Meanwhile, Back at The Ranch
Location: Tialith's Ledge
Time: Evening on Day 28, Month 2, Turn 3
Players: Tialith and Ruvoth
Scene: Ruvoth tries to console Tialith while Roa is away.
The queen is not happy. That is relatively obvious by the pale greens and yellows of her eyes, the way she has trouble keeping still, the occasional rumbling growl. Roa is half a world away, and that is bad enough. But what the faint and distant contact with her rider suggests is that beyond the ocean, her lifemate is alone and hurting and unhappy. And Tialith is here, on her ledge, left behind. Her tail twitches like an agitated metronome and, for lack of anything more constructive to do, the gold sets about cleaning pristine silvery talons.
R'vain leaves only a little time between the moment he's expected Oshisyth to depart and the moment he goes out onto Ruvoth's ledge and gives the beast that long, significant look. The bronze hesitates-- his queen's moods have not been easy of late and he expects, naturally, worse luck now-- but the obligations of his rider's wishes and his own affections override natural cowardice and, in a moment, he heaves out a heavy sigh and leaps into the air. He barely has to catch himself on spanned wings to sail over to her ledge-- and barely bothers to ask for permission to alight there, with nothing but a note of open wings and safe harbor in them, more sensation than request. For Tialith, Ruvoth makes himself seem confident, unconcerned, faithful-- and he is little accomplished at seemings, so maybe these things are true.
Greeny-yellow eyes look up and over at the arrival on her ledge. Ah. Him. Her tail twitches a little faster, but her paw is lowered, nails clicking onto the stone. Tialith allows him to land, her approval mostly displayed by inactivity: she does not bellow or snarl or lash at his thoughts. Ruvoth is not sent away, but neither is he welcomed. She stands, moving her gradually increasing girth to the edge of her stone perch so that she can sit and stare out over the bowl. This is not fair, the gold informs him glumly. She knows full well whose idea has put her into such a situation.
He knows, replies Ruvoth, sympathetic, rueful. He accompanies the words with his lowest, softest rumble; it's less sound than vibration, and it ripples down from his throat through his chest as he sinks low against her ledge, into the stone itself. Another sensation, this one a thrumming caress for Tialith to feel through her expanded belly. I know.
I am quick and quiet. And clever. I could have gone. Tialith rustles her wings, opening them a little before pressing them tight against her side. If you know and he knows and I know, then I do not see why I am /here/. For the bronze's caress, there is only the slight slowing of her whirling gaze.
Because not everyone is quick and quiet and clever. Not even everyone involved. Ruvoth carefully does not implicate Oshisyth-- but he guards a little bit whatever implied parties he might be thinking of anyway, turning his head away for a glance out at the bowl, as if she might be able to read him through his eyes. If it was known you went, the Weyr would be angry. But he rumbles again, sinking lower against the stone, belly-flat so the vibration carries.
/She/ has gone, and a fleeting image of Roa accompanies that complaint. It is the same thing. Gingerly, Tialith lowers herself more fully onto the stones, stretching out on her belly and letting her head settle relatively near Ruvoth. He sent her to meet trouble alone.
Ruvoth heaves an enormous sigh. He reels his mind back, but not before a slight sensation of being cornered might make its way to the sorry queen. She does not carry, he observes, stoic instead of miserable, and only after that does he turn his head toward hers, lowering his muzzle to offer but not claim a nudge. And she told him it would /not/ be trouble. He believes her. If she comes out wrong, we'll all go.
Tia's head tips to the side just enough that their noses can touch, and if she is aware that Ruvoth is feeling trapped, there is no repentance for it. I do not mean that sort of trouble. She should not be alone. And then a small snort. I am not so big I cannot manage, is the sulky thought that drifts towards her mate.
Of course not. Kinds of trouble Ruvoth, for the moment, sets aside; this sulky thought he can better manage. Since she permits-- creates-- the touch of noses, he raises his head a little and nuzzles her above the eyeridges, his breath slow and warm. But your eggs are the Weyr. Those pairs made from them will be the Weyr for time to come. He feels it best that they are always the safest kept they can be. A small pause in which he rumbles again, so she'll feel it now through his snout and through the stone too. How is she... doing?
For all of this wisdom and rationale, Tialith only offers a small and petulant snort, her breath puffing into a faint cloud that blows warm against his hide. The question, though, gives the queen pause and she presses the top of her nose firmly against the underside of Ruvoth's chin. They are getting what they came for. But he hurts her.
A man might say 'I'm sorry.' Ruvoth feels it instead; and that feeling he shares, but only briefly-- she may know his dissatisfaction with the situation, but not so deeply that it's liable to add to her own. She's strong, he observes instead. Stronger than she seems. I don't think he, and there is no question who's being spoken of here, is stronger.
She is. That agreement is easy. He isn't. But... but huff. A bit more air is expelled with a sigh. It is not intentional, Tialith offers as her eyes begin to lid. Easier to think in darkness, perhaps. That seems to make it worse.
Ruvoth rumbles, raising his head and lowering it again farther back along her head, stroking his muzzle over the back of her skull to the first expanse of her neck. He has, perhaps, some thought on Roa's current situation, on Tialith's explanation of it. But that thought is not one he elects to share. She's succeeding, though. And he's-- complying. Look on the bright side.
There is a faint sound, almost like a throaty purr, in response to his chinrubs, and Tialith heaves a heavy and unhappy sigh. Yes. It sounds as if he would have, even if she had not come. She wishes she had not, in that case.
Is he... speaking on behalf of the hurt one? Ruvoth's rubbing pauses, though his chin maintains contact with his queen's neck while he considers this possibility. They have-- misled her. Almost a question.
One eye cracks open, blue, green and hints of yellow gleaming in the late evening dimness. No. I do not think so. She does not think so. It just is.
Oh. But, see, /his/ rider had a different expectation. The expectation that his Weyrwoman would be speaking directly to 'the hurt one' and some greater understanding would be created-- not that she would be speaking to, well, the person who's apparently unintentionally hurting her. All of this flickers through Ruvoth's awareness in a flash, and through his body somewhat more slowly as a thoughtful rumble sweeps through his muscles. She isn't upset by that, then.
That she does not speak to Chiavelth's? Tialith's head lifts just slightly. I...think she has forgotten she was meant to do so. And then another sigh, this one heavy as worry and tension slide away. They are leaving.
Yes. That Roa has /forgotten/ this small detail gets a second rumble out of Ruvoth and he slinks his head farther out along Tialith's neck, his muzzle rubbing her, his own neck stretching long beside her sleeker hide. There is something of affection in this last purr, this last caress, and some of the affection is meant to carry through Tialith into her rider when she returns. I should go back, he notes, half a question.
Her neck stretches as if the gold would squeeze out of that gentle nuzzle every last bit of fondness that Ruvoth offers. They stop somewhere else, first. To wash away mud. When they come back, you should go. The implication not clarified by words is that she will be needed. A moment between just rider and dragon will be required.
She's certainly allowed that implication-- considering Ruvoth's own suspicion is that /his/ presence would be /no/ comfort to the queen's rider at all. But he's comfort to the queen, and for now that pleases him enough. Tell me when, he rumbles, and rests at last his neck alongside his mate's, breathing steamy sighs over her golden hide.
Time: Evening on Day 28, Month 2, Turn 3
Players: Tialith and Ruvoth
Scene: Ruvoth tries to console Tialith while Roa is away.
The queen is not happy. That is relatively obvious by the pale greens and yellows of her eyes, the way she has trouble keeping still, the occasional rumbling growl. Roa is half a world away, and that is bad enough. But what the faint and distant contact with her rider suggests is that beyond the ocean, her lifemate is alone and hurting and unhappy. And Tialith is here, on her ledge, left behind. Her tail twitches like an agitated metronome and, for lack of anything more constructive to do, the gold sets about cleaning pristine silvery talons.
R'vain leaves only a little time between the moment he's expected Oshisyth to depart and the moment he goes out onto Ruvoth's ledge and gives the beast that long, significant look. The bronze hesitates-- his queen's moods have not been easy of late and he expects, naturally, worse luck now-- but the obligations of his rider's wishes and his own affections override natural cowardice and, in a moment, he heaves out a heavy sigh and leaps into the air. He barely has to catch himself on spanned wings to sail over to her ledge-- and barely bothers to ask for permission to alight there, with nothing but a note of open wings and safe harbor in them, more sensation than request. For Tialith, Ruvoth makes himself seem confident, unconcerned, faithful-- and he is little accomplished at seemings, so maybe these things are true.
Greeny-yellow eyes look up and over at the arrival on her ledge. Ah. Him. Her tail twitches a little faster, but her paw is lowered, nails clicking onto the stone. Tialith allows him to land, her approval mostly displayed by inactivity: she does not bellow or snarl or lash at his thoughts. Ruvoth is not sent away, but neither is he welcomed. She stands, moving her gradually increasing girth to the edge of her stone perch so that she can sit and stare out over the bowl. This is not fair, the gold informs him glumly. She knows full well whose idea has put her into such a situation.
He knows, replies Ruvoth, sympathetic, rueful. He accompanies the words with his lowest, softest rumble; it's less sound than vibration, and it ripples down from his throat through his chest as he sinks low against her ledge, into the stone itself. Another sensation, this one a thrumming caress for Tialith to feel through her expanded belly. I know.
I am quick and quiet. And clever. I could have gone. Tialith rustles her wings, opening them a little before pressing them tight against her side. If you know and he knows and I know, then I do not see why I am /here/. For the bronze's caress, there is only the slight slowing of her whirling gaze.
Because not everyone is quick and quiet and clever. Not even everyone involved. Ruvoth carefully does not implicate Oshisyth-- but he guards a little bit whatever implied parties he might be thinking of anyway, turning his head away for a glance out at the bowl, as if she might be able to read him through his eyes. If it was known you went, the Weyr would be angry. But he rumbles again, sinking lower against the stone, belly-flat so the vibration carries.
/She/ has gone, and a fleeting image of Roa accompanies that complaint. It is the same thing. Gingerly, Tialith lowers herself more fully onto the stones, stretching out on her belly and letting her head settle relatively near Ruvoth. He sent her to meet trouble alone.
Ruvoth heaves an enormous sigh. He reels his mind back, but not before a slight sensation of being cornered might make its way to the sorry queen. She does not carry, he observes, stoic instead of miserable, and only after that does he turn his head toward hers, lowering his muzzle to offer but not claim a nudge. And she told him it would /not/ be trouble. He believes her. If she comes out wrong, we'll all go.
Tia's head tips to the side just enough that their noses can touch, and if she is aware that Ruvoth is feeling trapped, there is no repentance for it. I do not mean that sort of trouble. She should not be alone. And then a small snort. I am not so big I cannot manage, is the sulky thought that drifts towards her mate.
Of course not. Kinds of trouble Ruvoth, for the moment, sets aside; this sulky thought he can better manage. Since she permits-- creates-- the touch of noses, he raises his head a little and nuzzles her above the eyeridges, his breath slow and warm. But your eggs are the Weyr. Those pairs made from them will be the Weyr for time to come. He feels it best that they are always the safest kept they can be. A small pause in which he rumbles again, so she'll feel it now through his snout and through the stone too. How is she... doing?
For all of this wisdom and rationale, Tialith only offers a small and petulant snort, her breath puffing into a faint cloud that blows warm against his hide. The question, though, gives the queen pause and she presses the top of her nose firmly against the underside of Ruvoth's chin. They are getting what they came for. But he hurts her.
A man might say 'I'm sorry.' Ruvoth feels it instead; and that feeling he shares, but only briefly-- she may know his dissatisfaction with the situation, but not so deeply that it's liable to add to her own. She's strong, he observes instead. Stronger than she seems. I don't think he, and there is no question who's being spoken of here, is stronger.
She is. That agreement is easy. He isn't. But... but huff. A bit more air is expelled with a sigh. It is not intentional, Tialith offers as her eyes begin to lid. Easier to think in darkness, perhaps. That seems to make it worse.
Ruvoth rumbles, raising his head and lowering it again farther back along her head, stroking his muzzle over the back of her skull to the first expanse of her neck. He has, perhaps, some thought on Roa's current situation, on Tialith's explanation of it. But that thought is not one he elects to share. She's succeeding, though. And he's-- complying. Look on the bright side.
There is a faint sound, almost like a throaty purr, in response to his chinrubs, and Tialith heaves a heavy and unhappy sigh. Yes. It sounds as if he would have, even if she had not come. She wishes she had not, in that case.
Is he... speaking on behalf of the hurt one? Ruvoth's rubbing pauses, though his chin maintains contact with his queen's neck while he considers this possibility. They have-- misled her. Almost a question.
One eye cracks open, blue, green and hints of yellow gleaming in the late evening dimness. No. I do not think so. She does not think so. It just is.
Oh. But, see, /his/ rider had a different expectation. The expectation that his Weyrwoman would be speaking directly to 'the hurt one' and some greater understanding would be created-- not that she would be speaking to, well, the person who's apparently unintentionally hurting her. All of this flickers through Ruvoth's awareness in a flash, and through his body somewhat more slowly as a thoughtful rumble sweeps through his muscles. She isn't upset by that, then.
That she does not speak to Chiavelth's? Tialith's head lifts just slightly. I...think she has forgotten she was meant to do so. And then another sigh, this one heavy as worry and tension slide away. They are leaving.
Yes. That Roa has /forgotten/ this small detail gets a second rumble out of Ruvoth and he slinks his head farther out along Tialith's neck, his muzzle rubbing her, his own neck stretching long beside her sleeker hide. There is something of affection in this last purr, this last caress, and some of the affection is meant to carry through Tialith into her rider when she returns. I should go back, he notes, half a question.
Her neck stretches as if the gold would squeeze out of that gentle nuzzle every last bit of fondness that Ruvoth offers. They stop somewhere else, first. To wash away mud. When they come back, you should go. The implication not clarified by words is that she will be needed. A moment between just rider and dragon will be required.
She's certainly allowed that implication-- considering Ruvoth's own suspicion is that /his/ presence would be /no/ comfort to the queen's rider at all. But he's comfort to the queen, and for now that pleases him enough. Tell me when, he rumbles, and rests at last his neck alongside his mate's, breathing steamy sighs over her golden hide.