[LOG] - Ulyana: Worry
Title: Worry
Summary: Lakeside conversation that covers worry and more.
Characters: D'shal, Kuquuth, Qhyluth, Ulyana
Location: Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr
Time: Day 14, month 4, turn 36 of Interval 10
RL Date: 11/16/2014
It's a chilly morning at Fort Weyr, but that has yet to stop Qhyluth in his explorations. Ulyana tracks behind him mutely, bundled up as she is against the coolness in the air. What they're doing and why is perhaps a matter best not broached; and, in the end, it just finds the blue beast approaching the shoreline of the lake with the weyrling rider in tow. He picks at the sand and whuffs at it, taking his time to get acquainted with the wet, shifting stuff beneath his paws. As for the girl, she keeps her distance, remaining at the place where soil turns to sand and not moving any closer. Her expression is unreadable, a veritable mask, in contrast with the creature's obvious curiosity about the world.
D'shal tends to be on morning duty, better suited to the dawn's exercise and exertions then the classroom-bound lessons that often take up mid day. Kuquuth was thus likely planted nearby the barracks when the weyrling blue pair set off on their expedition. Now, the dustcloud of his wings rides low on the stirring spring breezes. The shadow of them curves wide, arcing over the water which echoes the friendly low rumble of the elder dragon's greeting. It's on that threshold of sand and earth which he lands, though, far enough from Ulyana not to test whether she can be ruffled in any sense of the word. Close enough that there's some travel saved for the rider that slips down from that high, painted shoulder. The man wears an easy hunch against the cold, whatever has darkened the deep circles about his eyes not showing in the efficient amble of his stride that wanders him towards the girl's side. Hazel eyes are cut towards the blue at the water's edge, but who he greets with simple acknowledgement is: "Ulyana."
Claws test the substance the shore is made of - until another arrives. Qhyluth lifts his head, intense gaze trained on Kuquuth until the elder beast has descended in full. There is no audible call of greeting, but the murmurings of wordless voices and the whispering sigh of primordial seas will span the space of minds instead. He doesn't retreat from his place, however; instead, he continues his search while Ulyana's left to deal with the rider that approaches. For her part, the training has caught quickly and held well. She's half-turning toward D'shal as he approaches and, when her name is uttered, she pulls off a salute that's quick - but crisply and properly executed. She doesn't -seem- troubled by the proximity of the older dragon, but the distance is there, as is the strangeling creature along the shore. There is no title issued, nor his name; just a singular up-down-center bob of her head in silent greeting.
With his ungloved hands stuffed in pockets, D'shal will be a little delayed in returning the salute. But, these are habits and protocols that must be established and adhered to. For all his casualness, the bronzerider is no rogue when it comes to Weyr tradition, but it does mean he's not particularly inclined to impose on whatever has brought the weyrling to the shore. Her odd silence is respected for a time, his boots scuffing as he turns to stand shoulder-to-shoulder where he can watch Qhyluth's continued searching. "He likes the water," hovers somewhere between question and observation, hovering like the cloud of his breath in the cold. This is a remark that's surely influenced by the way shadowy seas wash against a more sun-drenched mind, murmurs matched by a contentment of reedy rustles. There's a confidence like braced paws making the toe-dipped edge of overlap, the lap of water welcomed warmly into a sway of fur even while a stillness promises not to churn up mud.
There is darkness in him - and it is purposeful. Qhyluth's mind remains dark and distant, scented of the sea and filled with the moaning of things that should not be. The waters do not reach far, anchored by a much more distant shore as they are, but they will reach, just so, to test the warmth and light against his cool and dark. In the waking world, there is Ulyana, with no eyes for the beast that, now, is starting to make his way directly to the water. His paws meet the liquid and he pauses, eyes shifting through a range of hues before settling on a sickly, moonfire green of satisfaction. Ulyana maintains attention on D'shal, accepting the half-query, half-observation with another of her shallow, singular nods. "That is all that he is," she replies, brow furrowing just a little over eyes that are half-fogged in unspeakable communion with the blue. "But he does not end. This- the lake will not be enough." It's a troubling thought and a shiver crawls down her spine. "He- does he like the water?" Kuquuth, surely, though she doesn't look at the bronze directly.
Kuquuth is unflinching under the reach of even so oddly moaning dark, his attention an easy prick-eared interest. It's both solid and spry, the warm core core of his being, unconcerned with being overwashed. Like no matter the cold that stretches into all time before and all time to come, there's no chance of losing the heat-baked sensation of light upon earth and the grounding scent of sunbeam-speared dust breathed full into lungs. "/All/ that he is?" Ulyana's brows go down, D'shal's edge their way upward. "Good thing there's more than the lake," is a further dry scuff of reply. It can't be that helpful a thing to say. Maybe he knows, and that's why the turn of his gaze aside to the girl scans so careful over her. "Yeah, he likes the water fine. Better'n snow." His shoulders shift in the laziest of shrugs. One edge of his mouth twists up. "We're different in that, him and me. He likes more the beaches where I burn to peeling, and me -- I grew up where lakes iced over."
The strangeness remains at the fringes, amorphous and alien; there is no sense of being thwarted by the eternal sunshine and warmth, no suggestion that the nature of the other creature's mind is too much. Rather, there just aren't enough dark places for Qhyluth to insinuate himself into and, so, he remains just -there-, watchful. Waiting. The blue's physicality moves into the water in earnest, keeping to the shallows - but still -in- the water and that satisfies him deeply. Wings unfurl to skim across the surface and he half-floats, one set of lids sliding shut in contentment. Ulyana pulls a sour face and looks away - only for her gaze to settle on nothing at all. "It is difficult to explain," is what she settles on, her voice thin and strained. And better not to explore it at all, ultimately. She leaves it there while she listens, gaze eventually tracking back to D'shal. A faint puff of breath is more visible than audible, but there all the same. "And, now, you are here, where there is a sense of balance in the weather." Her mouth twists to a side. "I prefer the cold," she admits after a moment or two. "Do you prefer the cold, too? Or is it just a matter of familiarity?"
A low chest-bound hum commiserates about the general difficulty of explaining dragons. Small ticks of hazel eyes track the visible puff of breath, the shifting of the so-often expressionless girl's expressions between sour and skewed. But mostly they're steady, focus granted from within the shadows of sleeplessness. "Yeah," D'shal guesses. Here. Balanced. The lopsided slim of his smile lingers. "Could be that it's familiar," he'll allow. "Can always put on a jacket. If it's hot..." What can you do? He shrugs more fully this time, a sniff of cold-stung nose resetting his gaze towards the wing-floating blue. Kuquuth has been watching all along, his head absently cocked, relaxed in fact as well as mind. Content to exist at observational remove from Qhyluth. "And what about water'n you?" Because, and it's just the barest edge of gaze slid beneath a small twitch of eyebrows: "You don't strike me as a swimmer."
"Mm." Acquiescence is a sound and a singular lift and drop of her head. Ulyana's expression settles out again, aided somewhat when she finally tugs her scarf up to cover her nose and mouth. It might do wonders to cover her expressions, but her slow breathing is easily tracked. "It is the same for me," she concludes blandly. "I was raised in a cold place. I do not think I have ever been warm - and I am certain I would be sick if I were." Her scarf shifts a little, betraying some motion or another before: "Swimming was not an option in my youth." But it clearly is for Qhyluth, who continues his aimless drifting along the surface - though his nose dips a little into the water, he doesn't yet dare to delve too deeply. Not yet. Not now. But he can at least let the stuff sluice down his face and neck. He turns strange, luminous eyes on Kuquuth, but there is no further mental press or physically expressed curiosity. He is what he is - and shall remain, until the time comes to leave.
Her certainty huffs the short of a hollowly silent laugh from his nose. That Ulyana's youth isn't a thing at such remove is something that puts a truer spark of amusement in the eyes that angle again to the eerie slip of a girl. It's a luminosity that's not destined to be lasting. "You'll have more option now. And assignment. It gets steamy over Boll." The changing balnce of his weight grinds grit beneath his boot soles as D'shal takes on a tilt of balder consideration. "You've been sick a lot. But not now. Not with him? Not like," the lift of his chin is an indication towards the barracks. Her clutchmates, though they number one less now. There's some further question there, too, looming like the extra height of him and no more precise. As if to dispel the weightier conjuring his rider makes, Kuquuth breaks from his stance to pad towards the water. Maybe it's just that he's taken the blue's look as beckoning. Or that it seems to be wise to be closer at hand if Qhyluth is contemplating diving. Whatever the case, he has his harness on, but that doesn't stop the bronze from wading in with springy energy to flex the feel of squishy silt between his toes.
And she might well be oblivious to the amusement to the older rider. There's only a sidelong look, a slight upward cocking of one eyebrow, and silence in the face of his hollow laugh and glinting eyes. The scarf twitches again and Ulyana looks away. "That is my understanding. He will be pleased to know we will be seeing other things and exploring other places." Shoulders rise, fall, and D'shal's next words elicit only the barest glance askance at him. "He worries. I can feel it down deep, sucking at my bones. He was reaching for the one we lost - but he could not capture him. Here, I mean," and, by 'here', she touches her head. "I think he wants me to help the boy, but I do not know how." A thin shudder creeps down her back. "He worries because I was sick before. He worries that he will lose me. He knows it is possible." And of the blue that's to be worrying so deeply? He seems content to share the somewhat limited space of the lake - even if he is terribly small still - with the bigger bronze. He goes out into the water a little further, but not much; his movements arrested as if something else is pulling, keeping him close to shore - and likewise keeping his head above water.
It is quite a full list of concerns. Not that one might think to attribute them to the large creatures that seem so content out on the water. But there seem to be plenty enough to wind a slight cord of tension through the age-softened line of the bronzerider's jaw, though that's a thing largely muffled by the close tuck of his collar and the necessary downward cant of his gaze. Again there's the close track of hazel eyes from their narrow shadows of wrinkles, following finger's touch and the faint trace of shudder through Ulyana's slight frame. "Lotta worries." The low murmur is a warped echo of passed words. Maybe it's that resonance that curves a little at his mouth, wan as it is. "You don't have to know how," D'shal will speak to that singular concern that Ulyana claimed for herself. "I don't know how," is an admission that comes in low voice that finally picks up a crackling trace of the weariness that's stained about his eyes. "Are those just his worries, or yours both," is a moving-on query.
"There are some shores he cannot yet reach - and that is one of them." The boy, of course, though the admission tightens Ulyana's throat. "I will do something," is not a promise - but it's more than that. Her throat works, unseen, and she hunches her shoulders against an imaginary gust of wind. She's silent for some time, peripherally watching the waters and the beasts within. D'shal's words are allowed to fall to the wayside in that time, to gather some distance before she's able to intone: "He is nothing but emotion. We do not speak, precisely, but he feels and I feel through it. The water-" but it's more than that and her brow pinches. She hesitates for a moment, words slow to congeal into coherence. And, when they do, her voice is hushed. "-the ocean is vast and full of horrors and nightmares that grow fat on fear and worry. I do not worry, precisely; there is no reason to worry about something that cannot be controlled. He does not understand that yet."
Perhaps this is a place for some reassurance, or at least some assurance that Ulyana doesn't /have/ to do anything. Such sentiments could be attributed to the knit of D'shal's brow and the slight twitches that don't to much to shift the set lines of his features. But all he offers is quiet. His gaze slips from the weyrling. Not to the dragons, but to some spot in the slim space between their feet while his chin makes small nudge into the flannel-lined warmth of his collar. There's an unfocus that dissipates when Ulyana starts to speak again, though this does not lead to his eyes lifting back. Near the end, where the girl specifies her own unworry, his fingers unpocket and rub alongside the bridge of his nose. His sniff is more a breath that pulls his regard back to level. "There can be so much t'them, and so sudden. Can be hard to remember they're babies." Not that D'shal is suggesting, particularly given her final statement, that this is true of Ulyana. It's more an agreement with her /yet/, and perhaps a promise that understandings can change. "Control isn't an absolute," also. "It can be, the right nudge can take the danger from... fat things." This is all kind of awkward, untidy concepts that press dissatisfaction at his mouth as they test the bounds of blunt words.
It might be a small burden - but it is a burden of her choosing. Ulyana says no more on the matter, leaving that to tumble aside with a soundless exhalation. Her attention remains peripherally on the dragons, keeping them at the barest corners of her sight - and if Qhyluth takes up a bit more of that frame, so be it. The rest of the bronzerider's words are allowed to gather and build into those awkward shapes, left unmolded and clumsy in their construction. There is no acknowledging noise, no words; nothing for the span of a few too many heartbeats. Eventually, there is a slight shake of her head. "I have seen what is there," she intones. "I have seen what lurks at the bottom of the ocean." His ocean. Qhyluth's. Her gaze sharpens and cuts across to D'shal with strange intensity. "In that, my control is absolute." Subtle weight lingers on 'my' - barely perceptible and, yet, it's there. "The rest- it will take time. Time and greater things to eat the lesser. Work will destroy the worry." She shifts her weight slightly and that, in turn, seems to serve as a cue for the blue; he wades for shore with wings uplifted as if to cup his watery shadow and guide it to shore.
It... is probably a good thing? Ulyana's seeing. Her absolute control. Maybe these assertions of hers put D'shal somewhat at ease. At the same time perhaps /he/ doesn't know, and still isn't quite sure of seeing. Despite the studies that hazel eyes continue to make of now-intent gray. But D'shal conceeds to the wisdom the weyrling has found, giving over to it with a short nod that's mostly lost within the high edges of his jacket. "Work is good for that," is a shared belief that returns a fullness of surety to his voice. Ulyana shifts and so does he. The backtrace of step plans to give enough space for both blue and the warped ripple of his shadow. "How d'you like the class studies?" The drift back towards generalities anticipates a drifting part of company. "Seems like it'd suit you." As swimming does not.
The dripping blue makes his way slowly up the shoreline toward the two riders, his wings still upheld to ensure they dry more quickly. His steps are slow and methodical, but still a bit ungainly given his youth. Ulyana cants a glance toward him, but only just; her attention weighs heaviest on D'shal, gray eyes meeting hazel with unblinking inscrutability. "The classwork is... dull, for the most part." Her tone shifts slightly, word-choice clearly not her first pick, but chosen after heavy consideration. "History and mathematics are a bit more of a challenge, but the writing and reading..." she trails off with a shake of her head. "I am not sure why they did not attempt to focus on those topics while we were Candidates. It seems that those lessons would have benefited all of us, regardless of the outcome."
A chuckle of breath catches a single low note of sound as hazel eyes crinkle. Dull might be a well chosen word in his mind, not that the assistant weyrlingmaster is likely to admit to it outright. D'shal may find it safe enough to unsling his flat smile for the girl who has so well demonstrated her dedication to duty, however. "S'hard enough to plan out a set of lessons for weyrlings coming from different places, even with the one start point after the hatching." A shrug comes with the proposed explanation, stretching his elbows straight from the hands that have sunk back into his pockets. These things aren't exactly his wheelhouse. "It's a point, though," the bronzerider will not squash Ulyana's opinion. "Next time." Maybe. The spread of his smile and slight outward tick of chin are giving the new bluerider care of such possibilities.
"I can only imagine the difficulty of planning out a course of education for all of us," Ulyana concurs with a rolling of shoulders. The smile is not precisely lost on the likes of her, not this time, but she doesn't return it. There is no need. Instead: "I am sure there must be a way to ensure the Candidates are more thoroughly educated." And that, then, is due - or doomed - to be some manner of project for the oddling girl. Her mouth distorts beneath the scarf and she starts to move, angling toward the weyrling complex with Qhyluth falling into step alongside. She's silent for a few moments before finally offering up, "He is hungry and in need of oil." Not that either is precisely necessary to express; the rumble of the blue's stomach says plenty.
Such delicate shoulders, and yet they seem to so often shrug on the weight of responsibility. The long draw of breath that fills into D'shal's lungs holds a muted lacing of bemusement for the witnessing of this latest project added to Ulyana's list. But there is Qhyluth with an empty growl in his belly, drawing the focus of the bronzerider's gaze and acting as the recipient fos his nod. "Best take care of that," forms his easy acceptance of their departure. "See ya, Ulyana." The rock of his shoulders twists him into an absent side-step so he can better aim the parting salute knocked from his temple. His path will take him in the opposite direction, along the drip-traced route of the emerged blue to join Kuquuth where the elder dragon has yet to wade free from the simple tactile pleasure of curling claws into the muck at the water's edge.
Summary: Lakeside conversation that covers worry and more.
Characters: D'shal, Kuquuth, Qhyluth, Ulyana
Location: Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr
Time: Day 14, month 4, turn 36 of Interval 10
RL Date: 11/16/2014
It's a chilly morning at Fort Weyr, but that has yet to stop Qhyluth in his explorations. Ulyana tracks behind him mutely, bundled up as she is against the coolness in the air. What they're doing and why is perhaps a matter best not broached; and, in the end, it just finds the blue beast approaching the shoreline of the lake with the weyrling rider in tow. He picks at the sand and whuffs at it, taking his time to get acquainted with the wet, shifting stuff beneath his paws. As for the girl, she keeps her distance, remaining at the place where soil turns to sand and not moving any closer. Her expression is unreadable, a veritable mask, in contrast with the creature's obvious curiosity about the world.
D'shal tends to be on morning duty, better suited to the dawn's exercise and exertions then the classroom-bound lessons that often take up mid day. Kuquuth was thus likely planted nearby the barracks when the weyrling blue pair set off on their expedition. Now, the dustcloud of his wings rides low on the stirring spring breezes. The shadow of them curves wide, arcing over the water which echoes the friendly low rumble of the elder dragon's greeting. It's on that threshold of sand and earth which he lands, though, far enough from Ulyana not to test whether she can be ruffled in any sense of the word. Close enough that there's some travel saved for the rider that slips down from that high, painted shoulder. The man wears an easy hunch against the cold, whatever has darkened the deep circles about his eyes not showing in the efficient amble of his stride that wanders him towards the girl's side. Hazel eyes are cut towards the blue at the water's edge, but who he greets with simple acknowledgement is: "Ulyana."
Claws test the substance the shore is made of - until another arrives. Qhyluth lifts his head, intense gaze trained on Kuquuth until the elder beast has descended in full. There is no audible call of greeting, but the murmurings of wordless voices and the whispering sigh of primordial seas will span the space of minds instead. He doesn't retreat from his place, however; instead, he continues his search while Ulyana's left to deal with the rider that approaches. For her part, the training has caught quickly and held well. She's half-turning toward D'shal as he approaches and, when her name is uttered, she pulls off a salute that's quick - but crisply and properly executed. She doesn't -seem- troubled by the proximity of the older dragon, but the distance is there, as is the strangeling creature along the shore. There is no title issued, nor his name; just a singular up-down-center bob of her head in silent greeting.
With his ungloved hands stuffed in pockets, D'shal will be a little delayed in returning the salute. But, these are habits and protocols that must be established and adhered to. For all his casualness, the bronzerider is no rogue when it comes to Weyr tradition, but it does mean he's not particularly inclined to impose on whatever has brought the weyrling to the shore. Her odd silence is respected for a time, his boots scuffing as he turns to stand shoulder-to-shoulder where he can watch Qhyluth's continued searching. "He likes the water," hovers somewhere between question and observation, hovering like the cloud of his breath in the cold. This is a remark that's surely influenced by the way shadowy seas wash against a more sun-drenched mind, murmurs matched by a contentment of reedy rustles. There's a confidence like braced paws making the toe-dipped edge of overlap, the lap of water welcomed warmly into a sway of fur even while a stillness promises not to churn up mud.
There is darkness in him - and it is purposeful. Qhyluth's mind remains dark and distant, scented of the sea and filled with the moaning of things that should not be. The waters do not reach far, anchored by a much more distant shore as they are, but they will reach, just so, to test the warmth and light against his cool and dark. In the waking world, there is Ulyana, with no eyes for the beast that, now, is starting to make his way directly to the water. His paws meet the liquid and he pauses, eyes shifting through a range of hues before settling on a sickly, moonfire green of satisfaction. Ulyana maintains attention on D'shal, accepting the half-query, half-observation with another of her shallow, singular nods. "That is all that he is," she replies, brow furrowing just a little over eyes that are half-fogged in unspeakable communion with the blue. "But he does not end. This- the lake will not be enough." It's a troubling thought and a shiver crawls down her spine. "He- does he like the water?" Kuquuth, surely, though she doesn't look at the bronze directly.
Kuquuth is unflinching under the reach of even so oddly moaning dark, his attention an easy prick-eared interest. It's both solid and spry, the warm core core of his being, unconcerned with being overwashed. Like no matter the cold that stretches into all time before and all time to come, there's no chance of losing the heat-baked sensation of light upon earth and the grounding scent of sunbeam-speared dust breathed full into lungs. "/All/ that he is?" Ulyana's brows go down, D'shal's edge their way upward. "Good thing there's more than the lake," is a further dry scuff of reply. It can't be that helpful a thing to say. Maybe he knows, and that's why the turn of his gaze aside to the girl scans so careful over her. "Yeah, he likes the water fine. Better'n snow." His shoulders shift in the laziest of shrugs. One edge of his mouth twists up. "We're different in that, him and me. He likes more the beaches where I burn to peeling, and me -- I grew up where lakes iced over."
The strangeness remains at the fringes, amorphous and alien; there is no sense of being thwarted by the eternal sunshine and warmth, no suggestion that the nature of the other creature's mind is too much. Rather, there just aren't enough dark places for Qhyluth to insinuate himself into and, so, he remains just -there-, watchful. Waiting. The blue's physicality moves into the water in earnest, keeping to the shallows - but still -in- the water and that satisfies him deeply. Wings unfurl to skim across the surface and he half-floats, one set of lids sliding shut in contentment. Ulyana pulls a sour face and looks away - only for her gaze to settle on nothing at all. "It is difficult to explain," is what she settles on, her voice thin and strained. And better not to explore it at all, ultimately. She leaves it there while she listens, gaze eventually tracking back to D'shal. A faint puff of breath is more visible than audible, but there all the same. "And, now, you are here, where there is a sense of balance in the weather." Her mouth twists to a side. "I prefer the cold," she admits after a moment or two. "Do you prefer the cold, too? Or is it just a matter of familiarity?"
A low chest-bound hum commiserates about the general difficulty of explaining dragons. Small ticks of hazel eyes track the visible puff of breath, the shifting of the so-often expressionless girl's expressions between sour and skewed. But mostly they're steady, focus granted from within the shadows of sleeplessness. "Yeah," D'shal guesses. Here. Balanced. The lopsided slim of his smile lingers. "Could be that it's familiar," he'll allow. "Can always put on a jacket. If it's hot..." What can you do? He shrugs more fully this time, a sniff of cold-stung nose resetting his gaze towards the wing-floating blue. Kuquuth has been watching all along, his head absently cocked, relaxed in fact as well as mind. Content to exist at observational remove from Qhyluth. "And what about water'n you?" Because, and it's just the barest edge of gaze slid beneath a small twitch of eyebrows: "You don't strike me as a swimmer."
"Mm." Acquiescence is a sound and a singular lift and drop of her head. Ulyana's expression settles out again, aided somewhat when she finally tugs her scarf up to cover her nose and mouth. It might do wonders to cover her expressions, but her slow breathing is easily tracked. "It is the same for me," she concludes blandly. "I was raised in a cold place. I do not think I have ever been warm - and I am certain I would be sick if I were." Her scarf shifts a little, betraying some motion or another before: "Swimming was not an option in my youth." But it clearly is for Qhyluth, who continues his aimless drifting along the surface - though his nose dips a little into the water, he doesn't yet dare to delve too deeply. Not yet. Not now. But he can at least let the stuff sluice down his face and neck. He turns strange, luminous eyes on Kuquuth, but there is no further mental press or physically expressed curiosity. He is what he is - and shall remain, until the time comes to leave.
Her certainty huffs the short of a hollowly silent laugh from his nose. That Ulyana's youth isn't a thing at such remove is something that puts a truer spark of amusement in the eyes that angle again to the eerie slip of a girl. It's a luminosity that's not destined to be lasting. "You'll have more option now. And assignment. It gets steamy over Boll." The changing balnce of his weight grinds grit beneath his boot soles as D'shal takes on a tilt of balder consideration. "You've been sick a lot. But not now. Not with him? Not like," the lift of his chin is an indication towards the barracks. Her clutchmates, though they number one less now. There's some further question there, too, looming like the extra height of him and no more precise. As if to dispel the weightier conjuring his rider makes, Kuquuth breaks from his stance to pad towards the water. Maybe it's just that he's taken the blue's look as beckoning. Or that it seems to be wise to be closer at hand if Qhyluth is contemplating diving. Whatever the case, he has his harness on, but that doesn't stop the bronze from wading in with springy energy to flex the feel of squishy silt between his toes.
And she might well be oblivious to the amusement to the older rider. There's only a sidelong look, a slight upward cocking of one eyebrow, and silence in the face of his hollow laugh and glinting eyes. The scarf twitches again and Ulyana looks away. "That is my understanding. He will be pleased to know we will be seeing other things and exploring other places." Shoulders rise, fall, and D'shal's next words elicit only the barest glance askance at him. "He worries. I can feel it down deep, sucking at my bones. He was reaching for the one we lost - but he could not capture him. Here, I mean," and, by 'here', she touches her head. "I think he wants me to help the boy, but I do not know how." A thin shudder creeps down her back. "He worries because I was sick before. He worries that he will lose me. He knows it is possible." And of the blue that's to be worrying so deeply? He seems content to share the somewhat limited space of the lake - even if he is terribly small still - with the bigger bronze. He goes out into the water a little further, but not much; his movements arrested as if something else is pulling, keeping him close to shore - and likewise keeping his head above water.
It is quite a full list of concerns. Not that one might think to attribute them to the large creatures that seem so content out on the water. But there seem to be plenty enough to wind a slight cord of tension through the age-softened line of the bronzerider's jaw, though that's a thing largely muffled by the close tuck of his collar and the necessary downward cant of his gaze. Again there's the close track of hazel eyes from their narrow shadows of wrinkles, following finger's touch and the faint trace of shudder through Ulyana's slight frame. "Lotta worries." The low murmur is a warped echo of passed words. Maybe it's that resonance that curves a little at his mouth, wan as it is. "You don't have to know how," D'shal will speak to that singular concern that Ulyana claimed for herself. "I don't know how," is an admission that comes in low voice that finally picks up a crackling trace of the weariness that's stained about his eyes. "Are those just his worries, or yours both," is a moving-on query.
"There are some shores he cannot yet reach - and that is one of them." The boy, of course, though the admission tightens Ulyana's throat. "I will do something," is not a promise - but it's more than that. Her throat works, unseen, and she hunches her shoulders against an imaginary gust of wind. She's silent for some time, peripherally watching the waters and the beasts within. D'shal's words are allowed to fall to the wayside in that time, to gather some distance before she's able to intone: "He is nothing but emotion. We do not speak, precisely, but he feels and I feel through it. The water-" but it's more than that and her brow pinches. She hesitates for a moment, words slow to congeal into coherence. And, when they do, her voice is hushed. "-the ocean is vast and full of horrors and nightmares that grow fat on fear and worry. I do not worry, precisely; there is no reason to worry about something that cannot be controlled. He does not understand that yet."
Perhaps this is a place for some reassurance, or at least some assurance that Ulyana doesn't /have/ to do anything. Such sentiments could be attributed to the knit of D'shal's brow and the slight twitches that don't to much to shift the set lines of his features. But all he offers is quiet. His gaze slips from the weyrling. Not to the dragons, but to some spot in the slim space between their feet while his chin makes small nudge into the flannel-lined warmth of his collar. There's an unfocus that dissipates when Ulyana starts to speak again, though this does not lead to his eyes lifting back. Near the end, where the girl specifies her own unworry, his fingers unpocket and rub alongside the bridge of his nose. His sniff is more a breath that pulls his regard back to level. "There can be so much t'them, and so sudden. Can be hard to remember they're babies." Not that D'shal is suggesting, particularly given her final statement, that this is true of Ulyana. It's more an agreement with her /yet/, and perhaps a promise that understandings can change. "Control isn't an absolute," also. "It can be, the right nudge can take the danger from... fat things." This is all kind of awkward, untidy concepts that press dissatisfaction at his mouth as they test the bounds of blunt words.
It might be a small burden - but it is a burden of her choosing. Ulyana says no more on the matter, leaving that to tumble aside with a soundless exhalation. Her attention remains peripherally on the dragons, keeping them at the barest corners of her sight - and if Qhyluth takes up a bit more of that frame, so be it. The rest of the bronzerider's words are allowed to gather and build into those awkward shapes, left unmolded and clumsy in their construction. There is no acknowledging noise, no words; nothing for the span of a few too many heartbeats. Eventually, there is a slight shake of her head. "I have seen what is there," she intones. "I have seen what lurks at the bottom of the ocean." His ocean. Qhyluth's. Her gaze sharpens and cuts across to D'shal with strange intensity. "In that, my control is absolute." Subtle weight lingers on 'my' - barely perceptible and, yet, it's there. "The rest- it will take time. Time and greater things to eat the lesser. Work will destroy the worry." She shifts her weight slightly and that, in turn, seems to serve as a cue for the blue; he wades for shore with wings uplifted as if to cup his watery shadow and guide it to shore.
It... is probably a good thing? Ulyana's seeing. Her absolute control. Maybe these assertions of hers put D'shal somewhat at ease. At the same time perhaps /he/ doesn't know, and still isn't quite sure of seeing. Despite the studies that hazel eyes continue to make of now-intent gray. But D'shal conceeds to the wisdom the weyrling has found, giving over to it with a short nod that's mostly lost within the high edges of his jacket. "Work is good for that," is a shared belief that returns a fullness of surety to his voice. Ulyana shifts and so does he. The backtrace of step plans to give enough space for both blue and the warped ripple of his shadow. "How d'you like the class studies?" The drift back towards generalities anticipates a drifting part of company. "Seems like it'd suit you." As swimming does not.
The dripping blue makes his way slowly up the shoreline toward the two riders, his wings still upheld to ensure they dry more quickly. His steps are slow and methodical, but still a bit ungainly given his youth. Ulyana cants a glance toward him, but only just; her attention weighs heaviest on D'shal, gray eyes meeting hazel with unblinking inscrutability. "The classwork is... dull, for the most part." Her tone shifts slightly, word-choice clearly not her first pick, but chosen after heavy consideration. "History and mathematics are a bit more of a challenge, but the writing and reading..." she trails off with a shake of her head. "I am not sure why they did not attempt to focus on those topics while we were Candidates. It seems that those lessons would have benefited all of us, regardless of the outcome."
A chuckle of breath catches a single low note of sound as hazel eyes crinkle. Dull might be a well chosen word in his mind, not that the assistant weyrlingmaster is likely to admit to it outright. D'shal may find it safe enough to unsling his flat smile for the girl who has so well demonstrated her dedication to duty, however. "S'hard enough to plan out a set of lessons for weyrlings coming from different places, even with the one start point after the hatching." A shrug comes with the proposed explanation, stretching his elbows straight from the hands that have sunk back into his pockets. These things aren't exactly his wheelhouse. "It's a point, though," the bronzerider will not squash Ulyana's opinion. "Next time." Maybe. The spread of his smile and slight outward tick of chin are giving the new bluerider care of such possibilities.
"I can only imagine the difficulty of planning out a course of education for all of us," Ulyana concurs with a rolling of shoulders. The smile is not precisely lost on the likes of her, not this time, but she doesn't return it. There is no need. Instead: "I am sure there must be a way to ensure the Candidates are more thoroughly educated." And that, then, is due - or doomed - to be some manner of project for the oddling girl. Her mouth distorts beneath the scarf and she starts to move, angling toward the weyrling complex with Qhyluth falling into step alongside. She's silent for a few moments before finally offering up, "He is hungry and in need of oil." Not that either is precisely necessary to express; the rumble of the blue's stomach says plenty.
Such delicate shoulders, and yet they seem to so often shrug on the weight of responsibility. The long draw of breath that fills into D'shal's lungs holds a muted lacing of bemusement for the witnessing of this latest project added to Ulyana's list. But there is Qhyluth with an empty growl in his belly, drawing the focus of the bronzerider's gaze and acting as the recipient fos his nod. "Best take care of that," forms his easy acceptance of their departure. "See ya, Ulyana." The rock of his shoulders twists him into an absent side-step so he can better aim the parting salute knocked from his temple. His path will take him in the opposite direction, along the drip-traced route of the emerged blue to join Kuquuth where the elder dragon has yet to wade free from the simple tactile pleasure of curling claws into the muck at the water's edge.