Soggy dragons
It is a spring morning, 7:42 of day 14, month 5, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.
Fog begins to coalesce in the very early morning hours and lingers throughout the day, soft and still and clammy.
Obvious exits:
Diving Cliff Lake Bowl
It's far too early for visitors, and yet here's a tiny, unfamiliar green splashing in the Reaches' lake, her glad cries ringing off the walls. Back on dry land, his silhouette smudged by the fog, the man probably her rider paces the shore, occasionally attempting to shush her. There are few other bathers this morning - not when the weather is this cool - but the day is not so early that the entire Weyr is still abed.
Early starts are things weyrlings have to get used to, and this weyrling pair in particular have excuse to have been up and about for long enough that they're relatively alert. Though it might be considered slightly strange that their approach to the lake shore is not via the sky, but the ground, the darkly hued, lean bronze walking with a somewhat exaggerated motion that stretches his limbs. Through the fog, possibly drawn by curiousity given how sound carries or perhaps it's just a familiar path, and a hazy silhouette is greeted in a general sort of fashion by K'ndro once it comes within the range of vision, "Mornin' sir."
This lanky dragon seems all wings and tail and shadows, hued the deep, dark golden bronze of sunlight all but lost to nightfall. So dark is his shade that it could obscure the serpentine sharpness of his lines, from his long, pronounced profile through jutting shoulders and wingspars to the rake-edged ridges that die out along his tail, if it weren't for the slightly lighter tint that stipples along them and emphasizes their irregular nature. One eyeridge is somewhat higher than the other as well, and a few of his claws are that same, scarcely paler gilt as though the shadows had begun to be rubbed away. Even darker, all-but-black pockmarks exaggerate the gauntness of his belly and lend a scraggly, tattered air to the trailing edges of his long wings. The boniness may not linger through maturation, but the asymmetry, combined with the tilted way he tends to hold his head, suggests a treacherous edge whether he wills it or no: one that may not adequately be belied by the oft-assessing whirl of his eyes, their colors more muted than that of his kindred as though shadow obscures his very outlook. Not yet strong, not yet coordinated, still he has more than physical grace left to learn.
At 0 turns, 6 months, 24 days old, Xadovith is 23 feet, 9 inches long with a wingspan of 41 feet, 6 inches, standing 15 feet, 11 inches tall at the shoulder.
Chielyth
Darkness rises from dainty talons to blend into the sun-dappled, earthy green that dances over Chielyth's lissome frame. With a body made for prancing, buoyant grace sketches her muscles from the slender curvature of her lengthy neck, down her sleek, moss-tipped neckridges, to each articulate turn of her slim tail. Her wings are short and strong, meant for agile turns and just a little more endurance than speed, with sunlight seeming to pool where her wingsails narrow into her spars. Tinged darker along her trailing edges, her sails, when spread, reveal an overlaying of herringbone wisps, as if the artist who painted her had cleaned his brush off there when finished with one color and found the effect interesting enough to leave. A slim muzzle, shockingly dark against her brightness and looking as though she'd dipped it into dye, sets off large, guileless eyes.
At 1 turn, 2 months, 20 days old, Chielyth is 20 feet, 5 inches long with a wingspan of 35 feet, 8 inches, standing 13 feet, 8 inches tall at the shoulder.
B'kaiv scrubs the heel of one hand into an eyesocket, so that the first blurry, bleary vision that greets him is that low, shadowed slink. And than an unfamiliar greeting, though habit has him automatically saluting toward the sound before he's properly focused. "Mmnh," he offers in return, followed swiftly by, "Fort's duties t' th' Reaches an' her queens," all nice and proper. Out in the lake Chielyth's latest playmate has been recalled to the beach, leaving the green to turn for Xadovith with a bright, << Hi! >> touched with sunshine and the scent of fresh-turned loam.
Wait what, Fort? K'ndro waves one hand in front of his face as if that will bring the stranger into better view. And then takes those last few steps necessary to fade the fog enough to properly see, with a rather belated salute of his own being given. It should be ingrained by now, but apparently isn't. "Ah m'apologies, sir. Reaches duties t'Fort an' hers." Xadovith takes a moment to shove his head over top of his lifemate's, a muted whirl in his eyes as he inspects this creature from Away with a somewhat protective air. Until sunshine draws his attention, creeping tendrils of darkness reaching slowly outward to meet it with an added puff of garlicky aroma, << Hello. You are not known to me. >>
Tall and broad shouldered, K'ndro tends to stand out simply because of his size. His build is muscular, but not overly bulky. A man used to the hard work that comes from hard living, with no excessive indulgences. In colouring and features he's actually quite unremarkable, sitting comfortably in the 'average' camp. His skin is a middling brown, a hue that comes partially from heritage, partially from nature. His hair is black and straight, cut short though not too much so; trimmed close at back and sides, but left slightly longer at the top, inconsistently either flopping flat or spiking upwards. Dark brown eyes rest under quirky, expressive brows. His nose is straight, of a size and shape well suited to his face. The same goes for his mouth, lips full, but not excessively so. An angular jaw is resistant to attempts at keeping it clean shaven, stubble fast to reappear.
His clothing is always simple, practical for almost any working situation. Muted, but still evidencing his love of colour even in weyrlinghood. Shirt and sweater combo worn when indoors always bright, contrasting shades, the sleeves frequently rolled up past his elbows. Not new, his clothes, but obviously well cared for, with little fraying or fading to be found. His trousers are either a dark reddish brown or charcoal grey depending upon the day, held at his narrow waist with a wide, utilitarian brown leather belt. Several less encumbering pouches, now, but enough to suppliment pockets. His boots are obviously well worn, the tough leather scuffed and scarred despite the care given to keep them in good condition, dark brown leather that covers his lower legs to just below his knees. Other accessories include a couple of bracelets encircling his left wrist, one plaited leather dyed in five shades of blue, the other a macrame affair made from thick twine and sporting carved bone beads.
The knot at his shoulder is that of a High Reaches weyrling, a thin bronze cord denoting the colour of his lifemate, and a strand of silver thread woven through.
"Chielyth wanted t' come swim," Kai explains with a gesture toward the lake, as if that makes all the difference. Up close he looks a little drawn but not exceptionally so, and a second later he's thrusting a hand toward the taller man, protective shadow or not. "B'kaiv, an' that's Chielyth. Pretty much everyone calls me Kai, though." << I am now, though, >> the green points out happily, casting the sunshine a bit brighter to show off those shadows better. << I'm Chielyth! Who are you? >>
"Sounds like she's been enjoyin' it, too," K'ndro replies with an easy grin. The protective shadow thankfully has learned a -few- things about the social niceties humans observe, and after satisfying himself that all is well continues further on towards the lake and the much more interesting diversion that is meeting a new dragon. Leaving hands to be shaken and verbal introductions to be given, a grip that's firm but not challenging or testing. "K'ndro, an' Xadovith. Good t'meet ye sir. B'kaiv. Kai." Okay, so it's been a while since he's done the whole meet-and-greet routine. "Folk still mostly jus' call me Mik if ye ain't one t'stand on formality." Xadovith doesn't seek to retreat from that brighter light, in fact seems to welcome the contrast and even strengthens it a little with little glimmering flashes against the darkness. << My name is Xadovith. What brings you to my home? >>
"She enjoys lots of things," the Fortian agrees easily, with a jerk of his head toward the lake. Chielyth's now swimming to meet the bronze, neck extended for a proper touching of noses. They're -almost- the same size, after all! "K'ndro. Xadovith." Names repeated - hopefully to sink in - Kai adds, "Mik," and nods approvingly. "Yeah. We just come off standin' watch an' Chielyth wanted t' come visit. You know Wyaeth?" Not that the older bronze is anywhere to be seen. << Hi, Xadovith! I'm swimming! And Kai says we can see Wyaeth maybe only there isn't sun to cuddle in. Do you think there will be sun later? Do you want to swim with me? >>
K'ndro's expression fades from general friendliness to surprise and something like trepidation. "N'thei's bronze." As if just the invocation of the name might be enough to make the man himself appear, a quick look is cast over either shoulder, and then of course up as well. "Aye, I know him. Of him, mostly. They, he, don't much interact with th'weyrlings." Since there's no new looming shadow bearing down out of the fog on them, he allows something of incredulity to slip through, "Shells, jus' off watch? Though, bein' able t'get away...." Is worth losing a little sleep. Xadovith twitches his head back slightly, if dragons could look bemused he certainly would right about now. But his nose is lowered after a moment, Chielyth's friendliness returned with cautious reservation. << I can see that you are swimming. >> A brief roil of that darkness, a snapping pop of light. Even the dragon has trouble processing. << Wyaeth. Cuddles. It is difficult to judge. Sometimes there is sun, but often this murk lingers all day. I... have not had much opportunity to swim. >> An image, briefly flashed and hazy with distance and human perception, of much littler dragons slip-sliding -on- the lake, ice thick.
B'kaiv watches this parade of emotions with a crooked half-smile, his hands shoved into pockets. "Yeah. She's been talking t' him for... shells. Months? I heard as N'thei ain't... dunno. I ain't got nothing t' do with him; I'm just here for her." And she is here for Wyaeth, but in the absence of the older bronze, this one will do. She rumbles at him, amused, and paddles about to try and snug up against his side. << Then we should swim now! You can't catch me! >> Never mind that all he has to do just now is reach out a wing and she's captured. "How old's he?" Kai continues, with a nod for Xadovith. "Bigger'n Chielyth already."
"Nice," K'ndro supplies helpfully. N'thei ain't nice. "Huh, really? Can't really say what Wyaeth's like; Xado pretty much jus' ignores th'fact he exists. Think that might have more t'do with Leova though, actually." Musingly. "How's it down yer way? Enjoyin' a fine spring?" Xadovith ducks his head, bringing it low enough to look up at Chielyth as if this new angle will help him figure out why she's snuggling up against him. Amused, << Your actions and your words don't exactly match, you realise. If you wish to swim, I most certainly can catch you. >> A wing isn't extended, no, but neither is he plunging into cold water to take up the challenge. "Almost seven months," Mik answers, with the usual sort of bemused pride as he turns his gaze towards the dragons. "Still remember when he could fit int'm'lap. How long ye been with her?"
B'kaiv can nod for 'nice' as a thing N'thei is not. "Yeah. Who's Leova?" And what does she have to do with Xadovith ignoring Wyaeth, though Kai doesn't say that bit. He snorts roundly at the question of weather. "Shells, no. Been rainin'-. Raining so much feels like I ain't been dry. Starting t' clear off a little." Unlike misty, murky High Reaches. "Almost sixteen months. Smallest one in th' clutch. Used t' be able t' carry her around." Voice gone just this side of sentimental, the greenrider even has a smile for his girl and her antics. << Nuh-unh! Can't catch meeee! >> and with a slap of her tail she lunges back into the water, throwing a dare over one shoulder.
Eyebrows quirking, K'ndro lifts a hand to scrape his thumbnail across one of them. "One of our weyrlingmasters. Belongs t'green Vrianth. Xado got somethin' of a smackdown when he was jus' learnin' how t'glide an' Wyaeth was there. Memory's long gone from his head of course, but." A helpless shrug. Resentment or dislike lingers, apparently. Sympathetic, "Likely won't be 'til summer we actually see more'n th'rare bright day. ... Kinda rattles th'mind, don't it? She must be a sight t'see in th'sky though, eh? Don't know how big she's gonna get, but we got a dainty one in our clutch, Jeibeth. She flies circles 'round all our boys." Xadovith can at least respond to a dare with more readiness than he can to cuddliness. << Ha! You don't know what I can and cannot do! >> he rejoinders, but there's a deliberate pause before he follows her plunge. Might as well make the chase interesting after all.
"Name's familiar," Kai allows after a few seconds, but mirrors the other's shrug. Dragons. "Yeah, she is. C'n turn on a mark an' give you change." Not that he's smug, or anything. "It don't stop her none, though. She'll play with anyone as looks at her twice." Case in point, the game of tag occurring in the lake just there - and if the riders with weyrs near the lake haven't learned to sleep through happy squeals and splashing, it's far too late now. "Got her in trouble a time or two. She had t' be... shells. Five months old? Something like - before I couldn't see over her back no more." Unlike the relative monstrosity of Xadovith, there. "You lot are... what, couple months from *between*, yeah?"
"How's she feel 'bout racin' an' th'like? Lot of ours like threadin' through th'Spires, would likely welcome th'added competition if yer ever up here an' she's of a mind." K'ndro's expression is starting to tinge towards indulgent, the game of tag more than B'kaiv occupying his attention. "Ain't many as take any sort of likin' t'Xado whether he looks at 'em twice or not. Not that he usually encourages it, either. Good t'see though." The one just mentioned is more inclined to silent, submerged sneak 'attacks' that habitually end in a swiftly lifted wing or swept tail to send sheets of water flying. "In trouble how?" A quick nod, "Aye, somewhere 'round there pretty sure. We're on, uh." He's talking to a greenrider. Yeah, something else! "Really jus' perfectin' their flying an' how they work together in formation, an' all."
B'kaiv says, "Loves it," with another shrug - how could she not? - that turns into a thoughtful look up at those infamous spires. "She ain't got th' stamina t' last, but for sprints an' all?" Kai's got a contented air that says he doesn't expect that she'll do too poorly. A particularly loud squeal greets Xadovith's latest swath of water; Kai turns to watch as Chielyth ducks her head and lunges for the bronze, crowing, << I'll get you! >> because what's a game of tag without sudden reversals? "'Cause she's so small. Brothers knocked her over, banged her up a little, but it didn't stop her none." But Xadovith, now... he's just the right size! "Yeah? Got lots of drilling t' look forward to, so you might as well get used t' it. What's yours like? He ain't got lots of friends?"
K'ndro chuckles, "Should try t'find Corvinth. That brown's a pack of mischief an' could do with someone settin' him in his place." Amused observation more than competative rivalry, but he's an easy-going sort. Xadovith rears back and up in the water, wings driving down in a quick flap to maintain his balance. << Can you catch what you cannot see? >> he flings back on a merry wave of bright lances of light that zing and zip across the backdrop of black, garlic-scent replaced by a bubbling froth of some sweet-smelling elixir. With a final flick of wings tight to his sides, he dives promptly beneath the surface of the water, tail tip flicked teasingly before even that, too, disappears. "Rather drills than hidework," Mik replies with a tooth-flashing grin. "Least they keep -him- occupied, too. Nah, he ain't got but a few. Jeibeth, Ma's Xiloth, don't know as I'd call Corvinth a -friend- but he don't avoid him. Tends t'put most off, intense like. He's not... I dunno. He ain't arrogant as such but." Head scratch.
B'kaiv repeats, "Corvinth," with a sideways look and a nod to slot the name into long-term memory. "A'right." Chielyth greets his challenge with a merry, << Yes! >> (who would doubt any other answer) that meets his lightning-bright lances and disperses them into a beautiful sunshiny day. << I'll get you, Xadovith! >> She hesitates at the water's surface for just a heartbeat, no longer, before diving into the unfamiliar waters, tracking him by wake and bubble. Kai steps back from the shore, shares a rueful snort. "Oh /shells/, yeah. Sharding /hate/ hidework. Readin' it, writin' it - that's Harper work. I'd known how much hides a rider got t' do, might'a said no t' Mecaith," he says lightly, then nods after the departed dragons. "He ain't so bad. She likes him plenty."
Which dragon will wind up the chaser, and which the chased? Because once under the water, down and down just to leave a nice trial, before doubling back but just far enough to the side, an oblique angle to avoid an unwanted collision. Xadovith's intention to make the game interesting, not result in injury. If Chielyth doesn't sense him, doesn't preempt his plan with cleverness or blind luck, he fully expects to be waiting back at the surface like a long-forgotten crocodile ready to pounce. But will the green's next move allow him to get that far? "Th'stuff as covers formations an' 'Fall charts is interestin' enough. Y'know, th'practicals. But shards, memorisin' th'local Lords' lineage so's ye don't accidentally insult one by gettin' th'name of his great-grandfather wrong is jus'...." Painful. The 'said no' earns a quizzical look, but there's a mild degree of understanding, too. Woulda known, mighta done, but wouldn't give up the current situation for all of Pern, yes? "Ain't seen him like this in... months. Might be nice t'visit, once we're set free. If ye wouldn't mind, that is, B'kaiv. Don't want him distractin' her or causin' ye problems."
Down, down, into the depths she follows, not far enough back for Xadovith's craftiness to be fully played out. For when he doubles back and scoots to the side she's right /there/, swiping at the just-seen form with a taloned foot. << Found you! >> she crows and twists about her own tail, darting off through the silence. "That ain't too bad," Kai allows with a thoughtful nod. "Th' charts an' all. An' that's why I ain't plannin' on bein' more'n'a wingrider. Suppose it's different f'r you," with a nod for Mik's knot. After the nod his eyes lift; a moment of considering the taller man and he nods again. "Sure. When we was learning we wasn't allowed t' drink or nothing, but we can play cards, maybe. Let them two do whatever it is they're gonna."
Foiled! And yet Xadovith doesn't exactly mind. He relishes the game itself much more than 'winning' it. Even if his taunting, << You got lucky, little girl! >> might suggest otherwise. She twists and he turns, following the cold wake she leaves behind. "Always a chance I could be nothin' but a wingrider," K'ndro says, with a definite air of an unspoken 'please Faranth let that be so.' Curiously, then, "Y'got a leadership programme down Fort way? One of our weyrlingmasters is from Igen, says they don't do that sort of thing over there. Or, didn't when he Impressed." His shoulders hunch briefly as hands seek and find pockets, and finally the game in-and-under the lake is looked away from. Quick smile, "Thanks. Friend like her, active an' all, be good for him. Not allowed -at all- or jus' durin' th'trainin' for :between:?"
Chielyth sends a cheerful, << Ha ha! >> back: too bad, so sad! << I'm not lucky, you're -slow-! >> and angles suddenly for the surface again. "Your Weyrleader now, he probably thought th' same, yeah?" B'kaiv points out wryly. "Least that ain't never gonna happen t' us." But before his words are finished he's shaking his head. No, no program like that. "Nah. Just extra lessons f'r th' gold an' bronzes, but it ain't like it done them no good." He doesn't elaborate, but glances off to a sharp whistle from somewhere down the bowl. "Just durin' *between* trainin'. Until they knew we wasn't gonna do nothin' stupid. Could maybe get you a beer if you ain't gonna go straight back, have it on your breath an' all, you know?"
<< I'll show you slow! >> As if Xadovith has been holding back, or something. Not the case, but the wordplay is as much a part of the game as the chasing. Surging after her, using wings as much as legs to push himself through the water in an attempt to get close enough to snatch her tail. K'ndro slants a glance down at B'kaiv, eyes squinting slightly in that mildly-pained expression people get when they're still in denial of even hypotheticals. His, "Probably." is delayed enough to suggest a censored reply. "Huh, that so? It ain't kept t'jus' them here. Others in m'group are a green, two browns and m'pal Z'yi, bluerider. W'chek, the other one as Impressed bronze, he's jus' goin' through normal lessons with everyone else." Speaking of, "Shardin' fog. How long we been out here, anyhow? Gonna get a bollockin' if I'm late an' ain't been attendin' th'wingleaders' meetin'. Good t'meet ye, Kai. Dry roads an' clear skies!" He'll be trotting off double-time, but with the low visibility Xadovith at least has an excuse for staying behind until Chielyth has to leave.
Huh. One of the few bronzeriders I ain't wanted to punch. Hope he don't make me change my mind. Chielyth sure were having fun - have to remember that Corvinth's name, see if he wants to race her.
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.
Fog begins to coalesce in the very early morning hours and lingers throughout the day, soft and still and clammy.
Obvious exits:
Diving Cliff Lake Bowl
It's far too early for visitors, and yet here's a tiny, unfamiliar green splashing in the Reaches' lake, her glad cries ringing off the walls. Back on dry land, his silhouette smudged by the fog, the man probably her rider paces the shore, occasionally attempting to shush her. There are few other bathers this morning - not when the weather is this cool - but the day is not so early that the entire Weyr is still abed.
Early starts are things weyrlings have to get used to, and this weyrling pair in particular have excuse to have been up and about for long enough that they're relatively alert. Though it might be considered slightly strange that their approach to the lake shore is not via the sky, but the ground, the darkly hued, lean bronze walking with a somewhat exaggerated motion that stretches his limbs. Through the fog, possibly drawn by curiousity given how sound carries or perhaps it's just a familiar path, and a hazy silhouette is greeted in a general sort of fashion by K'ndro once it comes within the range of vision, "Mornin' sir."
This lanky dragon seems all wings and tail and shadows, hued the deep, dark golden bronze of sunlight all but lost to nightfall. So dark is his shade that it could obscure the serpentine sharpness of his lines, from his long, pronounced profile through jutting shoulders and wingspars to the rake-edged ridges that die out along his tail, if it weren't for the slightly lighter tint that stipples along them and emphasizes their irregular nature. One eyeridge is somewhat higher than the other as well, and a few of his claws are that same, scarcely paler gilt as though the shadows had begun to be rubbed away. Even darker, all-but-black pockmarks exaggerate the gauntness of his belly and lend a scraggly, tattered air to the trailing edges of his long wings. The boniness may not linger through maturation, but the asymmetry, combined with the tilted way he tends to hold his head, suggests a treacherous edge whether he wills it or no: one that may not adequately be belied by the oft-assessing whirl of his eyes, their colors more muted than that of his kindred as though shadow obscures his very outlook. Not yet strong, not yet coordinated, still he has more than physical grace left to learn.
At 0 turns, 6 months, 24 days old, Xadovith is 23 feet, 9 inches long with a wingspan of 41 feet, 6 inches, standing 15 feet, 11 inches tall at the shoulder.
Chielyth
Darkness rises from dainty talons to blend into the sun-dappled, earthy green that dances over Chielyth's lissome frame. With a body made for prancing, buoyant grace sketches her muscles from the slender curvature of her lengthy neck, down her sleek, moss-tipped neckridges, to each articulate turn of her slim tail. Her wings are short and strong, meant for agile turns and just a little more endurance than speed, with sunlight seeming to pool where her wingsails narrow into her spars. Tinged darker along her trailing edges, her sails, when spread, reveal an overlaying of herringbone wisps, as if the artist who painted her had cleaned his brush off there when finished with one color and found the effect interesting enough to leave. A slim muzzle, shockingly dark against her brightness and looking as though she'd dipped it into dye, sets off large, guileless eyes.
At 1 turn, 2 months, 20 days old, Chielyth is 20 feet, 5 inches long with a wingspan of 35 feet, 8 inches, standing 13 feet, 8 inches tall at the shoulder.
B'kaiv scrubs the heel of one hand into an eyesocket, so that the first blurry, bleary vision that greets him is that low, shadowed slink. And than an unfamiliar greeting, though habit has him automatically saluting toward the sound before he's properly focused. "Mmnh," he offers in return, followed swiftly by, "Fort's duties t' th' Reaches an' her queens," all nice and proper. Out in the lake Chielyth's latest playmate has been recalled to the beach, leaving the green to turn for Xadovith with a bright, << Hi! >> touched with sunshine and the scent of fresh-turned loam.
Wait what, Fort? K'ndro waves one hand in front of his face as if that will bring the stranger into better view. And then takes those last few steps necessary to fade the fog enough to properly see, with a rather belated salute of his own being given. It should be ingrained by now, but apparently isn't. "Ah m'apologies, sir. Reaches duties t'Fort an' hers." Xadovith takes a moment to shove his head over top of his lifemate's, a muted whirl in his eyes as he inspects this creature from Away with a somewhat protective air. Until sunshine draws his attention, creeping tendrils of darkness reaching slowly outward to meet it with an added puff of garlicky aroma, << Hello. You are not known to me. >>
Tall and broad shouldered, K'ndro tends to stand out simply because of his size. His build is muscular, but not overly bulky. A man used to the hard work that comes from hard living, with no excessive indulgences. In colouring and features he's actually quite unremarkable, sitting comfortably in the 'average' camp. His skin is a middling brown, a hue that comes partially from heritage, partially from nature. His hair is black and straight, cut short though not too much so; trimmed close at back and sides, but left slightly longer at the top, inconsistently either flopping flat or spiking upwards. Dark brown eyes rest under quirky, expressive brows. His nose is straight, of a size and shape well suited to his face. The same goes for his mouth, lips full, but not excessively so. An angular jaw is resistant to attempts at keeping it clean shaven, stubble fast to reappear.
His clothing is always simple, practical for almost any working situation. Muted, but still evidencing his love of colour even in weyrlinghood. Shirt and sweater combo worn when indoors always bright, contrasting shades, the sleeves frequently rolled up past his elbows. Not new, his clothes, but obviously well cared for, with little fraying or fading to be found. His trousers are either a dark reddish brown or charcoal grey depending upon the day, held at his narrow waist with a wide, utilitarian brown leather belt. Several less encumbering pouches, now, but enough to suppliment pockets. His boots are obviously well worn, the tough leather scuffed and scarred despite the care given to keep them in good condition, dark brown leather that covers his lower legs to just below his knees. Other accessories include a couple of bracelets encircling his left wrist, one plaited leather dyed in five shades of blue, the other a macrame affair made from thick twine and sporting carved bone beads.
The knot at his shoulder is that of a High Reaches weyrling, a thin bronze cord denoting the colour of his lifemate, and a strand of silver thread woven through.
"Chielyth wanted t' come swim," Kai explains with a gesture toward the lake, as if that makes all the difference. Up close he looks a little drawn but not exceptionally so, and a second later he's thrusting a hand toward the taller man, protective shadow or not. "B'kaiv, an' that's Chielyth. Pretty much everyone calls me Kai, though." << I am now, though, >> the green points out happily, casting the sunshine a bit brighter to show off those shadows better. << I'm Chielyth! Who are you? >>
"Sounds like she's been enjoyin' it, too," K'ndro replies with an easy grin. The protective shadow thankfully has learned a -few- things about the social niceties humans observe, and after satisfying himself that all is well continues further on towards the lake and the much more interesting diversion that is meeting a new dragon. Leaving hands to be shaken and verbal introductions to be given, a grip that's firm but not challenging or testing. "K'ndro, an' Xadovith. Good t'meet ye sir. B'kaiv. Kai." Okay, so it's been a while since he's done the whole meet-and-greet routine. "Folk still mostly jus' call me Mik if ye ain't one t'stand on formality." Xadovith doesn't seek to retreat from that brighter light, in fact seems to welcome the contrast and even strengthens it a little with little glimmering flashes against the darkness. << My name is Xadovith. What brings you to my home? >>
"She enjoys lots of things," the Fortian agrees easily, with a jerk of his head toward the lake. Chielyth's now swimming to meet the bronze, neck extended for a proper touching of noses. They're -almost- the same size, after all! "K'ndro. Xadovith." Names repeated - hopefully to sink in - Kai adds, "Mik," and nods approvingly. "Yeah. We just come off standin' watch an' Chielyth wanted t' come visit. You know Wyaeth?" Not that the older bronze is anywhere to be seen. << Hi, Xadovith! I'm swimming! And Kai says we can see Wyaeth maybe only there isn't sun to cuddle in. Do you think there will be sun later? Do you want to swim with me? >>
K'ndro's expression fades from general friendliness to surprise and something like trepidation. "N'thei's bronze." As if just the invocation of the name might be enough to make the man himself appear, a quick look is cast over either shoulder, and then of course up as well. "Aye, I know him. Of him, mostly. They, he, don't much interact with th'weyrlings." Since there's no new looming shadow bearing down out of the fog on them, he allows something of incredulity to slip through, "Shells, jus' off watch? Though, bein' able t'get away...." Is worth losing a little sleep. Xadovith twitches his head back slightly, if dragons could look bemused he certainly would right about now. But his nose is lowered after a moment, Chielyth's friendliness returned with cautious reservation. << I can see that you are swimming. >> A brief roil of that darkness, a snapping pop of light. Even the dragon has trouble processing. << Wyaeth. Cuddles. It is difficult to judge. Sometimes there is sun, but often this murk lingers all day. I... have not had much opportunity to swim. >> An image, briefly flashed and hazy with distance and human perception, of much littler dragons slip-sliding -on- the lake, ice thick.
B'kaiv watches this parade of emotions with a crooked half-smile, his hands shoved into pockets. "Yeah. She's been talking t' him for... shells. Months? I heard as N'thei ain't... dunno. I ain't got nothing t' do with him; I'm just here for her." And she is here for Wyaeth, but in the absence of the older bronze, this one will do. She rumbles at him, amused, and paddles about to try and snug up against his side. << Then we should swim now! You can't catch me! >> Never mind that all he has to do just now is reach out a wing and she's captured. "How old's he?" Kai continues, with a nod for Xadovith. "Bigger'n Chielyth already."
"Nice," K'ndro supplies helpfully. N'thei ain't nice. "Huh, really? Can't really say what Wyaeth's like; Xado pretty much jus' ignores th'fact he exists. Think that might have more t'do with Leova though, actually." Musingly. "How's it down yer way? Enjoyin' a fine spring?" Xadovith ducks his head, bringing it low enough to look up at Chielyth as if this new angle will help him figure out why she's snuggling up against him. Amused, << Your actions and your words don't exactly match, you realise. If you wish to swim, I most certainly can catch you. >> A wing isn't extended, no, but neither is he plunging into cold water to take up the challenge. "Almost seven months," Mik answers, with the usual sort of bemused pride as he turns his gaze towards the dragons. "Still remember when he could fit int'm'lap. How long ye been with her?"
B'kaiv can nod for 'nice' as a thing N'thei is not. "Yeah. Who's Leova?" And what does she have to do with Xadovith ignoring Wyaeth, though Kai doesn't say that bit. He snorts roundly at the question of weather. "Shells, no. Been rainin'-. Raining so much feels like I ain't been dry. Starting t' clear off a little." Unlike misty, murky High Reaches. "Almost sixteen months. Smallest one in th' clutch. Used t' be able t' carry her around." Voice gone just this side of sentimental, the greenrider even has a smile for his girl and her antics. << Nuh-unh! Can't catch meeee! >> and with a slap of her tail she lunges back into the water, throwing a dare over one shoulder.
Eyebrows quirking, K'ndro lifts a hand to scrape his thumbnail across one of them. "One of our weyrlingmasters. Belongs t'green Vrianth. Xado got somethin' of a smackdown when he was jus' learnin' how t'glide an' Wyaeth was there. Memory's long gone from his head of course, but." A helpless shrug. Resentment or dislike lingers, apparently. Sympathetic, "Likely won't be 'til summer we actually see more'n th'rare bright day. ... Kinda rattles th'mind, don't it? She must be a sight t'see in th'sky though, eh? Don't know how big she's gonna get, but we got a dainty one in our clutch, Jeibeth. She flies circles 'round all our boys." Xadovith can at least respond to a dare with more readiness than he can to cuddliness. << Ha! You don't know what I can and cannot do! >> he rejoinders, but there's a deliberate pause before he follows her plunge. Might as well make the chase interesting after all.
"Name's familiar," Kai allows after a few seconds, but mirrors the other's shrug. Dragons. "Yeah, she is. C'n turn on a mark an' give you change." Not that he's smug, or anything. "It don't stop her none, though. She'll play with anyone as looks at her twice." Case in point, the game of tag occurring in the lake just there - and if the riders with weyrs near the lake haven't learned to sleep through happy squeals and splashing, it's far too late now. "Got her in trouble a time or two. She had t' be... shells. Five months old? Something like - before I couldn't see over her back no more." Unlike the relative monstrosity of Xadovith, there. "You lot are... what, couple months from *between*, yeah?"
"How's she feel 'bout racin' an' th'like? Lot of ours like threadin' through th'Spires, would likely welcome th'added competition if yer ever up here an' she's of a mind." K'ndro's expression is starting to tinge towards indulgent, the game of tag more than B'kaiv occupying his attention. "Ain't many as take any sort of likin' t'Xado whether he looks at 'em twice or not. Not that he usually encourages it, either. Good t'see though." The one just mentioned is more inclined to silent, submerged sneak 'attacks' that habitually end in a swiftly lifted wing or swept tail to send sheets of water flying. "In trouble how?" A quick nod, "Aye, somewhere 'round there pretty sure. We're on, uh." He's talking to a greenrider. Yeah, something else! "Really jus' perfectin' their flying an' how they work together in formation, an' all."
B'kaiv says, "Loves it," with another shrug - how could she not? - that turns into a thoughtful look up at those infamous spires. "She ain't got th' stamina t' last, but for sprints an' all?" Kai's got a contented air that says he doesn't expect that she'll do too poorly. A particularly loud squeal greets Xadovith's latest swath of water; Kai turns to watch as Chielyth ducks her head and lunges for the bronze, crowing, << I'll get you! >> because what's a game of tag without sudden reversals? "'Cause she's so small. Brothers knocked her over, banged her up a little, but it didn't stop her none." But Xadovith, now... he's just the right size! "Yeah? Got lots of drilling t' look forward to, so you might as well get used t' it. What's yours like? He ain't got lots of friends?"
K'ndro chuckles, "Should try t'find Corvinth. That brown's a pack of mischief an' could do with someone settin' him in his place." Amused observation more than competative rivalry, but he's an easy-going sort. Xadovith rears back and up in the water, wings driving down in a quick flap to maintain his balance. << Can you catch what you cannot see? >> he flings back on a merry wave of bright lances of light that zing and zip across the backdrop of black, garlic-scent replaced by a bubbling froth of some sweet-smelling elixir. With a final flick of wings tight to his sides, he dives promptly beneath the surface of the water, tail tip flicked teasingly before even that, too, disappears. "Rather drills than hidework," Mik replies with a tooth-flashing grin. "Least they keep -him- occupied, too. Nah, he ain't got but a few. Jeibeth, Ma's Xiloth, don't know as I'd call Corvinth a -friend- but he don't avoid him. Tends t'put most off, intense like. He's not... I dunno. He ain't arrogant as such but." Head scratch.
B'kaiv repeats, "Corvinth," with a sideways look and a nod to slot the name into long-term memory. "A'right." Chielyth greets his challenge with a merry, << Yes! >> (who would doubt any other answer) that meets his lightning-bright lances and disperses them into a beautiful sunshiny day. << I'll get you, Xadovith! >> She hesitates at the water's surface for just a heartbeat, no longer, before diving into the unfamiliar waters, tracking him by wake and bubble. Kai steps back from the shore, shares a rueful snort. "Oh /shells/, yeah. Sharding /hate/ hidework. Readin' it, writin' it - that's Harper work. I'd known how much hides a rider got t' do, might'a said no t' Mecaith," he says lightly, then nods after the departed dragons. "He ain't so bad. She likes him plenty."
Which dragon will wind up the chaser, and which the chased? Because once under the water, down and down just to leave a nice trial, before doubling back but just far enough to the side, an oblique angle to avoid an unwanted collision. Xadovith's intention to make the game interesting, not result in injury. If Chielyth doesn't sense him, doesn't preempt his plan with cleverness or blind luck, he fully expects to be waiting back at the surface like a long-forgotten crocodile ready to pounce. But will the green's next move allow him to get that far? "Th'stuff as covers formations an' 'Fall charts is interestin' enough. Y'know, th'practicals. But shards, memorisin' th'local Lords' lineage so's ye don't accidentally insult one by gettin' th'name of his great-grandfather wrong is jus'...." Painful. The 'said no' earns a quizzical look, but there's a mild degree of understanding, too. Woulda known, mighta done, but wouldn't give up the current situation for all of Pern, yes? "Ain't seen him like this in... months. Might be nice t'visit, once we're set free. If ye wouldn't mind, that is, B'kaiv. Don't want him distractin' her or causin' ye problems."
Down, down, into the depths she follows, not far enough back for Xadovith's craftiness to be fully played out. For when he doubles back and scoots to the side she's right /there/, swiping at the just-seen form with a taloned foot. << Found you! >> she crows and twists about her own tail, darting off through the silence. "That ain't too bad," Kai allows with a thoughtful nod. "Th' charts an' all. An' that's why I ain't plannin' on bein' more'n'a wingrider. Suppose it's different f'r you," with a nod for Mik's knot. After the nod his eyes lift; a moment of considering the taller man and he nods again. "Sure. When we was learning we wasn't allowed t' drink or nothing, but we can play cards, maybe. Let them two do whatever it is they're gonna."
Foiled! And yet Xadovith doesn't exactly mind. He relishes the game itself much more than 'winning' it. Even if his taunting, << You got lucky, little girl! >> might suggest otherwise. She twists and he turns, following the cold wake she leaves behind. "Always a chance I could be nothin' but a wingrider," K'ndro says, with a definite air of an unspoken 'please Faranth let that be so.' Curiously, then, "Y'got a leadership programme down Fort way? One of our weyrlingmasters is from Igen, says they don't do that sort of thing over there. Or, didn't when he Impressed." His shoulders hunch briefly as hands seek and find pockets, and finally the game in-and-under the lake is looked away from. Quick smile, "Thanks. Friend like her, active an' all, be good for him. Not allowed -at all- or jus' durin' th'trainin' for :between:?"
Chielyth sends a cheerful, << Ha ha! >> back: too bad, so sad! << I'm not lucky, you're -slow-! >> and angles suddenly for the surface again. "Your Weyrleader now, he probably thought th' same, yeah?" B'kaiv points out wryly. "Least that ain't never gonna happen t' us." But before his words are finished he's shaking his head. No, no program like that. "Nah. Just extra lessons f'r th' gold an' bronzes, but it ain't like it done them no good." He doesn't elaborate, but glances off to a sharp whistle from somewhere down the bowl. "Just durin' *between* trainin'. Until they knew we wasn't gonna do nothin' stupid. Could maybe get you a beer if you ain't gonna go straight back, have it on your breath an' all, you know?"
<< I'll show you slow! >> As if Xadovith has been holding back, or something. Not the case, but the wordplay is as much a part of the game as the chasing. Surging after her, using wings as much as legs to push himself through the water in an attempt to get close enough to snatch her tail. K'ndro slants a glance down at B'kaiv, eyes squinting slightly in that mildly-pained expression people get when they're still in denial of even hypotheticals. His, "Probably." is delayed enough to suggest a censored reply. "Huh, that so? It ain't kept t'jus' them here. Others in m'group are a green, two browns and m'pal Z'yi, bluerider. W'chek, the other one as Impressed bronze, he's jus' goin' through normal lessons with everyone else." Speaking of, "Shardin' fog. How long we been out here, anyhow? Gonna get a bollockin' if I'm late an' ain't been attendin' th'wingleaders' meetin'. Good t'meet ye, Kai. Dry roads an' clear skies!" He'll be trotting off double-time, but with the low visibility Xadovith at least has an excuse for staying behind until Chielyth has to leave.
Huh. One of the few bronzeriders I ain't wanted to punch. Hope he don't make me change my mind. Chielyth sure were having fun - have to remember that Corvinth's name, see if he wants to race her.