LOG: Rhazekth's favourite word
Date: Day 20, Month 8, Turn 26
Location: Weyrling Barracks / Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Small dragons have too much energy. Also, curiosity.
Dragon> A harvest moon rises, and with it, a low wind, rustling rich grasslands as it goes. Isath's touch is easily recognisable; relaxed, today, rather than pushing into action. << And how are we, this fine afternoon? >> she wonders, laguidly. (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Isath> Ysavaeth looks intently at Rhazekth's tail from her perch near one of the potted flower plants.
Isath> Rhazekth's tail twitches. Back, and forth... back and forth.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth ventures a lazy response, happy to wallow for the moment in a covering of sand. << Very well! Are we reading more books today? Are we? >> Awww, baby dragon nerd.
Isath> At nearly two months, Ysavaeth isn't quite so little anymore and so when, after a succession of back and forth twitches, she pounces, it's a whole lot of dragon launched into the air for the tiny hop it takes to land just shy of the brown's tail. Needless to say, it's not so graceful so hopefully the paw that extends to bat playfully at the twitchign tail is more careful; wouldn't do for those wickedly curved arakh talons to graze anything other than air.
Dragon> << We miiiiiiiight be, >> teases Isath - though not in a malicious way. She seems pleased, in truth, by Rhazekth's enthusiasm. << There is more history to know. More-- >> Something unspoken. Truth? It could be truth. It's a sense of it, maybe. (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Ysavaeth's physical fascination with Rhazekth's tail causes utter silence from the gold on the mental level. Indeed, as much as she might try to bat at the brown's tail with her paw, there's a similar sort of manifestation in her head when the long floaty sleeves of a sisal gown flutters to bat away these intrusions. She's /concentrating/ here, can't you see? There's a tail to catch.
Isath> Not that Rhaz doesn't trust his weyrling queen. Oh no! But, he's not abut to take risks with his tail. It's pulled back inward at the last minute; a playful whuff of air blown Ysavaeth's way. << Let's find something that's not alive to play with! >> he suggests, helpfully, getting up and turning round to scan the barracks thoughtfully.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth sends a little flurry of baby scarabs winging across the sleeves of that sisal gown, while all but mentally bouncing up and down on his paws. << I -like- books. Rielsath also likes to show me books. In my head. Like this! >> Uh oh. THis may not go as well as he thinks. But, that big book of swear words they put together is suddenly on display for the whoooole weyrling wing. And there are definitely BAD words written in it.
Isath> Vysravth lifts his head from his couch, his aloofness lingers in the air as he watches his clutchmates. <> Eyes whirl in patronizing amusement at Rhazekth, <>
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Isath will not be batted away: she's Keeping An Eye On Things. It's Important. But she's content not to interfere in Ysavaeth's hunting, as long as the young dragon remains careful, or so it seems. Rhazekth's 'book' draws a long pause. << Rielsath showed you that? >> she wants to know. << Perhaps that's better kept a-- treasure. A secret. Yours and hers. >> Please.
Isath> And like that, *poof*, her intense concentration is broken and Ysavaeth's playfulness recedes into a look of mournful reproach, all big-eyed and somewhat pouty at her sibling. << If you hold your tail quite still, we can pretend that it's not alive. >> But then he's up and so too does she rise, disengaging her pounced limbs from the floor and stretching them forth in, if she were older, sensual manner. As it is, she's all of two months and looks more like a kitten uncurling from a nap. << Fuck? Fuck fuck? >> Can dragons read? Maybe it wasn't just those big-eyed tricks the dragonet picked up from her rider.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Ysavaeth's gown-like sleeves get drawn back, pulled so they might grace the top of her head like a veil. Or a shroud. Or something all fluttery and cute so her only her eyes peek out in their big jewel-like manner. << Iolene says those words shouldn't be used very often. But she won't explain how you can have a flying fuck. >> Apparently, in the interim, she's learned what fuck might mean and perhaps chooses not to question, if that sort of brow-pinched vocal timbre infused in her bell-like voice is any indication. The flying part, however, is of interest.
Dragon> A little bit tartly, Isath's response is clear enough: << /You/ will have a flying fuck. All of you will. One day. But now is not the time for that. >> (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth hovers over his treasured book protectively, lest Isath try to take it away. HIS! << Emme says without flying fucks, we would not be here! >> he adds, ever the helpful dragonet. << She also says I should not use my favorite word in this book. >> he mourns, countenance drooping some. A sand dune topples over somewhere, burying him and his pouty face.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Ysavaeth draws on that tartness and absorbs it, allowing it to sour the bells in her mind just a smidgeon. << /I/, >> she says, drawing up all her little queenliness about her in an all too pierceable mantle of mockable youth, << Will not! Iolene says it is for making babies and that everyone gets fat when they have babies. I won't. I won't. >> She refuses. She might even stomp her not-so-little physical legs to help punctuate her toddler petulance.
Isath> Ysavaeth stompstomp. For now, Rhazekth's tail is completely forgotten.
Isath> Rhazekth just seems happy that someone else wants to use these forbidden words with him. << I will share the book with you. >> he decides. Because, she swears. And because it's totally adorable the way she is stomping around.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Isath can't help it: she laughs, rustling leaves enhancing the sensation. << Oh, little one, you /will/, >> she tells Ysavaeth. << And you'll want to, too. One day. But that is not today, >> which is probably intended to be soothing. << Rhazekth, perhaps that word is better saved for you and your rider. Sharing is... why don't we do something fun? >>
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Vysravth latches on to Rhazekth's acknowledgement that Emme said he shouldn't say it. <> In the distance a metallic groan as machinery awakens. <>
Isath> Can baby dragons be arch? Cause whether or not they are able to, Ysavaeth seems all too willing to pick up on things her rider isn't even capable of, tossing a coy look over her shoulder at Vysravth in a split second pause between her stomping, and flickers her tail at her haughty brown brother. Was it on purpose? It all happened so fast! Because in the next breath she's suddenly turning back to Rhazekth in interest. << Share? What's your favorite word? >> she asks, entreatingly.
Isath> It is rather nice to be in the company of those who appreciate his nwe vast stores of knowledge. Knowing that Isath does not want him to share, and Emme does not thing he *should* share, he sidles up closer to his siblings to try and keep his sharing on a tight band. Being weyrlings still, that kind of control may very well prove inadequate. But, sly, his melodious voice utters an entirely strange, foreign, nonsensical word. << Twatwaffle. >> he delivers, in a tone suggesting this is THE best treasure EVER.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth shifts his attention back and forth, much like a snake weaves its head when the snake charmer is playing his tune. He is distracted for a moment, apparently, and then latches on to Isath's last statement like a moth drawn to flame. << Fun! >> he agrees.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Vysravth encourages his brother on enthusastically, <> Is the rather nonchalant, apparently E'gin is in on the joke. The metallic grinding of gears grows louder.
Dragon> Surprisingly, Isath doesn't /seem/ to have latched on to that shared word: innocence is bliss. At least, that is, until Vysravth's response. Whoops. << Now, now, >> she says, hastily. << Why don't we go for a race in the bowl? It's a /beautiful/ day out there, and I will supervise. >> (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Vysravth mentally sighs. The machine noises stop abruptly leaving an echoing silence in their absence. The fun is over, and he is in no mood for racing, but it didn't sound like a suggestion. Orders. Heavy and long wings lift and spread in an apathetic stretch as he stands. <> Like something to run into, or tear apart.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth whistles, low through the reeds. << That IS a good one. When I t... >> he obviously abruptly stops when Isath compleeeetely reroutes them and suggests a race in the bowl. << Being outside is nice. What is racing teaching us, again? >> He sadly doesn't remember. He just knows it's important and Emme is very much encouraging this new activity rather then, well, sharing the swearing.
Dragon> Promptly: << Muscles. We're stretching our muscles out and making them strong so that, one day, we can /fly/. >> Well. Isath can already fly, but let's ignore that for now. Let's also ignore the fact that this exercise must at least in part be all about wearing little dragons out to give big dragons (and riders) some peace. << Perhaps there can be some obstacles. Let's see! >> (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Rhazekth is ready, willing, and eager to run around the bowl and leap obstacles. Not that he expects to do it very well. But, any new activity is case for joy with him. And following him out of the barracks is his rider, who watches his every movement with continued wonderment. As a pair, they stop when they're clear of the entrance and see Meara waiting. "Hello, Weyrlingmaster."
"Weyrlingmaster." E'gin offers, as he falls in behind Emme, he inclines his head slightly towards his fellow exiler, but he seems rather withdrawn. The states he's been in for the past month or so. Vysravth strolls into the bowl behind E'gin, muscles tightening more than necessary with each step. Has he been working out? No baby, he was born this way.
Mearahas one hand on Isath's leg, fingers spread flat as if by that method she'll make sure as to get the most contact possible. Isath may only just have suggested the race, but one of the other assistants is already setting out obstacles, albeit none that are too difficult for small dragons. "Emme," she greets, with a tip of her head. "Rhazekth." Followed, very soon after, by, "E'gin. Vysravth. And how are we, this morning? Aside from-- inclined towards profanity." That, though, is more for the dragons.
If Vyrsavth starts looking like he's giving birth to a metal object cause he was 'born that way', Rhaz is /so/ outta there. -Ahem-. It would seem that the mirage-like brown dragonet is also clearly unrepentant for his earlier profanity. All knowledge is good knowledge! Even if it causes Emme the occasional pained expression. Like right now. Though she hastily turns it into a slight grin. "We're doing well, ma'am."
E'gin holds his composure, a twiching of shoulder muscles the other indication of restrained laughter, "We're well." His eyes flicker to his strutting lifemate, his eyes gleaming before he lowers them to study the dirt on the ground of the bowl. Vysravth turns to look over his shoulder as the profanity is mentioned, a slow blue whirling of the eyes, eyes which are turned on to the assistants who are setting out obstacles. He studies the obstacles intently, as a beast studies its prey
"Glad to hear it," says Meara, firmly, reluctantly drawing her hand away from Isath so that she can step forward, towards the course in construction. "Each of the obstacles," she explains, "is designed to stretch out different muscles. The thing with this, though, is to be careful: if they begin to feel any tightness," beat. "If /you/ begin to feel any tightness, too, for that matter, get them to stop immediately. Injuries happen, but avoiding them is for the best: they'll be allowed to start gliding soon, and an injury now would put that off. Still, we want to build up their muscles if we can. Questions?"
Emme glances over at E'gin with a bit of a smile, recognizing that shoulder twitch. Though obviously she says absolutely nothing. "Should we check them after each obstacle. Or just try to fel through our link?" she wonders, brow furrowing while she steps forward to give Rhazekth a thorough once over prior to starting anyway. "Wings up, Rhaz." He obligingly lifts, so she can check spars and tendons. And then lowers when se steps back again.
"Vysravth would be plenty pissed he was stopped in a race after every obstacle." E'gin grunts heavily. Still, by the way the boy is starting to fill out one might assume that the pair has been working out together. The brown's wings are raised brawny shoulder muscles buldging as they lift. Stretching he flaps them, a hint of mimicing Rhazekth. E'gin rolls his eyes as the brown lowers his spars. "Tightness. Stop. Got it." Does he?
"After each go round," says Meara, with a shake of the head. "Let them build up speed through the obstacles. But if you feel anything-- stop them immediately. This is serious business: injuries can keep you on the ground for months." Her arms cross beneath her breasts as she regards the weyrlings and their dragons, evaluating them with a carefully appraising glance. "Not too much flapping, Vysravth. Stretch, but don't push. Who wants to go first?"
Competition thy name is Vysravth. "Vys wants to..." E'gin chimes in for the brown who hasn't waited for a response but starts over to Isath, to what is probably the starting line. The boy nods at Meara, "He likes to push himself..." Vysravth lowers his wings reluctantly, there is an abruptness in his movements that suggests irritation with the order. "Which obstacle does he start at?"
Isath stretches out a warm tendril, noting quietly to Vysravth, << In a few more days-- >> She's expressing the sensation of being /airborne/, the wind under her wings even if those wings aren't actually flapping. And hunting, too: a live beast under her talons, dying because of /her/. << Patience, and then it will be your turn. >> But in the obstacle course? It can be his turn first, apparently, because Meara nods, stepping well out of the way as she points out the course: "Get him to be careful. Past Isath, over those logs - just a jump, mind, no wings - and then round the corner. Climb up the wooden blocks, then jump from one boulder to the next. And then back. Stay with him, mentally, E'gin. Feel it. When he's ready."
The sensation of gliding calms Vysravth but it is the hunting that seems to move him. Talons on the end of teach bulky foreleg stretch out subconciously, like a cat dreaming of the hunt, kneading. For that he can wait. Patience. His attention is turned from conquering beasts to conquering feats. E'gin is quiet for a moment, mentally the two walk through the course, then mentally running. Vysravth pacing each jump in the shared conscious of the bowl. There is a nod from E'gin to the weyrlingmaster and the brown is off. Approaching the logs brown hindlegs retract, spring loaded, force released. Perhaps there was something off in their mental collective but his hind foot scrapes along the top log, the log rolls off falling to the ground, he stumbles a few feet, before regaining his footing and starts off for the boxes.
There's something smug in Isath's mental touch at the impact her suggestions have on the brown: smug and content. She lingers - watching, mentally, but not intruding. Her rider is in no rush for the pair to commence their circuit, though as the brown launches into action, she takes in a deep breath: watching, wary, Isath hovering just nearby in case of disaster. The scrape of Vysravth's foot and all that follows draws a /new/ intake of breath, Meara's tone questioning as she says: "He's not hurt? Keep track, E'gin."
Perhaps surprisingly E'gin takes a moment to assess Vysravth before answering, "He's fine..." He trails off as the brown tackles the boxes. He seems less concerned with speed than inflicting as much damage as possible on each box before moving on. Talons tearing into the wooden crates as he conquers them, a movement or two stolen from Isath's hunting. A breath on top, shoulder muscles start to twich but E'gin stops the dragon from his victory show and he descends down the other side.
Meara's quick nod confirms that she's satisfied with E'gin's answer; anyway, she's easily distracted by the damage the brown does to her boxes, her brows raising. She stops herself from actually /saying/ anything, however, stepping forward to meet the brown as he returns. "Well done," she says, quietly, head tilted up to say it: he is, after all, taller than she is at the shoulder, now. "How does he feel, E'gin? Muscles?"
E'gin looks at the weyrlingmaster out of the corner of his eye as she assesses Vysravth's damage to her equipment. He wisely remains silent, stepping behind her as she comes up to the brown. "He's okay, think he might have out down himself a little on those boxes." Vanquishing is hard work after all. "But nothing stiff or tight - Maybe a little sore tomorrow." He pauses to study the woman with a frown, "Are injuries common? Life threatening?"
"Life threatening? Not usually." Meara's gaze is still firmly on Vysravth, though she seems to have accepted E'gin's assessment of the situation. "But common enough. It doesn't take much to sprain or pull muscles and tendons, particularly when they're ones they're not used to using a lot. Wing muscles, for example. That's why they won't be doing more than gliding to begin with. We'll be talking more about common injuries in class these next few sevens, but yes, there are plenty of things that can go wrong."
E'gin's eyes study Vysravth carefully. "Is there anything we should be doing? Exercises? When should he start exercising he wings? Is running okay?" For his part, Vysravth just looks bored. <> Taloned paws slice up an imaginary box in the air. E'gin turns his gaze to Maera with a grin and an apologetic shrug, "I..he..." Has a fascination with chopping up meat? E'gin can't bring himself to say the words. It might be cheaper just to give him a carcass to play with.
"Not for now, no. Just - stay careful. Nothing too strenuous without weyrlingmaster supervision." Meara's smile turns cheerful enough, greeting the shrug without question. Just: "It won't be long, now, before they're hunting properly for themselves, not just tearing the meat off the carcasses. But-- let him take another trip 'round the course, and then take him for a warm bath in the pool by the infirmary." << Higher boxes /later/, >> is Isath's opinion. << Be perfect, this time! >>
<> Vysravth annoyance is only forgetten when the challenge is issued. <
> E'gin seems to give a mental go ahead as the beefy brown darts off. He's a quick learn, leap over logs is timed perfectly. The boxes, previously battered have lost that appeal, speed is the name of the game. Each box is taken in a leap. Victory. A bounce in his step as he dismounts the stack. <
> E'gin nods, "He's a little more sore this time." The brown looks at the male offended. <> But it is clear E'gin has laid down the law, they will follow orders. "To the bath?" Is asked to Meara.
Meara seems satisfied by the circuit, even going so far as to say, "Good work, Vysravth. I think you've earnd a proper bath and oiling." To Egin, she nods, telling him: "Time to call it a day, then. Soak his muscles and keep an eye on them. If any are particularly sore, come and talk to one of the weyrlingmasters. Well done, both of you." It's a dismissal.
Location: Weyrling Barracks / Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Small dragons have too much energy. Also, curiosity.
Dragon> A harvest moon rises, and with it, a low wind, rustling rich grasslands as it goes. Isath's touch is easily recognisable; relaxed, today, rather than pushing into action. << And how are we, this fine afternoon? >> she wonders, laguidly. (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Isath> Ysavaeth looks intently at Rhazekth's tail from her perch near one of the potted flower plants.
Isath> Rhazekth's tail twitches. Back, and forth... back and forth.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth ventures a lazy response, happy to wallow for the moment in a covering of sand. << Very well! Are we reading more books today? Are we? >> Awww, baby dragon nerd.
Isath> At nearly two months, Ysavaeth isn't quite so little anymore and so when, after a succession of back and forth twitches, she pounces, it's a whole lot of dragon launched into the air for the tiny hop it takes to land just shy of the brown's tail. Needless to say, it's not so graceful so hopefully the paw that extends to bat playfully at the twitchign tail is more careful; wouldn't do for those wickedly curved arakh talons to graze anything other than air.
Dragon> << We miiiiiiiight be, >> teases Isath - though not in a malicious way. She seems pleased, in truth, by Rhazekth's enthusiasm. << There is more history to know. More-- >> Something unspoken. Truth? It could be truth. It's a sense of it, maybe. (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Ysavaeth's physical fascination with Rhazekth's tail causes utter silence from the gold on the mental level. Indeed, as much as she might try to bat at the brown's tail with her paw, there's a similar sort of manifestation in her head when the long floaty sleeves of a sisal gown flutters to bat away these intrusions. She's /concentrating/ here, can't you see? There's a tail to catch.
Isath> Not that Rhaz doesn't trust his weyrling queen. Oh no! But, he's not abut to take risks with his tail. It's pulled back inward at the last minute; a playful whuff of air blown Ysavaeth's way. << Let's find something that's not alive to play with! >> he suggests, helpfully, getting up and turning round to scan the barracks thoughtfully.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth sends a little flurry of baby scarabs winging across the sleeves of that sisal gown, while all but mentally bouncing up and down on his paws. << I -like- books. Rielsath also likes to show me books. In my head. Like this! >> Uh oh. THis may not go as well as he thinks. But, that big book of swear words they put together is suddenly on display for the whoooole weyrling wing. And there are definitely BAD words written in it.
Isath> Vysravth lifts his head from his couch, his aloofness lingers in the air as he watches his clutchmates. <> Eyes whirl in patronizing amusement at Rhazekth, <>
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Isath will not be batted away: she's Keeping An Eye On Things. It's Important. But she's content not to interfere in Ysavaeth's hunting, as long as the young dragon remains careful, or so it seems. Rhazekth's 'book' draws a long pause. << Rielsath showed you that? >> she wants to know. << Perhaps that's better kept a-- treasure. A secret. Yours and hers. >> Please.
Isath> And like that, *poof*, her intense concentration is broken and Ysavaeth's playfulness recedes into a look of mournful reproach, all big-eyed and somewhat pouty at her sibling. << If you hold your tail quite still, we can pretend that it's not alive. >> But then he's up and so too does she rise, disengaging her pounced limbs from the floor and stretching them forth in, if she were older, sensual manner. As it is, she's all of two months and looks more like a kitten uncurling from a nap. << Fuck? Fuck fuck? >> Can dragons read? Maybe it wasn't just those big-eyed tricks the dragonet picked up from her rider.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Ysavaeth's gown-like sleeves get drawn back, pulled so they might grace the top of her head like a veil. Or a shroud. Or something all fluttery and cute so her only her eyes peek out in their big jewel-like manner. << Iolene says those words shouldn't be used very often. But she won't explain how you can have a flying fuck. >> Apparently, in the interim, she's learned what fuck might mean and perhaps chooses not to question, if that sort of brow-pinched vocal timbre infused in her bell-like voice is any indication. The flying part, however, is of interest.
Dragon> A little bit tartly, Isath's response is clear enough: << /You/ will have a flying fuck. All of you will. One day. But now is not the time for that. >> (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth hovers over his treasured book protectively, lest Isath try to take it away. HIS! << Emme says without flying fucks, we would not be here! >> he adds, ever the helpful dragonet. << She also says I should not use my favorite word in this book. >> he mourns, countenance drooping some. A sand dune topples over somewhere, burying him and his pouty face.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Ysavaeth draws on that tartness and absorbs it, allowing it to sour the bells in her mind just a smidgeon. << /I/, >> she says, drawing up all her little queenliness about her in an all too pierceable mantle of mockable youth, << Will not! Iolene says it is for making babies and that everyone gets fat when they have babies. I won't. I won't. >> She refuses. She might even stomp her not-so-little physical legs to help punctuate her toddler petulance.
Isath> Ysavaeth stompstomp. For now, Rhazekth's tail is completely forgotten.
Isath> Rhazekth just seems happy that someone else wants to use these forbidden words with him. << I will share the book with you. >> he decides. Because, she swears. And because it's totally adorable the way she is stomping around.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Isath can't help it: she laughs, rustling leaves enhancing the sensation. << Oh, little one, you /will/, >> she tells Ysavaeth. << And you'll want to, too. One day. But that is not today, >> which is probably intended to be soothing. << Rhazekth, perhaps that word is better saved for you and your rider. Sharing is... why don't we do something fun? >>
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Vysravth latches on to Rhazekth's acknowledgement that Emme said he shouldn't say it. <> In the distance a metallic groan as machinery awakens. <>
Isath> Can baby dragons be arch? Cause whether or not they are able to, Ysavaeth seems all too willing to pick up on things her rider isn't even capable of, tossing a coy look over her shoulder at Vysravth in a split second pause between her stomping, and flickers her tail at her haughty brown brother. Was it on purpose? It all happened so fast! Because in the next breath she's suddenly turning back to Rhazekth in interest. << Share? What's your favorite word? >> she asks, entreatingly.
Isath> It is rather nice to be in the company of those who appreciate his nwe vast stores of knowledge. Knowing that Isath does not want him to share, and Emme does not thing he *should* share, he sidles up closer to his siblings to try and keep his sharing on a tight band. Being weyrlings still, that kind of control may very well prove inadequate. But, sly, his melodious voice utters an entirely strange, foreign, nonsensical word. << Twatwaffle. >> he delivers, in a tone suggesting this is THE best treasure EVER.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth shifts his attention back and forth, much like a snake weaves its head when the snake charmer is playing his tune. He is distracted for a moment, apparently, and then latches on to Isath's last statement like a moth drawn to flame. << Fun! >> he agrees.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Vysravth encourages his brother on enthusastically, <> Is the rather nonchalant, apparently E'gin is in on the joke. The metallic grinding of gears grows louder.
Dragon> Surprisingly, Isath doesn't /seem/ to have latched on to that shared word: innocence is bliss. At least, that is, until Vysravth's response. Whoops. << Now, now, >> she says, hastily. << Why don't we go for a race in the bowl? It's a /beautiful/ day out there, and I will supervise. >> (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Vysravth mentally sighs. The machine noises stop abruptly leaving an echoing silence in their absence. The fun is over, and he is in no mood for racing, but it didn't sound like a suggestion. Orders. Heavy and long wings lift and spread in an apathetic stretch as he stands. <> Like something to run into, or tear apart.
Dragon> To all Flurry dragons, Rhazekth whistles, low through the reeds. << That IS a good one. When I t... >> he obviously abruptly stops when Isath compleeeetely reroutes them and suggests a race in the bowl. << Being outside is nice. What is racing teaching us, again? >> He sadly doesn't remember. He just knows it's important and Emme is very much encouraging this new activity rather then, well, sharing the swearing.
Dragon> Promptly: << Muscles. We're stretching our muscles out and making them strong so that, one day, we can /fly/. >> Well. Isath can already fly, but let's ignore that for now. Let's also ignore the fact that this exercise must at least in part be all about wearing little dragons out to give big dragons (and riders) some peace. << Perhaps there can be some obstacles. Let's see! >> (Isath to all Flurry dragons)
Rhazekth is ready, willing, and eager to run around the bowl and leap obstacles. Not that he expects to do it very well. But, any new activity is case for joy with him. And following him out of the barracks is his rider, who watches his every movement with continued wonderment. As a pair, they stop when they're clear of the entrance and see Meara waiting. "Hello, Weyrlingmaster."
"Weyrlingmaster." E'gin offers, as he falls in behind Emme, he inclines his head slightly towards his fellow exiler, but he seems rather withdrawn. The states he's been in for the past month or so. Vysravth strolls into the bowl behind E'gin, muscles tightening more than necessary with each step. Has he been working out? No baby, he was born this way.
Mearahas one hand on Isath's leg, fingers spread flat as if by that method she'll make sure as to get the most contact possible. Isath may only just have suggested the race, but one of the other assistants is already setting out obstacles, albeit none that are too difficult for small dragons. "Emme," she greets, with a tip of her head. "Rhazekth." Followed, very soon after, by, "E'gin. Vysravth. And how are we, this morning? Aside from-- inclined towards profanity." That, though, is more for the dragons.
If Vyrsavth starts looking like he's giving birth to a metal object cause he was 'born that way', Rhaz is /so/ outta there. -Ahem-. It would seem that the mirage-like brown dragonet is also clearly unrepentant for his earlier profanity. All knowledge is good knowledge! Even if it causes Emme the occasional pained expression. Like right now. Though she hastily turns it into a slight grin. "We're doing well, ma'am."
E'gin holds his composure, a twiching of shoulder muscles the other indication of restrained laughter, "We're well." His eyes flicker to his strutting lifemate, his eyes gleaming before he lowers them to study the dirt on the ground of the bowl. Vysravth turns to look over his shoulder as the profanity is mentioned, a slow blue whirling of the eyes, eyes which are turned on to the assistants who are setting out obstacles. He studies the obstacles intently, as a beast studies its prey
"Glad to hear it," says Meara, firmly, reluctantly drawing her hand away from Isath so that she can step forward, towards the course in construction. "Each of the obstacles," she explains, "is designed to stretch out different muscles. The thing with this, though, is to be careful: if they begin to feel any tightness," beat. "If /you/ begin to feel any tightness, too, for that matter, get them to stop immediately. Injuries happen, but avoiding them is for the best: they'll be allowed to start gliding soon, and an injury now would put that off. Still, we want to build up their muscles if we can. Questions?"
Emme glances over at E'gin with a bit of a smile, recognizing that shoulder twitch. Though obviously she says absolutely nothing. "Should we check them after each obstacle. Or just try to fel through our link?" she wonders, brow furrowing while she steps forward to give Rhazekth a thorough once over prior to starting anyway. "Wings up, Rhaz." He obligingly lifts, so she can check spars and tendons. And then lowers when se steps back again.
"Vysravth would be plenty pissed he was stopped in a race after every obstacle." E'gin grunts heavily. Still, by the way the boy is starting to fill out one might assume that the pair has been working out together. The brown's wings are raised brawny shoulder muscles buldging as they lift. Stretching he flaps them, a hint of mimicing Rhazekth. E'gin rolls his eyes as the brown lowers his spars. "Tightness. Stop. Got it." Does he?
"After each go round," says Meara, with a shake of the head. "Let them build up speed through the obstacles. But if you feel anything-- stop them immediately. This is serious business: injuries can keep you on the ground for months." Her arms cross beneath her breasts as she regards the weyrlings and their dragons, evaluating them with a carefully appraising glance. "Not too much flapping, Vysravth. Stretch, but don't push. Who wants to go first?"
Competition thy name is Vysravth. "Vys wants to..." E'gin chimes in for the brown who hasn't waited for a response but starts over to Isath, to what is probably the starting line. The boy nods at Meara, "He likes to push himself..." Vysravth lowers his wings reluctantly, there is an abruptness in his movements that suggests irritation with the order. "Which obstacle does he start at?"
Isath stretches out a warm tendril, noting quietly to Vysravth, << In a few more days-- >> She's expressing the sensation of being /airborne/, the wind under her wings even if those wings aren't actually flapping. And hunting, too: a live beast under her talons, dying because of /her/. << Patience, and then it will be your turn. >> But in the obstacle course? It can be his turn first, apparently, because Meara nods, stepping well out of the way as she points out the course: "Get him to be careful. Past Isath, over those logs - just a jump, mind, no wings - and then round the corner. Climb up the wooden blocks, then jump from one boulder to the next. And then back. Stay with him, mentally, E'gin. Feel it. When he's ready."
The sensation of gliding calms Vysravth but it is the hunting that seems to move him. Talons on the end of teach bulky foreleg stretch out subconciously, like a cat dreaming of the hunt, kneading. For that he can wait. Patience. His attention is turned from conquering beasts to conquering feats. E'gin is quiet for a moment, mentally the two walk through the course, then mentally running. Vysravth pacing each jump in the shared conscious of the bowl. There is a nod from E'gin to the weyrlingmaster and the brown is off. Approaching the logs brown hindlegs retract, spring loaded, force released. Perhaps there was something off in their mental collective but his hind foot scrapes along the top log, the log rolls off falling to the ground, he stumbles a few feet, before regaining his footing and starts off for the boxes.
There's something smug in Isath's mental touch at the impact her suggestions have on the brown: smug and content. She lingers - watching, mentally, but not intruding. Her rider is in no rush for the pair to commence their circuit, though as the brown launches into action, she takes in a deep breath: watching, wary, Isath hovering just nearby in case of disaster. The scrape of Vysravth's foot and all that follows draws a /new/ intake of breath, Meara's tone questioning as she says: "He's not hurt? Keep track, E'gin."
Perhaps surprisingly E'gin takes a moment to assess Vysravth before answering, "He's fine..." He trails off as the brown tackles the boxes. He seems less concerned with speed than inflicting as much damage as possible on each box before moving on. Talons tearing into the wooden crates as he conquers them, a movement or two stolen from Isath's hunting. A breath on top, shoulder muscles start to twich but E'gin stops the dragon from his victory show and he descends down the other side.
Meara's quick nod confirms that she's satisfied with E'gin's answer; anyway, she's easily distracted by the damage the brown does to her boxes, her brows raising. She stops herself from actually /saying/ anything, however, stepping forward to meet the brown as he returns. "Well done," she says, quietly, head tilted up to say it: he is, after all, taller than she is at the shoulder, now. "How does he feel, E'gin? Muscles?"
E'gin looks at the weyrlingmaster out of the corner of his eye as she assesses Vysravth's damage to her equipment. He wisely remains silent, stepping behind her as she comes up to the brown. "He's okay, think he might have out down himself a little on those boxes." Vanquishing is hard work after all. "But nothing stiff or tight - Maybe a little sore tomorrow." He pauses to study the woman with a frown, "Are injuries common? Life threatening?"
"Life threatening? Not usually." Meara's gaze is still firmly on Vysravth, though she seems to have accepted E'gin's assessment of the situation. "But common enough. It doesn't take much to sprain or pull muscles and tendons, particularly when they're ones they're not used to using a lot. Wing muscles, for example. That's why they won't be doing more than gliding to begin with. We'll be talking more about common injuries in class these next few sevens, but yes, there are plenty of things that can go wrong."
E'gin's eyes study Vysravth carefully. "Is there anything we should be doing? Exercises? When should he start exercising he wings? Is running okay?" For his part, Vysravth just looks bored. <> Taloned paws slice up an imaginary box in the air. E'gin turns his gaze to Maera with a grin and an apologetic shrug, "I..he..." Has a fascination with chopping up meat? E'gin can't bring himself to say the words. It might be cheaper just to give him a carcass to play with.
"Not for now, no. Just - stay careful. Nothing too strenuous without weyrlingmaster supervision." Meara's smile turns cheerful enough, greeting the shrug without question. Just: "It won't be long, now, before they're hunting properly for themselves, not just tearing the meat off the carcasses. But-- let him take another trip 'round the course, and then take him for a warm bath in the pool by the infirmary." << Higher boxes /later/, >> is Isath's opinion. << Be perfect, this time! >>
<> Vysravth annoyance is only forgetten when the challenge is issued. <
> E'gin seems to give a mental go ahead as the beefy brown darts off. He's a quick learn, leap over logs is timed perfectly. The boxes, previously battered have lost that appeal, speed is the name of the game. Each box is taken in a leap. Victory. A bounce in his step as he dismounts the stack. <
> E'gin nods, "He's a little more sore this time." The brown looks at the male offended. <> But it is clear E'gin has laid down the law, they will follow orders. "To the bath?" Is asked to Meara.
Meara seems satisfied by the circuit, even going so far as to say, "Good work, Vysravth. I think you've earnd a proper bath and oiling." To Egin, she nods, telling him: "Time to call it a day, then. Soak his muscles and keep an eye on them. If any are particularly sore, come and talk to one of the weyrlingmasters. Well done, both of you." It's a dismissal.