Move to Five Mines Part 1
The exiles move to Five Mines. In this part: Preparations on the island and the first few waves of people go ahead. Weyrlings wait for the last 'wave' to go between, S'val is very ill, and Zoma seems to be missing.
It's morning on the first day of the eighth month. A date that has been mentioned over and over again since the end of the sixth month. Dragonriders and residents alike are beginning to assemble on the beach, various odds and ends packed and loaded up on the thirty older dragons. The makeshift homes that served as refuge for over eleven turns are empty, and some have even been torn down. The maze of tunnels that serve as the island stores have been cleared of anything and everything useful (or so Nera insists) and the weyrlings have spent the last month and change training for this moment far more vigorously than they were training to meet island threadfalls. The blueriding once-leader stands by his mount, a hide in one hand, eyes flicking over the gathering crowd. A mental tally, perhaps, to see who is here and who has yet to arrive. Now and again, he jots something down on the hide.
E'sere and Aivey arrive together with Morelenth, the bronze already loaded down with their meager bag of possessions: E'sere's clothes and his books, those that have survived, packed up and tied together about the bronze's island-made straps. E'sere, for his part, is maintaining his companionable air, speaking with people, meandering a little ways from Aivey and the dragon to chat, the picture of relaxation.
K'tric is with Kasvatuth and Donavon, the latter looking uneasy as he hangs closer to the dragon than the weyrling does. K'tric stands still a little ways off, back to the crowd as he watches the island behind them.
M'cay walks down from the barracks with a hesitant stride. Behind him, his young dragon rumbles soft encouragement. With a slight nod, M'cay hikes up his bag to a better spot on his shoulder. The young pair find a spot to stand on the beach, awaiting their orders. While M'cay gently rubs Tenzinth's dark hide, his eyes flick around, searching for someone. Perhaps two someones, it's impossible to tell.
Sighing slightly, L'vok stands near Benreth and within sight of M'cay, nodding when he sees the young bronxerider appear. Not saying much, nor seemingly happy, the brownrider keeps to himself for the most part, and goes back to watching those around him.
Diya travels down to the beach.
Diya has arrived.
A'der has unloaded the last bundle he was drafted into carrying some time ago, and now he stands leaned up against Navasoth's rusty brown flank, hands thrust into the threadbare pockets of his trousers. One leg shakes with an axious, unconscious energy, the toe of his foot rooted in the sand. As M'cay approaches, he gives his fellow weyrling a thin-lipped sort of smile and a nod, his eyes drifting sideways to L'vok as the short-lived expression fades away. Then he goes back to his waiting, clearing his throat and turning back to watch intently the tallying bluerider.
Nenuith is passing time keeping a constant stream of good fortune and good feeling in the air. The Reachian queen is heavily loaded, though perhaps not so heavily as when she arrived, despite the fact that Diya has had more time, this time, to prepare for the trip. Diya herself keeps herself mostly occupied speaking warmly, quietly to the island's young riders and older residents, reassuring those who have made few trips by dragon or by between as best she can; occasionally she stops and glances back and up at Nenuith, reassuring herself, too.
"Do you think she'll come? Do you think she'll come to tell me goodbye, one last time?" asks K'tric, without looking around at Donavon. He has the two aces in his hands, held tightly in both while he continues to study the rest of the island, as though to fix it in his mind before they leave. Donavon frowns, shrugs though the boy can't see it. He doesn't answer.
M'cay's eys dart around before settling into a more sedate scan. A'der is given a nod and a nervous smile. L'vok gets a half wave, before the Weyrling's eyes go back to J'lor. Waiting, watching. Tenzinth shifts his body and mantles his wings, rumbling again in his chest. Then the young bronzerider's gaze settles on Nenuith, keenly aware of what the future might bring in that arena.
Dark eyes flick over the growing crowd as the names of those arrived grow and the names of those still missing are dwindled to a paltry few. Derek isn't there, yet. Nor Nera. They could be off doing Faranth knows what last minute preparations. There's no Zoma either but...well...it's Zoma, so who expected anything normal or timely out of her? S'val is not in attendance either, nor the exiles' healer, and the rider's brown lingers still on his old ledge, marking where the ailing man continues to rest. Still, J'lor draws in a deep breath and begins to call out instructions and information. "All right, everyone. Obviously, we'll have to do this in shifts. Non-riders will depart fifty at a time with the twenty eight adult dragons. Weyrlings!" The title is called out, almost an order in itself, "You'll be flying last and you'll be traveling with the rest of the adult dragons. None of you is to attempt to between until I give the all clear to do so, right?" Words that have been repeated over and over and over, but they are offered up once more. "We'll have the guards first and the space that's left over can go to some of the men between twenty and forty, please." Women and children first. Only backwards.
Aivey is indeed present, clutching her own belongings under an arm. Sticking by her bronzerider's side, she murmurs something to him before slipping around front of Morelenth. She's not a strap expert, so it's relatively obvious she's not checking the straps there so much as wedging something between them and the bronze's chest. Morelenth, poor dragon, is gifted with an Asshole-adorned grill. The dolls head sticks out, it's body flat and squashed, arms tucked at awkward angles along with doubled-over legs. His head is patted once before Aivey retreats back to E'sere's side. A glance is sent through the gathered crowd, and whatever Aivey finds draws a small frown and a press of her shoulder against E'sere.
From Nenuith there is no time for special awareness of any future more distant than the next several hours and the tasks set for the experienced pairs assembled on the island beach. But if M'cay is aware of her, she is in turn aware of E'sere for at least a short time, tipping her head toward him just enough that her swirling, confident gaze can move over him in specific before passing on to the next dragon she'll personally comfort. As J'lor's instructions begin Diya says her last words to a woman whose island-born daughter has rather wide eyes about the whole thing, then comes back to her queen's side, face thoughtful. Her hand comes up to a place below her throat, finds nothing there but her tired island-altered clothing and her skin, and moves to rest on Nenuith's hide instead. Together they watch the bluerider who manages this operation - then, as guards and young men say strange not-goodbyes to their families or friends and drift forward to prepare to mount up with the adult dragons' riders, Diya turns a curious look out through them, searching and not finding.
L'vok keeps an eye on M'cay. nodding as he glances around as well, ans makes sure everything is settled onto Benreth. Time on the island has come to an end and the brownrider sighs again. He gives a not to J'lor then and waits for the orders, as requested.
"I have to go," Donavon says after another moment, looking at K'tric's back and frowning. K'tric says nothing; after a moment, Donavon adds, "So, I'll... see you when you get there, K'tric." He hesitates a moment longer, seeking some answer; but receiving none, he turns to head over toward E'sere and Aivey and Morelenth. The bronzerider is initially watching Diya, returning her nod with a polite, reserved one of his own, before he turns to look back at Aivey. Bemusement crosses his features as he sees what she's doing, and Morelenth bends his head down to whuff at the doll himself. "Oh, very nice. Decorations," drawls E'sere, moving to slide an arm lightly around Aivey's waist when she presses up to him. "We'll start a new fashion statement amongst the dragons. Donavon," he greets his man as he arrives near them.
M'cay inclines his head in a quiet acknowledgement of J'lor's instructions. He strokes his dragon's hide as the bronze settles down to wait, folding his wings back along his sides. M'cay closes his eyes briefly and then snaps them open, looking around. Then his feet make their way toward the other weyrlings - whoever might be interested in some conversation at least. "Well, what do you think?" the young man asks, compulsively checking to make sure his satchel is still by his side.
L'vok glances at M'cay then and shakes his head, "We have to go and there's no choice in the matter. What is there to think about really?" His tome is quiet and his voice is distant, but L'vok is looking right at M'cay when he speaks.
Aivey lingers in the comfort, going so far as to rest her head against E'sere's arm before straightening and slipping from his side. It'd be behind his back that she steals a look toward Diya, and a second to K'tric and Kasvatuth. When she comes around E'sere's other side, her hair is fashioned into a braid, the tail being bound and tossed over her shoulder. "He'll be fine," She then assures Donavon; of E'sere or K'tric is left for Donavon to decide. Meanwhile D'rian and Taikath, situated alongside M'uri and Kelkoth, continue a low-toned conversation. M'uri's hand is clamped atop his son's shoulder, Kelkoth wedged tight against a paled Taikath.
A'der levels his gaze on the bluerider as the order encompassing him and his dragon is called out, chin lifting as his lips twist to one side with some resigned thought. He drops a slow set of nods, then pushes out of his lean, idly watching the guards stream toward their transports while he paces over the sand in a wandering few steps away from his brown, who's peering with much more interest at the proceedings with excitedly whirling eyes. Another step further brings him up short as he finds M'cay striding over. His dark eyes slide to L'vok, note his answer, but he all but disregards it. "I think all this shardin' waitin's a waste of time. S'what I think," he says. Though his voice is low, grumbly, it lacks any real disgruntlement, just a complaint to pass that waste of time.
There is one guard, or a man who was once a guard, who does not stream out from the crowd of non-riders in among the grown dragons to take up a place in passenger straps. Derek comes down from the main path long after most of the island has assembled, Nera beside him until they reach the beach. There Nera breaks a little ahead of the island king, head up and stride swift, hands twitching at her skirts. Derek himself carries a single satchel on his back, its strap over his shoulder. He has put himself somewhat more together than usual for this occasion: he wears a shirt that still has the sleeves it was designed with, tucked into pants that actually reach his ankles, and boots. A guard's boots. Ancient, dusty, creased and with patchwork laces, but boots, long-hidden in the island headwoman's mysterious stores. He hangs back a little, his pace slowing as he takes note of his men joining the dragonriders; then he tiptoes a little (maybe humorously) to search with pale gaze for a tall, dark-eyed man giving instructions.
J'lor's gaze holds on the group of weyrlings, waiting for those small indications of agreement that get offered up from most of them. Then he watches as the dragons get loaded with passengers, as well as cargo, and the riders mount up as well. There is more scribbling onto the hide, Names of those who are going so they don't get confused with the names of those who have yet to arrive. Another look around the crowd notes Derk and Nera as they appear, and he offers a small nod that he sees them and an arched brow as he breifly studies Derek's boots, before turning to watch as the first of the dragons launch into the air, soar upwards, and vanish between.
M'cay tilts his head slightly as he hears the Weyrlings' opinions. He nods, absorbing them. "Well, we should always be thinking," he says in his quiet way, before his eyes focus onto A'der, "You'd rather go right now?" the young man asks, glancing back at his dragon. Tenzinth lifts his wings, signaling his readiness. "Do any of us know what's waiting for us at Five Mines?"
"Yeah. I know," says Donavon, nodding once to Aivey and watching her as she walks away. "Nice doll," he adds mockingly to E'sere, who tries to look lofty and above such things. He fails, too, and turns away to hide his glower. "Get on if you're coming, or I'll leave your sorry self here.," E'sere tells him in mock-disgust, and Donavon does so, getting in place and letting E'sere join him for that first ferry trip to the mainland again.
L'vok shakes his head at the younger Weyrling, not really looking around much, "I don't think so. Ecept for the leaders, and we have to trust them. Not really much choice there or in what we do. I do hope things go better than what I expect though."
Diya might just be noted to smile a little, in her reserved fashion, at Morelenth's grill ornament. "Oh, let me help you," she's then obliged to murmur, and is completely and with perfect propriety concerned with assisting a guardsman whose skill in knife-fighting must far outstrip his skill in dragon-climbing into Nenuith's straps. Another young man goes up behind him, then Diya herself ascends.
A'der's eyes go all squinty suddenly, as he watches the conversation take shape between the two other weyrlings. Removing his hands from his pockets, he restlessly crosses his arms across his chest. "You know what's waitin' for us here?" he retorts cynically, words uttered low under his breath. "S'not much better," he mumbles, words slightly blurred.
It's no surprise, or shouldn't be much of one, that Aivey looks less than pleased with the separation. Both men are looked at, Donavon a little moreso than E'sere. Aivey doesn't say anything, though, trusting instead that both will get the point. She steps back, folding her arms over her chest while clamping down on the inside of her cheek. Busy as she is with watching Donavon and E'sere, she doesn't notice her father's arrival until he's well in place, and then he's the recipient of a curious if slightly amused look. D'rian and M'uri finally part ways; the elder of the two not doing so without a firm look back at his son and Kelkoth not without bumping Taikath's shoulder. D'rian watches his father mount Kelkoth, and watches his father's sole passenger before turning to Taikath. His shoulders set into a stiff line as a deep breath is drawn and held.
Nera weaves through the crowd slowly, still smoothing her skirts into place. There's a hand on an arm here, and a word murmured in an ear here. The island headwoman's voice is low, her gentle smiles ready today; if she harbors some nervousness of her own, she conceals it. Slowly she weaves, finding J'lor's gaze, returning his nod with a small, careful smile. She's smoothing her skirts as she appears by M'cay and A'der, and those two are the next subjects of a grey-eyed inspection. "All ready?" There's a soft humor in the question; those who are not have left it too late by far. It is the start of a conversation, and just that.
M'cay scowls, crossing his arms, "Why haven't we been told anything?" the young man demands, anger briefly showing on his usually calm face. He just shrugs to A'der and then lets his arms fall to his sides, not commenting. When Nera steps up the man dips his head respectfully, "Ma'am," he says in a low voice. "Is there more you need Tenzinth to carry?" Something you wouldn't mind loosing should the worst happen?
L'vok shrugs slightly and turns his attention back to Benreth as Nera speaks with M'cay and A'der, refraining from the comment he has at the tip of his tongue.
Derek meets J'lor's look, until the bluerider's taking notice of the boots; then the island king takes up looking for other things. Such as an increasingly familiar, skeletal bronze; it's in Morelenth's shadow that Derek searches for his daughter and, with a significant glance, finds her. He looks up, sighting E'sere and Donavon next. He nods to the former, not too careful to be sure the nod is seen, and lands his gaze on Donavon for a little bit longer, significant. Then Aivey again, and she gets a lifted brow and a gesture: come wait here, if you like. 'Here' being the place Derek's stopped walking, midway through the crowd, any old spot of sand no one else is using will do.
A'der turns those squinty eyes on Nera as she approaches, giving her a short nod and grumbling a, "Best be," before letting the other weyrlings have their say. When M'cay pipes up, he listens with his eyes downcast, arms tip-tapping over the arm he has crossed across him.
The last of the mature dragons depart as the first of them return from the icy black to land, their hides still radiating chill into the hot and humid island air. There is a quick exchange between J'lor and a greenrider. It's only a few words and a nod, but it has the debunked leader exhaling a small sigh of relief before turning back to the crowd. There is another look over the waiting faces, and another glance at the hide he holds. He waits until a few more of the dragons return before issuing another request for people to mount up. It's less specific this time, more of a 'whoever is ready' sort of deal.
"Thank you, M'cay," Nera murmurs, warmth infusing what was long ago a Telgari accent; since then, her vowels have rounded, taking on the characteristics of those others to whom she has long been exposed. "I think we are well enough distributed." A'der earns himself a sidelong smile; a curving of the lips that are the headwoman's one softness, and a nod. "Best be indeed," she agrees; no justification from Nera. Only friendly chit-chat, as though she has nothing better to do just now. And perhaps, waiting, she does not.
E'sere leaves Donavon on the mainland with the other men, and leaves the bag with him as well, to open up more room on Morelenth as ferrying continues. They're back shortly, returned to continue the moving of the island populations. Morelenth still boasts his ornament, and seems rather pleased by it. As they land, E'sere remains mounted, using that height advantage to search for Aivey again. Rather like Derek, he tries to catch her eye, and then to wave her over to him.
M'cay crosses his arms again and studies the Headwoman, "Do /you/ know what's at the other end of between?" he asks of her, "What we should expect? Are they looking forward to our coming? What about the weyrs?" He stops with his questions as a soft rumble comes from his bronze. A'der gets a short laugh, "Best be, aye." The teen's eyes flick to L'vok, trying to gauge his friend's reactions to all this.
Aivey's own return is subtle, credit given to a man she never doubts: a simple and very slight nod of her head, barely looking to be anything more than an uncaught tick. She waits though, just long enough to see the 'reachian bronze off before slipping through the crowd to that spot offered. Her up close and personal look is brief but through, her father's welfare assured before a soft spoken barb is passed on. "Would've polished them if you'd have asked." Nothing more after that, only Aivey dropping one hand that fists, the other cupping her elbow. She'd scan the crowd in the interlude, taking stock of whatever it is she feels she must. And when E'sere returns, Aivey glances to her father. Waiting or just double-checking.
Nenuith is among the last to go, and among the last to return; she is a little less burdened when she soars down again to her 'landing pad,' with two bags gone from the several linked to her straps. She crouches low to let up new passengers, while the weyrwoman watches to see if help is needed this time. She does not watch too closely, for Diya also tends to counting heads among those gone and returned, and those yet to travel. She notes Nera in silence, and perhaps it's for that which the goldrider slightly, wearily smiles.
L'vok shakes his head as he glances over at M'cay then, nodding at Nera as he does so, "Well, the weyrs probably wouldn't be happy with our coming, so I am guessing that they do not know. As to what to expect: expect the worst and hope for the best. It will probably be somewhere in the middle." At least he hopes so.
E'sere finds Aivey, watches her as she watches Derek. His own face is expressionless, emotions held back in favor of just watching, of waiting on her like she waits on her father.
D'rian has long since tired of lingering by Taikath's side. He's situated himself atop the bronze, and both appear stoic enough. In truth, the rider is paler than his dragon, and while Taikath spends an ungodly amount of attention on Kasvatuth, D'rian watches J'lor.
"Wouldn't ask," Derek replies. "They're beneath you." Probably best if he means the boots, even though after his once-over of Aivey, it's the place where Morelenth left from he watches - until Morelenth returns. Then he looks back at his daughter, and asks, "Has he told you anything to do or expect?"
Nera laughs softly, lifting one hand to gesture to L'vok, in the wake of his words. "Perhaps L'vok has the best of it," she replies, lifting the hand then to tuck a strand of hair back behind her eyes; the headwoman has made no more preparation for her return to the mainland than to trade her trousers for a skirt, and once her hair is settles, she smoothes it down. "It is what we have all decided to do, together. It is the way forward we've chosen for ourselves, and we need now to turn our faces forward, and prepare ourselves for it."
Kasvatuth is quite happy to let Taikath lavish attention on her; she laps it up with usual enthusiasm. K'tric is still watching the forest, waiting patiently for Zoma to come up. He's hopeful, as convinced as ever of what he thinks: she'll still come.
The dragons come and the drgons go, people moving forward to take their turn. There are murmured goodbyes and small jokes and worried looks. All the tiny signs of excitement and fear that might be expected. The process will not take so very long. Six trips before all of the non-riders can be successfully deposited at Five Mines. By the third round, J'lor is again counting heads, and his dark eyes linger on the pale D'rian long enough for them to curve upwards in a reassuring smile. By the fourth trip, he's given the word to a pair of men who will go up to carefully fetch S'val and the healer. Then he moves through the crowd and towards the worried bronzeling. "D'rian, do you suppose you might do me a favor?" he asks, quiet and calm.
M'cay chuckles softly, though there is little mirth in his tone or his gaze. He inclines his head again to to Headwoman, lips pressed tightly together. The Weyrling holds his council for the moment, glancing again back to his dragon. Tenzinth rumbles quietly, his eyes spinning slowly with pale blue sprinkled with a hint of reddish yellow - should battle be called for. M'cay snorts with a single exhaled breath.
A'der, until then a listener in this conversation the appointed exile headwoman has started, suddenly contributes something other than silence. He still stands, eyes dropped to flick across the sand as if counting the grains he finds there, but he says simply, "Ya can't prepare. Just gotta wait for it to happen."
"They're all the same." Is Aivey's assessment and answer to Derek, and there's confidence in assuming as much - about the lords and what to expect, at least. She catches E'sere's eye, opting only to make brief contact to signal she knows he's there, before looking back to Derek, "Should I prepare?" For him, specifically. Taikath shifts closer to his green clutchmate - much to D'rian's dismay. "Sky's the other way," he barks in a quite undertone to K'tric. And to J'lor, he struggles for an equally calm tone. "I'll try, sir."
L'vok watches M'cay, nodding at the others and smiles slightly at Nera, "Well, we'll soon know what this decision has brought us. Too late to truly worry now anyways." Aglanc to Benreth and then silence again as the brownrider waits.
"Yes," Derek tells Aivey, then draws his eyes back to her with a peculiar focus and a twitching smile. A real smile, if a twitching one. It curves his mouth, and therefore also his moustache, and makes his eyes sky blue. "If I can figure out what for, I will let you know. I'm not sure presenting family to the Lord is on the agenda yet. You may need to meet people I can't. Have you plans of your own?"
"We will all be there together," Nera replies, lifting her head to smile a greeting to a passing group of women, as they edge forward towards waiting dragons. "We have done our best all these past turns by you, and we will do so when we get there." The headwoman makes no move to depart for more exhalted company, although she's watching others as they move past; noting the groups and clumps into which they swirl, and from which they disperse. Watching J'lor as he directs traffic, watching Derek, as the king she made speaks with his daughter. Turning her head for a moment to watch for S'val.
M'cay's body tenses like a coiled spring, his face contorted for a moment, "I'm tired of waiting," the Weyrling hisses between clenched teeth, "Tired of being told what to do and where to go. Tired of having my fate decided for me." This short outburst is delivered in a quiet, harsh whisper before he masters his emotions, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. "My apologies, lady," he murmurs, looking properly abashed. He shakes his head firmly, gazing absently at the sky.
The bluerider and once-leader offers a small nod for D'rian's words, his grouse towards K'tric ignored for the time being. "I've tallied everyone except for Zoma," J'lor says quietly, "Could you ask around, please? See if anybody's seen her today?"
"Not sure it'd impress him much either." Aivey replies, returning the smile. His question garners a small shake of her head, and another look toward E'sere. It's the truth when she says, "Same as always. Try not to disappoint and keep my eyes open." Hesitation comes with only one offer. "Don't need to say it but I will. Be careful." She doesn't look with that, and likely for a good reason. D'rian, at J'lor's question, glances toward K'tric first. And then he unseats himself to slide down the bronze's shoulder to do just as J'lor's asked, starting with his nearest neighbors.
"She's not coming," K'tric finally speaks up, turning to look at J'lor with that intense green stare, as he finally catches the name he's so set on, and makes up his mind. "I thought she would come to tell me goodbye, but she won't, not now. It would be too painful for her, I think. She gave me her cards to remember her by instead."
A'der turns a narrow gaze on M'cay, lips twitched back into a slanted half-grimace for his words. Nera is disregarded just now, as is the apology given to her; this brownriding weyrling just stares. Finally, he gives a shrug, brows twitching back to the frown he had abandoned. "Don't let 'em then. Stay here and die." With that, he leaves, picking his way rather awkwardly away through the sand, back to his dragon's side.
"He doesn't sound like a family man." Derek adds another little punchline to Aivey's semi-private joke, and looks off toward the bronzerider himself, smiling still, eyes still blue and bright. It makes him a little younger, a little nastier. "Talk to people, a little bit. Meet them. Listen. I don't have any expectations of you but that you don't get in trouble until I get back to you." He flicks that unpleasantly happy gaze back at his daughter then, mouth twitching.
L'vok nods at Nera and M'cay, "We've been doing what we can here and getting by." A'der is given a look for his comment and then L'cok continues, "Just have patience, the time will come. Nothing good will come out of rushing things."
Nera joins M'cay in his inspection of the sky; she glances down only briefly to watch A'der's retreat. One hand comes up then; not to settle her skirts or hair this time, but to settle gently on M'cay's shoulder instead, as he shakes his head. "That's more or less what we were tired of in the first place," she replies, gentle humour entering her voice. It's quiet now, for all she's capable of raising it to shout over the sound of a few hundred voices at dinner. "So we decided to stop being told what to do, and where to go. Today we're taking another step on that journey we started, is all. And we're looking after our weyrlings as best we can, though we've never done it before. As L'vok says, have patience. There are times in all our lives for learning, and this is yours. It's best for Tenzinth."
And there's worry, now. Enough to distract Aivey entirely as she looks toward Derek, making it evident. "Where -" A brief pause ensues, Aivey taking a moment to turn his reply in her mind before she swallows and nods. "It's nice outside... near dawn, I mean. Saying things haven't changed all that much." Obscure, possibly, though with it Aivey offers a smile that's a little half-hearted, wholly worried but chock full of blind trust in her father. It remains until she turns from him and seeks to slip back through the crowd to the waiting bronze and rider. D'rian has stopped, and looks toward J'lor when K'tric speaks up. There's hesitation on his part to resume his task until J'lor's given the go-ahead or the never mind.
M'cay scowls after A'der and then looks mildly surprised at the hand on his shoulder. He offers Nera a faint but earnest smile, "Aye, I know it's best, it just wasn't my choice. Excuse me," he says softly to both of them, his anger gone. He turns and returns to Tenzinth's side, spending some time with the love of his life and soothing the red out of his dragon's eyes.
The last heads to be counted J'lor must have known already would come this late. The island's healer and a young woman acting as an assistant for this purpose come down the path with S'val layette-carried on a sling by two men behind them. The sick rider is unnaturally thin, sallow and gray, but his brown soars down from the sky with a vigor that can be only renewed due to the glorious hope of homecoming. He alights on the sand to wait. It's only once they're at the edge of what remains of the thinning crowd (which begins to separate to let the threesome through) that Diya hurries down from Nenuith's straps at the end of her second trip and lights out toward the procession to be of very little help save to murmur her worried encouragements to the man in the sling.
L'vok nods to the bronzerider, watching him and those who pay close attention may catch a glimpse of worry on his face when M'cay isn't looking. L'vok shakes his head then and shrugs, "Patience will come in time I think. We'll have to see how things work out."
E'sere hasn't moved, still waiting on Aivey, watching her while she talks to Derek and then finally approaches. "Hey," he tells her simply, and leans down to offer her his hand to help her up, as they prepare to go.
"Everybody's coming," J'lor says simply. "Leaving her behind would be tanamount to death. I know she's worried but..." he gives a small shake of his head. "Nobody's remaining behind." D'rian is given that small nod. Kepp asking. J'lor drifts off then, adding names to the list as the numbers of who is still on the island dwindle. When the fifth round of transporting via dragons has concluded and all of the riders have returned, J'lor looks around a final time. "All right, weyrlings. Mount up! Stay in the formation we've practiced and do -not- jump until you get the signal from Vellath. Remember to keep calm, between always feels longer than it is. We've done this before. Same thing. Different place. And keep to formation when you arrive over Five Mines. Injuries can happen if anybody gets distracted and veers into a neighbor." Facing the remaining residents he calls, "Everyone still here, pick a dragon. This will be the last trip." And then, instead of moving towards Vellath, he heads closer to a group of islanders, Zoma's name again popping up into the quiet discussion.
And Derek says, "Go ahead," to Aivey, then gives E'sere a glance. That's it. The island king turns to start his path toward the weyrlingmaster's blue, which dragon numbers among the few he will suffer to ride for only occasion so great as this - but his path is stopped by one of the weyrlings bringing that murmur D'rian has been sending along. Zoma. Zoma? Derek looks at the lad for a long moment, then raises his gaze again to Vellath, his target. And continues on, not a word spoken, but he stops along the way to cast out a gaze for J'lor and, once he has eye contact, gesture with a come-away-to-me crook of hand toward the dragon.
"Good luck," Nera murmurs to L'vok, the remaining of her trio of neighbours. Then the headwoman hefts the small bag she has over her own shoulder, and moves into the dwindling crowd; she has further smiles, further encouragements. Derek and J'lor's pending conference is noted, but Nera makes no move to join it; her gaze simply lingers on first one man, and then the other, a beat longer than it might. She turns away, then, to deal with another small, domestic trouble, to smilingly calm a concern.
It takes all of them - two men, the healer and her assistant, and the all-but-hovering weyrwoman, plus the sling - to get S'val arranged between Nenuith's wings, swaddled and strapped there like a baby on a woman's back. Diya straps herself in strangely, faced back so she can tend the man, or tend the straps that hold him, anxious and, now that she has this precious cargo aboard, entirely absorbed in the duty she and her queen share to bring him safely home to Reachian territory.
D'rian keeps asking then, and it's not good. Shakes of heads, murmurs of no and helpless shrugs. Though a few may glance around as though expecting her to pop out of a hole... she doesn't, and D'rian makes his way to J'lor to inform the man of such. Taikath, still nudging Kasvatuth with a soft, steady thrum of reassurance. It's pointed, too, the way D'rian outright avoids looking at Derek or so much as standing near him. J'lor's not much of a protector, yet D'rian positions himself on the side opposite Derek and waits, quietly. Aivey, for her part, slips a kiss to E'sere when settled, and spends the remaining time she has watching her father. Still worried, still fretting. Digging into E'sere's arm, too, since it's what she currently has a hold on. So long as he's in sight, Derek is watched and Aivey frets.
L'vok mounts up, nodding to Nera and then some of the other Weyrlings as he does so. "Thank you." It's time now and he glances towards M'cay then and nods, making sure everything is okay and all straps are tight.
"She's not coming," K'tric repeats. "You won't find her." He's firm on this, the idea centered firmly in his mind. However, at the call to mount up, he moves to step away from Kasvatuth, away from everyone else on the beach, and eye the two cards he has left. He bites his lip a moment, then bends down to stick one in the sand carefully. "You still need one," he decides, and leaves it there while he pockets the other one and steps back over to his green to pull himself up on her, while she nuzzles at Taikath one last time. E'sere, for his part, stiffens when Aivey mounts behind him, returning the kiss half-heartedly as she seems more concerned with Derek still. Morelenth, doll-bedecked, shifts his weight restlessly.
For D'rian's arrival and lack of news, J'lor gives a small nod. "All right," he concedes quietly, settling one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go get strapped in and wait for my signal, all right?" The hand on the bronzeling's shoulder gives a firm squeeze before it drops away and he obeys Derek's summons, moving into Vellath's shadow to hear that the ex-captain has to say. Whatever he wishes to share, J'lor must bend down to have it whispered to him, and then he quite suddenly straightens again, eyes huge, jaw slack. A few more hushed words are exchanged and the bluerider has suddenly become rather pale himself. He scrubs his hands over his face and then gestures for Derek to climb aboard the waiting blue. He looks, next, for Nera.
His message delivered, the somewhat shorter of the island's leading men clambers up Vellath's straps. He is not too expert at climbing a dragon; Vellath suffers his passenger's pokes and bumps no more pleasurably than the dark-haired man suffers the necessity of riding him. Once up, however, Derek sits straight-backed with a hand on the strap over one thigh, the other loose-curled by his hip: a captain runner-mounted, charge-ready. If anxiety riddles him as he looks out over the weyrling pairs mounting up, it's hidden in the glare reflecting from sky-pale eyes and buried in the depths of thick-brush moustache.
D'rian nods and moves toward Taikath. In passing the card stuck in the sand, his brows furrow though it's a shake of his head that's offered before he swings up into place atop Taikath. He scans the weyrlings gathered, landing on a few select greenriders and one brownrider before leaning in close to clap Taikath on the side of the neck. From there, it's a wait. The same for Aivey, too, though at least she's leaning closer to E'sere and the hand that's not clenched tightly into and around his is looped firmly around his middle. Uneasy as she looks, there shouldn't be any question why.
Some sense prompts Nera to lift her head as J'lor looks across for her; she finds J'lor's eyes, and lifts a hand to indicate her obedience. She turns, making her way across the clearing that was crowded such a short time ago, to Vellath. The headwoman has had little practice in the past, but she manages to mount up well enough; her skirts having been abandoned in favor of trousers so long, they earn a brief scowl for the settling they require. She has no comment to make for either of the men who lead the island, nor any glance for either. She's still watching the weyrlings.
Passengers mounted, straps settled, J'lor looks over his shoulder at the thirty three young dragons and their riders, ready and waiting. He lifts one hand high and drops it, the signal for takeoff, before Vellath launches into the air and the mature riders follow after. The blue will circle above the others, watching and waiting until all of the weyrlings are in the air and properly aligned in formation. The Vellath will pass on the aerial image of Five Mines. And then, the simple word that will send them all into the black, << Now. >>
Morelenth rises as the weyrlings do, the skinny bronze lifting his two passengers into the air and hovering there a moment while everyone else joins them. Kasvatuth is one of those, with K'tric on her back still looking down, watching the ground until he looks up for J'lor's signal, and then goes /between/. Morelenth lingers long enough to bring up the rear, one of the last, then he's through, too, to Five Mines.
L'vok takes off with the other Weyrlings and gets into the proper formation as was practiced, waiting and when the order is given, he goes to Five Mines.
It's morning on the first day of the eighth month. A date that has been mentioned over and over again since the end of the sixth month. Dragonriders and residents alike are beginning to assemble on the beach, various odds and ends packed and loaded up on the thirty older dragons. The makeshift homes that served as refuge for over eleven turns are empty, and some have even been torn down. The maze of tunnels that serve as the island stores have been cleared of anything and everything useful (or so Nera insists) and the weyrlings have spent the last month and change training for this moment far more vigorously than they were training to meet island threadfalls. The blueriding once-leader stands by his mount, a hide in one hand, eyes flicking over the gathering crowd. A mental tally, perhaps, to see who is here and who has yet to arrive. Now and again, he jots something down on the hide.
E'sere and Aivey arrive together with Morelenth, the bronze already loaded down with their meager bag of possessions: E'sere's clothes and his books, those that have survived, packed up and tied together about the bronze's island-made straps. E'sere, for his part, is maintaining his companionable air, speaking with people, meandering a little ways from Aivey and the dragon to chat, the picture of relaxation.
K'tric is with Kasvatuth and Donavon, the latter looking uneasy as he hangs closer to the dragon than the weyrling does. K'tric stands still a little ways off, back to the crowd as he watches the island behind them.
M'cay walks down from the barracks with a hesitant stride. Behind him, his young dragon rumbles soft encouragement. With a slight nod, M'cay hikes up his bag to a better spot on his shoulder. The young pair find a spot to stand on the beach, awaiting their orders. While M'cay gently rubs Tenzinth's dark hide, his eyes flick around, searching for someone. Perhaps two someones, it's impossible to tell.
Sighing slightly, L'vok stands near Benreth and within sight of M'cay, nodding when he sees the young bronxerider appear. Not saying much, nor seemingly happy, the brownrider keeps to himself for the most part, and goes back to watching those around him.
Diya travels down to the beach.
Diya has arrived.
A'der has unloaded the last bundle he was drafted into carrying some time ago, and now he stands leaned up against Navasoth's rusty brown flank, hands thrust into the threadbare pockets of his trousers. One leg shakes with an axious, unconscious energy, the toe of his foot rooted in the sand. As M'cay approaches, he gives his fellow weyrling a thin-lipped sort of smile and a nod, his eyes drifting sideways to L'vok as the short-lived expression fades away. Then he goes back to his waiting, clearing his throat and turning back to watch intently the tallying bluerider.
Nenuith is passing time keeping a constant stream of good fortune and good feeling in the air. The Reachian queen is heavily loaded, though perhaps not so heavily as when she arrived, despite the fact that Diya has had more time, this time, to prepare for the trip. Diya herself keeps herself mostly occupied speaking warmly, quietly to the island's young riders and older residents, reassuring those who have made few trips by dragon or by between as best she can; occasionally she stops and glances back and up at Nenuith, reassuring herself, too.
"Do you think she'll come? Do you think she'll come to tell me goodbye, one last time?" asks K'tric, without looking around at Donavon. He has the two aces in his hands, held tightly in both while he continues to study the rest of the island, as though to fix it in his mind before they leave. Donavon frowns, shrugs though the boy can't see it. He doesn't answer.
M'cay's eys dart around before settling into a more sedate scan. A'der is given a nod and a nervous smile. L'vok gets a half wave, before the Weyrling's eyes go back to J'lor. Waiting, watching. Tenzinth shifts his body and mantles his wings, rumbling again in his chest. Then the young bronzerider's gaze settles on Nenuith, keenly aware of what the future might bring in that arena.
Dark eyes flick over the growing crowd as the names of those arrived grow and the names of those still missing are dwindled to a paltry few. Derek isn't there, yet. Nor Nera. They could be off doing Faranth knows what last minute preparations. There's no Zoma either but...well...it's Zoma, so who expected anything normal or timely out of her? S'val is not in attendance either, nor the exiles' healer, and the rider's brown lingers still on his old ledge, marking where the ailing man continues to rest. Still, J'lor draws in a deep breath and begins to call out instructions and information. "All right, everyone. Obviously, we'll have to do this in shifts. Non-riders will depart fifty at a time with the twenty eight adult dragons. Weyrlings!" The title is called out, almost an order in itself, "You'll be flying last and you'll be traveling with the rest of the adult dragons. None of you is to attempt to between until I give the all clear to do so, right?" Words that have been repeated over and over and over, but they are offered up once more. "We'll have the guards first and the space that's left over can go to some of the men between twenty and forty, please." Women and children first. Only backwards.
Aivey is indeed present, clutching her own belongings under an arm. Sticking by her bronzerider's side, she murmurs something to him before slipping around front of Morelenth. She's not a strap expert, so it's relatively obvious she's not checking the straps there so much as wedging something between them and the bronze's chest. Morelenth, poor dragon, is gifted with an Asshole-adorned grill. The dolls head sticks out, it's body flat and squashed, arms tucked at awkward angles along with doubled-over legs. His head is patted once before Aivey retreats back to E'sere's side. A glance is sent through the gathered crowd, and whatever Aivey finds draws a small frown and a press of her shoulder against E'sere.
From Nenuith there is no time for special awareness of any future more distant than the next several hours and the tasks set for the experienced pairs assembled on the island beach. But if M'cay is aware of her, she is in turn aware of E'sere for at least a short time, tipping her head toward him just enough that her swirling, confident gaze can move over him in specific before passing on to the next dragon she'll personally comfort. As J'lor's instructions begin Diya says her last words to a woman whose island-born daughter has rather wide eyes about the whole thing, then comes back to her queen's side, face thoughtful. Her hand comes up to a place below her throat, finds nothing there but her tired island-altered clothing and her skin, and moves to rest on Nenuith's hide instead. Together they watch the bluerider who manages this operation - then, as guards and young men say strange not-goodbyes to their families or friends and drift forward to prepare to mount up with the adult dragons' riders, Diya turns a curious look out through them, searching and not finding.
L'vok keeps an eye on M'cay. nodding as he glances around as well, ans makes sure everything is settled onto Benreth. Time on the island has come to an end and the brownrider sighs again. He gives a not to J'lor then and waits for the orders, as requested.
"I have to go," Donavon says after another moment, looking at K'tric's back and frowning. K'tric says nothing; after a moment, Donavon adds, "So, I'll... see you when you get there, K'tric." He hesitates a moment longer, seeking some answer; but receiving none, he turns to head over toward E'sere and Aivey and Morelenth. The bronzerider is initially watching Diya, returning her nod with a polite, reserved one of his own, before he turns to look back at Aivey. Bemusement crosses his features as he sees what she's doing, and Morelenth bends his head down to whuff at the doll himself. "Oh, very nice. Decorations," drawls E'sere, moving to slide an arm lightly around Aivey's waist when she presses up to him. "We'll start a new fashion statement amongst the dragons. Donavon," he greets his man as he arrives near them.
M'cay inclines his head in a quiet acknowledgement of J'lor's instructions. He strokes his dragon's hide as the bronze settles down to wait, folding his wings back along his sides. M'cay closes his eyes briefly and then snaps them open, looking around. Then his feet make their way toward the other weyrlings - whoever might be interested in some conversation at least. "Well, what do you think?" the young man asks, compulsively checking to make sure his satchel is still by his side.
L'vok glances at M'cay then and shakes his head, "We have to go and there's no choice in the matter. What is there to think about really?" His tome is quiet and his voice is distant, but L'vok is looking right at M'cay when he speaks.
Aivey lingers in the comfort, going so far as to rest her head against E'sere's arm before straightening and slipping from his side. It'd be behind his back that she steals a look toward Diya, and a second to K'tric and Kasvatuth. When she comes around E'sere's other side, her hair is fashioned into a braid, the tail being bound and tossed over her shoulder. "He'll be fine," She then assures Donavon; of E'sere or K'tric is left for Donavon to decide. Meanwhile D'rian and Taikath, situated alongside M'uri and Kelkoth, continue a low-toned conversation. M'uri's hand is clamped atop his son's shoulder, Kelkoth wedged tight against a paled Taikath.
A'der levels his gaze on the bluerider as the order encompassing him and his dragon is called out, chin lifting as his lips twist to one side with some resigned thought. He drops a slow set of nods, then pushes out of his lean, idly watching the guards stream toward their transports while he paces over the sand in a wandering few steps away from his brown, who's peering with much more interest at the proceedings with excitedly whirling eyes. Another step further brings him up short as he finds M'cay striding over. His dark eyes slide to L'vok, note his answer, but he all but disregards it. "I think all this shardin' waitin's a waste of time. S'what I think," he says. Though his voice is low, grumbly, it lacks any real disgruntlement, just a complaint to pass that waste of time.
There is one guard, or a man who was once a guard, who does not stream out from the crowd of non-riders in among the grown dragons to take up a place in passenger straps. Derek comes down from the main path long after most of the island has assembled, Nera beside him until they reach the beach. There Nera breaks a little ahead of the island king, head up and stride swift, hands twitching at her skirts. Derek himself carries a single satchel on his back, its strap over his shoulder. He has put himself somewhat more together than usual for this occasion: he wears a shirt that still has the sleeves it was designed with, tucked into pants that actually reach his ankles, and boots. A guard's boots. Ancient, dusty, creased and with patchwork laces, but boots, long-hidden in the island headwoman's mysterious stores. He hangs back a little, his pace slowing as he takes note of his men joining the dragonriders; then he tiptoes a little (maybe humorously) to search with pale gaze for a tall, dark-eyed man giving instructions.
J'lor's gaze holds on the group of weyrlings, waiting for those small indications of agreement that get offered up from most of them. Then he watches as the dragons get loaded with passengers, as well as cargo, and the riders mount up as well. There is more scribbling onto the hide, Names of those who are going so they don't get confused with the names of those who have yet to arrive. Another look around the crowd notes Derk and Nera as they appear, and he offers a small nod that he sees them and an arched brow as he breifly studies Derek's boots, before turning to watch as the first of the dragons launch into the air, soar upwards, and vanish between.
M'cay tilts his head slightly as he hears the Weyrlings' opinions. He nods, absorbing them. "Well, we should always be thinking," he says in his quiet way, before his eyes focus onto A'der, "You'd rather go right now?" the young man asks, glancing back at his dragon. Tenzinth lifts his wings, signaling his readiness. "Do any of us know what's waiting for us at Five Mines?"
"Yeah. I know," says Donavon, nodding once to Aivey and watching her as she walks away. "Nice doll," he adds mockingly to E'sere, who tries to look lofty and above such things. He fails, too, and turns away to hide his glower. "Get on if you're coming, or I'll leave your sorry self here.," E'sere tells him in mock-disgust, and Donavon does so, getting in place and letting E'sere join him for that first ferry trip to the mainland again.
L'vok shakes his head at the younger Weyrling, not really looking around much, "I don't think so. Ecept for the leaders, and we have to trust them. Not really much choice there or in what we do. I do hope things go better than what I expect though."
Diya might just be noted to smile a little, in her reserved fashion, at Morelenth's grill ornament. "Oh, let me help you," she's then obliged to murmur, and is completely and with perfect propriety concerned with assisting a guardsman whose skill in knife-fighting must far outstrip his skill in dragon-climbing into Nenuith's straps. Another young man goes up behind him, then Diya herself ascends.
A'der's eyes go all squinty suddenly, as he watches the conversation take shape between the two other weyrlings. Removing his hands from his pockets, he restlessly crosses his arms across his chest. "You know what's waitin' for us here?" he retorts cynically, words uttered low under his breath. "S'not much better," he mumbles, words slightly blurred.
It's no surprise, or shouldn't be much of one, that Aivey looks less than pleased with the separation. Both men are looked at, Donavon a little moreso than E'sere. Aivey doesn't say anything, though, trusting instead that both will get the point. She steps back, folding her arms over her chest while clamping down on the inside of her cheek. Busy as she is with watching Donavon and E'sere, she doesn't notice her father's arrival until he's well in place, and then he's the recipient of a curious if slightly amused look. D'rian and M'uri finally part ways; the elder of the two not doing so without a firm look back at his son and Kelkoth not without bumping Taikath's shoulder. D'rian watches his father mount Kelkoth, and watches his father's sole passenger before turning to Taikath. His shoulders set into a stiff line as a deep breath is drawn and held.
Nera weaves through the crowd slowly, still smoothing her skirts into place. There's a hand on an arm here, and a word murmured in an ear here. The island headwoman's voice is low, her gentle smiles ready today; if she harbors some nervousness of her own, she conceals it. Slowly she weaves, finding J'lor's gaze, returning his nod with a small, careful smile. She's smoothing her skirts as she appears by M'cay and A'der, and those two are the next subjects of a grey-eyed inspection. "All ready?" There's a soft humor in the question; those who are not have left it too late by far. It is the start of a conversation, and just that.
M'cay scowls, crossing his arms, "Why haven't we been told anything?" the young man demands, anger briefly showing on his usually calm face. He just shrugs to A'der and then lets his arms fall to his sides, not commenting. When Nera steps up the man dips his head respectfully, "Ma'am," he says in a low voice. "Is there more you need Tenzinth to carry?" Something you wouldn't mind loosing should the worst happen?
L'vok shrugs slightly and turns his attention back to Benreth as Nera speaks with M'cay and A'der, refraining from the comment he has at the tip of his tongue.
Derek meets J'lor's look, until the bluerider's taking notice of the boots; then the island king takes up looking for other things. Such as an increasingly familiar, skeletal bronze; it's in Morelenth's shadow that Derek searches for his daughter and, with a significant glance, finds her. He looks up, sighting E'sere and Donavon next. He nods to the former, not too careful to be sure the nod is seen, and lands his gaze on Donavon for a little bit longer, significant. Then Aivey again, and she gets a lifted brow and a gesture: come wait here, if you like. 'Here' being the place Derek's stopped walking, midway through the crowd, any old spot of sand no one else is using will do.
A'der turns those squinty eyes on Nera as she approaches, giving her a short nod and grumbling a, "Best be," before letting the other weyrlings have their say. When M'cay pipes up, he listens with his eyes downcast, arms tip-tapping over the arm he has crossed across him.
The last of the mature dragons depart as the first of them return from the icy black to land, their hides still radiating chill into the hot and humid island air. There is a quick exchange between J'lor and a greenrider. It's only a few words and a nod, but it has the debunked leader exhaling a small sigh of relief before turning back to the crowd. There is another look over the waiting faces, and another glance at the hide he holds. He waits until a few more of the dragons return before issuing another request for people to mount up. It's less specific this time, more of a 'whoever is ready' sort of deal.
"Thank you, M'cay," Nera murmurs, warmth infusing what was long ago a Telgari accent; since then, her vowels have rounded, taking on the characteristics of those others to whom she has long been exposed. "I think we are well enough distributed." A'der earns himself a sidelong smile; a curving of the lips that are the headwoman's one softness, and a nod. "Best be indeed," she agrees; no justification from Nera. Only friendly chit-chat, as though she has nothing better to do just now. And perhaps, waiting, she does not.
E'sere leaves Donavon on the mainland with the other men, and leaves the bag with him as well, to open up more room on Morelenth as ferrying continues. They're back shortly, returned to continue the moving of the island populations. Morelenth still boasts his ornament, and seems rather pleased by it. As they land, E'sere remains mounted, using that height advantage to search for Aivey again. Rather like Derek, he tries to catch her eye, and then to wave her over to him.
M'cay crosses his arms again and studies the Headwoman, "Do /you/ know what's at the other end of between?" he asks of her, "What we should expect? Are they looking forward to our coming? What about the weyrs?" He stops with his questions as a soft rumble comes from his bronze. A'der gets a short laugh, "Best be, aye." The teen's eyes flick to L'vok, trying to gauge his friend's reactions to all this.
Aivey's own return is subtle, credit given to a man she never doubts: a simple and very slight nod of her head, barely looking to be anything more than an uncaught tick. She waits though, just long enough to see the 'reachian bronze off before slipping through the crowd to that spot offered. Her up close and personal look is brief but through, her father's welfare assured before a soft spoken barb is passed on. "Would've polished them if you'd have asked." Nothing more after that, only Aivey dropping one hand that fists, the other cupping her elbow. She'd scan the crowd in the interlude, taking stock of whatever it is she feels she must. And when E'sere returns, Aivey glances to her father. Waiting or just double-checking.
Nenuith is among the last to go, and among the last to return; she is a little less burdened when she soars down again to her 'landing pad,' with two bags gone from the several linked to her straps. She crouches low to let up new passengers, while the weyrwoman watches to see if help is needed this time. She does not watch too closely, for Diya also tends to counting heads among those gone and returned, and those yet to travel. She notes Nera in silence, and perhaps it's for that which the goldrider slightly, wearily smiles.
L'vok shakes his head as he glances over at M'cay then, nodding at Nera as he does so, "Well, the weyrs probably wouldn't be happy with our coming, so I am guessing that they do not know. As to what to expect: expect the worst and hope for the best. It will probably be somewhere in the middle." At least he hopes so.
E'sere finds Aivey, watches her as she watches Derek. His own face is expressionless, emotions held back in favor of just watching, of waiting on her like she waits on her father.
D'rian has long since tired of lingering by Taikath's side. He's situated himself atop the bronze, and both appear stoic enough. In truth, the rider is paler than his dragon, and while Taikath spends an ungodly amount of attention on Kasvatuth, D'rian watches J'lor.
"Wouldn't ask," Derek replies. "They're beneath you." Probably best if he means the boots, even though after his once-over of Aivey, it's the place where Morelenth left from he watches - until Morelenth returns. Then he looks back at his daughter, and asks, "Has he told you anything to do or expect?"
Nera laughs softly, lifting one hand to gesture to L'vok, in the wake of his words. "Perhaps L'vok has the best of it," she replies, lifting the hand then to tuck a strand of hair back behind her eyes; the headwoman has made no more preparation for her return to the mainland than to trade her trousers for a skirt, and once her hair is settles, she smoothes it down. "It is what we have all decided to do, together. It is the way forward we've chosen for ourselves, and we need now to turn our faces forward, and prepare ourselves for it."
Kasvatuth is quite happy to let Taikath lavish attention on her; she laps it up with usual enthusiasm. K'tric is still watching the forest, waiting patiently for Zoma to come up. He's hopeful, as convinced as ever of what he thinks: she'll still come.
The dragons come and the drgons go, people moving forward to take their turn. There are murmured goodbyes and small jokes and worried looks. All the tiny signs of excitement and fear that might be expected. The process will not take so very long. Six trips before all of the non-riders can be successfully deposited at Five Mines. By the third round, J'lor is again counting heads, and his dark eyes linger on the pale D'rian long enough for them to curve upwards in a reassuring smile. By the fourth trip, he's given the word to a pair of men who will go up to carefully fetch S'val and the healer. Then he moves through the crowd and towards the worried bronzeling. "D'rian, do you suppose you might do me a favor?" he asks, quiet and calm.
M'cay chuckles softly, though there is little mirth in his tone or his gaze. He inclines his head again to to Headwoman, lips pressed tightly together. The Weyrling holds his council for the moment, glancing again back to his dragon. Tenzinth rumbles quietly, his eyes spinning slowly with pale blue sprinkled with a hint of reddish yellow - should battle be called for. M'cay snorts with a single exhaled breath.
A'der, until then a listener in this conversation the appointed exile headwoman has started, suddenly contributes something other than silence. He still stands, eyes dropped to flick across the sand as if counting the grains he finds there, but he says simply, "Ya can't prepare. Just gotta wait for it to happen."
"They're all the same." Is Aivey's assessment and answer to Derek, and there's confidence in assuming as much - about the lords and what to expect, at least. She catches E'sere's eye, opting only to make brief contact to signal she knows he's there, before looking back to Derek, "Should I prepare?" For him, specifically. Taikath shifts closer to his green clutchmate - much to D'rian's dismay. "Sky's the other way," he barks in a quite undertone to K'tric. And to J'lor, he struggles for an equally calm tone. "I'll try, sir."
L'vok watches M'cay, nodding at the others and smiles slightly at Nera, "Well, we'll soon know what this decision has brought us. Too late to truly worry now anyways." Aglanc to Benreth and then silence again as the brownrider waits.
"Yes," Derek tells Aivey, then draws his eyes back to her with a peculiar focus and a twitching smile. A real smile, if a twitching one. It curves his mouth, and therefore also his moustache, and makes his eyes sky blue. "If I can figure out what for, I will let you know. I'm not sure presenting family to the Lord is on the agenda yet. You may need to meet people I can't. Have you plans of your own?"
"We will all be there together," Nera replies, lifting her head to smile a greeting to a passing group of women, as they edge forward towards waiting dragons. "We have done our best all these past turns by you, and we will do so when we get there." The headwoman makes no move to depart for more exhalted company, although she's watching others as they move past; noting the groups and clumps into which they swirl, and from which they disperse. Watching J'lor as he directs traffic, watching Derek, as the king she made speaks with his daughter. Turning her head for a moment to watch for S'val.
M'cay's body tenses like a coiled spring, his face contorted for a moment, "I'm tired of waiting," the Weyrling hisses between clenched teeth, "Tired of being told what to do and where to go. Tired of having my fate decided for me." This short outburst is delivered in a quiet, harsh whisper before he masters his emotions, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. "My apologies, lady," he murmurs, looking properly abashed. He shakes his head firmly, gazing absently at the sky.
The bluerider and once-leader offers a small nod for D'rian's words, his grouse towards K'tric ignored for the time being. "I've tallied everyone except for Zoma," J'lor says quietly, "Could you ask around, please? See if anybody's seen her today?"
"Not sure it'd impress him much either." Aivey replies, returning the smile. His question garners a small shake of her head, and another look toward E'sere. It's the truth when she says, "Same as always. Try not to disappoint and keep my eyes open." Hesitation comes with only one offer. "Don't need to say it but I will. Be careful." She doesn't look with that, and likely for a good reason. D'rian, at J'lor's question, glances toward K'tric first. And then he unseats himself to slide down the bronze's shoulder to do just as J'lor's asked, starting with his nearest neighbors.
"She's not coming," K'tric finally speaks up, turning to look at J'lor with that intense green stare, as he finally catches the name he's so set on, and makes up his mind. "I thought she would come to tell me goodbye, but she won't, not now. It would be too painful for her, I think. She gave me her cards to remember her by instead."
A'der turns a narrow gaze on M'cay, lips twitched back into a slanted half-grimace for his words. Nera is disregarded just now, as is the apology given to her; this brownriding weyrling just stares. Finally, he gives a shrug, brows twitching back to the frown he had abandoned. "Don't let 'em then. Stay here and die." With that, he leaves, picking his way rather awkwardly away through the sand, back to his dragon's side.
"He doesn't sound like a family man." Derek adds another little punchline to Aivey's semi-private joke, and looks off toward the bronzerider himself, smiling still, eyes still blue and bright. It makes him a little younger, a little nastier. "Talk to people, a little bit. Meet them. Listen. I don't have any expectations of you but that you don't get in trouble until I get back to you." He flicks that unpleasantly happy gaze back at his daughter then, mouth twitching.
L'vok nods at Nera and M'cay, "We've been doing what we can here and getting by." A'der is given a look for his comment and then L'cok continues, "Just have patience, the time will come. Nothing good will come out of rushing things."
Nera joins M'cay in his inspection of the sky; she glances down only briefly to watch A'der's retreat. One hand comes up then; not to settle her skirts or hair this time, but to settle gently on M'cay's shoulder instead, as he shakes his head. "That's more or less what we were tired of in the first place," she replies, gentle humour entering her voice. It's quiet now, for all she's capable of raising it to shout over the sound of a few hundred voices at dinner. "So we decided to stop being told what to do, and where to go. Today we're taking another step on that journey we started, is all. And we're looking after our weyrlings as best we can, though we've never done it before. As L'vok says, have patience. There are times in all our lives for learning, and this is yours. It's best for Tenzinth."
And there's worry, now. Enough to distract Aivey entirely as she looks toward Derek, making it evident. "Where -" A brief pause ensues, Aivey taking a moment to turn his reply in her mind before she swallows and nods. "It's nice outside... near dawn, I mean. Saying things haven't changed all that much." Obscure, possibly, though with it Aivey offers a smile that's a little half-hearted, wholly worried but chock full of blind trust in her father. It remains until she turns from him and seeks to slip back through the crowd to the waiting bronze and rider. D'rian has stopped, and looks toward J'lor when K'tric speaks up. There's hesitation on his part to resume his task until J'lor's given the go-ahead or the never mind.
M'cay scowls after A'der and then looks mildly surprised at the hand on his shoulder. He offers Nera a faint but earnest smile, "Aye, I know it's best, it just wasn't my choice. Excuse me," he says softly to both of them, his anger gone. He turns and returns to Tenzinth's side, spending some time with the love of his life and soothing the red out of his dragon's eyes.
The last heads to be counted J'lor must have known already would come this late. The island's healer and a young woman acting as an assistant for this purpose come down the path with S'val layette-carried on a sling by two men behind them. The sick rider is unnaturally thin, sallow and gray, but his brown soars down from the sky with a vigor that can be only renewed due to the glorious hope of homecoming. He alights on the sand to wait. It's only once they're at the edge of what remains of the thinning crowd (which begins to separate to let the threesome through) that Diya hurries down from Nenuith's straps at the end of her second trip and lights out toward the procession to be of very little help save to murmur her worried encouragements to the man in the sling.
L'vok nods to the bronzerider, watching him and those who pay close attention may catch a glimpse of worry on his face when M'cay isn't looking. L'vok shakes his head then and shrugs, "Patience will come in time I think. We'll have to see how things work out."
E'sere hasn't moved, still waiting on Aivey, watching her while she talks to Derek and then finally approaches. "Hey," he tells her simply, and leans down to offer her his hand to help her up, as they prepare to go.
"Everybody's coming," J'lor says simply. "Leaving her behind would be tanamount to death. I know she's worried but..." he gives a small shake of his head. "Nobody's remaining behind." D'rian is given that small nod. Kepp asking. J'lor drifts off then, adding names to the list as the numbers of who is still on the island dwindle. When the fifth round of transporting via dragons has concluded and all of the riders have returned, J'lor looks around a final time. "All right, weyrlings. Mount up! Stay in the formation we've practiced and do -not- jump until you get the signal from Vellath. Remember to keep calm, between always feels longer than it is. We've done this before. Same thing. Different place. And keep to formation when you arrive over Five Mines. Injuries can happen if anybody gets distracted and veers into a neighbor." Facing the remaining residents he calls, "Everyone still here, pick a dragon. This will be the last trip." And then, instead of moving towards Vellath, he heads closer to a group of islanders, Zoma's name again popping up into the quiet discussion.
And Derek says, "Go ahead," to Aivey, then gives E'sere a glance. That's it. The island king turns to start his path toward the weyrlingmaster's blue, which dragon numbers among the few he will suffer to ride for only occasion so great as this - but his path is stopped by one of the weyrlings bringing that murmur D'rian has been sending along. Zoma. Zoma? Derek looks at the lad for a long moment, then raises his gaze again to Vellath, his target. And continues on, not a word spoken, but he stops along the way to cast out a gaze for J'lor and, once he has eye contact, gesture with a come-away-to-me crook of hand toward the dragon.
"Good luck," Nera murmurs to L'vok, the remaining of her trio of neighbours. Then the headwoman hefts the small bag she has over her own shoulder, and moves into the dwindling crowd; she has further smiles, further encouragements. Derek and J'lor's pending conference is noted, but Nera makes no move to join it; her gaze simply lingers on first one man, and then the other, a beat longer than it might. She turns away, then, to deal with another small, domestic trouble, to smilingly calm a concern.
It takes all of them - two men, the healer and her assistant, and the all-but-hovering weyrwoman, plus the sling - to get S'val arranged between Nenuith's wings, swaddled and strapped there like a baby on a woman's back. Diya straps herself in strangely, faced back so she can tend the man, or tend the straps that hold him, anxious and, now that she has this precious cargo aboard, entirely absorbed in the duty she and her queen share to bring him safely home to Reachian territory.
D'rian keeps asking then, and it's not good. Shakes of heads, murmurs of no and helpless shrugs. Though a few may glance around as though expecting her to pop out of a hole... she doesn't, and D'rian makes his way to J'lor to inform the man of such. Taikath, still nudging Kasvatuth with a soft, steady thrum of reassurance. It's pointed, too, the way D'rian outright avoids looking at Derek or so much as standing near him. J'lor's not much of a protector, yet D'rian positions himself on the side opposite Derek and waits, quietly. Aivey, for her part, slips a kiss to E'sere when settled, and spends the remaining time she has watching her father. Still worried, still fretting. Digging into E'sere's arm, too, since it's what she currently has a hold on. So long as he's in sight, Derek is watched and Aivey frets.
L'vok mounts up, nodding to Nera and then some of the other Weyrlings as he does so. "Thank you." It's time now and he glances towards M'cay then and nods, making sure everything is okay and all straps are tight.
"She's not coming," K'tric repeats. "You won't find her." He's firm on this, the idea centered firmly in his mind. However, at the call to mount up, he moves to step away from Kasvatuth, away from everyone else on the beach, and eye the two cards he has left. He bites his lip a moment, then bends down to stick one in the sand carefully. "You still need one," he decides, and leaves it there while he pockets the other one and steps back over to his green to pull himself up on her, while she nuzzles at Taikath one last time. E'sere, for his part, stiffens when Aivey mounts behind him, returning the kiss half-heartedly as she seems more concerned with Derek still. Morelenth, doll-bedecked, shifts his weight restlessly.
For D'rian's arrival and lack of news, J'lor gives a small nod. "All right," he concedes quietly, settling one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go get strapped in and wait for my signal, all right?" The hand on the bronzeling's shoulder gives a firm squeeze before it drops away and he obeys Derek's summons, moving into Vellath's shadow to hear that the ex-captain has to say. Whatever he wishes to share, J'lor must bend down to have it whispered to him, and then he quite suddenly straightens again, eyes huge, jaw slack. A few more hushed words are exchanged and the bluerider has suddenly become rather pale himself. He scrubs his hands over his face and then gestures for Derek to climb aboard the waiting blue. He looks, next, for Nera.
His message delivered, the somewhat shorter of the island's leading men clambers up Vellath's straps. He is not too expert at climbing a dragon; Vellath suffers his passenger's pokes and bumps no more pleasurably than the dark-haired man suffers the necessity of riding him. Once up, however, Derek sits straight-backed with a hand on the strap over one thigh, the other loose-curled by his hip: a captain runner-mounted, charge-ready. If anxiety riddles him as he looks out over the weyrling pairs mounting up, it's hidden in the glare reflecting from sky-pale eyes and buried in the depths of thick-brush moustache.
D'rian nods and moves toward Taikath. In passing the card stuck in the sand, his brows furrow though it's a shake of his head that's offered before he swings up into place atop Taikath. He scans the weyrlings gathered, landing on a few select greenriders and one brownrider before leaning in close to clap Taikath on the side of the neck. From there, it's a wait. The same for Aivey, too, though at least she's leaning closer to E'sere and the hand that's not clenched tightly into and around his is looped firmly around his middle. Uneasy as she looks, there shouldn't be any question why.
Some sense prompts Nera to lift her head as J'lor looks across for her; she finds J'lor's eyes, and lifts a hand to indicate her obedience. She turns, making her way across the clearing that was crowded such a short time ago, to Vellath. The headwoman has had little practice in the past, but she manages to mount up well enough; her skirts having been abandoned in favor of trousers so long, they earn a brief scowl for the settling they require. She has no comment to make for either of the men who lead the island, nor any glance for either. She's still watching the weyrlings.
Passengers mounted, straps settled, J'lor looks over his shoulder at the thirty three young dragons and their riders, ready and waiting. He lifts one hand high and drops it, the signal for takeoff, before Vellath launches into the air and the mature riders follow after. The blue will circle above the others, watching and waiting until all of the weyrlings are in the air and properly aligned in formation. The Vellath will pass on the aerial image of Five Mines. And then, the simple word that will send them all into the black, << Now. >>
Morelenth rises as the weyrlings do, the skinny bronze lifting his two passengers into the air and hovering there a moment while everyone else joins them. Kasvatuth is one of those, with K'tric on her back still looking down, watching the ground until he looks up for J'lor's signal, and then goes /between/. Morelenth lingers long enough to bring up the rear, one of the last, then he's through, too, to Five Mines.
L'vok takes off with the other Weyrlings and gets into the proper formation as was practiced, waiting and when the order is given, he goes to Five Mines.