Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.
The mental touch goes out to all of the little dragons in the vicinity, bearing just a hint of the taste of blood, a taste of which Arekoth is still aware as he takes wing from the feeding pens, with about half a small carcass still clutched and dripping in his talons. « You're old enough to taste fresh meat. » All of the little dragons. Even the ones he hasn't quite so obviously decided are his.
One of those little dragons responds with an outreach of greeting, his excitement blunted only by a deep desire not to reveal too much too soon. « Oh, I do appreciate fresh, » he replies with a gusto limned with that excitement he can't reign in. The brown is near his rider, both enjoying the afternoon's sunlight in the eastern end of the bowl, though as Kazavoth senses the approaching adult, he steps away slightly, nose pointed upward in anticipation.
It's the scent then offer of blood which lures a freshly-bathed and oiled Ilicaeth from his couch, the blue stepping smartly - just like his lifemate - into the Bowl, their paces hurried so as not to be the last to accept Arekoth's invitation. Alida takes the 'calm/assertive' tack, while Ilicaeth - being much younger and inexperienced - takes the 'excited/assertive' one. As the blue awaits Arekoth and his bloody scraps, his multi-colored gaze spins faster, faster, and his talons and tail begin to twitch. As for the blonde woman...she simply stands beside her little dragon, watching ans waiting in patience and silence, except for giving a bob of head to both D'kan and Kazavoth.
Excitement just under control, and a tightening eddy of black Istan sand characterize Ilicaeth's presence as he awaits the older brown's offer, his intensity perhaps scouring hide a little bit. (Ilicaeth to Arekoth and Kazavoth)
And Arekoth arrives, as promised, solo, and terribly pleased to see at least some weyrlings out and about, willing to be drawn away from things, maybe, if he's really lucky. It's in the green of his eyes. It's in the carefully perfected landing, despite the humidity that bites at that twisted forelimb of his, beast carcass lowered, not dropped,. « When you're bigger, maybe I'll bring you one with its heart still pumping. This one is close, though. » If half-devoured. But warm!
Kazavoth spares the smallest of glances for his rider, but that is the only pause he gives before approaching Arekoth and his lowered prize. « I feel bigger today already, » he shares in warm, jubilant tone while stepping right up to the far larger brown. His own little eyes whirl with the excitement he's trying so hard to keep under control, and he's sitting so prettily and dignified! Except for the tail he can't keep from swishing. A lot. He studies Arekoth, then the carcass, then Arekoth, then a glance back toward Ilicaeth. « So... we eat it now? » Everything in its proper order.
Athimeroth's movements are like the gust of wind, blown across the bowl with wings fanned out, then closed, then fanned out again. C'wlin follows, as if at the end of a long leash, at the whims of his headstrong lifemate. The bronze, see, has plans. The call of sire is too strong to ignore, as is the call of fres meat. In the distance, echoes of whipping flags bring a steady, verbal rush to what mind touch is given to siblings and sire alike. D'kan is found first, then Alida, then Arekoth, and the boy's scratching behind his head. "Am I the only one glad I'm not going to have to cut it up?" This comment seemingly made at random. Athimeroth is already scoping out his sire's prize. Yum-yum. For the moment, aether-Athimeroth is held aloof to all else; mental presence above it all, in the clouds.
It's Ilicaeth who answers both Arekoth and Kazavoth first, the blue taking charge in an instant with his rather forceful, « Only when Arekoth says we can, Kazavoth. Don't be rude. » The little dragon also steps forward, coming up side-by-side with his slightly larger sibling, Ilicaeth's head held up, his chest puffed slightly. Athimeroth, however, receives a loud 'bark' of protest and small ire from his smaller brother, the blue stepping up to him and staring with slightly orange-blue eyes into the bronze's face when he moves up close to contemplate a mouthful. Glare. « Wait for your elder to truly offer it to you. » Taskmaster, he seems to project. As for Alida, she simply observes with a cautious quiet, the blonde's lips thinning slightly, her eyes narrowed with a hint of concentration. All C'wlin's words get is a thoughtful grunt.
« Better now than later! » The older brown's voice is round, rolling, though there's a dearth of any imagery, even the smell of blood now only present physically. « Unless you, » and his eyes are on Ilicaeth, a hint of mockery in his tone, « want that rubbery, tasteless stuff they give you. » That hooked-snout lowers to tear a careful strip of flesh from the carcass in demonstrations before Arekoth is willing to step back. « Don't go choking yourselves. » The dragon's wings are out, halfway mantling, as that manageable piece is swallowed.
D'kan has been sitting on an upturned crate, taking the time to get in some correspondence. He blows across the last few words on the page, however, and soon begins packing up his things while giving first Alida then C'wlin a nod. "Definitely not the only one," he says in reply, grinning before he looks over toward his lifemate, dwarfed by Arekoth. Athimeroth's projections are absorbed by the brown, consumed, then reflected by a distant burst of fanfare by unseen horns, the bugles that would accompany the bronze's banners. « Rude? Who's being rude? » he asks with too heavy a hint of innocence to be truly so. After Arekoth's demonstration, he steps right up to the carcass and reaches in to hook one of the muscle groups of a back haunch with his teeth, slowly, almost delicately tearing it away. The long piece is then swallowed down mouthful by mouthful. Hopefully it got chewed somewhere in there, too.
Well, he's been allowed with those words from Arekoth, at least, and in the twinkling of an eye, Ilicaeth literally pounces upon the leftovers of the beast, his orange eyes whirling with vital intensity as he mantles over his own chosen hank of the leftover beast. A predatory growl issues from the blue's throat, his claws digging into freshest meat with the joy of a warrior joined to battle, their sword plunging into the flesh of their opponents. He needs little demonstration; Ilicaeth operated on instinct and personality alone: a killer if there ever was one. As one of his mouthfuls finally tears free, the blue gives a trumpeting battle cry upon cool air, which unfortunately allows his meat to fall from his mouth...the chunk instantly nabbed up from the ground and nearly inhaled before Alida can control him...silently urge her blue to CHEW. The effort she expends is large, the blonde unconsciously leaning towards her lifemate with fists clenched at her sides, some sweat beading at her forehead as she stares holes into 'caeth. All the other dragons gathered get from him is a low rumbling of pleasure, and his thoughts of blood, death, triumph.
Scoping out the kill -- and sire -- Athimeroth's jaws sink into the still warm flesh, sinister weathered hide gleaming in the burnished shoulders and back talons. Anarchist to the very core, the fact that Ilicaeth even made mention of waiting for his elders was cause for the bronze to tear into the warm, dripping flesh before even Arekoth spoke. Winds whip; aether drawn from the upper atmopsher to manifest in chilling cold meeting the blustery heat of Athimeroth's presence, produces a humidity cloying in little baby dragon mindscapes, adding further cacophany to Kazavoth's horns and bugles in perfect, riotious, glorious anarchy. Even his blue clutchbrother's sounds of pleasure in the feast can add noise to all the force of those winds. "Thank Faranth," C'wlin comments, wry, to D'kan. "I'm so sick of hand feeding him. I'll be glad when he is able to eat for himself." Alida's concentration is noted, and not -- at the moment -- disturbed.
Kazavoth's chewing slows to a stop as he watches Ilicaeth. He doesn't have to think the words, it's in his actions as he reaches in for another tear, then walks away with it in his mouth. On the other side. The little brown glances at Athimeroth, then up at Arekoth, the second strip of meat just dangling, dripping onto the ground. There is a slow blink of that first layer of draconic eyelids, then he cants his head to the side slightly, just watching the other brown, studying. Jaws work once, remembering briefly to chew, then his wings flutter away from his back. He chews again, sitting back on his haunches, balanced by his red-edged wings as they unfurl further. He doesn't quite have the mantling posture, but it grows closer with each bite.
Arekoth is amused at first by the little bronze. At first. But then, wings still mantled, there's a lunge forward, a sharp almost-hiss of air escaping him. And if that's not enough to give him some space near that carcass, well, he's got legs. And wings to flap. And that beaked muzzle. « The best part, » comes loud, calling for attention, the faintest winter chill behind it, « is the innards right, » and teeth tear in, « here. » He exposes them, gets some on his muzzle, but leaves most there for the little ones when he steps back once more. And even without food, the mantling is repeated, this time full-out and held, as he eyes up that little brown. Adorable.
"Yeah, I was hoping if I just presented Kazavoth with meat just the way he likes, he'd eat it out of the pail or something," D'kan shares with C'wlin, as he's also seemed to have decided leaving Alida to her concentrations is a good idea. "But no. If it's not out of my hand, it's just not good enough." As for that little brown, he's right in there to get those choice meats, darting in and out before the other two crowd him out. He soon retreats again, though, happy to enjoy those innards, but Arekoth has apparently become even more fascinating that the fresh meat. Kazavoth pads to the other side this time, perhaps to get a different point of view. Back those wings go as he sits on his haunches, some bit of entrails still dangling in a sick sort of pendulum. « This, » as he swallows it down, « is most definitely delicious. Excellent choice, if I may say so. »
Yep; it's Ilicaeth's who's behaving rather crudely in this visceral moment, and if Alida could spare a moment of thought for such, she might be smirking slightly at her lifemate. Unfortunately, she's busy restraining the blue from simply gutting the leftover carcass, the palest-blonde's teeth now gritted with an audible click...audible, that is, if anyone can hear over the sounds they weyrling dragons give off. Heavy chuffs and low rumbles continue to issue from Ilicaeth's lungs, but as he gets more and more blood and meat down his maw, the blue slowly evens out, his eyes reducing their speedy whirl, their color moving from red to orange, then finally multicolors. It's only Alida's control of him and his immediate respect for Arekoth that allows the blue to jerk his head up from feeding and then slowly back away so that the elder brown can demonstrate what he wants to know. And when the sight of vitals greets his eyes - the blue vicariously tasting them through the twisted-limbed dragon - oh hell, the battle for control starts all over again. With Alida finally able to cautiously let up some of her mental restraint, she finds a moment to jerk her gaze over to her clutchsibs, her mouth opening for a few words..then suddenly snapping shut with the blast of feral glee she once again gets from her blue. "Fuuuuck..." is ground out as her green eyes turn inward, her features twisting into a mask of mixed effort, ire, and concern. Again, the blue projects his fercious joy and rapacious hunger triggered by the taste of offal with a savage little hiss. Yep, someone's red-eyed, again.
Athimeroth is a force to be reckoned with, some of that coming surely from his sire's own unapologetic stance on life. When Arekoth starts widening his personal space and the wings go out, the little bronze is smacked in the the face. End-over-end, he goes, tumbling like tumbleweed in the wind. It's not so much the power behind his sire's movement, it's more the lack of balance that comes from leaning on two feet to get at the choice leg bits. When the entrails are spilt for their dining pleasure, the bronze -- an angry, hot, blustering gale-force wind - is bugling (squealing) quite nicely like the aforementioned hot, angry air; his voice eerily like the rushing wind against mountaintops. "Right? I was too -- " C'wlin drawl to K'dan, standing near the brownrider when Athimeroth takes his little tumble, weathered hide unhurt while pride is not. "Faranth. Look at that, I can't leave him alone one minute." Alida is eyeballed. EYEBALLED. For that expression. "Maybe we," he glances to D'kan, "are the lucky ones."
« On your feet, boy » comes offhandedly to that little bronze, all hint of hot winds and everything gone when he speaks, and replaced by absolutely nothing but his words. And Arekoth can't - or more appropriately, perhaps, chooses not to - hide that bit of mirth there. Who knew dragon babies were so fun? Ilicaeth is accorded another look, then Kazavoth - although Arekoth holds his pose as carefully as he can when the little brown moves. « Just wait until I bring you a wherry. » A beat, and then a sweeping gaze takes in all three dragons there. « If you're all good. »
« A... a live one, perhaps? » Kazavoth asks as he pads nearer the carcass again, though his attention is fully on Arekoth this time. The lack of anything beyond a slightly yellow-tinged blue in his eyes may help indicate that he ate not too long ago, but sheer joy in the experience bubbles along his mindvoice as he keeps revisiting the tastes and textures, sharing them liberally with all dragons in the near vicinity. Possibly leaking over to their riders. Sharing is caring. D'kan might not agree, though, as his lips peel back in a grimace, and a "shells" is breathed out while he has to readjust his own end of that link. And closing that vivid window... now.
Ilicaeth's growl is now given to Alida, the blue protesting her deeper interference with his dark joy in gutting and feeding. A faint hint of surprise is noticable upon the young woman's features at such treatment from her lifemate, and in that moment of startlement, the little blue simply inhales a long string of guts like people would spaghetti...sans the chewing. Stung by his glaring disobedience, Alida paces forward a long three steps towards the scene of feeding before all of them - no fear in her eyes - and GLARES at the unruly Ilicaeth before her gaze turns inward again. At this point, it's very good that her nails aren't more than small projections from fingertips, or the guard might just be piercing her own flesh at clenched palms. Back and forth they go, glare for glare exchanged between human and dragon...but finally, finally the more experienced two-legger wins out, and the little blue grumbles and huffs...and backs away from the guts of the buck. Too bad he was so busy squaring off against Alida that Ilicaeth missed Arekoth's offer of a wherry. *He* certainly isn't being 'good' right now...in some parlances, anyway.
« Alive... » Sullenly, Athimeroth has pushed himself back upright, but done in such a way that it does not look like he did it because Arekoth told him too. Of course not! This blustering wind of a dragon would never do something someone tells him too! Kazavoth, however, is the true treasure with that lovely, lovely suggestion. C'wlin, though, senses the coming storm brewing in his bronze, and turns to D'kan, "Catch ya later? I've got to oil," yeah, that's the word for it, "Athimeroth before his itchy shoulders split open." The last is meant for his errant dragon, already doing the side-to-side shuffle in keeping both sire and carcass in sight. Some force of will, some peer pressure -- with some eyeballing at Alida and Ilicaeth and the blue's behavior -- and the bronze is scampering off. Notably not in C'wlin's direction either. Heaving a sigh, the young bronzerider chases after his higher-ground-seeking lifemate, but not before giving Arekoth a quick bob of his head. He has manners, even if his dragon does not. "Will you come back here?!" are the echoing words left behind. Exit; stage left.
Arekoth cannot so much give a sly smile, being a dragon, but it's in his voice. « For that you'd have to be really good. » A look over to Ilicaeth, whose behaviour seems hardly an affront to the brown, at least. « And not tell your weyrlingmasters. » The mantling comes to a close here, and he shuffles his wings, lays them down, lifts them, shuffles them, and repeats this until he's satisfied, settled. « But I'll see what I can do. There's really nothing like eating something live. » The last comes more as a confidence to his brown dragon-son, connoisseur to connoisseur.
There is downright glee emanating from the Kazavoth following Arekoth's message, and there is little question that the little brown is not adverse to lies of omission. Especially if there's possibly a live wherry in the offering. « Oh, there is no need to bother them with such a trifle, » read: delight, « when they have much more important things to worry about, yes? » Like an escaping Athimeroth, or a rampaging Ilicaeth, for example. His own dark wings flutter at the last confidence. If he could wink, he would. Now that Kaz's larger brother is out of the way, the brown comes back in to see what might be left of the quickly cooling meal. For D'kan's part, he waves off C'wlin, his only comment in his wide smirk.
Good thing that Arekoth 'enjoys' rowdiness. « Really good? » the once irate blue chuffs to Arekoth in still blood-soaked tones, some curiosity finally seeping in to divert his bloodlust. As a counterpoint to the elder brown's wing-shuffling comes the off-beat rustling of Ilicaeth's own glorious wings, their much-lesser size making them not as loud, though the sight of their 'eyed' glory is indeed eye-catching. With Kazavoth's return to eyeing the corpse comes a chuff from the blue...to be met by a firm and clipped, if low, order from his lifemate: "Don't even *try* it, toots." Alida means business, and so her stare and intensity state. For his own part, the little blue simply stands his new ground, and pushes to his haunches, letting his wings partially unfurl to catch whatever elements they might. Finally, the blonde gives a deep sigh, and lifts her eyes over to her fellow humans...able to look in, listen to what's transpiring between them. "Everyone okay?" is inquired quietly.
Arekoth is well-pleased with this little brown. Enough so as to move forward and even give a little muzzle-nudge of encouragement in the direction of that beast as Kazavoth goes. « I'll see to it. A nice fat hen, maybe, » carries all the approval vocal intonation can. Stepping back, and looking to both little dragons remaining: « Go on and finish it up. » Both of them. « No better than cut once it's cold. »
It's a kind of test that Alida gives her blue lifemate in allowing him to claim equality with her in this testy circumstance. *She* cannot hear Arekoth's okay for Ilicaeth and his clutchsib to finish the carcass...and he could take advantage of such and try to sidestep his human. But this time, the scrappy blue first looks up at Arekoth, and then much more importantly eyes 'lida. Waiting, if still a little grumbly about what happened previously. A silent communique takes place, and after a few moments of thought and testing, the woman simply nods to the blue. And with more manners than shown before, Hraedhyth and Szadath's offspring goes to all fours, and stalks over to the carcass, then lowering his muzzle and taking a solid chomp from it. A curling of lips, baring of draconic teeth to Alida attempts one of her smirky-grins and mostly fails, but she gets the sentiment, the blonde shaking her head once, smirking back, and watching her beast eat.
There is a tiny creeling sound from Kazavoth as he pushes into Arekoth's nudge, then he follows his sire's encouragement toward the meal. He glances to Ilicaeth, but it's almost an offhand sort of gesture, chin raised slightly, wings lifted just barely off his back now. « What she said. Toots. » Okay, what might have only remained implied mocking is now reinforced in the brown's mindvoice. There is humor there, but also a level of disdain. « You do know you are embarrassing yourself now, yes? » The last syllable hangs in an almost serpentine hiss. He merely watches as Ilicaeth goes back to eating, then with a last, more private word to his sire, he turns to join D'kan, who will now have the pleasure of bathing his blood-spattered lifemate again. The weyrling gives a last wave to Alida and the two remaining dragons, then the brown pair heads into the the weyrling caverns.
To Arekoth, Kazavoth narrows his mindvoice to gently intrude into Arekoth's space, a remaining glimmer of delight rippling through his words. « That was a most enjoyable experience, sir. You have my deepest gratitude. » The words ring lightly, lilting with imagined flourishes. Kazavoth has not quite found his singing voice yet, but the first hints of it are there before he fades to concentrate on the new task before him. Bath time.
To Kazavoth, Arekoth awards his offspring the faintest green aurora just beyond his words. « Just wait until you've caught your own, » is brimming with anticipatory pride. And, « Soon, » is a promise.
Arekoth waits, not quietly - he's never really quiet - but at least with some patience. They are just babies, after all. Kazavoth is given a wing-shuffle in response, his sire's sharp gaze on him as he retreats. And then, it's to Ilicaeth.
A bob of head and a lift of her own hand answer D'kan's leavetaking, Alida then looking back over to Ilicaeth as he gives a small grumble to the pair of reatreating clutchsibs, the blue's mellowing gaze taking up some orange within blues and greens for a few moments. "Thanks for the lesson..." the former guard clips off up to the towering brown, her tones both wry and honest. And the blue? Why, if Arekoth allows him, Ilicaeth will consume the rest of the beast's hindquarters, and then give off a long, if low belch.
The brown waits most of the while, but is preparing himself for leaving even before Ilicaeth has finished. It's about in time with that belch that Arekoth spreads his wings and takes to the air. « Don't tell your weyrlingmasters, » is a reminder as he takes his leave. And that carcass that's left? It'll be blamed on some green, probably.
« I promise. Thank you, Arekoth... » the blue warbles up to the brow as he leaves, the stuffed little blue then happily waddling off with his lifemate in tow. A sudden grin splits Alida's features at something Ilicaeth has to say, a low laugh rippling through the blonde as the pair make for the barracks.
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