Log: A Little Bit of Jaireth In The Night
RL: March 22, 2008.
VR: Day 31, month 9, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a autumn evening.
Vrianth does not sleep. She encounters Jaireth instead.
Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr (#530RIJs$)
This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked.
On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which.
It's late. The glows are all but gone. Vrianth is awake. Her Leova's mind is restless and dreaming and muddled and Vrianth has had enough of roaming around in her dreams. Her Leova had fallen asleep on one of the soft places that she calls couches that is not the same as Vrianth's own couch, nor Masoth's nor Hroxeth's. It is closer to the cot of Bremuth's with its padding though it does not have blankets, just the dead leather with its black marks that her Leova had been trying to keep in her mind.
It is not as easy as it used to be to get into the room with the stone tables to sit on and the stone tables to make marks on and the couch-that-is-not-a-proper-couch that her Leova sleeps on. The room has gotten smaller also, Vrianth feels. Still, though she is large for her kind, much larger than Iesuth, much of it is length. And she can be careful with her wings. And (Vrianth feels) she is very clever. She will fit.
So she does. She nestles her head very carefully in her Leova's lap, dislodging the piece of dead leather to the floor, keeping her Leova warm in the warm night. But she does not yet sleep.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth explores. Out of nowhere comes a sense of home: as it is now, dark-skied and bright-starred with a single moon. No wind. Unusual heat. Evening and restlessness and one of the young ones, Vrianth. Reaching out. Finding... someone?
Vrianth senses that Jaireth awakes to the explore with a hot blast of desert air. The unfamiliar touch is examined suspiciously, and this aspect seems to be one not of him and more of his rider. Gruff, << Should be sleepin', young buck, >> he sends, letting just a smidge of curiosity enter as to the goal she seeks.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth's half-blown away on that blast, at least until she learns to shape herself to it, to ride it higher. Momentarily she's reminded of /thermals/, the concept appearing out of nowhere and as quickly flown. Upon her return, her sending is gravelly-warm, its hint of twang perhaps reminiscent of her sire's. << What is this "buck"? >> Sleep? Who needs it!
Vrianth senses that Jaireth shows no warmth or approval, the winds turning heavy and coarse for a few moments before subsiding. << Yer a buck, >> he answers that one easily - and an image of a very young herdbeast is sent, following pliantly after its mother in emphasis. Whether he does this in joke or not, his humor is hard to tell.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth doesn't seem to be buying it, whatever it is. Her reflected image gives the herdbeast wings and fangs, standing protectively over another who sleeps and does not sleep well, before it vanishes. And so does she. Disinterest, likely. Greener pastures. Still... quite some time later comes the question, the sending only words now but still in that gravelly tone, << What do you do? >>
Vrianth senses that Jaireth seems let the image sent linger between them before it changes: much smaller wings, no fangs, and settled right next to the other - sleep. << I fly, >> comes his deep answer, couched with a boldness that once again is reflected from another source. << What do -you- do? >>
Jaireth senses that Vrianth does not sleep. Does not address the image. What she does is arrow towards the source of his answer, an electrical arc that seeks the nature of what is /him/ and what is this other. /Him./
Vrianth senses that Jaireth shows faint amusement, the kind that borders on mockery. << Not yet, >> he sends, letting the warm desert wind buffet her. Then, rather abruptly his presence changes - it's more neutral than mocking as he adds << Mine sends greetings, >> he adds on now, not emphasizing on the message.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth goes silent as the wind beats her back, just a single surge of displeasure or dismay: de-nied! Young as she is, she still has a lot to learn about managing such things. But, young as she is, she also won't be shut down for long. << Greetings. >> It's a little uncertain, with her lifemate not right there to back her up.
Vrianth senses that Jaireth feels the displeasure with satisfaction, but it's short-lived. The return response gets added the image of his dark-skinned rider, adding a brief << He'd like to see you and yours soon, >> along with an image of the Reachian lake shore.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth sparks light off talons: she'd slap that satisfaction if she could. Even so, with so much else quiet around her restless self... << I will tell her. >> When she wakes. If she remembers.
Vrianth senses that Jaireth subsides finally - or perhaps withdraws. He seems satisfied enough with her answer, the desert winds fading along with the coarse feeling that comes in dealing with him.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth lets herself drift along with the withdrawal, very small, not demanding at all. Not at the moment. Perhaps not even perceptible: what are a few more grains of sand on the desert winds?
Still Vrianth does not sleep. She sees where the winds, and then their lack, take her. She explores. And in the morning she will decide what to tell and what not to tell. If she remembers.
VR: Day 31, month 9, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a autumn evening.
Vrianth does not sleep. She encounters Jaireth instead.
Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr (#530RIJs$)
This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked.
On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which.
It's late. The glows are all but gone. Vrianth is awake. Her Leova's mind is restless and dreaming and muddled and Vrianth has had enough of roaming around in her dreams. Her Leova had fallen asleep on one of the soft places that she calls couches that is not the same as Vrianth's own couch, nor Masoth's nor Hroxeth's. It is closer to the cot of Bremuth's with its padding though it does not have blankets, just the dead leather with its black marks that her Leova had been trying to keep in her mind.
It is not as easy as it used to be to get into the room with the stone tables to sit on and the stone tables to make marks on and the couch-that-is-not-a-proper-couch that her Leova sleeps on. The room has gotten smaller also, Vrianth feels. Still, though she is large for her kind, much larger than Iesuth, much of it is length. And she can be careful with her wings. And (Vrianth feels) she is very clever. She will fit.
So she does. She nestles her head very carefully in her Leova's lap, dislodging the piece of dead leather to the floor, keeping her Leova warm in the warm night. But she does not yet sleep.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth explores. Out of nowhere comes a sense of home: as it is now, dark-skied and bright-starred with a single moon. No wind. Unusual heat. Evening and restlessness and one of the young ones, Vrianth. Reaching out. Finding... someone?
Vrianth senses that Jaireth awakes to the explore with a hot blast of desert air. The unfamiliar touch is examined suspiciously, and this aspect seems to be one not of him and more of his rider. Gruff, << Should be sleepin', young buck, >> he sends, letting just a smidge of curiosity enter as to the goal she seeks.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth's half-blown away on that blast, at least until she learns to shape herself to it, to ride it higher. Momentarily she's reminded of /thermals/, the concept appearing out of nowhere and as quickly flown. Upon her return, her sending is gravelly-warm, its hint of twang perhaps reminiscent of her sire's. << What is this "buck"? >> Sleep? Who needs it!
Vrianth senses that Jaireth shows no warmth or approval, the winds turning heavy and coarse for a few moments before subsiding. << Yer a buck, >> he answers that one easily - and an image of a very young herdbeast is sent, following pliantly after its mother in emphasis. Whether he does this in joke or not, his humor is hard to tell.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth doesn't seem to be buying it, whatever it is. Her reflected image gives the herdbeast wings and fangs, standing protectively over another who sleeps and does not sleep well, before it vanishes. And so does she. Disinterest, likely. Greener pastures. Still... quite some time later comes the question, the sending only words now but still in that gravelly tone, << What do you do? >>
Vrianth senses that Jaireth seems let the image sent linger between them before it changes: much smaller wings, no fangs, and settled right next to the other - sleep. << I fly, >> comes his deep answer, couched with a boldness that once again is reflected from another source. << What do -you- do? >>
Jaireth senses that Vrianth does not sleep. Does not address the image. What she does is arrow towards the source of his answer, an electrical arc that seeks the nature of what is /him/ and what is this other. /Him./
Vrianth senses that Jaireth shows faint amusement, the kind that borders on mockery. << Not yet, >> he sends, letting the warm desert wind buffet her. Then, rather abruptly his presence changes - it's more neutral than mocking as he adds << Mine sends greetings, >> he adds on now, not emphasizing on the message.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth goes silent as the wind beats her back, just a single surge of displeasure or dismay: de-nied! Young as she is, she still has a lot to learn about managing such things. But, young as she is, she also won't be shut down for long. << Greetings. >> It's a little uncertain, with her lifemate not right there to back her up.
Vrianth senses that Jaireth feels the displeasure with satisfaction, but it's short-lived. The return response gets added the image of his dark-skinned rider, adding a brief << He'd like to see you and yours soon, >> along with an image of the Reachian lake shore.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth sparks light off talons: she'd slap that satisfaction if she could. Even so, with so much else quiet around her restless self... << I will tell her. >> When she wakes. If she remembers.
Vrianth senses that Jaireth subsides finally - or perhaps withdraws. He seems satisfied enough with her answer, the desert winds fading along with the coarse feeling that comes in dealing with him.
Jaireth senses that Vrianth lets herself drift along with the withdrawal, very small, not demanding at all. Not at the moment. Perhaps not even perceptible: what are a few more grains of sand on the desert winds?
Still Vrianth does not sleep. She sees where the winds, and then their lack, take her. She explores. And in the morning she will decide what to tell and what not to tell. If she remembers.