Log: Big Felines, Little Felines, and Meeting Mecaith.
RL: April 18, 2008.
VR: Day 26, month 1, Turn 16, of the Interval. It is a winter morning.
Vrianth talks to Talurith and meets Mecaith.
This is the sort of thing that can occupy Vrianth when she's up on the Star Stones during a meeting and the adults are busy napping, posturing, or anything else that doesn't include her. Today she talks to Talurith about the felines she couldn't find at Ista, followed by Mecaith when she sees him pass by overhead.
Talurith senses that Vrianth thinks of Ista. Thinks of, << Talurith. >> And there comes a sudden spark, << We were there. Your felines were not. Were you hiding them? >>
Vrianth senses that Talurith's voice sparkles with amusement as he replies with an image of deep in Ista's forests. << They were hiding, >> he explains, and adds a tiny bit of a movement to the image, which becomes a dusky-coloured feline emerging. << They're very good at it. >>
Talurith senses that Vrianth's focus narrows to the felines: hard to tell in the dimness if they're truly the ones with the purple stripes or not. For the moment she seems to accept his explanation. << Why would they hide? I would not bite them. >> A moment later, << At least, not right at first. Are they tasty? >>
Wide sand-blasted wings spread wide, angle Mecaith's body up into the afternoon sunlight and into the sky. Higher and higher they go, the Telgari bronze gaining more height than is strictly necessay for going Between and in fact lingers above Reaches' distinctive Bowl for a few seconds before he vanishes. Someone likes to admire from on high it seems, whether dragon or rider, is unclear. (Mecaith to Vrianth)
Vrianth senses that Talurith says, << They always hide. They are afraid of us and the humans - like herdbeasts are. But they will attack, out of fear. >> A feline leaps across his image now, gleaming claws extended, to land on some unfortunate small mammal. << They are, >> the bronze answers the next question wistfully. << But we do not hunt them often. Their hides are worth a lot, R'layn tells me, though we have little use for them here. >>
Below, not within the Bowl itself but perched on the Rim, is a presence that notices him before he's altogether vanished. That notices his lingering to observe, even for just moments, rather than being up and gone like so many do. A moment later he's flashed with the image: his flight through sunlight, the contrast making those wide wings dark against the brilliant sky. (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Talurith senses Vrianth superimposes, on a questioning note, a black feline that appears huge at first, then small when shown against a human boot. << Kaylith has such a one. But without the stripes. >> Still working on scale. And that jungle: << How do you fit, inside there? Would it not poke your wings? >>
Vrianth senses that Talurith considers that tiny feline with intrigue. << Like a fire-lizard - a pet? >> He projects an image of the black feline sat on a man's shoulder. << Will it become as big as one of our felines? >> As to the jungle query: << We chase them from above the trees, until they reach somewhere where we can get in. People chase them on the ground, too. >> The thought of a hunt has him sounding excited. << It's very fun. >>
Talurith senses Vrianth promptly wonders, << How big are your felines? >> If she knew, she seems to have forgotten. << I shall ask her. >> If she remembers. Her mind is still for a few moments, touched by a vista of emerald green, air that's heavy and warm. Sticky. She hesitates again. << So the people who chase them on the ground do the actual hunting, until the very end. The felines should not be afraid of you if you cannot get to them. >>
Vrianth senses that Mecaith is at some distance when that touch comes, the image taken in with a soft, dry rustle of sandgrains to make room for it. The response when it comes might be considered breathtaking by some: a panorama of lush jungle opening out far below, emerald green in spite of the season, the air heavy and warm against the bronze dragon's muzzle. His shadow obscures treetops in rapid succession as he and his rider fly on, about whatever business it is that they have. << Good day, >> polite, sonorous the wind blowing in the desert, rearranging sand dunes a grain at a time, slipping up against Vrianth to take her measure.
Vrianth senses that Talurith can only describe that visually, and so he does: first by showing R'layn in crisp detail, then adding a feline, shoulders reaching his rider's hip level. For good measure, he puts the black feline in by his rider's boot. << I have seen bigger ones, but we cannot usually kill them, >> he adds. He sends a feeling of gratitude for Vrianth's offer to ask Kaylith, before replying to the young green's next words. << They hate the smell of us, like the runnerbeasts, so they run away. They do not know that we can't reach them, I think. They are silly creatures, like the herdbeasts. But dangerous. >> That's added in a somewhat darker tone, the sparkle in his voice disappearing momentarily.
It's a perspective shift: down through his eyes, instead of up through her own. She takes it in, such heavy warm air, air that threatens to be sticky, air that would feel even more so if he flew less swiftly. When at last she does speak, her gravelly voice is subtly female rather than feminine and, more importantly, touched by a restrained curiosity. << What makes it so? >> What he shows her, is that enough to please him? (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Talurith senses Vrianth's thoughts click together, marbles or even sharper rocks noting that comparison of size. And then she takes that image, removing the larger feline and substituting a woman for his rider: not her rider, it's more blurry than that, made even more petite and given that much more red hair than Kaylith's rider already has. << Mmm. Herdbeasts. >> But she has eaten just recently, and that darkness catches at her curiosity. << How dangerous? Tell me, Talurith. >>
The scent of that jungle comes next, heady with the blended smells of growing things, flowers, fruit, mingling with the deeper aroma of earth and water hidden below. Light pressure where his rider's legs straddle his neck a fresh wash of wind from the sea carrying the faintest undertone of salt. << This. Flying together in a place that we love. Seeing a side of it we have not seen before. Discovering. Exploring. Being. >> A little pause follows in which a pattern is formed in his mental sands, connections, circles intertwining, ripples forming spreading outward. << A story to tell at the end of the day, to share. >> His own tone continues measured and thoughtful, calm, slowly spinning the thoughts outward to her. (Mecaith to Vrianth)
She's faster to take these sensations from him, these concepts, even his words than he is to give them, to the point that his last phrase gets a slight tug on the end before he's quite done. What returns to him might be odd: a similar pattern to that in his sandy mindscape, but cast in water. Not her natural thoughts, those. The sense of familiarity is, though, and the sudden humor-ridden spark that she lights them with. << And so solemn about it. >> Perception rather than complaint. (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Vrianth senses that Talurith sharpens up that image, adding a face to the rider - just a made-up face, no rider he knows - and giving them metal bracelets and a necklace of shells. He seems pleased with the result. << very, >> the dragon says as to the matter of felines. He feels like he's taking a deep breath, but seems reluctant to provide any illustrative images. He settles for comparison, using the fact that Vrianth has recently eaten as a basis. << Like we kill herdbeasts, they can kill humans. >> Now he resorts to imagery, giving the view from a dragon's eyes, swooping down on a bovine, claws tearing its back; biting into its neck. Darkness touches the edges of that view.
Talurith senses Vrianth doesn't protest the alterations, and even moves closer to toy with the bracelets and shells to see if they clatter. But she never gets there. Instead, and this while nudging at his reluctance to see if it can be budged, she fixes on the rest of what he shows her. Swooping. Rending. It's an image she can sink her teeth into until, << Not our humans. >> It's very precise. Very definite. Such is the substance of Vrianth's belief. And rather than have it be shaken, she disappears.
Vrianth senses that Mecaith continues to take his time with those responses. Each coming to her full formed without any hesitation once they do arrive, backed with certainty of fact or knowledge or feeling. The return of the pattern though, piques his interest and there's a sense of him examining it very closely, tracing the lines. This time he melds the two, water, sand, the patterns going muddy and mixed for a moment, then smoothing out like waves pulling back from the beach and leaving a slick satin surface for writing. The traces are sharper here, cast in relief by stark sunlight. Not where he is now. The other sands, the one his mind is made up of rustle with return humor. << I am what I am. >>
Vrianth senses that Talurith agrees firmly. << Never our humans. >> As simple as that; the underlying, eternal need to protect one's rider. And then Vrianth is gone as quickly as that, leaving Talurith to his thoughts.
It's enough to intrigue her, what Mecaith does with this, particularly where mud becomes wave-slicked sand. She holds it for a moment. Moves to press shapes into the satiny substance that might be the curve of a long neck, a longer tail, still more becoming angles for wings and other things. Symbols, perhaps, if one could read them. << As well you should be, >> she returns then, humor upped a notch. Then two. And last there's an electric burst of light that could be blinding, leaving him with just the afterimage. She's gone. (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Vrianth senses Mecaith observes again, tucking the symbols away somewhere that he'll remember them, to bring out and look at more later, trying to sort out the pattern behind them. << Indeed. >> Simple agreement, and still that little rustle of laughter to match hers in the background. The burst of light is almost too much though. He has to channel it here and there, the afterimage lingering long. He leaves behind just a single grain of sand gleaming in that light before the connection is broken: still winging away over endless miles of jungle.
VR: Day 26, month 1, Turn 16, of the Interval. It is a winter morning.
Vrianth talks to Talurith and meets Mecaith.
This is the sort of thing that can occupy Vrianth when she's up on the Star Stones during a meeting and the adults are busy napping, posturing, or anything else that doesn't include her. Today she talks to Talurith about the felines she couldn't find at Ista, followed by Mecaith when she sees him pass by overhead.
Talurith senses that Vrianth thinks of Ista. Thinks of, << Talurith. >> And there comes a sudden spark, << We were there. Your felines were not. Were you hiding them? >>
Vrianth senses that Talurith's voice sparkles with amusement as he replies with an image of deep in Ista's forests. << They were hiding, >> he explains, and adds a tiny bit of a movement to the image, which becomes a dusky-coloured feline emerging. << They're very good at it. >>
Talurith senses that Vrianth's focus narrows to the felines: hard to tell in the dimness if they're truly the ones with the purple stripes or not. For the moment she seems to accept his explanation. << Why would they hide? I would not bite them. >> A moment later, << At least, not right at first. Are they tasty? >>
Wide sand-blasted wings spread wide, angle Mecaith's body up into the afternoon sunlight and into the sky. Higher and higher they go, the Telgari bronze gaining more height than is strictly necessay for going Between and in fact lingers above Reaches' distinctive Bowl for a few seconds before he vanishes. Someone likes to admire from on high it seems, whether dragon or rider, is unclear. (Mecaith to Vrianth)
Vrianth senses that Talurith says, << They always hide. They are afraid of us and the humans - like herdbeasts are. But they will attack, out of fear. >> A feline leaps across his image now, gleaming claws extended, to land on some unfortunate small mammal. << They are, >> the bronze answers the next question wistfully. << But we do not hunt them often. Their hides are worth a lot, R'layn tells me, though we have little use for them here. >>
Below, not within the Bowl itself but perched on the Rim, is a presence that notices him before he's altogether vanished. That notices his lingering to observe, even for just moments, rather than being up and gone like so many do. A moment later he's flashed with the image: his flight through sunlight, the contrast making those wide wings dark against the brilliant sky. (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Talurith senses Vrianth superimposes, on a questioning note, a black feline that appears huge at first, then small when shown against a human boot. << Kaylith has such a one. But without the stripes. >> Still working on scale. And that jungle: << How do you fit, inside there? Would it not poke your wings? >>
Vrianth senses that Talurith considers that tiny feline with intrigue. << Like a fire-lizard - a pet? >> He projects an image of the black feline sat on a man's shoulder. << Will it become as big as one of our felines? >> As to the jungle query: << We chase them from above the trees, until they reach somewhere where we can get in. People chase them on the ground, too. >> The thought of a hunt has him sounding excited. << It's very fun. >>
Talurith senses Vrianth promptly wonders, << How big are your felines? >> If she knew, she seems to have forgotten. << I shall ask her. >> If she remembers. Her mind is still for a few moments, touched by a vista of emerald green, air that's heavy and warm. Sticky. She hesitates again. << So the people who chase them on the ground do the actual hunting, until the very end. The felines should not be afraid of you if you cannot get to them. >>
Vrianth senses that Mecaith is at some distance when that touch comes, the image taken in with a soft, dry rustle of sandgrains to make room for it. The response when it comes might be considered breathtaking by some: a panorama of lush jungle opening out far below, emerald green in spite of the season, the air heavy and warm against the bronze dragon's muzzle. His shadow obscures treetops in rapid succession as he and his rider fly on, about whatever business it is that they have. << Good day, >> polite, sonorous the wind blowing in the desert, rearranging sand dunes a grain at a time, slipping up against Vrianth to take her measure.
Vrianth senses that Talurith can only describe that visually, and so he does: first by showing R'layn in crisp detail, then adding a feline, shoulders reaching his rider's hip level. For good measure, he puts the black feline in by his rider's boot. << I have seen bigger ones, but we cannot usually kill them, >> he adds. He sends a feeling of gratitude for Vrianth's offer to ask Kaylith, before replying to the young green's next words. << They hate the smell of us, like the runnerbeasts, so they run away. They do not know that we can't reach them, I think. They are silly creatures, like the herdbeasts. But dangerous. >> That's added in a somewhat darker tone, the sparkle in his voice disappearing momentarily.
It's a perspective shift: down through his eyes, instead of up through her own. She takes it in, such heavy warm air, air that threatens to be sticky, air that would feel even more so if he flew less swiftly. When at last she does speak, her gravelly voice is subtly female rather than feminine and, more importantly, touched by a restrained curiosity. << What makes it so? >> What he shows her, is that enough to please him? (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Talurith senses Vrianth's thoughts click together, marbles or even sharper rocks noting that comparison of size. And then she takes that image, removing the larger feline and substituting a woman for his rider: not her rider, it's more blurry than that, made even more petite and given that much more red hair than Kaylith's rider already has. << Mmm. Herdbeasts. >> But she has eaten just recently, and that darkness catches at her curiosity. << How dangerous? Tell me, Talurith. >>
The scent of that jungle comes next, heady with the blended smells of growing things, flowers, fruit, mingling with the deeper aroma of earth and water hidden below. Light pressure where his rider's legs straddle his neck a fresh wash of wind from the sea carrying the faintest undertone of salt. << This. Flying together in a place that we love. Seeing a side of it we have not seen before. Discovering. Exploring. Being. >> A little pause follows in which a pattern is formed in his mental sands, connections, circles intertwining, ripples forming spreading outward. << A story to tell at the end of the day, to share. >> His own tone continues measured and thoughtful, calm, slowly spinning the thoughts outward to her. (Mecaith to Vrianth)
She's faster to take these sensations from him, these concepts, even his words than he is to give them, to the point that his last phrase gets a slight tug on the end before he's quite done. What returns to him might be odd: a similar pattern to that in his sandy mindscape, but cast in water. Not her natural thoughts, those. The sense of familiarity is, though, and the sudden humor-ridden spark that she lights them with. << And so solemn about it. >> Perception rather than complaint. (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Vrianth senses that Talurith sharpens up that image, adding a face to the rider - just a made-up face, no rider he knows - and giving them metal bracelets and a necklace of shells. He seems pleased with the result. << very, >> the dragon says as to the matter of felines. He feels like he's taking a deep breath, but seems reluctant to provide any illustrative images. He settles for comparison, using the fact that Vrianth has recently eaten as a basis. << Like we kill herdbeasts, they can kill humans. >> Now he resorts to imagery, giving the view from a dragon's eyes, swooping down on a bovine, claws tearing its back; biting into its neck. Darkness touches the edges of that view.
Talurith senses Vrianth doesn't protest the alterations, and even moves closer to toy with the bracelets and shells to see if they clatter. But she never gets there. Instead, and this while nudging at his reluctance to see if it can be budged, she fixes on the rest of what he shows her. Swooping. Rending. It's an image she can sink her teeth into until, << Not our humans. >> It's very precise. Very definite. Such is the substance of Vrianth's belief. And rather than have it be shaken, she disappears.
Vrianth senses that Mecaith continues to take his time with those responses. Each coming to her full formed without any hesitation once they do arrive, backed with certainty of fact or knowledge or feeling. The return of the pattern though, piques his interest and there's a sense of him examining it very closely, tracing the lines. This time he melds the two, water, sand, the patterns going muddy and mixed for a moment, then smoothing out like waves pulling back from the beach and leaving a slick satin surface for writing. The traces are sharper here, cast in relief by stark sunlight. Not where he is now. The other sands, the one his mind is made up of rustle with return humor. << I am what I am. >>
Vrianth senses that Talurith agrees firmly. << Never our humans. >> As simple as that; the underlying, eternal need to protect one's rider. And then Vrianth is gone as quickly as that, leaving Talurith to his thoughts.
It's enough to intrigue her, what Mecaith does with this, particularly where mud becomes wave-slicked sand. She holds it for a moment. Moves to press shapes into the satiny substance that might be the curve of a long neck, a longer tail, still more becoming angles for wings and other things. Symbols, perhaps, if one could read them. << As well you should be, >> she returns then, humor upped a notch. Then two. And last there's an electric burst of light that could be blinding, leaving him with just the afterimage. She's gone. (Vrianth to Mecaith)
Vrianth senses Mecaith observes again, tucking the symbols away somewhere that he'll remember them, to bring out and look at more later, trying to sort out the pattern behind them. << Indeed. >> Simple agreement, and still that little rustle of laughter to match hers in the background. The burst of light is almost too much though. He has to channel it here and there, the afterimage lingering long. He leaves behind just a single grain of sand gleaming in that light before the connection is broken: still winging away over endless miles of jungle.