Log: Avalanche of Sand?
RL: March 28, 2008.
VR: Day 26, month 10, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a autumn afternoon.
Leova eavesdrops on Melata. A little. And then asks her about Avalanche. Verenth explains to Vrianth about sand.
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr (#565RIJas)
This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand. Dragons love to dive and bathe within the lake's deep waters, enticing their riders to join them for some play; a chilly but refreshing experience. Firelizards frolic above the clear surface, hunting for the small fish that are kept well stocked.
Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way.
The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. The wind drives against the lake's surface, stirring the sand that blankets the ground.
The afternoon has lengthened and lengthened until it's about to slide into sunset. Vrianth has made her newly clean self into a windbreak, her eyes now and again reflecting the others at play but mostly unfocused, thinking her own thoughts and sometimes napping a bit. And she's guarding Leova, of course, who's going through a set of neatly bound hides and occasionally making marks on a slate.
Melata slides off her dragon. Verenth's eyes whirl as he looks around, taking in the lake shore and all the dragons which may be upon it. Melata shakes her head and punches the blue on the shoulder, "Yes, you may go and do whatever." Throwing up his tail, Verenth ambles away to join several other blues who are half in and half out of the water.
Vrianth may not look up from where she's resting, but she senses Verenth's arrival in other ways, and reaches out to touch her occasional playmate's thoughts. Good-humoredly, << Going to swim too? >> (Vrianth to Verenth)
And it's not that Vrianth physically nudges Leova either, but the weyrling does look up from her shelter. Spots the wingleader. After a moment, she sticks her thumb in the hides to mark her place and just watches for a little while.
Verenth bespoke Vrianth with << I will lie in the shallows. That way I will be half in the water and half out of the water. >>
Vrianth senses that Verenth continues, << I will bask in the sun, but also be cool in the water. It is the best of everything. >>
Verenth senses that Vrianth wonders now, << Why not... >> But then Verenth explains for her, and she sends him a little burst of pleasure. Before, that is, taking the thought of Verenth on his stomach and inverting it, so now his belly is floating, his neckridges braced in the sand like a dinghy's keel.
Melata shifts her own attention as her dragon's head turns to regard a Weyrling green on the shore. She does not notice Leova immediately. "Silly flirt of a blue," she mutters outloud to herself.
Vrianth senses that Verenth snorts at the image. << That would not be comfortable. Much better to lie on the sand in the water and be able to scratch yourself there anytime you want. There is little better than belly
scratching. >>
When Verenth looks at Vrianth, Leova looks up at Vrianth too. Which makes for that much more cause to pay attention to the wingleader. So a moment after Melata speaks, Leova's low voice says, "Do you really think so?"
Verenth senses that Vrianth disagrees, but more or less gently so. << Belly rubs. With oil. >> But he had said little better, so she goes on to list dragon parts, her mind a paler green with dreamy imagination or remembrance. << Behind my headknobs, along my wings, between my ridges... >> On and on. And to all she adds, << With oil. >>
Melata startles as an unexpected voice speaks, but manages to hide it well as she 'trips' over some smooth lakeside stones. "Weyrling," she says, continuing with, "Leova. I did not see you there. Yes, my blue is a flirt at times...Verenth may be slowing down from his youth, but he did like to chase the greens, and still does on occasion." Melata brushes a bit of imaginary dust from her vest, then changes the topic, "The Weyrlingmaster have you busy, does he?" She gestures at the hides.
Vrianth senses that Verenth snorts, << You are young. Oil is okay and does smooth the scratches, but sand is very, very nice. >> He imparts the young green an image of the desert outside of Igan, mounds of sand in impressive waves. He then adds himself eeling through the sands, feeling the scratching of sand grains over all his body as he rolls and swims through the sands. << My rider does not like it when I do that too much, though. She says that there is sand for weeks inside our weyr and in her bed. >>
"Wingleader Melata," the weyrling replies, tacking on a salute but otherwise not moving. Just sitting there, with her hides. Which she tugs further onto her lap. "She's awful young." Vrianth doesn't exactly argue this, but she does swish her tail over the sand, its tip leaving a swirl of a pattern, and look away. "Always busy," and Leova continues with the perhaps-dreaded words, "Now that you're here, actually. Got a question." Or two. Or three. She smiles a little.
Verenth senses that Vrianth mulls this over, curious but doubtful. It seems very like Sionath's sea, after all. << I would not want such a thing either. >> She bends her attention to his rider, then, seeking what sense of her she can get through him. And directly.
At the mention of question, there is a momentary flash of pained expression across Melata's face, followed by studied nuetrality. It is much like the expressions one might see in when a Healer tells some child in the lower cavern that a bad tasting medicine is good for them, and there is no getting out of it. Melata nods slightly. "Questions? I will see what I can answer," she says, then tacks on a bit of humor, "and maybe I'll even get them right. It has been a long time since I was a Weyrling and I had to spit back answers to my Weyrlingmaster. I am guessing that some of the things that are asked are the same today as they were for me...and equally never used outside the classes or very hypothetical situations."
Leova keeps her smile, listening, and partway through leans her cheek against Vrianth's leg: not so exhausted as she had been, but tired enough. "Hoping they're not so..." What was the word? "Hypothetical. Just wondering what sorts of formations you like best. For Avalanche. And why them. If that's all right?"
Vrianth senses that Verenth settles himself a bit more into the warmth/cool of lake basking. << You will learn about sand. Sand can get even those itches your rider can never do properly. >> He images the sight of a dragon on his back, vigorously twisting and raising a virtual storm around himself.
Verenth senses that Vrianth says firmly, despite that very distracting image of Verenth's, << My rider can always rub me perfectly. >> No doubt about it. Though she does return to that image, superimposing it upon what she can see of Verenth here and now. Wondering.
Melata answers, "That is alright, but I've a question back to you: what is the situation? Is it a hard wind? Different winds at different altitudes? Is is clear and calm? Is it day or night? All those are factors as to what formations work best...and one has to remember that one's Wing is not the only Wing on Pern. There will be other Wings as well."
Vrianth senses that Verenth snorts, << You are small now. >> Well, smaller than Verenth, anyway. << You will grow, but your rider will always be the same size. Therefore, there will be more of you and not enough of a rider for a proper scratch once you are big. You will not be as big as a brown or a bronze or a gold, but you will be plenty bigger than your rider. Sometimes there are itches that are /everywhere/ and your rider will not have quite enough hands or oil for it, and for /that/ there is sand. >> Verenth is quite adamant about this string of logic.
Verenth lounges in the shallow lake water onto his side. He doesn't go onto his back, not quite, but is defintely no longer on his belly. The now upper two legs wave in the air.
Perhaps in reaction to the touch, perhaps just because, Vrianth blows warm dragon breath into Leova's ear. And though the weyrling tries not to squirm too much, a few moments later she gives up and distracts the young green by rubbing along her jaw. Even if it means losing her place in the hides. Leova does look quickly back at Melata, though, so the wingleader hopefully won't think she's not paying attention. "Your wing, that's what matters right now. Can ask the others about theirs." Which means that she's missing Vrianth's sudden smugness at getting the attention she'd plotted for. Not that her rider isn't an easy mark, when it comes to such things. That rider adds while her dragon's watching Verenth, "Let's say it's a clear day. For starters. Not much wind, pretty well becalmed. Which means that they have to work harder, doesn't it?"
Verenth senses that Vrianth radiates smugness. She is getting rubbed, after all, even if there isn't oil. << She will keep learning, >> the young dragon tells Verenth with a serenity that approaches Bremuth's. Except for the smugness, anyway. But. With warm pleasure for his rolling, she asks, << Now the sand? >>
Melata says, "Yes and no. In the air, it is rarely becalmed, especially over the area that Thread will eventually travel. There are usually thermals for a dragon to take advantage of, and the Flight as a whole will not have to work so hard at chasing down errant threads because everything will be pretty much falling straight down." She pauses and continues. "One thing to know about Avalanche is that there are a bit more blues and greens than some of the other Wings. Because of this, Avalanche is usually stacked high in the Flight - top or next down - when the Fall starts. Up there the mobility of the smaller dragons is a plus. As the Fall continues, Avalanche will move down in the stack as greens and blues tire. There are a few more dragons to Avalanche to compensate for the turnover throughout the Fall, but eventually browns and bronzes are anchoring by the end and Avalanche is down low. However, in the case of a calm day, the Wing is probably going to be arrayed in a pretty much straight line to receive the Fall and stay that way unless conditions change."
Verenth continues to aimless wave legs. Tail tip appears from underwater, waves in the air momentarily, then submerges again.
"Thermals." Leova nods with so much more confidence than when Shanlee had first explained it. She's leaned forward a little, listening closely, while still keeping up with Vrianth's demands. Or, at least, Vrianth hasn't let her know otherwise. "More blues and greens," the younger woman repeats. "Verenth's strengths playing to Avalanche's? Or the other way around? Know you've been a wingleader for a long time." She hesitates. "Seems like it would be hard in a way, having it come straight down. Not being able to see it as well, maybe. But the way you explain moving down in the stack, whole lot easier than understanding it from hides."
Verenth senses that Vrianth's thoughts spark, teasing. << That is not sand. >>
Melata says, "Avalanche was shifted to be heavy in the lighter dragons a long time ago, probably before you were born." She grins slightly at that. "When Fall ended, it was slowly being converted back to a more typical configuration, and then this rogue stuff started and it seemed prudent to return it to its former status of higher manuverability. The Wing is not built around Verenth, but rather the Wing was configured to fill a need. And, yes, I acutally prefer a bit of wind to move the Thread, as opposed to it sleeting down straight. Not /too/ much wind, mind you, for that throws its own complications."
Verenth digs his muzzle into the damp beach and flicks a glob of sandy gravels up the shore in the weyrling green's direction.
It's a good thing for just about everyone, particularly Leova, that the sand-glob lands comfortably short of the dragon who's curled around her. Well aimed, Verenth! Vrianth snorts at it, her eyes sparking green and blue and green again, and raises her head higher. Which does mean she's harder to rub. Leova only glances up for a moment before focusing on Melata again, and she dares to ask with a quick smile, "Were you wingleader then? Which formations do you like for Avalanche, for those strong winds?"
Verenth senses that Vrianth's snort carries through here, too, though not exactly with displeasure. Not what she had in mind, Verenth!
Melata says, "Yes, I was wingleader back then too." She allows the weyrling to do the advanced math that is required to figure out, exactly, how old Melata must be, then. "For the strong winds, I would prefer a vee, although forward or reverse is going to depend upon other factors as well. A vee doesn't spread out as much side-to-side, but it does allow for overlapping fields of flame, which is vital when the clumps are twisting around. You can never have too many eyes in the sky."
Vrianth senses that Verenth radiates his pleasure at a joke well done.
The weyrling nods, once. If it isn't likely that she had been apprised of Melata's Impression date, it still seems to be enough information for her. More importantly, "What kind of factors? Do I remember right, vee's about always in or out, not sideways? And..." Vrianth looks up, though. A heartbeat later, so does Leova, who turns back with a suddenly apologetic, "Sorry. Being called." They scramble.
Verenth rolls to his stomach as there is sudden motion upon the shore.
Melata opens her mouth to respond to the half-asked question, but cannot as Leova scrambles up. "Well," she says, "er...perhaps I can answer it later." From the tone, it seems that Melata may have actually had an enjoyable conversation with a weyrling, against her expectations, even if it was only about formations.
Melata watches the weyrling jog off. She shakes her head and turns slightly to regard Verenth, who has returned to a more relaxed lounging, "No, no...don't bother yourself, you blue lump, I think I can walk to the living cavern." As if the blue was going to bother moving for such a thing, anyway. Melata heads up the hill to the bowl proper.
VR: Day 26, month 10, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a autumn afternoon.
Leova eavesdrops on Melata. A little. And then asks her about Avalanche. Verenth explains to Vrianth about sand.
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr (#565RIJas)
This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand. Dragons love to dive and bathe within the lake's deep waters, enticing their riders to join them for some play; a chilly but refreshing experience. Firelizards frolic above the clear surface, hunting for the small fish that are kept well stocked.
Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way.
The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. The wind drives against the lake's surface, stirring the sand that blankets the ground.
The afternoon has lengthened and lengthened until it's about to slide into sunset. Vrianth has made her newly clean self into a windbreak, her eyes now and again reflecting the others at play but mostly unfocused, thinking her own thoughts and sometimes napping a bit. And she's guarding Leova, of course, who's going through a set of neatly bound hides and occasionally making marks on a slate.
Melata slides off her dragon. Verenth's eyes whirl as he looks around, taking in the lake shore and all the dragons which may be upon it. Melata shakes her head and punches the blue on the shoulder, "Yes, you may go and do whatever." Throwing up his tail, Verenth ambles away to join several other blues who are half in and half out of the water.
Vrianth may not look up from where she's resting, but she senses Verenth's arrival in other ways, and reaches out to touch her occasional playmate's thoughts. Good-humoredly, << Going to swim too? >> (Vrianth to Verenth)
And it's not that Vrianth physically nudges Leova either, but the weyrling does look up from her shelter. Spots the wingleader. After a moment, she sticks her thumb in the hides to mark her place and just watches for a little while.
Verenth bespoke Vrianth with << I will lie in the shallows. That way I will be half in the water and half out of the water. >>
Vrianth senses that Verenth continues, << I will bask in the sun, but also be cool in the water. It is the best of everything. >>
Verenth senses that Vrianth wonders now, << Why not... >> But then Verenth explains for her, and she sends him a little burst of pleasure. Before, that is, taking the thought of Verenth on his stomach and inverting it, so now his belly is floating, his neckridges braced in the sand like a dinghy's keel.
Melata shifts her own attention as her dragon's head turns to regard a Weyrling green on the shore. She does not notice Leova immediately. "Silly flirt of a blue," she mutters outloud to herself.
Vrianth senses that Verenth snorts at the image. << That would not be comfortable. Much better to lie on the sand in the water and be able to scratch yourself there anytime you want. There is little better than belly
scratching. >>
When Verenth looks at Vrianth, Leova looks up at Vrianth too. Which makes for that much more cause to pay attention to the wingleader. So a moment after Melata speaks, Leova's low voice says, "Do you really think so?"
Verenth senses that Vrianth disagrees, but more or less gently so. << Belly rubs. With oil. >> But he had said little better, so she goes on to list dragon parts, her mind a paler green with dreamy imagination or remembrance. << Behind my headknobs, along my wings, between my ridges... >> On and on. And to all she adds, << With oil. >>
Melata startles as an unexpected voice speaks, but manages to hide it well as she 'trips' over some smooth lakeside stones. "Weyrling," she says, continuing with, "Leova. I did not see you there. Yes, my blue is a flirt at times...Verenth may be slowing down from his youth, but he did like to chase the greens, and still does on occasion." Melata brushes a bit of imaginary dust from her vest, then changes the topic, "The Weyrlingmaster have you busy, does he?" She gestures at the hides.
Vrianth senses that Verenth snorts, << You are young. Oil is okay and does smooth the scratches, but sand is very, very nice. >> He imparts the young green an image of the desert outside of Igan, mounds of sand in impressive waves. He then adds himself eeling through the sands, feeling the scratching of sand grains over all his body as he rolls and swims through the sands. << My rider does not like it when I do that too much, though. She says that there is sand for weeks inside our weyr and in her bed. >>
"Wingleader Melata," the weyrling replies, tacking on a salute but otherwise not moving. Just sitting there, with her hides. Which she tugs further onto her lap. "She's awful young." Vrianth doesn't exactly argue this, but she does swish her tail over the sand, its tip leaving a swirl of a pattern, and look away. "Always busy," and Leova continues with the perhaps-dreaded words, "Now that you're here, actually. Got a question." Or two. Or three. She smiles a little.
Verenth senses that Vrianth mulls this over, curious but doubtful. It seems very like Sionath's sea, after all. << I would not want such a thing either. >> She bends her attention to his rider, then, seeking what sense of her she can get through him. And directly.
At the mention of question, there is a momentary flash of pained expression across Melata's face, followed by studied nuetrality. It is much like the expressions one might see in when a Healer tells some child in the lower cavern that a bad tasting medicine is good for them, and there is no getting out of it. Melata nods slightly. "Questions? I will see what I can answer," she says, then tacks on a bit of humor, "and maybe I'll even get them right. It has been a long time since I was a Weyrling and I had to spit back answers to my Weyrlingmaster. I am guessing that some of the things that are asked are the same today as they were for me...and equally never used outside the classes or very hypothetical situations."
Leova keeps her smile, listening, and partway through leans her cheek against Vrianth's leg: not so exhausted as she had been, but tired enough. "Hoping they're not so..." What was the word? "Hypothetical. Just wondering what sorts of formations you like best. For Avalanche. And why them. If that's all right?"
Vrianth senses that Verenth settles himself a bit more into the warmth/cool of lake basking. << You will learn about sand. Sand can get even those itches your rider can never do properly. >> He images the sight of a dragon on his back, vigorously twisting and raising a virtual storm around himself.
Verenth senses that Vrianth says firmly, despite that very distracting image of Verenth's, << My rider can always rub me perfectly. >> No doubt about it. Though she does return to that image, superimposing it upon what she can see of Verenth here and now. Wondering.
Melata answers, "That is alright, but I've a question back to you: what is the situation? Is it a hard wind? Different winds at different altitudes? Is is clear and calm? Is it day or night? All those are factors as to what formations work best...and one has to remember that one's Wing is not the only Wing on Pern. There will be other Wings as well."
Vrianth senses that Verenth snorts, << You are small now. >> Well, smaller than Verenth, anyway. << You will grow, but your rider will always be the same size. Therefore, there will be more of you and not enough of a rider for a proper scratch once you are big. You will not be as big as a brown or a bronze or a gold, but you will be plenty bigger than your rider. Sometimes there are itches that are /everywhere/ and your rider will not have quite enough hands or oil for it, and for /that/ there is sand. >> Verenth is quite adamant about this string of logic.
Verenth lounges in the shallow lake water onto his side. He doesn't go onto his back, not quite, but is defintely no longer on his belly. The now upper two legs wave in the air.
Perhaps in reaction to the touch, perhaps just because, Vrianth blows warm dragon breath into Leova's ear. And though the weyrling tries not to squirm too much, a few moments later she gives up and distracts the young green by rubbing along her jaw. Even if it means losing her place in the hides. Leova does look quickly back at Melata, though, so the wingleader hopefully won't think she's not paying attention. "Your wing, that's what matters right now. Can ask the others about theirs." Which means that she's missing Vrianth's sudden smugness at getting the attention she'd plotted for. Not that her rider isn't an easy mark, when it comes to such things. That rider adds while her dragon's watching Verenth, "Let's say it's a clear day. For starters. Not much wind, pretty well becalmed. Which means that they have to work harder, doesn't it?"
Verenth senses that Vrianth radiates smugness. She is getting rubbed, after all, even if there isn't oil. << She will keep learning, >> the young dragon tells Verenth with a serenity that approaches Bremuth's. Except for the smugness, anyway. But. With warm pleasure for his rolling, she asks, << Now the sand? >>
Melata says, "Yes and no. In the air, it is rarely becalmed, especially over the area that Thread will eventually travel. There are usually thermals for a dragon to take advantage of, and the Flight as a whole will not have to work so hard at chasing down errant threads because everything will be pretty much falling straight down." She pauses and continues. "One thing to know about Avalanche is that there are a bit more blues and greens than some of the other Wings. Because of this, Avalanche is usually stacked high in the Flight - top or next down - when the Fall starts. Up there the mobility of the smaller dragons is a plus. As the Fall continues, Avalanche will move down in the stack as greens and blues tire. There are a few more dragons to Avalanche to compensate for the turnover throughout the Fall, but eventually browns and bronzes are anchoring by the end and Avalanche is down low. However, in the case of a calm day, the Wing is probably going to be arrayed in a pretty much straight line to receive the Fall and stay that way unless conditions change."
Verenth continues to aimless wave legs. Tail tip appears from underwater, waves in the air momentarily, then submerges again.
"Thermals." Leova nods with so much more confidence than when Shanlee had first explained it. She's leaned forward a little, listening closely, while still keeping up with Vrianth's demands. Or, at least, Vrianth hasn't let her know otherwise. "More blues and greens," the younger woman repeats. "Verenth's strengths playing to Avalanche's? Or the other way around? Know you've been a wingleader for a long time." She hesitates. "Seems like it would be hard in a way, having it come straight down. Not being able to see it as well, maybe. But the way you explain moving down in the stack, whole lot easier than understanding it from hides."
Verenth senses that Vrianth's thoughts spark, teasing. << That is not sand. >>
Melata says, "Avalanche was shifted to be heavy in the lighter dragons a long time ago, probably before you were born." She grins slightly at that. "When Fall ended, it was slowly being converted back to a more typical configuration, and then this rogue stuff started and it seemed prudent to return it to its former status of higher manuverability. The Wing is not built around Verenth, but rather the Wing was configured to fill a need. And, yes, I acutally prefer a bit of wind to move the Thread, as opposed to it sleeting down straight. Not /too/ much wind, mind you, for that throws its own complications."
Verenth digs his muzzle into the damp beach and flicks a glob of sandy gravels up the shore in the weyrling green's direction.
It's a good thing for just about everyone, particularly Leova, that the sand-glob lands comfortably short of the dragon who's curled around her. Well aimed, Verenth! Vrianth snorts at it, her eyes sparking green and blue and green again, and raises her head higher. Which does mean she's harder to rub. Leova only glances up for a moment before focusing on Melata again, and she dares to ask with a quick smile, "Were you wingleader then? Which formations do you like for Avalanche, for those strong winds?"
Verenth senses that Vrianth's snort carries through here, too, though not exactly with displeasure. Not what she had in mind, Verenth!
Melata says, "Yes, I was wingleader back then too." She allows the weyrling to do the advanced math that is required to figure out, exactly, how old Melata must be, then. "For the strong winds, I would prefer a vee, although forward or reverse is going to depend upon other factors as well. A vee doesn't spread out as much side-to-side, but it does allow for overlapping fields of flame, which is vital when the clumps are twisting around. You can never have too many eyes in the sky."
Vrianth senses that Verenth radiates his pleasure at a joke well done.
The weyrling nods, once. If it isn't likely that she had been apprised of Melata's Impression date, it still seems to be enough information for her. More importantly, "What kind of factors? Do I remember right, vee's about always in or out, not sideways? And..." Vrianth looks up, though. A heartbeat later, so does Leova, who turns back with a suddenly apologetic, "Sorry. Being called." They scramble.
Verenth rolls to his stomach as there is sudden motion upon the shore.
Melata opens her mouth to respond to the half-asked question, but cannot as Leova scrambles up. "Well," she says, "er...perhaps I can answer it later." From the tone, it seems that Melata may have actually had an enjoyable conversation with a weyrling, against her expectations, even if it was only about formations.
Melata watches the weyrling jog off. She shakes her head and turns slightly to regard Verenth, who has returned to a more relaxed lounging, "No, no...don't bother yourself, you blue lump, I think I can walk to the living cavern." As if the blue was going to bother moving for such a thing, anyway. Melata heads up the hill to the bowl proper.