Logs:Dem Bones
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| RL Date: 19 August, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, Taikrin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hraedhyth and Azaylia are on a strange sleep schedule, but that doesn't stop the two from being productive. Taikrin and Szadath are... a little confused. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 7, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
| 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. With the current class of weyrlings housed, there's not as much activity near the barracks during the day. So late in the evening, this area of the bowl might as well be deserted save for a certain bulky queen and her rider. Azaylia sits atop a boulder that has been smoothed over time, watching Hraedhyth as she noses along the ground, searching. Since Ysavaeth's loss the gold has been quiet enough to concern several weyrfolk, sleeping often and taking up much of her weyrling's time. There have been slow improvements each day, though the constant sleeping has taken a toll on both of their schedules, which leaves them wide awake while others are winding down. Surely Szadath and Taikrin aren't stalking the gold and her rider. Surely it's coincidence that has them in a leisurely spiral down from their ledge. At first, it seems as if they're going to divert into the feeding grounds, but then the brown spills air from his wings and plummets to land with a teeth-rattling thump about a dragonlength from Hraedhyth. Taikrin is strapped in today, and while she sorts herself out and dismounts, the brown doesn't hesitate to intrude in a voice just as loud and abrupt as his landing. « What are you doing? » Hraedhyth doesn't look up at Szadath's impressive landing. The impact has her boneclubs rattling, wings held tighter to still her spars. Even his voice doesn't have her flinching, no echo for him across her scorched plains, though a gentle wind has begun to sweep the debris away. « Azaylia moved my marker. » A growl so low it's felt rather than heard, « She says it will be good for me to find it on my own. » The culprit holds the wooden stake in her hand, one knee hugged against her chest as the other leg dangles off her stony seat. A hand lifts to greet Taikrin, stopping just above her shoulder with a few wiggling fingers. « What marker? What are you marking? » No sooner has Taikrin set boots to the ground then Szadath is lumbering off to peer curiously at the ground where Hraedhyth is looking. "Azaylia." Taikrin's greeting is easy, and she doesn't seem at all the worse for the wear as she dusts herself off and ambles towards the boulder. Her cheeks are red with either sun or windburn, and her voice hoarse with disuse. "You guys playing some kind of game? Szad was wondering." Hraedhyth lifts a paw to gouge the earth, pausing only to tilt her head curiously. For those watching both, they'll see Azaylia's head shake, and the gold turns around to lumber a few feet in another direction. « Corpses. » The edge to her growl might be for the intruding brown, or it could be building frustration at this 'game'. "Taikrin." Azaylia greets gently, sounding softer than usual. "Kind of. It's to keep her mind off of... things." Best not remind her and make the effort futile. "She's got a few more skulls buried in the soft bits of the ground." Eyes fall to the marker, turning it this way and that. "I think this one's to an... ovine?" Unsure, unbothered. Without even missing a beat, Szadath assumes, « Of your enemies? You're pretty small to have enemies. » He'll take as much advantage of that whisper of height he has on her while he can. Taikrin glances over towards the dragons, not-quite-frowning, then cuts back towards Azaylia. "She buries skulls in the ground? She saving them for later?" Rather than join the weyrling on the boulder, Taikrin instead leans her side in against it in a casual sort of way, so that she can pretend to watch the dragons. "She doing alright?" Given that Hraedhyth's drums are only present as echoes, it's quite literally a beat before her own quick reply, « Not yet. » Muzzle to the ground, she's on another trail before giving an intrigued growl. The dirt's certainly soft enough here. Azaylia gives a nod which has her gold pawing at the earth, growing more excited with each swipe. "Oh, well. We can't boil most of her kills." There's an unspoken yet. "When she buries it, the buggies and 'snakes do most of the work. Then I clean it some more before we put it in our weyr." Head turning to look over at the brownrider, her smile is delicate, "Much better. It's the biggest thing to happen since... since Tiriana." More importantly, Iovniath's transfer. Taikrin's lips move silently, mouthing 'put it in our weyr' as if trying to wrap her head around the phrase. Meanwhile, Szadath inserts himself gladly into the action-- he scrapes claws through the dirt, and shares a not-memory of digging and heat and a clash of swords and armies that he can't possibly have actually experienced. « I'm the best at digging holes. » At this point, Taikrin's gained enough aplomb to merely twitch at Tiriana's name. "Reckon you lot are more sensitive to it. Szad's already forgotten." Beat. "Just how many skulls you guys got, anyways?" One swipe is tolerated. Two. When Szadath goes for for a third Hraedhyth's bulk moves with an impressive speed. She's suddenly there, hunched over her hole with muzzle titled up at him and jaws bared. « MINE. » Shadows of soldiers are roused within her, monstrous forms that are the things of his armies nightmares. Azaylia gasps the first half of her dragon's name, cool breeze turning into a calming gust within the gold. She doesn't stand down, but the growling quiets. Barely. « You are allowed to cover the hole after. » With a breath she doesn't realize she was holding, "Yes. She's very sensitive right now." Tone is apologetic for poor Szadath as well as Taikrin. "And, uhm... Probably..." Counting with both hands, lips moving without sound until, "Twelve now? Mostly herdbeasts. Those are her favorites." 'Poor Szadath' is not a term that usually applies-- nor does he seem so poor now. Hraedhyth's armies echo and reverberate back through Szadath's mind, mixing with the not-memory of fire and battle into an unholy clangor that phases him not a whit. « I'm the best at filling in holes, too. » He bares his own gapped teeth down at her in a desultry sort of way, matching like for like. "Huh. I guess dragons've collected weirder stuff." Nor does his rider seem much bothered by Hraedhyth's overt hostility, though she does keep one eye on the two dragons. "Good for 'em to have a hobby. Szad used to like filching firestone so he could burn stuff for Iskiveth. He likes burning stuff." Hraedhyth's jaws are sheathed far too quickly, and it shouldn't be mistaken for a surrendor. No, a curiosity that belies her youth has the gold stepping over her hole and staring at his jaws. « You are broken. » Not a statement, more of a question despite her forceful tone. Azaylia tries to remain polite despite how her eyes continue to drift to the two dragons, "She likes trophies. They help her remember." In this case they're helping her forget. "Iskiveth." The name is repeated gently, "The one he caught. You've mentioned her before... were they close?" She tries not to sound too surprised. Of all things, this close inspection has Szadath rearing back half a pace; the roar of armies blurs and echoes with milling confusion. « What? Where? » And then, « I am not! » It has Taikrin snorting with laughter, and it's made all the worse by Azaylia's question. "You could maybe say that. He was fascinated from the day they almost got themselves killed chasing herdbeasts when they were only so high." She draws a hand idly across her rib-cage to indicate height. "They don't-- not anymore. But until he sent her away, yeah. They were pretty close you could say. Understood each other." Hraedhyth advances slowly, still curious, aiming to get a closer look whether he likes it or not. Szadath's denial is accepted, « Then you were injured in battle. » Another not-question. If this keeps up, she'll be not-interrogating him. Azaylia's hands fly up to her mouth, marker tucked under one arm as she tries not to giggle at the brown. "Oh Hrae, sweetie. That's so impolite." Like the gold cares. Taikrin manages to pull her gaze away, brown eyes still holding a bit of amusement. "That's far too young to... I guess they were both troublemakers?" No, really? "That's good. That they understood each other, I mean." From one rider of a difficult dragon to another. It's not retreating, not really, only a tactical maneuvering. « I'm not injured. » His wings half-mantle, as if to provide proof, and he asks uncertainly, as if playing a guessing game, « Do you want to fight? » Despite how amused she is with the whole situation, Taikrin manages nonetheless to nod. "Troublemakers from the minute they broke shell. Don't know how Meara didn't just drop the lot of us between some days. Him being a terror and me being an ex-co-- uh, ex-Crom kid, and all." All at once she turns to ask intently, "What's she goin' on about, anyways? Szad's about to turn himself inside out." Hraedhyth wields her own bone clubs in the same manner as the brown. Her wings spread to help make up for those three feet or so he's got on her. Not even aware of her own actions, his question catches the young dragon off guard. « No. » A startlingly certain answer, proof that she's not completely herself. Not yet. "Meara's wonderful." Words one wouldn't expect to hear from a weyrling, so soon. "Hraedhyth hasn't been the easiest- I think she really wanted to eat her when they had to cut my hair." Azaylia blinks at the stutter, curiosity stifled by her manners. "She's never seen a dragon with a- does he really have a gap in his teeth?" The giggles begin again, not at the brown. More like the sort of sounds one would make over a pup or kitten: it's cute. Good. Now they're both confused. Szadath re-folds his wings, but remains puffed up to take advantage of that whisper of height and bulk he retains over Hraedhyth. « Okay. » His head weaves on his neck a little, catches sight of the trenches in the dirt, and then he remembers to demand, « Show me your treasure! » Taikrin remains mystified, at first. "A gap...? He-- oh! Yes. That. Shards, it's been turns since I thought about it. He's always had that, right here--" She bares her own mostly-straight and mostly-clean teeth to indicate the approximate tooth with a finger. "Just sort of hatched that way. It never did grow in with his others." Apathy should never be mistaken for weakness, « I will show you your own guts if you are not careful. » Smokey voice holds remnants of her fire, tone deep with a threat that should be idle. Shouldn't it? Hraedhyth noses at the ground, using claw and muzzle to push the sheep skull out of the hole. It's almost clean, nothing a hard scrubbing and bleaching in the sun won't fix. Azaylia tries to stifle her giggling, "Oh my... that's just about the cutest thing." Perhaps draconic grief and lonely nights have made the young woman unstable? "Sorry." She murmurs, not looking it despite her words. This is something Szadath understands. « I'd like to see you try! » he crows, the echoes of his mind redoubling echoing around a new note: the meaty squelch of fist on flesh that sounds all too much like something he has experienced. "I guess?" Taikrin's trying to laugh about it, but from her discomfited reaction it's entirely possible that nobody has ever called Szadath cute. "It's fine. It's just a thing. No big deal. But maybe we should leave you guys to your skulls, before Szad gets her all wound up? Reckon he's too good at pushing her buttons." Hraedhyth is busy dragging a forked tongue over the ovine skull. Excuse her? « Shouldn't you be filling up the hole? » Isn't he the best at that? Mm. There's still some skin right on the top of the head. Now Azaylia's looking sorry, "Oh. R-right. It's late." She pushes off of the boulder and reaches back to dust herself off, "He, I mean it's usually a bad idea... But maybe later, when she's feeling better they could play?" Optimism personified. "Wrestle, roughhouse? I'm sure if I watched them closely they'd be fine." Carefully worded so as not to sound like something that would cut into Taikrin's busy schedule. « That doesn't look like any treasure I've ever seen, » Szadath grumbles, peering over Hraedhyth's shoulder at her skull. There's an unformed glimmer in his mind of gold and shiny colors and-- eggs?-- that disappears into the noise as quickly as it arrives. He makes a desultry effort at refilling the hole, but he's really far more interested in eyeing Hraedhyth and her skull. "Szad gets pretty rough, when he gets worked up," Taikrin cautions. "He's got a coupl'a weight classes on her still-- hate to see her get hurt." Despite the hedging, a beat later the brownrider shrugs it all aside. "Don't bother me none, though, if they want to. Szad can take care of himself, and I don't reckon he'd try to really do her damage on purpose." For the first time in days, Hraedhyth is warmed with savage pleasure, « No. » She agrees, momentarily intrigued by the flicker of eggs than by shiny rocks. « It's my trophy. » One of many, all categorized in her mental battlefield, tall poles topped by the various heads of animals she's slain. The important ones. Her first kill, her first bull, her first non-herdbeast. And judging by the empty pikes, she's itching to add more to her collection. Azaylia makes her way over to the dragons, footfalls slow enough so that if Taikrin doesn't follow the conversation won't be cut too short. "I bet Szadath is really a sweetie, deep down." Borderline babytalk there. Poor emasculated brown. "They wouldn't try to perminently hurt each other." And that's what matters, right? Turning slowly, she nears Hraedhyth's prize without a bit of hesitation, reaching down to pluck up the sizeable skull. Here, she falters. Ewww. Dragon slobber. Taikrin meanders after Azaylia, apparently unconcerned despite the way her arms fold loosely across her chest. "Szad surely wouldn't-- not with her, anyways." It's rude to hit a girl, after all. « Then it's not a treasure. It's a trophy. » The concept of the difference rolls around in his mind, of prize versus accomplishment. It's really far too deep for him to worry about, and he dismisses it a moment later. « It should be shinier, » he advises as he backs away from the dirt he's churned up and then stomped down. "We just got off sweeps, though-- reckon I ought to feed him and clean him up before they go tearing chunks off each other." She's so blythe about the whole thing! Azaylia is trying to find the least slimy part of the skull to hold onto, "Oh wherryfeathers." She nearly whimpers, less about the remains and more about her dragon's spit. "That's good." Distracted but genuine. Hraedhyth turns her head now that the trophy is in safe hands, whirling eyes settled on the brown. « It will be. » After Hers is done with it. "U-uhm? Oh. Yes, please. Don't let us get in the way." Not that she's particularly afraid of them getting into it now. "Good night, Taikrin. Szadath." She holds the skull out in front of her, suppressing a shudder as a big glob of dragon spit falls to the ground. The queen continues to stare, « Later. » Ominous promise given, she turns and follows her weyrling with a subtly smug carriage at having another prize for their weyr.
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