it's his business or any of his concern and don't let's go thinking N'thei cares a rat's ass about any of this but, "What's wrong with him?" While he eyes the line drawn in the snow, confused. Poor, ungainly Xadovith gets an insistent, << Don't matter. Don't gotta look pretty on the ground. >> And, with that tone, it's pretty clear that Wyaeth thinks the weyrling bronze is everything but pretty-on-the-ground.
"Yes. Good thing, too: imagine the stretching he'll have to do if it lasts until he's as big as /him/," thumb over her shoulder, there, before Leova takes off her gloves. Stashes them. And sets her palms to the weyrling dragon's shoulder, there where she is on his shorter side, angled enough to very slowly convince the fascia to elongate. "How's that feel? Show Vrianth, Xadovith, please. K'ndro, you explain to the rider. C'mon, boy, relax." It's a gradual sort of traction, not pressed inward like a muscle massage would be. Just a stretch. Meanwhile, Vrianth recommends, << You might like to tease him later, Wyaeth. Right now he is to be... good. >> To behave!
Dragon> Do Vrianth's thoughts hold a glimpse of a whole penful of little Xadoviths running around as the herdbeasts have? They just might. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
"It ain't obvious?" is K'ndro's somewhat disbelieving question across to N'thei. No indignant squawk about how he's -perfect- and don't you go implying otherwise! The man has eyes: everything about Xadovith is assymetrical, each tilt and crooked feature favouring his leftward side. The lean bronze takes a breath and lets it out again in a sigh. Even if he can't remember one examination to the next, his lifemate can. Flashes and pops of annoyed light, << This is tiresome. She is always fussing. >> So much for being good. K'ndro levels a glare at him, and he is not willing, nope nope nope nope! But, eventually, he eases the darkness of his mind, softens it to nighttime shadows and invites Vrianth to come share the stretchy-pully extending muscles sensation. "How's it feel when someone tugs on yer arm when ye don't want t'move? Like that, ma'am."
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth, not the sharpest tool, << Probably wouldn't taste right. >>
And a somewhat disbelieving response is N'thei's, "Why don't you pretend it ain't." Arms folded, brows lifted, he can't help that 'best you watch your tone with me, young man' look; it just comes to him naturally. Distractedly in the background, his attention returning to the pens, Wyaeth promises, << I ain't teasin' him. I'm makin' a good point. >> Regardless of this being the wrong time and place.
<< It is to benefit you, >> Vrianth isn't entirely as private as she could be about replying, though she's quick enough to steal more of that energy in the snap-crackle-pops as long as Xadovith's being so helpful as to provide them. Once he complies with his rider, with hers, Vrianth indulges her own rider by perceptibly sinking into the sensation the young dragon shares. The way the green holds herself changes with it, adopting the left-slanted contours on a twice-as-large scale... only then she tosses her head, gives Wyaeth what might well be a scandalized look, and stretches all over again into something like symmetry. Try /that/, and save the points for later. Leova's changed the way she presses along his side in response, too, to make it easier. Her tone is inarguably mild: "Answer the rider, K'ndro. When I ask you to jump, shouldn't even have to ask how high."
Dragon> Taste. /Taste/. << /Wyaeth/. >> (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> Compare and contrast. A lovely bit of herdbeast flank... a bit of Xadovith's off-kilter haunch... << Thinkin' it won't be the same. >> But if Vrianth'd like him to, he'd take a chomp off the little bronze to be sure? (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Static. << No no /no/. >> No no /no/ no no, in fact. Though a bright blue-green spark escapes somewhere in there, even so. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth, placid; << Just checkin'. >> And not at all eyeing Xadovith over there like there ain't nothing worth eatin' on him anyways.
Dragon> And she must know better, but still. Just in case. Vrianth can't seem to help, << None of them are for eating. The little ones. >> Because they must grow? (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
K'ndro steps a bit to the side so he can better see N'thei, brows quirking slightly. But it's to Leova, "Respectfully, ma'am, ye weren't 'xactly clear. Without usin' his name, in the mix 'f what ye was sayin' I thought ye meant -yerself.-" And while he's trying to be respectful, Xadovith is being anything but, turning his head to hiss at the greenrider, his dully whirling eyes not happy. "Knock it off!" which does absolutely no good. In the middle of a glaring match with his lifemate, K'ndro grits out: "Sir, ye ever seen a person with one leg shorter'n th'other? It's like that, down his right side." A beat, before he's focusing more on his misbehaving bronze, "Xado, I swear, if ye don't behave I will not clean yer couch fer a full seven!" A flat out lie, of course, but apparently he put enough conviction behind it because the young one's head snaps up abruptly. Of course, now he's going to have to relax again.
Don't ask why Wyaeth keep eyeing Xadovith like lunch. Some things a best left a mystery. As is the remark that he shares a touch more loudly, << Damn straight, they ain't for eating. >> Even N'thei gets to hear that one, and it accounts for the slight tightening at the corner of one eye, a tightening that increases when the young bronze actually hisses at Leova. "Look, none of us like her, but that's going a touch far," he contributes, disturbed in his very grudgingly-involved way. It serves to keep him from actually looking to see if Xadovith is disfigured or just incompetent, so that's good?
To which Leova plants her feet and stays put, herself narrow-eyed and focused all the more on the littler dragon. And if she winds up coughing a couple times, meat-breath and all, still: not going anywhere, the way it was with the draft runners increasingly long ago. She doesn't glance at N'thei, and certainly not at Vrianth, herself holding a crouch with an ill-repressed tightness to her pose. Plain and simple, "Now. K'ndro. No one 'round here talks about themselves that way: the rider wants this, the rider wants that. Second, saw you looking at him when you said as how it should be obvious. Third, that's two laps for you longwise," the usual description of going around the Bowl as close to the base of the cliff as he can, "For arguing, tack on three more for changing your story. When we're done. Grab a meatroll on your way past the kitchens, this is going to run into your meal."
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth's eyeing that littler dragon. Grr. (That little contribution from /Wyaeth's/ rider? She noticed. And it's not praise she has, but still. Better.) He is little. And her Leova doesn't feel as if she needs protecting. But still. Grr.
Dragon> To Vrianth, Wyaeth projects, << Still sure you don't want me to bite him? >>
Dragon> To Wyaeth, Vrianth decides, << If anyone gets to bite him, /I/ do. >> Her own rider's teeth aren't nearly sharp enough.
Dragon> More compare and contrast. Wyaeth's maw... Vrianth's... whose does more damage, sugar? (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Dragon> << Mine. >> And Vrianth images Wyaeth /swallowing/ the poor thing whole, a great lump sliding down his neck. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
For some reason known only to Xadovith and Vrianth, the young bronze winces away, but doesn't look like he's willing to back down. So much for the check up, he's falling into his more natural crouch, belly low to the ground. But his head is held high and his wings mantled, his skinny, whiplike tail twitching agitatedly back and forth. Sullen, the muted hues of his eyes. And K'ndro? Stands there, silent as a stone, his expression striving for careful nuetrality and not quite making it. Either Xado's bleeding over, or he's a bit angry now, himself. And yet, simply, in his baritone rumble, "Yes, ma'am." With a somewhat pointed glare at Xado like: see? -This- is what you do, jackass. Just shut up and take it.
Even N'thei. Even /N'thei/ looks a little daunted by the number of laps and the quickness with which they're being doled out, but far be it for him to raise a question. That it's written all over his face while he eyes Leova... well, at least he keeps his trap shut. "Best I let you two sort this out," he says conscientiously, starting toward Wyaeth, with all his fairly-obvious thoughts about a weyrling dragon rumbling around in his tummy indefinitely. << That'd be weird, pretty sure. >>
And Leova treats it all matter-of-fact: not rubbing it in, not assigning more, though there's a moment where her eyes follow Xadovith's retreat to that lower crouch where she /could/ demand him back. Instead, she's got a simple nod for his rider, though she waits to address him until after she's given N'thei a, "Best so." /Vrianth/ sighs out a long wistful breath and relaxes the tension in her crouch, too, tracking. Says her rider to the weyrling, "That's the way. Now, your other job, it's explaining to him all over again that it /is/ for his good. To help. Not Pass anymore, but don't think you or he's fine with having a tight side. And even if he did, wouldn't be /right/." Only then a corner of her mouth tucks up, something about the wording, words bitten back.
All right and proper, a departing N'thei will get a crisp salute. Even if K'ndro is still scowling slightly. Xadovith makes a displeased noise low in his chest, rustling his wings along his back. Which just deepens the scowl. "Yes, ma'am. As you say, ma'am." Can I go beat up my dragon now, ma'am? Ahem. Waiting for the dismissal. Soonest begun is soonest done, and all that. Five longwise laps. Ouch.
Leova's gaze flicks to Xadovith, pointedly, and back to K'ndro again. "Good luck," she says. And: "Dismissed." Vrianth? Hasn't looked away at all, never mind that long swishy tail. She'll just have to watch them on their way and, maybe, the whole way through.
N'thei, not needing to be dismissed, is already well across the bowl. Wyaeth, not needing to be dismissed, is already winging it up to his usual place on the star stones, with a parting, << Bet he'd be crunchy, though. >>