Log: Hunting and Passing Out
Who: P'draig, P'traul, Neraset, B'orl, M'ljen, Jekzith, Yjimeth, Vaylith, Aiteht, Riensoth
When: 7/14/18
Where: Corrals, Ista Weyr
What: P'draig takes a quartet of Weyrlings for their first hunt. Nobody pukes. Neraset passes out.
Corrals, Ista Weyr
Roughly a quarter of the western end of the bowl is enclosed by sturdy wooden fencing to contain the weyr's herd. The sounds and smells of the beasts permeate the entire area as the livestock jockey for prime real estate in sun or shade while others graze on long grass out in the vast field. The large metal doors of the stable are set into the bowl wall, often left open during the day to permit the beasts to come and go at will. Long and deep, four stone troughs occupy the area immediately in front of the stable and are kept filled with cool, clear water. A plateau spreads out to the north, where grass has overtaken the sprawling plain. Well-worn tracks lead back east toward the heavily trafficked bowl.
Afternoon sun still splashes across the Weyr but the worst of the day's heat is passing and P'draig's got a group of four out by the corrals. The brownrider is sitting up on the top fence rail, feet hooked in the one below, talking a little bit about catching food. " ... it's mostly a matter of instinct and just helping them to tap into that and hone it," he's just winding up. "A bunch of older beasts have already been let out in the immediate area right here," Paddy gestures behind him. "So you'll each take a turn having your dragon get on in there, take down an animal and hopefully enjoy a fresh caught meal. Anybody got any questions?" Neraset's amongst the group, fully dressed and buttoned up for once, hair neatly tied back and actually looking fairly serious. The bruises from her encounter with Avey have faded to pale yellow with some lingering purple splotches, but otherwise she seems back to normal and is paying attention from her spot near B'orl.
Regardless of the strength of the sun, P'traul's passing his hand across his forehead, running his hand through his hair. It might not just be the heat, but the prospect of the hunting dragons that has him grimacing faintly and shifting from foot to foot, glancing every so often down at his boots to lift one out of the way of some encroaching cow pie. He's on B'orl's other side, M'ljen past him not paying much attention but instead giving what appears to be a low-voiced pep talk to Riensoth. Yjimeth, stoic and still as usual, has positioned himself with a vantage from the outside of the fence, resting his chin upon a wooden post and observing, quietly. "We -- uh -- they --" P'traul hesitates, rephrases: "We just stay on this side of the fence, correct? No need to get -- messy."
Neraset sneaks a look over at Vaylith who is calmly paying attention and then turns to gently offer a nose-nuzzle of encouragement to Aiteth who keeps pawing at the ground nervously. B'orl looks uneasy too and keeps passing his hand down Aiteth's side though it's debatable whether he's trying to reassure the blue or himself. "Nope, no need to get in there unless you plan on helping to clean up after and generally, that's considered polite if they leave a carcass strewn all over," P'draig answers that question frankly, scans the group for more. Neraset's hand shoots up and Paddy nods. "They um -- well they can't really get hurt. Right?" The brownrider returns Neraset's gaze steadily. "It's possible, they could catch a horn or a kick, but it's unlikely. They're a lot better at killing the beasts than the beast are at running away. Still that's something to keep an eye out for, help them to see from your point of view too." He tips a look over his shoulder into the pens. "Yeah, they're pretty antsy, even the tired ones, so just be watchful," is his advice. "Anything else before I cut you loose?"
P'traul isn't in bad company, then, as he's not the only one who keeps shooting sharp looks over at his dragon, pressing his mouth together into a thin line for a moment or two before setting his teeth firmly into his lower lip before starting it all over again. The brownriding weyrling nods for P'draig's answer, peers again once hard over at Yjimeth and then looks between the steadfast, calm brown to Aiteth and shifty bronze Riensoth. But, no, he shakes his head wordlessly, no questions here. Wait, yes, one: "If they, ah, choose not to feed," and now P'traul's tipping his head thoughtfully, "We'll just postpone it to another day?" P'draig may or may not've heard through the grapevine how entirely unenthusiastic Yjimeth seemed about his own first flight just a few days prior, although the slow blink Yjimeth offers to his lifemate implies he'll be participating in the day's activities
"Yep, if they don't go for it today, if they're not particularly hungry, no problem. We'll be here all seven," P'draig jokes with a wink for P'traul. "Also, if the mess turns your stomach, just turn around and try not to think about it too much, practice a little bit of light separation from your dragons, by staying aware of what they're up to, but without being you know, right there in it with them." So saying, Paddy drops off the fence and walks over to give Jekzith a pat. "Go on, give them a demo and then ... P'traul, send Yjimeth on in." Neraset shifts from foot to foot and then just leans into Vaylith, one hand caught in a blond curl and twirling nervously. B'orl gives Aiteth a thump then looks over at P'traul sympathetically, tries to give the other weyrling a thumbs up.
"Oh, well, then. Good." P'traul answers a bit weakly to the weyrlingmaster's joke, but nods onward to Yjimeth with a slightly louder, more encouraging, "There you go, Yjimeth, there's a lad." Whether or not he's a lad may be up for debate, but either way the brown stretches slowly from his languid position, shifting his bulky weight to clamber stiffly over the fence. Once he's actually inside the pen, he pauses for a long moment, leisurely-whirling eyes taking in the lowing, starting herdbeasts. "He's -- he'll be a bit slow to get a start on, I suppose," the weyrling offers wanly back to the assembled group, managing a lopsided smile for B'orl's token of confidence. "Would it be terribly crowded with two in there?" Because having them all standing there staring at him, and his determinedly non-hunting dragon is a bit awkward.
"Slow's fine," P'draig says reassuringly, and runs a hand over his chin. "It's usually a good idea for them to have plenty of space first time out but Jekzith can split the herd and uh -- Neraset, have Vaylith hop on in." Because Vaylith seems pretty collected too. Meanwhile, Jekzith is lazily circling above and a moment later he drops, showing the technique and pulls a dead beast to the side. Quick and neat.
All it takes for Yjimeth to start moving is an example of his own: he watches intently as Jekzith does his loop, plummets downward, and strikes, and once he's taken that in the younger brown set off at a lumbering trot towards the nearest 'beast. Under the red of his burn, P'traul's turning a lovely shade of white, and then green, turning his head away from the sight even though Yjimeth hasn't yet made his kill. He's not far from it; the herdbeasts were, as P'draig said, old, and despite his low-slung build, once the brown dragonet got moving there was no stopping him. He hits the cow with a shoulder to drop her, and immediately sinks his talons and fangs into neck and flank. There. Done. P'traul's appears rather lightheaded.
Neraset boggles briefly at P'draig, but nods, resignedly and hey, casts the brown rider a salute. "Yessir," is all she says as she gives Vaylith a little pat. The green picks herself up neatly and goes sailing over the fence to join the two browns within. Paddy leans on the rail to watch, but slants a sidelong look P'traul's way and roots in his pocket, pulls out a baggie of ginger candies and slides one discreetly towards the weyrling as he greens up. Vaylith takes her time as well, circling the beasts before making a vtol-line for one and batting it to the ground. It doesn't die right away though and, looking displeased, she bends to delicately nip its throat, then waits before hauling the dead critter off to the side leaving a long smear of blood behind. She eats neatly though. "Okay, yep, he's got it, P'traul," Paddy states about the younger brown. "Neraset, let her know not to be afraid to go a little harder if she wants to bring the animal down qucikly and neatly." Neraset is just kind of staring at how that all just happened, a little pale but she only nods, moves to lean against the rail herselfand puts her forehead down on her forearms.
P'traul accepts the candy with a grateful sigh and a nod, though the hand holding it pauses only inches from his open mouth and instead he offers, with a light nudge of his wrist against Neraset's shoulder, the ginger sweet to the greenrider. He can fetch another from P'draig's bag, should she take it from him; if not, he'll toss it into his mouth with a shrug, his eyes still averted from the feeding grounds to the weyrlingmaster, his fellow weyrlings, his boots, anything that's not the bloody mess out there. Over his kill, Yjimeth's hunched himself low, and he eats just as neatly as Vaylith minus the smearing and such, methodically taking his time with each bite, each crunch, eat thoughful pause over the felled herdbeast. "He's -- he's pleased," P'traul reports, wrapping his fingers around the fence, essaying a smile for the successful first hunt.
Neraset offers P'traul a weak little smile as she accepts the sweet and sucks on it thoughtfully, though she's not looking away as assiduously as he is. "She -- says it tastes good, but that she will need a very good bath after and doesn't want to smear up the grass next time," the blonde offers over. Paddy slides the baggie back P'traul's way to aid in that second helping. "Good, good both of you," then he turns to look over his shoulder. "Okay, M'ljen, B'orl, send them in." Aiteth seemsa little less nervy after the first two have gone at least. "And over time you'll get used to the spectacle, or if they're independent enough, they might not need you to stand around all the time. Jekzith doesn't always need me to mind his meals for him. So you can opt out of having to be here, when they've got it under their belts."
"So will Yjimeth," P'traul chuckles in response to Neraset, though whether that's his preference or the brown's he doesn't make clear, and Yjimeth seems to be suceeding fairly well in keeping his muzzle neat save for a few specks of crimson on his maw. When Riensoth makes his leap over the fence, the brown spares a fleeting look for the two new hunters, though his attention remains quite focussed on his task at hand even as nearby, the bronze lunges flash-fast for his kill, M'ljen cheering quietly from the fence. The brownriding weyrling nods, wide-eyed, after P'draig speaks, and says mildly, "I should hope so, for my sake at least. There wasn't nearby so much blood when we cut it up ourselves."
Neraset continues to suck on that candy, takes a deep breath and leans a little so she can look past P'draig towards M'ljen as he cheers. Briefly the blonde smiles and she straightens up flips her hair back a little. "Oh nice job!" she congratulates and shoots a slightly too-bright smile down the fence-rail. Neraset couldn't stay sensible for too long, could she. P'draig nods P'traul's way. "Mm. Mostly try not to look too much and you should survive," he says encouragingly. "I've had more than one weyrling over the years lose lunch over a first or even a second feeding, but you /do/ get used to it."
M'ljen beams in return, lounging too casually against his elbow when Neraset looks his way, looking airily pleased with Riensoth's kill until she's looked away again and the bronzeriding weyrling hastily pokes at P'draig's back and motions for one of those ginger candies, too. P'traul watches the exchange with a lifting curl to his mouth, and finally risks a brief glance towards his own lifemate, who has now gotten to the bones of his meal and nudges each into a neat, small and growing pile once he's finished slithering his tongue down it for marrow. "Ughh," the boy groans, turning away again. "Wouldn't surprise me. Near to, myself." Though he waves a hand to show he won't, not here at least. Wouldn't be very polite of him.
"I think I will be all right eventually," Neraset agrees and she takes another candy, takes a deep breath, but is looking away from the pens now as Vaylith gets down to some guts. That poke to his back, swivels P'draig's head around and a little amused grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as he discreetly passes M'ljen a tab too. "They'll probably eat one at a time for now, just about every day, but they'll space it out over time until they're only eating every three to five days and more than one beast at a time." B'orl meanwhile is scrubbing at his face, because Aiteth still hasn't managed to drop a beast. He keeps swinging in and breaking off at the last minute. "It's okay if he's not ready B'orl, but maybe try to show him in your head, what Jekzith did before."
"One a day, every day," P'traul repeats, and nods firmly at the information. "We should trust their judgement, then? They shouldn't be overeating themselves to thicktail?" Shouldn't. The weyrling rubs at his chin, looks expectantly up at the weyrlingmaster's assistant. "As in, should he go for a second, I should stop him?" Not that Yjimeth's showing any inclination to; he's finished up, now, although he spends some time nosing and clawing the remains so that they're in the smallest, tidiest pile he might leave them in and then returning to the fence with his head held high, his stomach notably distended. On the way past, though, he takes a sharp lunge at a herdbeast that's scattering past him, heading it off towards the uncertain blue yet to make his kill.
"Should be past that," P'draig says with a nod. "But still good to keep tabs," the weyrlingmaster's assistant claims. "Safe enough to let him go again if he's still honestly hungry, but you'll have to feel through your mind, whether that's the case or not. And if he's feeling full and not stopping, help to stop him. He doesn't have to finish." Aiteth startles a little in the air as Yjimeth drives that beast his way, but then, the angle lines up and he drops. Unlike the others it's neither quick nor unmessy and there's a lot of wing-flapping and tail-lashing and hoof-kicking, but the blue does manage it and then settles to eat. B'orl sort of deflates against the fence rails and murmurs under his breath: "Oh thank /faranth/." This time, Neraset is not quite as sanguine as she was when Vaylith first took down her kill and the blonde pales further and then without warning just goes right down in a little heap, even as Paddy reaches out to catch her elbow. "Whoops." The brownrider says calmly and hunkers down to tap lightly at the girl's cheeks. "C'mon, Neraset," he murmurs lowly, looks back up at the others. "I think that'll be it for today if they're set. Head on back to the Barracks if you like when you're ready."
Yjimeth awkwardly makes his climb over the fence again, and murmurs softly as he butts his head against P'traul. The boy absently pats at the brown's wide head, nodding once for Aiteth's eventual and chaotic kill. "There you are," he says to B'orl, resting his palm for a moment on the bluerider's shoulder before he brings the hand sharply to his forehead in a salute to the weyrlingmaster. "I think we will now, then, sir," though P'draig's all caught up with Neraset and P'traul looks quite uselessly at the slumped girl before he nods one more time, automatic more than anything and then he and Yjimeth are loping together back to the barracks.
Ultimately, P'draig winds up carrying Neraset off to the infirmary to make sure she didn't bump her head when she passed out and B'orl and M'ljen are sent back to do some other lesson with B'ryce, leaving the grounds a lot messier than when they came out. And if the groundskeepers grumble a little, well they're used to this portion of weyrlinghood at least.
When: 7/14/18
Where: Corrals, Ista Weyr
What: P'draig takes a quartet of Weyrlings for their first hunt. Nobody pukes. Neraset passes out.
Corrals, Ista Weyr
Roughly a quarter of the western end of the bowl is enclosed by sturdy wooden fencing to contain the weyr's herd. The sounds and smells of the beasts permeate the entire area as the livestock jockey for prime real estate in sun or shade while others graze on long grass out in the vast field. The large metal doors of the stable are set into the bowl wall, often left open during the day to permit the beasts to come and go at will. Long and deep, four stone troughs occupy the area immediately in front of the stable and are kept filled with cool, clear water. A plateau spreads out to the north, where grass has overtaken the sprawling plain. Well-worn tracks lead back east toward the heavily trafficked bowl.
Afternoon sun still splashes across the Weyr but the worst of the day's heat is passing and P'draig's got a group of four out by the corrals. The brownrider is sitting up on the top fence rail, feet hooked in the one below, talking a little bit about catching food. " ... it's mostly a matter of instinct and just helping them to tap into that and hone it," he's just winding up. "A bunch of older beasts have already been let out in the immediate area right here," Paddy gestures behind him. "So you'll each take a turn having your dragon get on in there, take down an animal and hopefully enjoy a fresh caught meal. Anybody got any questions?" Neraset's amongst the group, fully dressed and buttoned up for once, hair neatly tied back and actually looking fairly serious. The bruises from her encounter with Avey have faded to pale yellow with some lingering purple splotches, but otherwise she seems back to normal and is paying attention from her spot near B'orl.
Regardless of the strength of the sun, P'traul's passing his hand across his forehead, running his hand through his hair. It might not just be the heat, but the prospect of the hunting dragons that has him grimacing faintly and shifting from foot to foot, glancing every so often down at his boots to lift one out of the way of some encroaching cow pie. He's on B'orl's other side, M'ljen past him not paying much attention but instead giving what appears to be a low-voiced pep talk to Riensoth. Yjimeth, stoic and still as usual, has positioned himself with a vantage from the outside of the fence, resting his chin upon a wooden post and observing, quietly. "We -- uh -- they --" P'traul hesitates, rephrases: "We just stay on this side of the fence, correct? No need to get -- messy."
Neraset sneaks a look over at Vaylith who is calmly paying attention and then turns to gently offer a nose-nuzzle of encouragement to Aiteth who keeps pawing at the ground nervously. B'orl looks uneasy too and keeps passing his hand down Aiteth's side though it's debatable whether he's trying to reassure the blue or himself. "Nope, no need to get in there unless you plan on helping to clean up after and generally, that's considered polite if they leave a carcass strewn all over," P'draig answers that question frankly, scans the group for more. Neraset's hand shoots up and Paddy nods. "They um -- well they can't really get hurt. Right?" The brownrider returns Neraset's gaze steadily. "It's possible, they could catch a horn or a kick, but it's unlikely. They're a lot better at killing the beasts than the beast are at running away. Still that's something to keep an eye out for, help them to see from your point of view too." He tips a look over his shoulder into the pens. "Yeah, they're pretty antsy, even the tired ones, so just be watchful," is his advice. "Anything else before I cut you loose?"
P'traul isn't in bad company, then, as he's not the only one who keeps shooting sharp looks over at his dragon, pressing his mouth together into a thin line for a moment or two before setting his teeth firmly into his lower lip before starting it all over again. The brownriding weyrling nods for P'draig's answer, peers again once hard over at Yjimeth and then looks between the steadfast, calm brown to Aiteth and shifty bronze Riensoth. But, no, he shakes his head wordlessly, no questions here. Wait, yes, one: "If they, ah, choose not to feed," and now P'traul's tipping his head thoughtfully, "We'll just postpone it to another day?" P'draig may or may not've heard through the grapevine how entirely unenthusiastic Yjimeth seemed about his own first flight just a few days prior, although the slow blink Yjimeth offers to his lifemate implies he'll be participating in the day's activities
"Yep, if they don't go for it today, if they're not particularly hungry, no problem. We'll be here all seven," P'draig jokes with a wink for P'traul. "Also, if the mess turns your stomach, just turn around and try not to think about it too much, practice a little bit of light separation from your dragons, by staying aware of what they're up to, but without being you know, right there in it with them." So saying, Paddy drops off the fence and walks over to give Jekzith a pat. "Go on, give them a demo and then ... P'traul, send Yjimeth on in." Neraset shifts from foot to foot and then just leans into Vaylith, one hand caught in a blond curl and twirling nervously. B'orl gives Aiteth a thump then looks over at P'traul sympathetically, tries to give the other weyrling a thumbs up.
"Oh, well, then. Good." P'traul answers a bit weakly to the weyrlingmaster's joke, but nods onward to Yjimeth with a slightly louder, more encouraging, "There you go, Yjimeth, there's a lad." Whether or not he's a lad may be up for debate, but either way the brown stretches slowly from his languid position, shifting his bulky weight to clamber stiffly over the fence. Once he's actually inside the pen, he pauses for a long moment, leisurely-whirling eyes taking in the lowing, starting herdbeasts. "He's -- he'll be a bit slow to get a start on, I suppose," the weyrling offers wanly back to the assembled group, managing a lopsided smile for B'orl's token of confidence. "Would it be terribly crowded with two in there?" Because having them all standing there staring at him, and his determinedly non-hunting dragon is a bit awkward.
"Slow's fine," P'draig says reassuringly, and runs a hand over his chin. "It's usually a good idea for them to have plenty of space first time out but Jekzith can split the herd and uh -- Neraset, have Vaylith hop on in." Because Vaylith seems pretty collected too. Meanwhile, Jekzith is lazily circling above and a moment later he drops, showing the technique and pulls a dead beast to the side. Quick and neat.
All it takes for Yjimeth to start moving is an example of his own: he watches intently as Jekzith does his loop, plummets downward, and strikes, and once he's taken that in the younger brown set off at a lumbering trot towards the nearest 'beast. Under the red of his burn, P'traul's turning a lovely shade of white, and then green, turning his head away from the sight even though Yjimeth hasn't yet made his kill. He's not far from it; the herdbeasts were, as P'draig said, old, and despite his low-slung build, once the brown dragonet got moving there was no stopping him. He hits the cow with a shoulder to drop her, and immediately sinks his talons and fangs into neck and flank. There. Done. P'traul's appears rather lightheaded.
Neraset boggles briefly at P'draig, but nods, resignedly and hey, casts the brown rider a salute. "Yessir," is all she says as she gives Vaylith a little pat. The green picks herself up neatly and goes sailing over the fence to join the two browns within. Paddy leans on the rail to watch, but slants a sidelong look P'traul's way and roots in his pocket, pulls out a baggie of ginger candies and slides one discreetly towards the weyrling as he greens up. Vaylith takes her time as well, circling the beasts before making a vtol-line for one and batting it to the ground. It doesn't die right away though and, looking displeased, she bends to delicately nip its throat, then waits before hauling the dead critter off to the side leaving a long smear of blood behind. She eats neatly though. "Okay, yep, he's got it, P'traul," Paddy states about the younger brown. "Neraset, let her know not to be afraid to go a little harder if she wants to bring the animal down qucikly and neatly." Neraset is just kind of staring at how that all just happened, a little pale but she only nods, moves to lean against the rail herselfand puts her forehead down on her forearms.
P'traul accepts the candy with a grateful sigh and a nod, though the hand holding it pauses only inches from his open mouth and instead he offers, with a light nudge of his wrist against Neraset's shoulder, the ginger sweet to the greenrider. He can fetch another from P'draig's bag, should she take it from him; if not, he'll toss it into his mouth with a shrug, his eyes still averted from the feeding grounds to the weyrlingmaster, his fellow weyrlings, his boots, anything that's not the bloody mess out there. Over his kill, Yjimeth's hunched himself low, and he eats just as neatly as Vaylith minus the smearing and such, methodically taking his time with each bite, each crunch, eat thoughful pause over the felled herdbeast. "He's -- he's pleased," P'traul reports, wrapping his fingers around the fence, essaying a smile for the successful first hunt.
Neraset offers P'traul a weak little smile as she accepts the sweet and sucks on it thoughtfully, though she's not looking away as assiduously as he is. "She -- says it tastes good, but that she will need a very good bath after and doesn't want to smear up the grass next time," the blonde offers over. Paddy slides the baggie back P'traul's way to aid in that second helping. "Good, good both of you," then he turns to look over his shoulder. "Okay, M'ljen, B'orl, send them in." Aiteth seemsa little less nervy after the first two have gone at least. "And over time you'll get used to the spectacle, or if they're independent enough, they might not need you to stand around all the time. Jekzith doesn't always need me to mind his meals for him. So you can opt out of having to be here, when they've got it under their belts."
"So will Yjimeth," P'traul chuckles in response to Neraset, though whether that's his preference or the brown's he doesn't make clear, and Yjimeth seems to be suceeding fairly well in keeping his muzzle neat save for a few specks of crimson on his maw. When Riensoth makes his leap over the fence, the brown spares a fleeting look for the two new hunters, though his attention remains quite focussed on his task at hand even as nearby, the bronze lunges flash-fast for his kill, M'ljen cheering quietly from the fence. The brownriding weyrling nods, wide-eyed, after P'draig speaks, and says mildly, "I should hope so, for my sake at least. There wasn't nearby so much blood when we cut it up ourselves."
Neraset continues to suck on that candy, takes a deep breath and leans a little so she can look past P'draig towards M'ljen as he cheers. Briefly the blonde smiles and she straightens up flips her hair back a little. "Oh nice job!" she congratulates and shoots a slightly too-bright smile down the fence-rail. Neraset couldn't stay sensible for too long, could she. P'draig nods P'traul's way. "Mm. Mostly try not to look too much and you should survive," he says encouragingly. "I've had more than one weyrling over the years lose lunch over a first or even a second feeding, but you /do/ get used to it."
M'ljen beams in return, lounging too casually against his elbow when Neraset looks his way, looking airily pleased with Riensoth's kill until she's looked away again and the bronzeriding weyrling hastily pokes at P'draig's back and motions for one of those ginger candies, too. P'traul watches the exchange with a lifting curl to his mouth, and finally risks a brief glance towards his own lifemate, who has now gotten to the bones of his meal and nudges each into a neat, small and growing pile once he's finished slithering his tongue down it for marrow. "Ughh," the boy groans, turning away again. "Wouldn't surprise me. Near to, myself." Though he waves a hand to show he won't, not here at least. Wouldn't be very polite of him.
"I think I will be all right eventually," Neraset agrees and she takes another candy, takes a deep breath, but is looking away from the pens now as Vaylith gets down to some guts. That poke to his back, swivels P'draig's head around and a little amused grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as he discreetly passes M'ljen a tab too. "They'll probably eat one at a time for now, just about every day, but they'll space it out over time until they're only eating every three to five days and more than one beast at a time." B'orl meanwhile is scrubbing at his face, because Aiteth still hasn't managed to drop a beast. He keeps swinging in and breaking off at the last minute. "It's okay if he's not ready B'orl, but maybe try to show him in your head, what Jekzith did before."
"One a day, every day," P'traul repeats, and nods firmly at the information. "We should trust their judgement, then? They shouldn't be overeating themselves to thicktail?" Shouldn't. The weyrling rubs at his chin, looks expectantly up at the weyrlingmaster's assistant. "As in, should he go for a second, I should stop him?" Not that Yjimeth's showing any inclination to; he's finished up, now, although he spends some time nosing and clawing the remains so that they're in the smallest, tidiest pile he might leave them in and then returning to the fence with his head held high, his stomach notably distended. On the way past, though, he takes a sharp lunge at a herdbeast that's scattering past him, heading it off towards the uncertain blue yet to make his kill.
"Should be past that," P'draig says with a nod. "But still good to keep tabs," the weyrlingmaster's assistant claims. "Safe enough to let him go again if he's still honestly hungry, but you'll have to feel through your mind, whether that's the case or not. And if he's feeling full and not stopping, help to stop him. He doesn't have to finish." Aiteth startles a little in the air as Yjimeth drives that beast his way, but then, the angle lines up and he drops. Unlike the others it's neither quick nor unmessy and there's a lot of wing-flapping and tail-lashing and hoof-kicking, but the blue does manage it and then settles to eat. B'orl sort of deflates against the fence rails and murmurs under his breath: "Oh thank /faranth/." This time, Neraset is not quite as sanguine as she was when Vaylith first took down her kill and the blonde pales further and then without warning just goes right down in a little heap, even as Paddy reaches out to catch her elbow. "Whoops." The brownrider says calmly and hunkers down to tap lightly at the girl's cheeks. "C'mon, Neraset," he murmurs lowly, looks back up at the others. "I think that'll be it for today if they're set. Head on back to the Barracks if you like when you're ready."
Yjimeth awkwardly makes his climb over the fence again, and murmurs softly as he butts his head against P'traul. The boy absently pats at the brown's wide head, nodding once for Aiteth's eventual and chaotic kill. "There you are," he says to B'orl, resting his palm for a moment on the bluerider's shoulder before he brings the hand sharply to his forehead in a salute to the weyrlingmaster. "I think we will now, then, sir," though P'draig's all caught up with Neraset and P'traul looks quite uselessly at the slumped girl before he nods one more time, automatic more than anything and then he and Yjimeth are loping together back to the barracks.
Ultimately, P'draig winds up carrying Neraset off to the infirmary to make sure she didn't bump her head when she passed out and B'orl and M'ljen are sent back to do some other lesson with B'ryce, leaving the grounds a lot messier than when they came out. And if the groundskeepers grumble a little, well they're used to this portion of weyrlinghood at least.