In which burnination occurs and a grain fungus is eradicated
V'lano, Fayre, Ziedeno, Anderon, Fadra, Caitlyn, Kintryth, R'klen, Arsiloth, npc F'rgen, Ranmar
Ista - Small Cothold(#4841RJ)
A small clumping of buildings nestled in the center of three large fields. Varying beasts roam the pastures: bovines, ovines, and even a few runners. People scurry about on their daily duties, bustling back and forth from the small stream and the little village of houses. It is obviously a family location, and a beaten trail leads out from the center, into the dense jungle beyond. To the east is a lazy stream, passing through two of the pastures before continueing on into the jungle.
The dry winter season relieves Ista Island of its humidity, replacing it with light, buoyant air. As the sun sets, clouds interrupt the sky and a turbulent wind gusts violently, howling around the peaks of the Weyr.
The late afternoon sun shines down on the cothold, illuminating the fields where a few last waving grains beckon. Silos cast thick shadows over the cothold, mirroring the anxiety the fungus-caused sickness has had over various places on Ista Island. And the people - they await, nervous handwringing and excitement at the personal visit from crews of Ista Weyr that have been sent to help. Refreshments await the task's completion, and equipment for the ground-crew also awaits.
Kintryth lands with his usual crisp efficiency, the blue then furling his wings only partially. Upon his neck, Caitlyn simply sits as still as she usually does (not), craning her head to look around at what they're here to do. So much wheat - all of it bad. A loud sigh gusts from the Wingleader's lungs, the woman thinking of all the delightful goods she enjoys eating that will be even more spare to see.
Nolee is with the groundcrew; far more comfortable tossing fire from a cannister, she's suiting up and checking the nozzle on her deadly device, one in a line of folk getting so equipped. "So we'll be just burning the grain in the silos? Jays, that seems wasteful."
A small icy-green dragon makes its graceful landing, but the first figure to slide off its back has none of the usual grace of a rider...or the build, for that matter. "Ack!" Fayre squawks out loudly as she makes her clumsy descent to the ground, brushing dust that's made itself onto her sarong. The anxious holders get a sheepish look from the assistant headwoman, who quickly bustles off towards Nolee and the groundcrew, perhaps hoping to escape the embarassment of her less-than-grand arrival.
Ziedeno has arrived with the rest of the groundcrew and is now standing off to a side, dragging a hand across the back of his neck as he looks at the silos with a worried expression. He's still mostly in line with the others, though, albeit not quite as excited about the prospect as some. "Yeah," he mutters as a vague response to Nolee's comment.
The Weyrleader, here to provide both semblance of importance for the betterment of relations between the suffering locals and the weyrfolk come to assist, has like the junior weyrwoman joined up in ground crew. He is not -with- the ground crew just now, however, for Volath has just been lounging on the edge of the field - what, it's due for burning, right? No one cares if I smash down these grasses, right? - and V'lano's standing over there for the moment, trying to explain to the great stubborn beast that he's not willing to guarantee that the fungus, should any be present, won't somehow trouble dragonhide. In a moment more Volath heaves a great, long-suffering sigh and gets to his feet, leaving his rider free to trod over to the equipment, sighing. "Don't think we can trust it to be good for anything else," he adds to the discussion of silo-grain-burning. "Except to spread." Face.
Fadra's already hauling about firestone - and looking damn irritable as she eyes the fields. But let's face it, when doesn't she look grumpy? "Start feedin' 'em!" she calls over the gentle rumblings and crunchings of dragons. "There's three fields, and we're nay gonna be out here all night." At least, not if she has any say in it. "And you -" she gestures to a few of the younger riders, probably those she's just barely given up picking on, "you'll send your dragons t'till th'soil each go. Aye?" She's met with a look of confusion. "Y'know. Turn the soil? Just...make your dragons roll around or something," she finally suggests, for lack of a better idea. And what dragon doesn't want to roll in dirt?
Anderon is a bundle of nerves, though he's trying hard to feign nonchalance, as fifteen-year-old boys do. He's got his hat cocked sideways and a look of lazy confidence on his face, and he's suiting up like the rest of the groundcrew with an ease that implies he's handled these things before. Still, though, there are little things that betray him: his twitching hands, his inability to stop checking the nozzle. Pick one.
There are several shovels to be used in helping the dregs of grain, and Nolee eyes them dubiously, though she picks one up to make it look like she's doing something. Hey, she's trained with the fire-shooter, at least. "Jays, this is exciting. Except for thinking about all the items lacking from the tab--oh, we're not suppposed to mention that." Masking her slip with a smile and feigned interest, she heads for the first of the silos, looking around to see who else is prepared and might be joining her in 'battle.'
Caitlyn watches Volath heave himself up, Kintryth giving his grandsire a curious look. Cait's own gaze turns to Nolee, the bluerider simply waiting for someone to direct her and Kint about their incendiary business.
F'rgen's here, too, and he's decided he's not one of the 'younger riders' to which Fadra referred, so has taken up providing firestone to his Chaumreth. "Easy, there. I realize there's no Thread here. Think of it as, ah, very very small Thread that makes humans sick. But it's hiding. In the dirt." Yeah, that'll convince the dragon.
Fayre makes a deep noise from within her throat, almost like a growl. "No kiddin', Nolee. Not easy fillin' those tables at the moment." She grumbles, crossing her arms defensively. "Hope y'all appreciate the work us kitchen staff are puttin' keeping the serving tables up and running." Shameless plug! The young woman points at the fields of grain and then the flamethrowers. "Sooo...pretty much, we get rid of that icky infected grain with this deadly fire? How...cleansing. And devious." She rubs her hands together, eyes widening as she gazes at the 'throwers.
Ziedeno finally gets outfitted with his very own flamethrower and he starts fiddling with this or that, familiarizing himself with the relatively unfamiliar contraption. A familiar face catches the corner of his eye and a slight smile emerges, his steps bringing him a bit closer to Anderon with a casual-sounding, "Hey," and a slight nod of his head. He re-shoulders the tank, his gaze just as quickly slanting off toward the silos again. Hoo boy.
Arsiloth wings in for a landing a safe distance away from the gathering people and dragons. Slipping down from his side in a series of quick, easy movements, R'klen strides in the direction of those he knows to be in charge to catch any instructions that he'll need in order to be of help. The bronze gives a stretch and then folds his wings with a rustle, surveying things calmly.
Andy trails after Nolee, likewise picking up a shovel and following her to the silo. She's a goldrider, right? So that means she knows what she's doing, right? Except her little slip has him looking a bit dubious, and when Ziedeno comes his way, he murmurs, "Shells. I don't think we really know what we're doing." Then he brightens and adds, "But at least there's fire, yeah? And funny meeting you again here. Thought I'd run into you in the caverns or some'in earlier."
"We'll split int' three even groups," Fadra says, haltingly, between tossing chunks of firestone in Sulizath's patiently gaping jaw. Once she's convinced the amount is adaquate, the brownrider stops and finishes, "O'er each field - keep your dragons low and close, but be sharding careful. Should be completely black when we're through." A pause. "Cait! Y'take a group there?" And she gestures to the farther field before scrambling back up onto her own dragon and pointing selectively at riders who should join her. F'rgen included.
Volath gives Kintryth a blank look, pointed, and lets loose a soft rumble as the orders dispensed to riders and dragons filter through his attention. He points his snout down toward Fadra, keeping a wise distance, then lets out a steamy sigh through his nose. Resigned to his tasks, the bronze bends his head and scoops up a mouthful of firestone. At least there's no need for explaining to him the purpose of the oncoming scorching; he's willing to do as asked.
V'lano loads up a flamethrower, much slower than Nolee about it - still working on getting the nozzle ready and the tank settled on his back, he shrugs under its weight while trailing the junior weyrwoman toward the silo.
Hefting his own shovel, Zeno cocks his head at Anderon's words. "Eh? I dunno. I mean, she should, right?" he reasons, but he sounds more dubious than anything. But, at the mention of fire, he grins a bit lopsidedly, "Yeah, there's that, though it won't really make up for not having sweetrolls in the morning," though this is said in a low voice, pitched directly to the other lad. "Anyway, I've been kinda busy, helping out and stuff. Where've you been? I heard y'got back a while ago."
F'rgen does as directed by Fadra, tugging his gloves on and carting some of the firestone sacks toward the indicated field. Chaumreth chews and swallows, reading for the upcoming bursts, eyes whirling with fascination at this activity.
Caitlyn jerks her head towards Fadra to hear her Weyrsecond's orders, nodding at the woman and giving her a quick salute, then directing the already-fueled-up Kintryth to pick the most maneuverable greens and blues, and the steadiest browns and bronzes to join up with them. "Aye!" the woman calls out to Fadra, then turning her gaze to the huge form of Arsioloth. "R'klen, you're with me!" she calls out crisply to the carrot-topped man, then nodding at Kintryth's internal words of his own picks.
Fayre eyes the dragons with a raised eyebrow. "Least we don't have to eat the flamethrowers." She notes nonchalantly while she more-or-less expertly dons her own. "Zap? That sounds more...insecty than icky mould stuff." Nonetheless, she takes her cue from Nolee, and lets a few flames burst forth to char the infected grain. "We should probably be careful not to breathe in any of the ash or smoke from this stuff, 'specially since it's contaminated. Smoke ain't good for your lungs in the first place, so, y'know." Her voice is slightly raised to warn all the groundcrew folk.
The weather seems to have heard Fayre's and V'lano's words of warning, for it responds in kind by gusting up and sending ash from Nolee's and Anderon's initial bursts into the air in a small whirl. "Woulda brought all the gear if I'd known it'd be this windy," Nolee whines, taking out her ire on the growing pile of unusable grain. The senior cotholder wastes no time, as daylight wanes, and he heads for a second silo, then a third, opening the spouts to release the grain and starting a cascade that piles up on the ground. "Be thorough!" Nolee adds to Fayre's advice. "That way we don't have to come back. Though, uh, we'd love to visit, really."
"Actually, I think a very loose diamond formation would be the best," Caitlyn chatters affably to R'klen and the other riders who join with them. "Best coverage, and we'll get all of the grasses for sure." Most of the younger or less-easily influenced riders nod their agreement - many of them already feeding firestone to their own beasts - but some 'old guard' and hardheaded riders just grunt and roll with the decision. The flame from V'lano's 'thrower catches her eye, and the woman grins a little wickedly. "Feed him up fast, Rook. It takes less time to destroy than create!"
Volath crunches and swallows, crunches and swallows, keeping tabs on the other dragons by light touch of mind and occasional glance of whirling eyes. He is evidently self-assigned to those directed by Fadra, keeping an eye on Sulizath between thoughtful swallows and tonguey cleanings of his teeth.
Forget the shovel. That's shoved unceremoniously in the dirt. Zeno focuses instead on adjusting the nozzle and sending up his own experimental burst of flame before training his sights -- and fire -- on the grain pouring out. Fwoosh! "Well, if ya get caught on fire, just make sure to run thattaway, yeah?" He tilts his head away, grinning at the other lad amiably. The grin fades and he nods to Andy's words, his attention appearing to return wholly to the grain. "Well ... if, uh, they need anything, ma'll be glad to help, yanno?"
R'klen shrugs and nods in reply to Cait's answer. "Huh, alright then," he agrees, seeming to be visualizing this tactic and evaluating her choice. Then, the man sets about feeding Arsiloth firestone, tosses the best hunks he can into the bronze's waiting maw and grimacing at the grinding sound his teeth make as the rock is chewed and swallowed. "Should be fun, hmm? An excuse to set things on fire," the man tells his lifemate, clearly prepared to enjoy this.
Anderon
Anderon is obviously still growing, tall and all coltish awkwardness. He has big hands, narrow shoulders, and a body that falls somewhere between 'lean' and 'stick-like.' He's a few shades paler than most Istans, and he sunburns almost as much as he tans; he wears a hat most of the time, which does double-duty as shade and as a way to hide the fact that he never combs his pale, orange-brown hair. He still prefers short over long sleeves, however, and though the freckles on his face are usually concealed by the big hat's shadow, they're faintly visible on his bare arms and legs - that is, where they're not angry red from burns or dark with various scratches and cuts.
Fayre lets out a nice loud, hacking cough as she struggles to cover her mouth and nose with her free pudgy arm. "Oy, that wasn't an indication for you to pick up, wind." She cries out loudly, shaking a fist in the direction it's blowing from. "Well, I'm sure we want to get this sickness over with for good." She responds to Nolee, deftly avoiding any comment on the local accomadations. "Plus, I guess it's our duty, our something." A few testing flames spurt out from her flamethrower's nozzle, but she doesn't seem too eager to make more ash to blow in her face.
Andy coughs, turning away from the whirl of ash with a grimace. A bit of shuffling has him standing beside an especially large man, and though it means he has to raise his voice to speak to Zeno, at least he's shielded from the worst of the smoke. "I was thinking I'd just leap into the grain and take it all with me, y'know?" he calls past his human wall, and incinerates a clump of grain with an especially enthusiastic flame. He seems to be having some fun; he's being thorough, like Nolee asked, and wearing something of a maniacal grin while doing it.
The dragons are up and away quickly - some manned, like Sulizath, others bare but searing with the best of them. The reason for Fadra's mounting is clear after the first sweep across the first sweep across the field - with her mouth and nose shielded by the crook of her arm, eyes protecte with goggles, she leans precariously off to the side of her dragon to peer down at the seared grain. Most of it remains resiliant despite the fire, and without warning or command Sulizath starts again. DIIIIIIIIE.
Nolee considers Anderon for a short moment as the wisps of smoke they'd first created strike back and invate her lungs, but he's apparently dismissed as too skinny or gangly, or possibly too wickedly gleeful with that flamethrower to be of much good protecting her from the dust. "Jays, maybe those scarves Vallrano mentioned?" A few of the waiting women not helping with the flamethrowing or other tasks return to the small buildings, perhaps seeking said kerchiefs. Nolee, meanwhile, pokes through a seared pile with her foot, peering at it through the smoke and wind. "How can we tell if it's dead in there? I can't even see it." Better burn it some more just in case.
Cait adjusts the goggles over her own eyes, then tying a flimsy-looking orange scarf over her nose and mouth to keep out the charred material. Once her task is done, the woman raises her arm to get her impropteau Wings' attention as all of them mount up and strap in, then brings it down in the signal to take off. Kintryth signals the dragons at the same time, and soon the formation is airborne, heading out to the farthest big field.
Ziedeno is definitely looking more 'grim' than 'maniacal' ... it's a task that needs to be done, even if he's not getting quite as much glee out of it as Andy appears to be. "Enh? Well, hey, whatever makes you happy, I guess," he mutters, pausing to pull his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose. Ash settles in his hair and he's going to be smelling like smoke for days, but ... hey, it's all for the good of, uh, Ista. Right. Flaaaaame.
Volath corners, turning as Sulizath does, cued by the other dragon's lead if not by any clear vision of the smoking remains of the field below. His maw gapes to suck in the wind, drawing in clean air before beginning his next gout of flame.
"Black means burned to charcoal," V'lano's saying, probably intended for Nolee though it's Ziedeno the weyrleader looks at. "Silver or white's ash. Nothing can survive that." So far as he knows. With this said he imitates the younger man's method, pulling up his shirt to cover his mouth and nose as best he can, then opens the nozzle on his flamethrower again and sends little wisps of charred grain flying before its fury.
R'klen, satisfied that Sil has a good amount of firestone in him, mounts up and is quick to follow Caitlyn's signal. "Alright, Sil, let's bring it," he mutters. Rook lowers his goggles and wraps a piece of ratty cloth around this mouth and nose. The pair fly in formation behind tonight's leader, quiet and yet with a menacing eagerness.
"And I don't think anyone is going to be eatin' any ash pies or charcoal stew." Fayre points out casually, prodding a few of the black piles with the end of her flamethrower. "So, y'know, we should be alright. As long as no one mistakes it for seasoning, or somethin'." And then back she goes to burning the grain, one hand clapped over her mouth and nose to keep out the resulting waste.
F'rgen's Chaumreth is finally about ready, having gotten a rapid start on the firestone swallowing. The rider himself helps in the feeding of 'stone to those dragons whose riders have taken up groundcrew duty, taking away empty sacks and providing fresh stone as needed. Occasionally he raises his head to look toward Fadra, waiting to see if her grumpiness has given further instruction.
Andy glances hopefully to Nolee at the mention of scarves, though when none are immediately produced, he takes a page from Ziedeno's book and pulls his shirt up over his mouth. He burns the grain before him until it's silver-white, then spares a thought for the shovel and wonders, "So, uh. What're we supposed to do with these, exactly? Don't imagine anyone would want to actually shovel the grain, what with all the...well. Fire."
Caitlyn shouts out, and has Kintryth back up her words to the dragons: "Stay loose but alert! We need to overlap just a little to make sure it's all charred!" And then another pumping of her arm encourages the pairs to let loose with searing flame breaths. Kintryth's own first strafing run leaves a wide swathe of very toasty wheats.
Jozell comes around from the west, he's ridding a runner. Apparently someone was visiting home, during his recovery. He smiles as he sees the others he knows and waves to them.
"I dunno," is Zeno's oh-so-helpful and rather muffled reply to Anderon's question, his own attention now resolutely set on the task of utterly obliterating the offensive grain. Take that! And that! And how about some of that! "How much more is left, d'you think?" is directed to no one in particular, though his eyes briefly flick askance to a few folks nearby that he recognizes.
Fadra's coughing makes Sulizath rise higher into the sky, to try and crest over the billows of smoke that are now rising from the fields - he bellows, a signal that once the sweep makes it's way back across the field they should rise as well, give the smoke time to clear so they can check thier progress. And of course there is that nonsense of turning the soil.
Nolee uses the scarf she's worn as decoration to cover her mouth, its pale pinkness entirely displaced by the dark smoke. "I feel like I'm eating ash pie right now!" she replies to Fayre, taking an interested peek at the portion of belly exposed on the Weyrleader and briefly from the younger man before giggling and coughing. In a flash of brilliance, she uses the shovel to push aside the seared part, exposing the pale grain beneath for others to scorch. "I think some of the ash just gets turned over, and some goes to the glassmakers. They'll blend it with limestone and heaps of other things and see if they can make anything viable from it, like fishing floats."
Dust and ash manages to seep through the spaces between Fayre's fingers and she bursts into another coughing fit. "I'm. Um. Going to go find us some...scarves." She splutters out, stumbling in the direction of the cotholders for directions. She dumps her flamethrower off at the table, clearly not keen to go back into the semi-warzone.
Anderon's voice is wry when he replies, "Yes, thank you, Zeno." He flashes the other boy a grin, for all that it's hidden by his makeshift scarf, and tosses his shovel aside when Nolee reveals its purpose. "You turn the ash," he tells the big man beside him. "And I'll burn what's underneath." All he gets in response is a grunt, and he blinks up at the man, then makes his cautious way over to the junior weyrwoman. "You turn the ash," he repeats. "And I'll burn what's underneath." He thinks about this, then adds a polite, "Ma'am."
Jozell keeps his runner away from the fire as he edges closer to the group. "Hello." He calls out. He covers his mouth after calling out.
Ziedeno stares over at Nolee and her ingenious use of the shovel, then lifts an ash-covered hand to clap it over his ash-covered forehead and proceeds to get his shovel to do the same. Turn ash, burn grain. Wash, rinse, repeat. A distracted, "Yeah, sure. Any time," is lobbed at Anderon, the boy apparently oblivious to the other lad's sarcasm. Figures.
As Kintryth angles upwards, and turns in a long, lazy arc back back around, Caitlyn wipes the dirty smudges of ash from her goggles and shakes the bottom of the scarf to dislodge particles from it. Getting a good long look at their handiwork below, the flaming wing find most of their wide strips of land either tidily engulfed in flame or already burned to the stubbled ground. Cait signals her riders for another low pass - this time to the right of the first inundated swathe - and then orders them to let go with another gout of cleansing flame.
V'lano looks over his shoulder to keep tabs on the progress of the field-burning, but soon attends to the task at hand. Never say a weyrleader gave up just because of a little ash in the lungs. He moves over closer to Nolee as Fayre heads off to do scarf reconnaissance. "Haven't actually used one of these in turns," he notes, showing off his dubious aim with another flameburst, turning some of the freshly-exposed grain silver and black.
Volath soars high, as do dragons in rank alongside him, following Sulizath's lead. With the innermost eyelids shut tight over his eyes for protection from the rising plumes of smoke he looks down at the field below, where bits of flame still burn out what fuel remains.
Nolee hesitates a moment in her moment of discovery, but too late! She is spied and almost made to do ...work! as Anderon approaches. Luckily, Zeno shows up, shovel in hand, and brings his very own shovel. This allows her to return to her much-preferred ineffective shoveling motion, which mostly involves scraping grain to the side with the shovel turned back-side-up. "Sure," she absently replies, so Anderon knows she did hear - it's just that Zeno's so much better at shoveling, and then the Weyrleader's speaking, and she just must listen and bob her blonde head attentively, really!
The younger riders wait long enough for the flames to dwindle down to nothing before they drop down - the gusts from thier wings cool the soil before they make contact, and they tromp through the ground with ungraceful dragging of tails and talons. They work as bigger shovels than the one Nolee and Ziedeno are using, and to good use - once they're through with thier hop-skipping gaits through the field there's more than just glimpses of unburned grain under the first layer of soil.
F'rgen's Chaumreth follows Volath and Sulizath, taking the second pass as the wind from the younger rider efforts begins to clear - he's not rolling in the dirt, nor his he shoveling, but he'll dig a little with his front paws before a burst of flame belches out, charring the remaining grain stalks with his hot breath. Entertained, he sends another burst out, lids closing abruptly with the sting before the dragon takes to the skies - airborne is more safe!
Anderon grins again at Ziedeno's complete lack of reaction to his sarcasm, though his attention shifts soon enough to Nolee at her response. "You know," he says, sounding a little hurt by her lack of any actual shoveling, "you could've just said no. Or, I don't know. Grunted. Like him." He jerks his head towards the man he'd been using as a shield, then trudges back to Zeno's side and pokes at a pile of ash with his boot. "Hi."
Safely separated by enough dragonlengths from the flaming dragons of Caitlyn's temporary Wing, humans begin to turn up the soil of the first razed lines of soil left behind - the dragons making quick work of their latest burning paths.
Several of the cotholders have decided to copy the method of using the shovel to turn the silo'd grain, and the mass is spread out just as the reinforcement layer of scarves arrives in the arms of the women who earlier went searching. Some pause to tie on the scares, others to sneak a quick drink of the water from a tub around back of one of the cotholds, a tub already a victim of the ashy rain from above.
Ziedeno is barely aware of Andy's return until the lad speaks up, which elicits an ever so articulate, "Huh? Oh, hey." Shovel, burn. Shovel some more. "What? If you want a shovel, just ask," he finally remarks, an eyebrow lifting at the other lad's ash-poking. "'Cause I don't think your boot'll do much good, yanno?" His shirt slips a little, revealing a stripe of clean face before the young man twitches it back up into place again.
Nolee catches the words from Anderon and is just about to laugh when she realizes they're directed at her. She blinks several times, dumbfounded, then hmphs quietly. "I was helping," she replies, her lips pursed. "I shoveled some."
A few more rises, banks, and passes have the far field fully flamed by dragonbreath, and the beasts finally out of phosphine-charged breath. Nodding and whirling her fist around in the sky, Caitlyn directs her riders back to their original landing places, to fuel up once more for a ground attack on the soon-to-be burned out field afar. "Have your dragons do as Chaumerth was, or have them do another pass over that farthest strip! Our flame let out there, and some grain might have escaped." She undoes her own straps, and climbs down to the ground - dusting soot off herself and taking off scarf and goggles. Kintryth is already moving with the usual non-graceful draconic skip-hopping gait to aide the humans in the first razed strip - digging up earth and turning it.
Andy aims his nozzle at a pale patch of grain and reduces it to ash, then tilts his hat down and shakes out the dust caught in its brim. "I was thinking," he says as he pushes his hat back up, "maybe you could shovel, and I'll burn. You know. Then you don't have to keep changing between the shovel and the flamethrower, and it'll go quicker all around." He hefts his 'thrower, readjusting the balance of it, and adds, "We could switch off at the next silo. I think we're mostly done here, anyways."
"Nolee, give me the shovel. We're doing this all backwards." V'lano, exasperated - he's been trying to get this one recently-uncovered patch blackened for a couple of firey swipes now and missed both times - holds out a hand to Nolee for her implement, setting aside the flamethrower with the other. "And I can actually... dispose of the ash." Mouth thin, the weyrleader resists any temptation to actually scold the weyrwoman just now, though a glance at the younger man who already did almost as much, then back to Nolee, might be telling.
"I'm really good with the flamethrower," Nolee contributes, moving toward the second silo and noting that work has already begun there and at the third by the local and weyr crews combined. "We use 'em all the time in the wing drills. And on Thread." Nodnod: therefore, she should burn, and he can shovel. "Or Vallrano can, since he offered." She regards the Weyrleader's clumsy burn patches, raises a brow at them, then looks expectantly toward Zeno: maybe he'll shovel too and she and Andy can burn? In doing so, she utterly misses the scolding faces.
Chaumerth has done something right - and Fadra acknowledges it with a nod as she and Sulizath sweep low once again to mimick the younger dragon in the same manner as the other two sweeps. It's uncomfortable, doing things that way, but no one signed on for comfort. They signed on to burn stuff, and burn they do. It looks for all the world like scavenging birds for a bit, with dragons descending to flame patches before rising again away from the stifling heat and then dropping back down for another go. But there's no room to doubt the progress they're making, moving in that line.
"A'right." Zeno takes the other lad's advice and disengages the flamethrower, setting it a safe distance away. And then? Yes, back to the onerous task of shoveling, which is probably slightly more hazardous than wielding the flamethrower. "Just hope you can keep up, that's all," he teases, moving slightly over so he provides a buffer, however unconsciously, between Andy and Nolee.
Some of Caitlyn's original Wing again takes to the sky to check out that far patch of field, while others have humans and dragons separating to do the digging and turning tasks on the ground. Just as Fadra and Sulizath experience the nastiness of char and smoke, so do the other pairs - Caitlyn coughing a few times as some smoke particles make it past her now dirty orange scarf tied inside out around her nose and mouth once again.
F'rgen continues to replenish firestone where it is needed, the older rider nodding approvingly to his dragon for the praise as some of the others echo his accidental maneuver. Soon it appears that not much more stone will be needed, as progress is slowly and surely being made and the trio of fields are changing color from that of wheat and dirt to that of char.
"Yes, I offered." With Nolee's shovel in hand and unburdened by ornery flamethrowers that don't just -know- how to aim when you mentally tell them to, 'Vallrano' trails along with the others, more or less following the weyrwoman until she's picked a spot to burn. Tying a scarf at last over nose and mouth so his shirt can sit straight, he waits long enough to establish Nolee's rhythm before beginning. Eventually he shovels, removing ash from the heap every time the path of the goldrider's flame has swept far enough that he can safely do so, efficient so long as distraction is minimized. However short a time that might be.
Andy sighs. Finally, someone who's not ignoring him. You'd think that since he's gotten taller, he'd be acknowledged more often than back when he was both short /and/ young instead of just plain young -- but evidently not. He lowers his shirt to brush soot from his nose and flash Zeno a quick grin, then yanks it back up and gets down to killing fungus. "I can keep up," he reassures the other boy. "Just watch your feet."
That the fields are increasingly uniform in their cleanliness - and this is a definition of 'cleanliness' like no other - pleases Volath immensely enough that on one turning-back to check out the result of a last, fiery spot-treatment the weyrleader's bronze lets out a low, rich hum of approval. Anticipating release or a new task, he tips a wingtalon toward solid ground and arches away from the field toward safe landing.
Nolee's insulted by the earlier insults, and at least in this instance, her huffiness makes her work more swift. Fortunately, she can aim with the flamethrower, when she remembers which end is up, and she's apparently having an 'on' night, for the firey burnination is thick and true, cutting beautiful swaths across V'lano's shovely goodness.
As the sun begins to recede behind the clouds, the senior cotholders and their women prepare snacks and strain ash from beverages for the thirsty crews once they break, a condition soon mandated by the sinking sun and thickly swirling ash and dust-y winds.
Sulizath sweeps off to the side of the fields, rising to make a wide arc for Fadra to lean over and look without coming in contact with too much smoke. And finally, it looks as though things might be seared enough to quit it - the grain, at least, is almost completely gone, and when there are spots Fadra notices she simply directs a dragon there to make sure it's properly taken care of. A round of all three fields leaves the weyrsecond at least relatively satisfied, and she signals again for the riders to all land and get out of the smoke and ash. Thier job, at least, is complete.
Ziedeno aims an elbow lightly at Andy's side, pulling short just on the off-chance that actual contact might result in the other lad losing control of his 'thrower or something. "Keep your eye on the fire already, would ya? I'd rather not have my feet barbecued." He's grinning under his shirt, evident in his voice if not in his eyes. "Andy, mighty grain ... uh, destroyer."
"I'm keepin', I'm keepin'," Andy replies, eyeing Ziedeno -- ha, so much for that -- before returning his attention to his task. "Barbecued feet'd be a good look on you, though, Zeno. You just gotta give it a try." He lifts the flamethrower and burns a small swath through the grain his partner's exposed, then laughs at the title he's given. "Yes! Fear me!"
Lo and behold, the grain has stopped pouring from the silo and even so, there is a swath cut by V'lano's shovel which does not reveal more unburned grain, but... dirt. Dirt fringed by mocking golden grains, grains begging one or two last blasts from Nolee's flamethrower and another good dig from the shovel blade, but - dirt. The weyrleader props the shovel and leans on it, waiting for the end now. Here and there around the heap of grain - more of a small bump now - other pairs, all having come eventually to imitate the wisdom of shovel/flame tagteaming that Zeno and Andy established, are experiencing the same thing. Dirt.
Nolee, back aching from supporting the cannister, pauses a few times to stretch and rub at her lower back and make good complaning faces, though she restrains for the most part from whining outright, instead making polite conversation loudly over the noise of churing charred grain and past the makeshift scarf-shield over her mouth. Then those blessed last few golden speckles are in sight, and it is with a vengeance that Nolee fries them.
Caitlyn finds the growing smoke and particulates in the air too much for her - the woman hacking and blowing snot in an unfriendly assault in her lungs. Quickly moving off from the other groups still turning earth, the bluerider finally clears the mess, gasping for breath and wiping her spittled face. Unfortunately, thise leaves icky streaks of grey and black on her features - except for around her eyes, where the goggles once perched. Hoot.
Fadra scrambles from between Sully's neckridges, giving him an affectionate pat that leaves him preening - I killed me some grain today, honey! - before she crosses the distance to Nolee and V'lano and announces, "There's nay more t'be done on th'fields. Nay in this light, anyways. I'm sure 'tis all done, though." Translation: Can we go /home/ now?
Ziedeno strikes it rich with ... oh, wait, that's just dirt. "I think we're good here," he drawls to Andy, his features scrunching up a bit. "And what would you know about barbecued feet? Give them to yourself first, then tell me how that feels." Humor ... isn't wholly lost on the boy, just the subtler kinds. Heaving a deep sigh as things appear to be done, he straightens and passes an arm over his face, only managing to smear the ash and sweat all over.
The other pairs called in from any work left over finally rejoin the Weyrfolk, receiving hearty thanks from not only Caitlyn, but Hold leaders for their efforts.
Anderon blinks when all that's left is dirt -- dirt, dirt, non-flammable dirt. He blasts at a few grains dotting the ash, then straightens up and stretches his back. "Done? We're done?" He sounds a bit disbelieving, though he's eager enough to turn towards the refreshments set out by the holders. Done sounds good about now.
F'rgen rejoins Chaumreth, the pair waiting dutifully until dismissal before spending some time visiting with a relative at the cothold.
"Volath's pleased." With himself, partly. With the results, of course, too. V'lano grins at Fadra, then turns in to scrape up and toss away the last of the smouldering charcoal from where Nolee was burning. Then he too is stretching his back and looking toward the refreshments with a grin.
The cotholders are making it official: most of the work is done, and beverages and snacks are provided for all, leaving the disposal of the remaining ash for another day. Some additional genial words are said for Ista's assistance after the formalities are completed, and the parties begin to disperse (answer to Fadra's query provided neatly), some staying a while to visit with the locals or enjoy some hospitality, other ashen beings returning to the weyr for a much-needed bath and some rest and relaxation, however brief. All in all, a job well done.