In His Shadow
Location: Exile Beach
Time: Morning of Day 11, Month 10, Turn 2
Players: J'lor, D'rian, Taikath
Scene: J'lor gets a moment to talk with D'rian. Things are shared, if not said outright.
On a Western Island, Beach
The island's south-facing beach is long and narrow, tapering in broad curves to the east and west. The grey sand slopes up toward a short, rocky precipice. The cliff is about the height of a tall man, and several paths have been worn or cut into it. They lead to the treeline of a tropical forest, tall and shadowy even in the brightest sunshine.
Three islets are visible to the south, separated from the big island by relatively calm and shallow sea. The two nearest islet frames the silhouette of the farthest one and could be reached by capable swimmers. The third islet is far beyond the other two, a mere shape visible out to sea. Boats await at the shoreline for fishing and travel to the islets.
The dry season's sky stretches endless blue, but there are days where the winds do not blow and there is a heavy stillness in the air. The heat can become oppressive, small insects quiet their usual noise, and even the plants seem to wilt in the heat.
The smallest of pools holds a growing bronze and his rider, D'rian upon his knees so that he can scrub at Taikath's side while the bronze takes great fascination in his own reflection. The young hatchling's wings are draped out to his sides, just lightly trailing in the water. An ever mindful D'rian keeps one shoulder against the edge of the nearest wing, holding it out of harms way while he attacks the area just below Taikath's wings. Though he's not speaking aloud, there is a look of concentration on D'rian's face and a quick whirl of pale shades within the bronze's eyes that hints at a conversation being held.
Vellath is keeping tabs on the other hatchlings and new riders, and many are busy at similar tasks. They have, for the most part, chosen other areas, freshwater, to bathe their hatchlings. The bluerider walks alone, hands in his pockets, pausing to observe Daurian...D'rian and his Taikath. "A study in introspection," he notes by way of greeting as J'lor rolls up his pant cuffs and makes his way towards the boy and hatchling both.
Taikath starts, not D'rian, and looks over his weyrling's shoulder to the bluerider. A soft rumble builds deep in the young dragon's chest, carrying with it the high pitch of youth. D'rian lifts a hand, gently pushing back Taikath's wing and tapping the bronze on the shoulder before he turns enough to greet J'lor with a quick, respectful nod of his head. "J'lor, hello." From below D'rian's elbow, the older man is studied as the quizzical sound emanating from Taikath continues.
"Hello, D'rian. I have to keep reminding myself to call you that. And a good day to you, Taikath." The self-made weyrlingmaster crouches down near the tide pool, bare toes curling around the edge, as one hand is held out so that the little bronze might inspect it if he's so inclined. "How are you doing?" His eyes are on the bronze, but the question is, more likely, for the rider.
Taikath does indeed wish to inspect that hand, but large whirling eyes fix firmly on J'lor first. The quizzical pitch ends abruptly as Taikath slowly leans forward and whuffs the outstretched hand. D'rian, still looking mildly shocked, pulls his attention away from the back of Taikath's head and says, "It's strange. Getting use to it. Him." One hand lifts and gingerly touches a quivering wing; the tempo of Taikath's whirling eyes is quicker now, the tip of his maw just touching J'lor's fingers with only enough pressure to tickle, "Not like it is with Kelkoth."
"How is it with Kelkoth?" the bluerider queries lightly. His fingers curl as the hatchling brushes them, fingertips offering the lightest of scritches to Taikath's chin. "You're cautious, little man. Sometimes that's wise."
"Different," D'rian says after a moment, "He's there. Watching but never in my head. Not like Taikath." There's sheepishness in his tone and the way he looks briefly away, as though he knows better than having to even admit that difference. Taikath, however, lifts his head from J'lor's hand as soon as the man speaks. His eyes turn a faint shade of red, but it's not an overtly alarmed state. Caution, indeed.
The hand falls away to drape over J'lor's knees. "My father was a bronzerider, have I ever said?" He smiles faintly, studying Taikath and keeping his gaze carefully off of his rider. "I thought that would mean I'd have a bit of an edge. A great understanding. If I impressed." The chuckle is soft and low. Conspiratorial. "Not even a little bit."
"Really?" D'rian, surprised, looks to J'lor for confirmation but is quick to add, "It doesn't work that way. I thought it might, but it nearly didn't happen." Again, he touches Taikath's wing as though touching will affirm that the bronze really, truly is real. The young bronze's head swerves around, nudging D'rian's elbow before burying against his side. The contact is brief before he straightens and turns his attention back to the water.
Another small laugh and a nod to confirm the query. "Really," J'lor agrees with a smile. But then his brows draw down, expression quizzical. "Nearly didn't happen?"
D'rian laughs because J'lor is laughing, but the emotion doesn't fit the guarded expression the young man wears. At J'lor's question, the laughing silences and D'rian's attention drops back to Taikath who now has his head quirked to the side. "He'll grow fast," D'rian says, attempting aversion, "He seems like he's already grown since last night."
"They seem to grow faster in their sleep." J'lor nods once. "It's why the oiling is so essential." But is the bluerider letting it drop? No. He is not. "Nearly didn't happen, D'rian?"
D'rian's brows draw together, causing wrinkles to line his forehead. "Third to last, about," he says with a slight frown, "When it happened. If it hadn't been him-" Taikath is only gestured to now, not touched, "I won't forget to oil him. I helped with Kelkoth. I know how. Start at the head and work back." D'rian's hands flex at his sides as though practicing motions long since memorized.
"Start at the head and work back," J'lor agrees easily. "Watch for the creases in the neck and near the shoulder joints. Oil tends to pool there." But the words come automatically, and his thoughts aren't really in them. They have been, instead, gathering together to voice what he says next. "Do you begrudge Taikath his hatching order?" The question is gently asked, the tone intended to soften the actual words.
"Make the skin too soft and it'll chafe," D'rian finishes off quietly. He's even more quiet at J'lor's question, one he considers for a long minute. "I don't. It wasn't his fault." He looks to the bluerider then, anxiously waiting something, "Just that it almost didn't happen. But not him."
A small shake of J'lor's head. "No, D'rian. It is not that it almost didn't happen. It is that it happened in its own time and moment. You were meant for Taikath and he for you. You impressed when he arrived on the sands. That's all. Do you...can you understand the difference?"
Because it's J'lor, D'rian gives the bluerider's words weight and consideration, thinking them slowly through until he's sure of his answer. It's a rare moment of confidence, one that once seen is unshakable, undeniable. "I do." Taikath is found again, D'rian's hand upon the bronze's shoulder, "I do." A small smile just wide enough to convey the truth surfaces, "Thank you for reminding me."
"Good lad." The bluerider leans forward to clap his hand on D'rian's shoulder, the contact brief and firm. "Is he getting enough to eat? The fish still seems to be more plentiful than the rabbits. Are there any stomach upsets? He's eating his fill?"
"As much as he can stomach," D'rian confirms with a quick nod of his head, "He doesn't complain, but I'd know even if he didn't-" D'rian touches his stomach briefly, indicating what he doesn't in words. "He's good. A good bronze," Looking away from Taikath, D'rian adds, "I think we're doing well."
"Of course he is," murmurs the bluerider. "I've yet to meet a bad dragon. His coloring is very unique. Quite handsome." He rocks back on his heels, studying the boy for a long moment before looking up at the cloudless sky to ask, with careful lightness, "and what does M'uri say?"
D'rian hesitates, the confidence of his earlier statement nowhere near apparent as he replies with, "He is glad I impressed. He thinks D'uri would have been a better name." A pause, then, "He's proud." Taikath dismisses the water now, returns to D'rian's side and renews his staring at J'lor.
"Then I suppose M'uri will have to take that complaint up with Taikath. I, for one, am relieved he picked D'rian. Elided names distinguish and make for better ease in giving orders during fall. Too much risk of a mix-up if there's a M'uri and D'uri in the same wing." Which, of course, there would be. The exiles only have a single wing. J'lor offers a tiny half-smile. "I should not wish to confuse you for your father."
D'rian's smile is only a shadow of its true self, yet more real then anything he's offered so far. "I don't think he'll ever do that." His father to Taikath. To J'lor's last, D'rian nods again, both amused and understanding of the older man's words. "I wouldn't think so, J'lor." When he looks up again, it's with concern and hesitation, "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything," the bluerider answers easily. "Always." And then J'lor falls quiet, and he waits.
"What you did, with the mainlanders," D'rian, ever cautious despite the generous allowance, can't help but look down as he speaks, "It'll end badly, won't it?" He doesn't state what's become popular rumor already, doesn't dare state anything more that's on his mind but the whirl of Taikath's eyes is once more a tell the young man can't suppress.
It is a long silence as J'lor studies his hands, one closing and opening several times before he speaks. The knuckles are faintly bruised. "I don't know," he says softly. "But, probably. There were no good choices. I cannot foresee anything worse than hatchlings dying on the sands," a weak smile, "but I can be shortsighted." More quiet, and then, very softly, "She's strong. And smart. She'll pull through."
D'rian takes an equally long pause to consider what the bluerider has said, and it's a measure to what D'rian feels for the man, his respect. "I think you made the right decision. I don't think you even had a choice." He pauses again, rubbing a hand against the back of his head and looking down to the water, "She will come back. We did nothing wrong." It's the slightest of things, the switch of pronouns matching an oh-so-serious leveling of his gaze upon J'lor's should he be able to.
"There is always choice, D'rian." The entire conversation has lowered into quiet murmurs. "They may not be good, but they are always there. We see living dragons. They see the boys missing from homes and beds. We and they are both right, and we and they are both wrong." J'lor exhales slowly. "She'll come back," is the whispered repetition of D'rian's words.
"They'd have faulted us for the deaths of the dragons. She came here, she wasn't sent here," D'rian says, imitating J'lor's earlier actions of studying his hands, "The boys are still alive, still healthy. We did nothing wrong." As much as he tries to convince himself, he does J'lor and sends another worried look to the bluerider. His face is wrought with seriousness, far too much seriousness. "She will, J'lor. She'll come back."
"I ought to go and look," J'lor murmurs. "Only, I suspect she'd hit me. If I did." The smile that touches the corner of his mouth is feeble. "She likely has them right where she wants them."
"No," D'rian, rather insistent and firm though equal parts apologetic for speaking up so rashly, amends: "They won't hurt her. She will return, J'lor. We did nothing wrong." Taikath, churring softly, lowers his head and rests it beside D'rian's foot, "No one was harmed. Please, don't... don't go, J'lor. We need you here." Embarrassed to having admitted as much, D'rian looks away and to Taikath, feigning distraction with picking at dried flakes of hide from the young dragon.
The bluerider says nothing for a while. One hand reaches down to flick at the surface of the water, stirring up ripples and disturbing the calm. "I know," he says quietly. Then with a slow breath, J'lor lifts his gaze towards the boy. "Consider bathing him in freshwater for the most part. Too much ocean water will leave salt deposits and dry his hide. Occasional washing here seems to keep it softer, however." Shoulders lift and fall. Who knows why?
D'rian's smile is again soft and amused, inflections of which carry into his tone. "Thank you, J'lor." For more then the helpful advice, most likely. "I should get him back. So I can oil him." Though he makes no move to stand yet, Taikath rouses from his state of semi-slumber, once more trailing his wings out beside him, "I'll keep an eye on the others. Help them as much as I can." And by others he clearly means the mainlanders.
J'lor pushes up into a stand, stepping back to allow D'rian the space he needs to depart. "Go," the bluerider agrees gently. "Chores begin in twenty minutes. Try and have him settled by then." There is a small nod for that other bit and another clap of D'rian's shoulder. A gentle squeeze before the hand withdraws. "They'll need to learn how to make their own way. They must do more than walk a path carved out for them." His eyes attempt to find and hold the young bronzerider's.
For an instant, it might be impossible to find D'rian's eyes because he looks down again. The cause turns out to be Taikath, one 'spar caught below his foot. D'rian gently rights the bronze, tucking his wing against his side then looks up to J'lor, at long last holding the man's gaze. "J'lor," he says by way of confirmation and understanding, "I won't be late." With that, he turns and guides his bronze back to their new homestead.
Time: Morning of Day 11, Month 10, Turn 2
Players: J'lor, D'rian, Taikath
Scene: J'lor gets a moment to talk with D'rian. Things are shared, if not said outright.
On a Western Island, Beach
The island's south-facing beach is long and narrow, tapering in broad curves to the east and west. The grey sand slopes up toward a short, rocky precipice. The cliff is about the height of a tall man, and several paths have been worn or cut into it. They lead to the treeline of a tropical forest, tall and shadowy even in the brightest sunshine.
Three islets are visible to the south, separated from the big island by relatively calm and shallow sea. The two nearest islet frames the silhouette of the farthest one and could be reached by capable swimmers. The third islet is far beyond the other two, a mere shape visible out to sea. Boats await at the shoreline for fishing and travel to the islets.
The dry season's sky stretches endless blue, but there are days where the winds do not blow and there is a heavy stillness in the air. The heat can become oppressive, small insects quiet their usual noise, and even the plants seem to wilt in the heat.
The smallest of pools holds a growing bronze and his rider, D'rian upon his knees so that he can scrub at Taikath's side while the bronze takes great fascination in his own reflection. The young hatchling's wings are draped out to his sides, just lightly trailing in the water. An ever mindful D'rian keeps one shoulder against the edge of the nearest wing, holding it out of harms way while he attacks the area just below Taikath's wings. Though he's not speaking aloud, there is a look of concentration on D'rian's face and a quick whirl of pale shades within the bronze's eyes that hints at a conversation being held.
Vellath is keeping tabs on the other hatchlings and new riders, and many are busy at similar tasks. They have, for the most part, chosen other areas, freshwater, to bathe their hatchlings. The bluerider walks alone, hands in his pockets, pausing to observe Daurian...D'rian and his Taikath. "A study in introspection," he notes by way of greeting as J'lor rolls up his pant cuffs and makes his way towards the boy and hatchling both.
Taikath starts, not D'rian, and looks over his weyrling's shoulder to the bluerider. A soft rumble builds deep in the young dragon's chest, carrying with it the high pitch of youth. D'rian lifts a hand, gently pushing back Taikath's wing and tapping the bronze on the shoulder before he turns enough to greet J'lor with a quick, respectful nod of his head. "J'lor, hello." From below D'rian's elbow, the older man is studied as the quizzical sound emanating from Taikath continues.
"Hello, D'rian. I have to keep reminding myself to call you that. And a good day to you, Taikath." The self-made weyrlingmaster crouches down near the tide pool, bare toes curling around the edge, as one hand is held out so that the little bronze might inspect it if he's so inclined. "How are you doing?" His eyes are on the bronze, but the question is, more likely, for the rider.
Taikath does indeed wish to inspect that hand, but large whirling eyes fix firmly on J'lor first. The quizzical pitch ends abruptly as Taikath slowly leans forward and whuffs the outstretched hand. D'rian, still looking mildly shocked, pulls his attention away from the back of Taikath's head and says, "It's strange. Getting use to it. Him." One hand lifts and gingerly touches a quivering wing; the tempo of Taikath's whirling eyes is quicker now, the tip of his maw just touching J'lor's fingers with only enough pressure to tickle, "Not like it is with Kelkoth."
"How is it with Kelkoth?" the bluerider queries lightly. His fingers curl as the hatchling brushes them, fingertips offering the lightest of scritches to Taikath's chin. "You're cautious, little man. Sometimes that's wise."
"Different," D'rian says after a moment, "He's there. Watching but never in my head. Not like Taikath." There's sheepishness in his tone and the way he looks briefly away, as though he knows better than having to even admit that difference. Taikath, however, lifts his head from J'lor's hand as soon as the man speaks. His eyes turn a faint shade of red, but it's not an overtly alarmed state. Caution, indeed.
The hand falls away to drape over J'lor's knees. "My father was a bronzerider, have I ever said?" He smiles faintly, studying Taikath and keeping his gaze carefully off of his rider. "I thought that would mean I'd have a bit of an edge. A great understanding. If I impressed." The chuckle is soft and low. Conspiratorial. "Not even a little bit."
"Really?" D'rian, surprised, looks to J'lor for confirmation but is quick to add, "It doesn't work that way. I thought it might, but it nearly didn't happen." Again, he touches Taikath's wing as though touching will affirm that the bronze really, truly is real. The young bronze's head swerves around, nudging D'rian's elbow before burying against his side. The contact is brief before he straightens and turns his attention back to the water.
Another small laugh and a nod to confirm the query. "Really," J'lor agrees with a smile. But then his brows draw down, expression quizzical. "Nearly didn't happen?"
D'rian laughs because J'lor is laughing, but the emotion doesn't fit the guarded expression the young man wears. At J'lor's question, the laughing silences and D'rian's attention drops back to Taikath who now has his head quirked to the side. "He'll grow fast," D'rian says, attempting aversion, "He seems like he's already grown since last night."
"They seem to grow faster in their sleep." J'lor nods once. "It's why the oiling is so essential." But is the bluerider letting it drop? No. He is not. "Nearly didn't happen, D'rian?"
D'rian's brows draw together, causing wrinkles to line his forehead. "Third to last, about," he says with a slight frown, "When it happened. If it hadn't been him-" Taikath is only gestured to now, not touched, "I won't forget to oil him. I helped with Kelkoth. I know how. Start at the head and work back." D'rian's hands flex at his sides as though practicing motions long since memorized.
"Start at the head and work back," J'lor agrees easily. "Watch for the creases in the neck and near the shoulder joints. Oil tends to pool there." But the words come automatically, and his thoughts aren't really in them. They have been, instead, gathering together to voice what he says next. "Do you begrudge Taikath his hatching order?" The question is gently asked, the tone intended to soften the actual words.
"Make the skin too soft and it'll chafe," D'rian finishes off quietly. He's even more quiet at J'lor's question, one he considers for a long minute. "I don't. It wasn't his fault." He looks to the bluerider then, anxiously waiting something, "Just that it almost didn't happen. But not him."
A small shake of J'lor's head. "No, D'rian. It is not that it almost didn't happen. It is that it happened in its own time and moment. You were meant for Taikath and he for you. You impressed when he arrived on the sands. That's all. Do you...can you understand the difference?"
Because it's J'lor, D'rian gives the bluerider's words weight and consideration, thinking them slowly through until he's sure of his answer. It's a rare moment of confidence, one that once seen is unshakable, undeniable. "I do." Taikath is found again, D'rian's hand upon the bronze's shoulder, "I do." A small smile just wide enough to convey the truth surfaces, "Thank you for reminding me."
"Good lad." The bluerider leans forward to clap his hand on D'rian's shoulder, the contact brief and firm. "Is he getting enough to eat? The fish still seems to be more plentiful than the rabbits. Are there any stomach upsets? He's eating his fill?"
"As much as he can stomach," D'rian confirms with a quick nod of his head, "He doesn't complain, but I'd know even if he didn't-" D'rian touches his stomach briefly, indicating what he doesn't in words. "He's good. A good bronze," Looking away from Taikath, D'rian adds, "I think we're doing well."
"Of course he is," murmurs the bluerider. "I've yet to meet a bad dragon. His coloring is very unique. Quite handsome." He rocks back on his heels, studying the boy for a long moment before looking up at the cloudless sky to ask, with careful lightness, "and what does M'uri say?"
D'rian hesitates, the confidence of his earlier statement nowhere near apparent as he replies with, "He is glad I impressed. He thinks D'uri would have been a better name." A pause, then, "He's proud." Taikath dismisses the water now, returns to D'rian's side and renews his staring at J'lor.
"Then I suppose M'uri will have to take that complaint up with Taikath. I, for one, am relieved he picked D'rian. Elided names distinguish and make for better ease in giving orders during fall. Too much risk of a mix-up if there's a M'uri and D'uri in the same wing." Which, of course, there would be. The exiles only have a single wing. J'lor offers a tiny half-smile. "I should not wish to confuse you for your father."
D'rian's smile is only a shadow of its true self, yet more real then anything he's offered so far. "I don't think he'll ever do that." His father to Taikath. To J'lor's last, D'rian nods again, both amused and understanding of the older man's words. "I wouldn't think so, J'lor." When he looks up again, it's with concern and hesitation, "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything," the bluerider answers easily. "Always." And then J'lor falls quiet, and he waits.
"What you did, with the mainlanders," D'rian, ever cautious despite the generous allowance, can't help but look down as he speaks, "It'll end badly, won't it?" He doesn't state what's become popular rumor already, doesn't dare state anything more that's on his mind but the whirl of Taikath's eyes is once more a tell the young man can't suppress.
It is a long silence as J'lor studies his hands, one closing and opening several times before he speaks. The knuckles are faintly bruised. "I don't know," he says softly. "But, probably. There were no good choices. I cannot foresee anything worse than hatchlings dying on the sands," a weak smile, "but I can be shortsighted." More quiet, and then, very softly, "She's strong. And smart. She'll pull through."
D'rian takes an equally long pause to consider what the bluerider has said, and it's a measure to what D'rian feels for the man, his respect. "I think you made the right decision. I don't think you even had a choice." He pauses again, rubbing a hand against the back of his head and looking down to the water, "She will come back. We did nothing wrong." It's the slightest of things, the switch of pronouns matching an oh-so-serious leveling of his gaze upon J'lor's should he be able to.
"There is always choice, D'rian." The entire conversation has lowered into quiet murmurs. "They may not be good, but they are always there. We see living dragons. They see the boys missing from homes and beds. We and they are both right, and we and they are both wrong." J'lor exhales slowly. "She'll come back," is the whispered repetition of D'rian's words.
"They'd have faulted us for the deaths of the dragons. She came here, she wasn't sent here," D'rian says, imitating J'lor's earlier actions of studying his hands, "The boys are still alive, still healthy. We did nothing wrong." As much as he tries to convince himself, he does J'lor and sends another worried look to the bluerider. His face is wrought with seriousness, far too much seriousness. "She will, J'lor. She'll come back."
"I ought to go and look," J'lor murmurs. "Only, I suspect she'd hit me. If I did." The smile that touches the corner of his mouth is feeble. "She likely has them right where she wants them."
"No," D'rian, rather insistent and firm though equal parts apologetic for speaking up so rashly, amends: "They won't hurt her. She will return, J'lor. We did nothing wrong." Taikath, churring softly, lowers his head and rests it beside D'rian's foot, "No one was harmed. Please, don't... don't go, J'lor. We need you here." Embarrassed to having admitted as much, D'rian looks away and to Taikath, feigning distraction with picking at dried flakes of hide from the young dragon.
The bluerider says nothing for a while. One hand reaches down to flick at the surface of the water, stirring up ripples and disturbing the calm. "I know," he says quietly. Then with a slow breath, J'lor lifts his gaze towards the boy. "Consider bathing him in freshwater for the most part. Too much ocean water will leave salt deposits and dry his hide. Occasional washing here seems to keep it softer, however." Shoulders lift and fall. Who knows why?
D'rian's smile is again soft and amused, inflections of which carry into his tone. "Thank you, J'lor." For more then the helpful advice, most likely. "I should get him back. So I can oil him." Though he makes no move to stand yet, Taikath rouses from his state of semi-slumber, once more trailing his wings out beside him, "I'll keep an eye on the others. Help them as much as I can." And by others he clearly means the mainlanders.
J'lor pushes up into a stand, stepping back to allow D'rian the space he needs to depart. "Go," the bluerider agrees gently. "Chores begin in twenty minutes. Try and have him settled by then." There is a small nod for that other bit and another clap of D'rian's shoulder. A gentle squeeze before the hand withdraws. "They'll need to learn how to make their own way. They must do more than walk a path carved out for them." His eyes attempt to find and hold the young bronzerider's.
For an instant, it might be impossible to find D'rian's eyes because he looks down again. The cause turns out to be Taikath, one 'spar caught below his foot. D'rian gently rights the bronze, tucking his wing against his side then looks up to J'lor, at long last holding the man's gaze. "J'lor," he says by way of confirmation and understanding, "I won't be late." With that, he turns and guides his bronze back to their new homestead.