LOG: Bigger, Faster, Stronger
Date: Day 19, Month 9, Turn 26
Location: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Dragons - young and less young - enjoy the mud. Their riders talk.
Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.
Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today.
The rain has been so heavy, today, that gliding practice for weyrlings has been cancelled: it's just not safe. Officially, the time is supposed to be spent catching up on /other/ work, but for many, it's an unexpected holiday, and a much appreciated one. For the rest of the weyr, life goes on as normal, and Avalanche is just breaking from drills-- wet, sodden, miserable, most of them. Not Cadejoth, who is having a /wonderful/ time squishing through puddles and getting himself right royally dirty. K'del, turning away from his Wingsecond, aims a long glance at the bronze, head shaking over and over again.
Despite the lackadaisical attitude several of his clutchmates have taken to the day, when E'gin and Vysravth come into view from the Western Bowl it is at a jog. Their pace, while slow enough to accommodate for the slick and muddy ground, is hard enough that they are both out of breath. Slowing to a stop as they approach the splashing bronze and rider, E'gin salutes, "Weyrleader." A glance is given to Cadejoth, and a grin back to his rider. "He bathe himself after that?" The boy pushes stray hair from his face.
"Oh no," is K'del's remark: he's smiling, despite himself, and snapping a firm nod at the weyrling in response to that salute. "He'll require me to do it: proper, deep scrub, too. Autumn and spring, my old bathing nemesises. Or whatever." The rest of the wing is dispersing rapidly, heading for the (dry, warm) indoors, their dragons for the comfort of home, or perhaps warm soaks somewhere outside the weyr. K'del, however, tips his chin towards Vysravth. "He's looking good."
E'gin chuckles softly and shakes his head, "Well, there's always summer and winter then." The weyrling watches as the remnants of the group dart for different and dryer places, before glancing back at Vysravth who seems -for now - content with watching the older dragon. The comment seems to take him by surprise, but he grins a bit of pride shining through. "We're trying to stay ahead, have to admit I feel like we're at a bit of a disadvantage 'cause we're not from around here." A shrug, indication of a few lessons learned in the barracks, "Gotta stay, bigger, faster, stronger or the whole weyr will think we're failures."
/Squelch/ goes the mud as Cadejoth shifts to get a better look at the brown, encouraging him closer with an overenthusiastic rumble: << It's /fun/. Mud. Mud must be new to you! I should teach you. >> K'del meets that grin with one of his own, running gloved fingers through his rain-damp hair. "It's clearly paying off. I-- get it, you know? I wasn't from around here, either, and felt like I had to prove stuff. But if you work hard, and keep at it... eventually, people do take notice. In my experience, anyway." Beat. "Anyway, you don't look much like failures from here."
Judging by the way Sforzath wrecks havoc in the mud, barreling this way and that with a maelstrom of physical frustration that sends mud clumps flying (preferably onto other dragons), the little brown isn't having a good day. He tantrums loudly, vociferously, a lava flow of aggravation in violent smoke-heavy reds that flares with a loud, persistent pulse. Headache causing; Riorde has a pinched, strained expression as she follow him as he storms around, now turning towards Cadejoth and his bigger brother with every intention of splattering mud all over them. "Sforzath, stop," she says for the millionth time, for all the good it does.
It might have taken some encouraging from E'gin but Vysravth makes his way towards the bronze - and the mud. <> A heavy talon is dipped into a puddle with some trepidation. The boy listens to the weyrleader quietly for a moment, his gaze on the 'frolicking' dragons. "I apprecia..." But his words stop mid sentence as chunks of mud fly through the air splattering across his pale brown's hide, giving Vysravth the appearance of poka-dots, he gasps to choke back the laughter. Vys isn't pleased, <> A glance to Riorde and E'gin offers a greeting, "Ri? Everything okay?"
<< It goes /squish/, >> explains Cadejoth, as if this should make everything crystal clear. More like clear as mud. If he intended to say more on the subject, that's postponed as he adds, gloryingly, << Oy! You're not supposed to do that, Sforzath. Let me get you first! >> He'll try and flick some more mud at the brown, too. K'del makes a face as the mud goes flying, but whatever his feelings about Riorde, it's sympathy that he aims towards the weyrling. "You look /awful/," he says, simply.
What answer Sforzath gives is inchoate: plumes of billowing ash, a sulphuric stink. A little more mud courtesy of Cadejoth doesn't bother him in the least; he's already filthy. Having made his first pass, Sforzath swerves round to have a second go and redoubles his efforts to dirty the other dragons, a contemptuously see-here, you think you can tell me what to do attitude. "Sforzath!" Riorde yells this time, coming to a halt by the other two, her waning energy initially targeted at her dragon. Then: "Sorry." It has an automatic sense about it, along with her chagrin. Her glance goes to K'del, accompanied by a grimace -- doesn't she know it -- but it's E'gin she replies to verbally. "He wanted to fly today."
Well, if you can't be 'em join 'em right? Or at least make them /think/ you've joined them until you can -destroy- them. Vysravth turns his backside to his clutchmate and the bronze. Half-heartedly flicking little bits of mud into the air, his tail (if one is watching closely) twitches every now and then, waiting, biding its time. Until just as Sforzath is making is second pass, the larger brown's tail lifts and slams against a puddle of mud. <> Vys asks innocently, as he watches his handy work sail through the air. "Yah, Vys been asking to do that since week one." E'gin smile lopsidely at Riodre and their shared experience. "Then some gold showed him what it was like, in his mind, now he just dreams about it, but he hasn't tried since."
<< /That/, >> says Cadejoth to Sforzath, adding in the sharp crack of a metallic whip - an order, nothing less. << Is quite enough of that. Sit still, Sforzath. >> It means he's not really prepared for Vysravth's tail-slamming: mud rains down, though at least Cadejoth is big enough that it doesn't go /everywhere/. Despite the seriousness he showcases for Sforzath, there's a twitch of amusement for the other brown. << Like that, >> he agrees, solemn. "Yeah, guess Meara thought better of gliding today?" K'del's glance skywards is apologetic; he must intended to aim it towards the weyrlings, though. As if he has control over the weather. "Maybe it'll clear by tomorrow. Pretty soon they'll be doing /real/ flying."
Vysravth's efforts drench Riorde's brown, but he's already a disaster and cares not a whit. if anything, there's a brief surge of satisfaction for his disruptive influence. But with Cadejoth's command, Sforzath comes to a sudden and abrupt halt, forced into obedience. It doesn't mean he's cowed, though. His smoky presence turns into a muskier shroud intended to cloak the quieter, more sullen throb of resistance. He affects indifference in a complete about-face: << What? >> Riorde looks grateful that someone's managed to stop her dragon's rampage when she couldn't; control doesn't appear to be her strong point. "He doesn't like having to wait," she confides, statement applicable both to today's no-gliding and tomorrow's short flight.
Vysravth is above the influence, at least he likes to think so, concerned now only with perfecting his technique. He sits, quietly, curling his tail around himself, considering the water, which is re-gathering where he had previously cleared it. <> In the distance a machine awakens, groaning to life. E'gin watches his exile clutchmate with a nod, "I tried to stay one step ahead of him, it is easier to stop them before they get started, eventually he got use to listening." A slow grin spreads across his face, "Took a while to get the hang of it though..." She knows.
There's a twist of metal chains, just out of reach, evidently intended to encourage Sforzath into a /game/, and not a tantrum. Cadejoth sends more mud about, too, answering Vysravth with a thoughtful: << Maybe. Probably. You could give it a try! >> "Most of them don't, at that age. It's-- hard. Learning to control them." K'del's trying not to look at Riorde too much; he's probably afraid of pissing her off by accident. "It all takes a long time to get used to - practice helps, eventually. Cadejoth used to drive me mad, but we worked it out, eventually."
Where Sforzath was riotous before, now he's still, gathering an almost eerie calm. Cadejoth's flicked chain garners a lightening bolt flash of perception, quick-quick, closely attentive despite an overall pretense to have wearied with them all. With Sforzath's incensed temper reined in, Riorde has attention to spare, and now she lifts both hands to her temples, drawing tight circles to combat what can only be a pounding headache. "Some days are better than others." Riorde won't be thought a total failure.
"I think we all feel that way." E'gin runs a hand through his sopping hair, as soon as it is through it clings back against the skin of his face. In the middle of the driving rain Vysravth raises his tail, yet again, a few slow practice swings before the battering ram of a tail is smashed against the ground at a steepe angle. A mud tidal wave flies off the right of the dragons. <> Large gears begin to turn behind the twisted chains. "I'm sure the good days get closer and closer together as time goes on...probably comes with more sleep too."
Cadejoth's got an eye on Sforzath, for all that calm: his tail goes flick, flick, flick in the mud. The rest of his attention is on Vysravth and that tidal wave of mud-- which seems to excite him no end. << Look at that! It's so pretty. K'del says it can't be, because it's mud, but we know better, right? And after mud... /baths/. >> "Mm, that seems the way of it," is K'del's agreement; there's a hint of fond memory to it, as though he's recalling his own weyrlinghood days. "At least once they're more reliably in the air it keeps them busier. That helps, I think. Gives them more to focus on. Formations, too."
"A full night's sleep," Riorde echoes, allowing herself a moment to be wistful. "I've forgotten what that's like." Then she drops her hands and straightens perceptibly, shoulders thrown back as she marches towards Sforzath and quite possibly into battle. At least she times it after Vysravth's tail smack and manages to avoid a mud bath. "Right, you. Time for a bath," she declares in unwitting echo of Cadejoth. She nudges Sforzath with her toe, which propels him into movement that coincides with a sharp, twanging flick of Cadejoth's chains. Bright anticipation: did he see it coming? Did he, did he? "See you later," she calls back, probably to E'gin; K'del's inclusion is an effect of proximity.
"It will happen, I'm sure." E'gin says, while shaking his head at Vysravth. A hand it raised as the girl walks off, "Later." He smiles slightly, the smaller brown already seems a little more under control. He glances sideways at K'del, "It will all get better with time." A reassurance for the sleeplessness of weyrlinghood, and whatever the weyrlingmaster must be going through. "When do they start really flying? I mean I know the 'answer' on paper, but really."
K'del's brow furrows, watching after Riorde, but he doesn't do much more than nod in her direction before his attention goes back to E'gin. "It /will/ happen," he confirms. "And sooner rather than later." He wipes rain off of his face again, but doesn't, ultimately, seem too concerned by the weather: once you're wet through already... "Soon, I think. They must be nearly three months old? It sort of starts after that. Looking like he does, too, reckon he'd probably be /ready/ to fly sooner rather than later. So that's good."
"Yah, three months in about a week I think." E'gin shifts his weight, sinking into the mud as his mass is settled to one side, "Hard to keep track of time." He gives a nod to K'del with a chuckle, "Well, we'd work harder but Meara scared the crap out of us. Strained muscles, pulled things, months extra on the ground...We'll pass on that."
K'del makes a face, apparently a genuine one, at mention of Meara's dire stories. "She's right about that-- it can be pretty awful. 'least you're doing the right thing by Vysravth." He's approving, somehow, nodding his head several times quickly as he speaks. "Before you know it, though, they'll be in the air. And soon after that, you will be. And after that, you start getting-- freedom, I guess. Your own weyrs. It's a good period, really." Cadejoth sticks a paw into the mud to make it go squelch again, letting out a low rumble of contentment - which makes K'del laugh. "But it's all good, really."
"We want to do this right." E'gin sets his jaw slightly, "Seems like you put yourself out on a limb for us, we ought to at least not make you look like a fool." Vysravth tries to imitate the bronze, but picks a spot with too much water, instead of the squelching noise, he gets a muzzle full of water. He snorts, trying to get the liquid out of his nose. "Freedom? Yes, yes I suppose we can't all fit in the same place when they are big." This new idea festers in his mind for a minute, "What will our jobs be?" Clearly, some of them will be too old to join a craft, especially with a dragon distracting them. "I mean, we have to earn our keep right." A smile is directed to the weyrleader.
That particular attitude seems to earn more of K'del's approval: he looks genuinely pleased. "Glad you think of it that way," he says, mildly, though it could well be an understatement of what he's actually feeling. "Right - there won't be room, after a while. Particularly if the other queens go up at any point." Jobs? It twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Guess it depends where your aptitudes end up being. Some riders do search and rescue; some do diplomacy; some do just sweeps and drills. There're options. But everyone pulls their weight, one way or another." Cadejoth's chains jangle, amusedly. << Careful there, Vysravth! >>
"If another gold goes up?" The exile pauses for a second before the meaning sinks in, "Oh! You mean if there are more eggs." Catching on to the lingo makes E'gin feel like he's in with the popular kids, "Just sweeps and drills?" The word just is echoed back as the boy repeats the weyrleader, mumbling softly, "..won't do." A smirk spreads across his face as he snorts, "An islander doing diplomacy for the weyr?" A mischevious grin curls his lips upwards as he plays that scene out in his head. "So it just depends on how well we do? You realize I can't settle for anything you put the word 'just' in front of." The tone of the words is light and with a hint of joking as the grin is turned towards the weyrleader.
K'del looks faintly abashed and apologetic, as though he'd completely failed to realise that his words might not instantly mean something to the islander. He does, however, grin at what the brownrider says next. "Noted," is his amused reply. "Guess we'll have to find something of interest for you, then. Good to see someone thinking ahead, working out how they're going to fit in." And integrate. A very important step. The rain keeps plastering his hair down his cheeks and neck, and finally, now, K'del sighs. "Ought to get Cadejoth washed up and indoors before /I/ end up coming down with something. Will see you around, E'gin, okay? Look in occasionally." On the weyrlings? On E'gin in particular?
"It would all seem pretty unbareable if I didn't think we were going to fit in sometime." E'gin crosses his arms and nods. As the bronzerider starts to head out he looks back towards the weyrling area with a frown but uncrosses his arms long enough to wave, and nod in agreement, "Yah, see you around." Recrossing his arms he seems content enough to watch his brown attempt to recreate the squishing noise in the mud.
Silence, for a long moment. "Wouldn't it," agrees K'del, easily, though not without the faintest hint of meaning to it-- albeit probably not aimed at the weyrling. "Later, E'gin. Cadejoth? Come /on/." Off they go.
Location: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Dragons - young and less young - enjoy the mud. Their riders talk.
Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.
Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today.
The rain has been so heavy, today, that gliding practice for weyrlings has been cancelled: it's just not safe. Officially, the time is supposed to be spent catching up on /other/ work, but for many, it's an unexpected holiday, and a much appreciated one. For the rest of the weyr, life goes on as normal, and Avalanche is just breaking from drills-- wet, sodden, miserable, most of them. Not Cadejoth, who is having a /wonderful/ time squishing through puddles and getting himself right royally dirty. K'del, turning away from his Wingsecond, aims a long glance at the bronze, head shaking over and over again.
Despite the lackadaisical attitude several of his clutchmates have taken to the day, when E'gin and Vysravth come into view from the Western Bowl it is at a jog. Their pace, while slow enough to accommodate for the slick and muddy ground, is hard enough that they are both out of breath. Slowing to a stop as they approach the splashing bronze and rider, E'gin salutes, "Weyrleader." A glance is given to Cadejoth, and a grin back to his rider. "He bathe himself after that?" The boy pushes stray hair from his face.
"Oh no," is K'del's remark: he's smiling, despite himself, and snapping a firm nod at the weyrling in response to that salute. "He'll require me to do it: proper, deep scrub, too. Autumn and spring, my old bathing nemesises. Or whatever." The rest of the wing is dispersing rapidly, heading for the (dry, warm) indoors, their dragons for the comfort of home, or perhaps warm soaks somewhere outside the weyr. K'del, however, tips his chin towards Vysravth. "He's looking good."
E'gin chuckles softly and shakes his head, "Well, there's always summer and winter then." The weyrling watches as the remnants of the group dart for different and dryer places, before glancing back at Vysravth who seems -for now - content with watching the older dragon. The comment seems to take him by surprise, but he grins a bit of pride shining through. "We're trying to stay ahead, have to admit I feel like we're at a bit of a disadvantage 'cause we're not from around here." A shrug, indication of a few lessons learned in the barracks, "Gotta stay, bigger, faster, stronger or the whole weyr will think we're failures."
/Squelch/ goes the mud as Cadejoth shifts to get a better look at the brown, encouraging him closer with an overenthusiastic rumble: << It's /fun/. Mud. Mud must be new to you! I should teach you. >> K'del meets that grin with one of his own, running gloved fingers through his rain-damp hair. "It's clearly paying off. I-- get it, you know? I wasn't from around here, either, and felt like I had to prove stuff. But if you work hard, and keep at it... eventually, people do take notice. In my experience, anyway." Beat. "Anyway, you don't look much like failures from here."
Judging by the way Sforzath wrecks havoc in the mud, barreling this way and that with a maelstrom of physical frustration that sends mud clumps flying (preferably onto other dragons), the little brown isn't having a good day. He tantrums loudly, vociferously, a lava flow of aggravation in violent smoke-heavy reds that flares with a loud, persistent pulse. Headache causing; Riorde has a pinched, strained expression as she follow him as he storms around, now turning towards Cadejoth and his bigger brother with every intention of splattering mud all over them. "Sforzath, stop," she says for the millionth time, for all the good it does.
It might have taken some encouraging from E'gin but Vysravth makes his way towards the bronze - and the mud. <> A heavy talon is dipped into a puddle with some trepidation. The boy listens to the weyrleader quietly for a moment, his gaze on the 'frolicking' dragons. "I apprecia..." But his words stop mid sentence as chunks of mud fly through the air splattering across his pale brown's hide, giving Vysravth the appearance of poka-dots, he gasps to choke back the laughter. Vys isn't pleased, <> A glance to Riorde and E'gin offers a greeting, "Ri? Everything okay?"
<< It goes /squish/, >> explains Cadejoth, as if this should make everything crystal clear. More like clear as mud. If he intended to say more on the subject, that's postponed as he adds, gloryingly, << Oy! You're not supposed to do that, Sforzath. Let me get you first! >> He'll try and flick some more mud at the brown, too. K'del makes a face as the mud goes flying, but whatever his feelings about Riorde, it's sympathy that he aims towards the weyrling. "You look /awful/," he says, simply.
What answer Sforzath gives is inchoate: plumes of billowing ash, a sulphuric stink. A little more mud courtesy of Cadejoth doesn't bother him in the least; he's already filthy. Having made his first pass, Sforzath swerves round to have a second go and redoubles his efforts to dirty the other dragons, a contemptuously see-here, you think you can tell me what to do attitude. "Sforzath!" Riorde yells this time, coming to a halt by the other two, her waning energy initially targeted at her dragon. Then: "Sorry." It has an automatic sense about it, along with her chagrin. Her glance goes to K'del, accompanied by a grimace -- doesn't she know it -- but it's E'gin she replies to verbally. "He wanted to fly today."
Well, if you can't be 'em join 'em right? Or at least make them /think/ you've joined them until you can -destroy- them. Vysravth turns his backside to his clutchmate and the bronze. Half-heartedly flicking little bits of mud into the air, his tail (if one is watching closely) twitches every now and then, waiting, biding its time. Until just as Sforzath is making is second pass, the larger brown's tail lifts and slams against a puddle of mud. <> Vys asks innocently, as he watches his handy work sail through the air. "Yah, Vys been asking to do that since week one." E'gin smile lopsidely at Riodre and their shared experience. "Then some gold showed him what it was like, in his mind, now he just dreams about it, but he hasn't tried since."
<< /That/, >> says Cadejoth to Sforzath, adding in the sharp crack of a metallic whip - an order, nothing less. << Is quite enough of that. Sit still, Sforzath. >> It means he's not really prepared for Vysravth's tail-slamming: mud rains down, though at least Cadejoth is big enough that it doesn't go /everywhere/. Despite the seriousness he showcases for Sforzath, there's a twitch of amusement for the other brown. << Like that, >> he agrees, solemn. "Yeah, guess Meara thought better of gliding today?" K'del's glance skywards is apologetic; he must intended to aim it towards the weyrlings, though. As if he has control over the weather. "Maybe it'll clear by tomorrow. Pretty soon they'll be doing /real/ flying."
Vysravth's efforts drench Riorde's brown, but he's already a disaster and cares not a whit. if anything, there's a brief surge of satisfaction for his disruptive influence. But with Cadejoth's command, Sforzath comes to a sudden and abrupt halt, forced into obedience. It doesn't mean he's cowed, though. His smoky presence turns into a muskier shroud intended to cloak the quieter, more sullen throb of resistance. He affects indifference in a complete about-face: << What? >> Riorde looks grateful that someone's managed to stop her dragon's rampage when she couldn't; control doesn't appear to be her strong point. "He doesn't like having to wait," she confides, statement applicable both to today's no-gliding and tomorrow's short flight.
Vysravth is above the influence, at least he likes to think so, concerned now only with perfecting his technique. He sits, quietly, curling his tail around himself, considering the water, which is re-gathering where he had previously cleared it. <> In the distance a machine awakens, groaning to life. E'gin watches his exile clutchmate with a nod, "I tried to stay one step ahead of him, it is easier to stop them before they get started, eventually he got use to listening." A slow grin spreads across his face, "Took a while to get the hang of it though..." She knows.
There's a twist of metal chains, just out of reach, evidently intended to encourage Sforzath into a /game/, and not a tantrum. Cadejoth sends more mud about, too, answering Vysravth with a thoughtful: << Maybe. Probably. You could give it a try! >> "Most of them don't, at that age. It's-- hard. Learning to control them." K'del's trying not to look at Riorde too much; he's probably afraid of pissing her off by accident. "It all takes a long time to get used to - practice helps, eventually. Cadejoth used to drive me mad, but we worked it out, eventually."
Where Sforzath was riotous before, now he's still, gathering an almost eerie calm. Cadejoth's flicked chain garners a lightening bolt flash of perception, quick-quick, closely attentive despite an overall pretense to have wearied with them all. With Sforzath's incensed temper reined in, Riorde has attention to spare, and now she lifts both hands to her temples, drawing tight circles to combat what can only be a pounding headache. "Some days are better than others." Riorde won't be thought a total failure.
"I think we all feel that way." E'gin runs a hand through his sopping hair, as soon as it is through it clings back against the skin of his face. In the middle of the driving rain Vysravth raises his tail, yet again, a few slow practice swings before the battering ram of a tail is smashed against the ground at a steepe angle. A mud tidal wave flies off the right of the dragons. <> Large gears begin to turn behind the twisted chains. "I'm sure the good days get closer and closer together as time goes on...probably comes with more sleep too."
Cadejoth's got an eye on Sforzath, for all that calm: his tail goes flick, flick, flick in the mud. The rest of his attention is on Vysravth and that tidal wave of mud-- which seems to excite him no end. << Look at that! It's so pretty. K'del says it can't be, because it's mud, but we know better, right? And after mud... /baths/. >> "Mm, that seems the way of it," is K'del's agreement; there's a hint of fond memory to it, as though he's recalling his own weyrlinghood days. "At least once they're more reliably in the air it keeps them busier. That helps, I think. Gives them more to focus on. Formations, too."
"A full night's sleep," Riorde echoes, allowing herself a moment to be wistful. "I've forgotten what that's like." Then she drops her hands and straightens perceptibly, shoulders thrown back as she marches towards Sforzath and quite possibly into battle. At least she times it after Vysravth's tail smack and manages to avoid a mud bath. "Right, you. Time for a bath," she declares in unwitting echo of Cadejoth. She nudges Sforzath with her toe, which propels him into movement that coincides with a sharp, twanging flick of Cadejoth's chains. Bright anticipation: did he see it coming? Did he, did he? "See you later," she calls back, probably to E'gin; K'del's inclusion is an effect of proximity.
"It will happen, I'm sure." E'gin says, while shaking his head at Vysravth. A hand it raised as the girl walks off, "Later." He smiles slightly, the smaller brown already seems a little more under control. He glances sideways at K'del, "It will all get better with time." A reassurance for the sleeplessness of weyrlinghood, and whatever the weyrlingmaster must be going through. "When do they start really flying? I mean I know the 'answer' on paper, but really."
K'del's brow furrows, watching after Riorde, but he doesn't do much more than nod in her direction before his attention goes back to E'gin. "It /will/ happen," he confirms. "And sooner rather than later." He wipes rain off of his face again, but doesn't, ultimately, seem too concerned by the weather: once you're wet through already... "Soon, I think. They must be nearly three months old? It sort of starts after that. Looking like he does, too, reckon he'd probably be /ready/ to fly sooner rather than later. So that's good."
"Yah, three months in about a week I think." E'gin shifts his weight, sinking into the mud as his mass is settled to one side, "Hard to keep track of time." He gives a nod to K'del with a chuckle, "Well, we'd work harder but Meara scared the crap out of us. Strained muscles, pulled things, months extra on the ground...We'll pass on that."
K'del makes a face, apparently a genuine one, at mention of Meara's dire stories. "She's right about that-- it can be pretty awful. 'least you're doing the right thing by Vysravth." He's approving, somehow, nodding his head several times quickly as he speaks. "Before you know it, though, they'll be in the air. And soon after that, you will be. And after that, you start getting-- freedom, I guess. Your own weyrs. It's a good period, really." Cadejoth sticks a paw into the mud to make it go squelch again, letting out a low rumble of contentment - which makes K'del laugh. "But it's all good, really."
"We want to do this right." E'gin sets his jaw slightly, "Seems like you put yourself out on a limb for us, we ought to at least not make you look like a fool." Vysravth tries to imitate the bronze, but picks a spot with too much water, instead of the squelching noise, he gets a muzzle full of water. He snorts, trying to get the liquid out of his nose. "Freedom? Yes, yes I suppose we can't all fit in the same place when they are big." This new idea festers in his mind for a minute, "What will our jobs be?" Clearly, some of them will be too old to join a craft, especially with a dragon distracting them. "I mean, we have to earn our keep right." A smile is directed to the weyrleader.
That particular attitude seems to earn more of K'del's approval: he looks genuinely pleased. "Glad you think of it that way," he says, mildly, though it could well be an understatement of what he's actually feeling. "Right - there won't be room, after a while. Particularly if the other queens go up at any point." Jobs? It twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Guess it depends where your aptitudes end up being. Some riders do search and rescue; some do diplomacy; some do just sweeps and drills. There're options. But everyone pulls their weight, one way or another." Cadejoth's chains jangle, amusedly. << Careful there, Vysravth! >>
"If another gold goes up?" The exile pauses for a second before the meaning sinks in, "Oh! You mean if there are more eggs." Catching on to the lingo makes E'gin feel like he's in with the popular kids, "Just sweeps and drills?" The word just is echoed back as the boy repeats the weyrleader, mumbling softly, "..won't do." A smirk spreads across his face as he snorts, "An islander doing diplomacy for the weyr?" A mischevious grin curls his lips upwards as he plays that scene out in his head. "So it just depends on how well we do? You realize I can't settle for anything you put the word 'just' in front of." The tone of the words is light and with a hint of joking as the grin is turned towards the weyrleader.
K'del looks faintly abashed and apologetic, as though he'd completely failed to realise that his words might not instantly mean something to the islander. He does, however, grin at what the brownrider says next. "Noted," is his amused reply. "Guess we'll have to find something of interest for you, then. Good to see someone thinking ahead, working out how they're going to fit in." And integrate. A very important step. The rain keeps plastering his hair down his cheeks and neck, and finally, now, K'del sighs. "Ought to get Cadejoth washed up and indoors before /I/ end up coming down with something. Will see you around, E'gin, okay? Look in occasionally." On the weyrlings? On E'gin in particular?
"It would all seem pretty unbareable if I didn't think we were going to fit in sometime." E'gin crosses his arms and nods. As the bronzerider starts to head out he looks back towards the weyrling area with a frown but uncrosses his arms long enough to wave, and nod in agreement, "Yah, see you around." Recrossing his arms he seems content enough to watch his brown attempt to recreate the squishing noise in the mud.
Silence, for a long moment. "Wouldn't it," agrees K'del, easily, though not without the faintest hint of meaning to it-- albeit probably not aimed at the weyrling. "Later, E'gin. Cadejoth? Come /on/." Off they go.