LOG: They Are Interesting. But Not Real.
Date: Day 16, Month 2, Turn 18
Synopsis: Vrianth checks in Cadejoth, and shares a secret.
Dragon> She's a current of awareness, of attention, heading his way as she has now and again over the last sevendays. << Cadejoth. >> It could be a whisper, but there's nothing furtive about it. Just quietness: is he awake? (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> << Hello, Vrianth. >> His response comes quickly, as solid in mind as he is thin-boned in body - and with his own current to it, the zing of electric /aliveness/, the rasp of metal on metal. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> She draws on that zing, the energy akin to hers. Tastes it. Could send it back, but doesn't. Yet. What she does share is a wordless sense of presence, of stone that blocks all the wind except that which sweeps by her extended muzzle, the scents of stone and distant trees and snow. And dragons, many dragons, but that's not what she's focusing on now. His turn. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth examines those senses, exploring them, though not in great depth: he is not a deep-thinking, reflective dragon, after all. In response, he shares the half-dark of the barracks, the rustle and thud of moving dragons, the clean, warm scent of the pages being read by K'del, who flashes into view just briefly - a hunched figure, leaning low over a nearby glow. There is, too, a sense of caging: he /yearns/ for the beyond.
Dragon> For that exploring, there's more to find: the sense of the nearby blue, versus the bronze, the other green. Stone and snow and soil, too. The warmth lifts along that hunched back as though it could unknot him into a stretch. << Where do you want to go? Cadejoth. >> Anywhere. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth leans in, awake with the aliveness of it all - the soil, becoming visible once more, the stone, the beginning-to-melt snow. Without intending to, his answer is a repetition, told with feeling. << Anywhere. I want to /see/, Vrianth, and /do/. I want to see the places K'del reads about. >> Unspoken: weariness, with all the reading, all the do-nothingness. Impatience. Tail flicking, flicking, constant flicking.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Vrianth can focus even more closely: ice-crusted soil held within stones, her stones, stones of which she is possessive indeed: oval ones, set as a framework to supplement the mountain's bones. << What he reads. Does it make pictures for you? In his mind? >> And there's some sympathy there: she will not say that it will be /soon/. But if she could, she would.
Dragon> Curiosity ripples through Cadejoth's mind at these stones, Vrianth's stones, set just so - stones that are not part of the mountain, but still... But his mind does not stay still enough to cogitate too hard on this. << He does, >> he confirms, a hint of sulky despite this admission. << And they are interesting. But not real. >> /Real/. There's a nasal note to his voice, here, a whine. Not good enough. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> << We made them. >> Perhaps not the stones themselves, but their orientation, the way they /stay/. And: << Not real, >> Vrianth agrees, for all that she filters away some of that whine, and doesn't quite hide that she's doing it. << Not yet. >> Not helping, perhaps. She seeks something that might: << Your exercises. You are doing them? So your wings will be strong enough. >> So that he can fly, a true dragon at last. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> << /Made/ them. >> This does impress Cadejoth, who considers the stones with more interest, now. He's aware of her filtering, conscious enough to perhaps pull that tone back from his voice, just a little, when he speaks again. << No, not yet. But it is a /long time/ before it will be real, isn't it? >> The clanking of his chains is not quite bad tempered, but - he is pouting. << I am. >> Resigned. << My wings will be strong. And I am still thin, so I'm light. That's good, right? >> Fly: he projects an image of himself, in flight, proud. /Yes/. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> This time, Vrianth doesn't provide details unasked-for, just a pulse of energy that's assent and pride wrapped up into one, with the more shared pleasure for his being impressed that way. And for pulling back that tone from his voice, even if it is just a little. Brave Cadejoth! Rather than reply to the /long time/ just yet, << Light, not-light, as long as you are strong enough. That is what matters. >> Is her Secath light? Zunaeth, flickering flame in her thoughts? But then, her voice dropping hushed as a whisper for him alone, << And it will be a long time. Before you can go /there/. But before you fly... >> They're different, those times, though she doesn't explain why. Nor does she explain, yet, the sudden taste of not-so-long or maybe even /soon/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Brave! Yes, Cadejoth likes this, and he /is/ brave, and strong, and smart (hasn't K'del said so, after all? And K'del is always correct). But it's better for Vrianth thinking so, too. << Strong. Then I will make sure I am. We will fly so far, and so fast! >> It takes him a moment to digest this last suggestion, a querying note, then a growing - glowing! - realisation, until his thoughts positively thrum with this vague, amorphous hope of /soon/. << How soon? >> He puts it into words, grasping for the concept with both paws. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Does she find that certainty, that excitement endearing from the still-little dragon? If she does, she keeps it to herself, aside from the underpinnings of electric humor that could be accounted for in other ways. << Very fast, >> Vrianth agrees, and there may also be an indulgent note amid the anticipation, however sincere. Shaping that glow around the two of them, << Can you try, Cadejoth? To keep it to yourself. >> To not tell the other dragons. And if he does, she'll /know/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth, positively a-thrum with his own excitement, could be forgiven for missing altogether Vrianth's humor, let alone any suspicion that it might be aimed at him - there are solid things to consider, like flying, and these interest him far more. << Yes, yes, yes, >> he promises, words energetic, syllables bounding after one another, and a deep promise set in to them. Vrianth is a Superior, a Mentor, part-leader of his pack - if she asks, the unspoken, unreferenced implication in his touch indicates, he will do anything at all.
Dragon> And he gets a warm rush of approval for it, heady with her electric sense of self: Vrianth does not ask for Cadejoth to succeed-or-else, only that he /try/. << In the next sevenday, >> she tells him, the time reference borrowed surely from her rider, one that might take /his/ rider to interpret. << Or two. So it should be. >> No guarantee. But that's the way it should be, the right-with-the-world, the /plan/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Like many children, Cadejoth positively preens in that approval, all but prancing - it's a given that his tail is tapping at the floor faster than ever, in the barracks, no doubt driving his rider positively mental. << /Soon/,>> he repeats, well pleased, after a moment's pause in which he digs up this fact from, presumably, K'del. << I will be patient. In case. >> But excited, too, a metallic zing singing through him, the taste of metal in the air. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Such a zing! << Soon, >> Vrianth repeats, and there's a sense of sooner-the-better. And then, right as she adds, << We will teach you, >> another impulse strikes her. << Unless... /Zunaeth/ chooses to do so first. You might watch him. >> Stalk him? << Show him that you are ready. >> And, at least to her, the older bronze has an appeal all his own: the shared protectiveness, the patience, the glimpse of now-distant what-had-been turned over and over to remember, herself-and-rider (and rider!) drafting after him on some unnamed adventure. The humor. And the hearthfire that she, at least, can enter and not burn. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth is instantly entranced by this idea, projecting an image - with a question mark to reassure that it is, in fact, a good one - of himself, stretching wings out, doing little hops, more stretches, so strong and big! He has respect for Zunaeth, too, another leader of his pack, though his impression of the bronze is more distant - but then, Vrianth is here and now, and that matters. His consciousness flicks some amount of vague interest at this unnamed adventure - but his mind is overwhelmed with the imagined sensation of flight, too much so to be truly interested.
Dragon> << /Just/ like that, >> and Vrianth tucks away her vision-of-Zunaeth to radiate that much more approval for Cadejoth, along with the sense that /that/ is something he can do when he's feeling twitchy. Something he can practice to get even stronger, and who knows, even bigger. Half as afterthought, << Only, you must be careful with your wings. >> No wings? No flying! And then, all at once, she lets him feel wind along hide as she abandons her ledge and flings herself out into the sky. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Something to do? While K'del is /reading/! It's like the idea strikes with a thunderbolt, helped along by Vrianth, of course, but partly Cadejoth's own, too. << Like that. But not actually /beating/ wings, right. Because I want to actually fly, properly.>> But: /oh/. His reaction to flight is, though he can't know it, much the same as K'del's, and his mind arches forward to embrace the sensation, the rightness, the quiet yesyesyes, filling him. Ah. Yes. << /Right/. >> (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> He gets a Cadejoth-sized spark for it, too, burning like the sun. And for the fun of it, as well as for that reaction of his, Vrianth takes a turn around the Spindles under Belior's just-past-full light. Upward, fast but not too fast, certain. Around, quick and dexterous. Down... gliding, gliding, taking all the time she can before landing at last before her rider, to bring her Leova home. All that, and a last pulse of energy that might as well be, /good night/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth holds on to every movement, holds tight, until that last pulse of energy. Then, he releases, drawing back to himself with a final zing of his own - more muted, now, though, for sleep is coming to him, too. Good night.
Synopsis: Vrianth checks in Cadejoth, and shares a secret.
Dragon> She's a current of awareness, of attention, heading his way as she has now and again over the last sevendays. << Cadejoth. >> It could be a whisper, but there's nothing furtive about it. Just quietness: is he awake? (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> << Hello, Vrianth. >> His response comes quickly, as solid in mind as he is thin-boned in body - and with his own current to it, the zing of electric /aliveness/, the rasp of metal on metal. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> She draws on that zing, the energy akin to hers. Tastes it. Could send it back, but doesn't. Yet. What she does share is a wordless sense of presence, of stone that blocks all the wind except that which sweeps by her extended muzzle, the scents of stone and distant trees and snow. And dragons, many dragons, but that's not what she's focusing on now. His turn. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth examines those senses, exploring them, though not in great depth: he is not a deep-thinking, reflective dragon, after all. In response, he shares the half-dark of the barracks, the rustle and thud of moving dragons, the clean, warm scent of the pages being read by K'del, who flashes into view just briefly - a hunched figure, leaning low over a nearby glow. There is, too, a sense of caging: he /yearns/ for the beyond.
Dragon> For that exploring, there's more to find: the sense of the nearby blue, versus the bronze, the other green. Stone and snow and soil, too. The warmth lifts along that hunched back as though it could unknot him into a stretch. << Where do you want to go? Cadejoth. >> Anywhere. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth leans in, awake with the aliveness of it all - the soil, becoming visible once more, the stone, the beginning-to-melt snow. Without intending to, his answer is a repetition, told with feeling. << Anywhere. I want to /see/, Vrianth, and /do/. I want to see the places K'del reads about. >> Unspoken: weariness, with all the reading, all the do-nothingness. Impatience. Tail flicking, flicking, constant flicking.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Vrianth can focus even more closely: ice-crusted soil held within stones, her stones, stones of which she is possessive indeed: oval ones, set as a framework to supplement the mountain's bones. << What he reads. Does it make pictures for you? In his mind? >> And there's some sympathy there: she will not say that it will be /soon/. But if she could, she would.
Dragon> Curiosity ripples through Cadejoth's mind at these stones, Vrianth's stones, set just so - stones that are not part of the mountain, but still... But his mind does not stay still enough to cogitate too hard on this. << He does, >> he confirms, a hint of sulky despite this admission. << And they are interesting. But not real. >> /Real/. There's a nasal note to his voice, here, a whine. Not good enough. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> << We made them. >> Perhaps not the stones themselves, but their orientation, the way they /stay/. And: << Not real, >> Vrianth agrees, for all that she filters away some of that whine, and doesn't quite hide that she's doing it. << Not yet. >> Not helping, perhaps. She seeks something that might: << Your exercises. You are doing them? So your wings will be strong enough. >> So that he can fly, a true dragon at last. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> << /Made/ them. >> This does impress Cadejoth, who considers the stones with more interest, now. He's aware of her filtering, conscious enough to perhaps pull that tone back from his voice, just a little, when he speaks again. << No, not yet. But it is a /long time/ before it will be real, isn't it? >> The clanking of his chains is not quite bad tempered, but - he is pouting. << I am. >> Resigned. << My wings will be strong. And I am still thin, so I'm light. That's good, right? >> Fly: he projects an image of himself, in flight, proud. /Yes/. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> This time, Vrianth doesn't provide details unasked-for, just a pulse of energy that's assent and pride wrapped up into one, with the more shared pleasure for his being impressed that way. And for pulling back that tone from his voice, even if it is just a little. Brave Cadejoth! Rather than reply to the /long time/ just yet, << Light, not-light, as long as you are strong enough. That is what matters. >> Is her Secath light? Zunaeth, flickering flame in her thoughts? But then, her voice dropping hushed as a whisper for him alone, << And it will be a long time. Before you can go /there/. But before you fly... >> They're different, those times, though she doesn't explain why. Nor does she explain, yet, the sudden taste of not-so-long or maybe even /soon/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Brave! Yes, Cadejoth likes this, and he /is/ brave, and strong, and smart (hasn't K'del said so, after all? And K'del is always correct). But it's better for Vrianth thinking so, too. << Strong. Then I will make sure I am. We will fly so far, and so fast! >> It takes him a moment to digest this last suggestion, a querying note, then a growing - glowing! - realisation, until his thoughts positively thrum with this vague, amorphous hope of /soon/. << How soon? >> He puts it into words, grasping for the concept with both paws. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Does she find that certainty, that excitement endearing from the still-little dragon? If she does, she keeps it to herself, aside from the underpinnings of electric humor that could be accounted for in other ways. << Very fast, >> Vrianth agrees, and there may also be an indulgent note amid the anticipation, however sincere. Shaping that glow around the two of them, << Can you try, Cadejoth? To keep it to yourself. >> To not tell the other dragons. And if he does, she'll /know/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth, positively a-thrum with his own excitement, could be forgiven for missing altogether Vrianth's humor, let alone any suspicion that it might be aimed at him - there are solid things to consider, like flying, and these interest him far more. << Yes, yes, yes, >> he promises, words energetic, syllables bounding after one another, and a deep promise set in to them. Vrianth is a Superior, a Mentor, part-leader of his pack - if she asks, the unspoken, unreferenced implication in his touch indicates, he will do anything at all.
Dragon> And he gets a warm rush of approval for it, heady with her electric sense of self: Vrianth does not ask for Cadejoth to succeed-or-else, only that he /try/. << In the next sevenday, >> she tells him, the time reference borrowed surely from her rider, one that might take /his/ rider to interpret. << Or two. So it should be. >> No guarantee. But that's the way it should be, the right-with-the-world, the /plan/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Like many children, Cadejoth positively preens in that approval, all but prancing - it's a given that his tail is tapping at the floor faster than ever, in the barracks, no doubt driving his rider positively mental. << /Soon/,>> he repeats, well pleased, after a moment's pause in which he digs up this fact from, presumably, K'del. << I will be patient. In case. >> But excited, too, a metallic zing singing through him, the taste of metal in the air. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Such a zing! << Soon, >> Vrianth repeats, and there's a sense of sooner-the-better. And then, right as she adds, << We will teach you, >> another impulse strikes her. << Unless... /Zunaeth/ chooses to do so first. You might watch him. >> Stalk him? << Show him that you are ready. >> And, at least to her, the older bronze has an appeal all his own: the shared protectiveness, the patience, the glimpse of now-distant what-had-been turned over and over to remember, herself-and-rider (and rider!) drafting after him on some unnamed adventure. The humor. And the hearthfire that she, at least, can enter and not burn. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth is instantly entranced by this idea, projecting an image - with a question mark to reassure that it is, in fact, a good one - of himself, stretching wings out, doing little hops, more stretches, so strong and big! He has respect for Zunaeth, too, another leader of his pack, though his impression of the bronze is more distant - but then, Vrianth is here and now, and that matters. His consciousness flicks some amount of vague interest at this unnamed adventure - but his mind is overwhelmed with the imagined sensation of flight, too much so to be truly interested.
Dragon> << /Just/ like that, >> and Vrianth tucks away her vision-of-Zunaeth to radiate that much more approval for Cadejoth, along with the sense that /that/ is something he can do when he's feeling twitchy. Something he can practice to get even stronger, and who knows, even bigger. Half as afterthought, << Only, you must be careful with your wings. >> No wings? No flying! And then, all at once, she lets him feel wind along hide as she abandons her ledge and flings herself out into the sky. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Something to do? While K'del is /reading/! It's like the idea strikes with a thunderbolt, helped along by Vrianth, of course, but partly Cadejoth's own, too. << Like that. But not actually /beating/ wings, right. Because I want to actually fly, properly.>> But: /oh/. His reaction to flight is, though he can't know it, much the same as K'del's, and his mind arches forward to embrace the sensation, the rightness, the quiet yesyesyes, filling him. Ah. Yes. << /Right/. >> (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> He gets a Cadejoth-sized spark for it, too, burning like the sun. And for the fun of it, as well as for that reaction of his, Vrianth takes a turn around the Spindles under Belior's just-past-full light. Upward, fast but not too fast, certain. Around, quick and dexterous. Down... gliding, gliding, taking all the time she can before landing at last before her rider, to bring her Leova home. All that, and a last pulse of energy that might as well be, /good night/. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Vrianth, Cadejoth holds on to every movement, holds tight, until that last pulse of energy. Then, he releases, drawing back to himself with a final zing of his own - more muted, now, though, for sleep is coming to him, too. Good night.