Logs:Flew, Mama, Flew!
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| RL Date: 19 January, 2009 |
| Who: K'del, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Sweeps over southern Nabol are boring until a lost child illustrates their purpose. |
| Where: Nabol region |
| When: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 18 (Interval 10) |
| It's a good long trek over southern Nabol and the craggy hills near Ruatha's border, but the sky's bright for all that it's also cold, and Vrianth leans into the long sweep: after months of those comparatively abbreviated if more intense drills, it's a different thing entirely to get out for hours and stay focused. Or try to. There hasn't been much remarkable along the way, aside from what's more a novelty to those unused to it: cotholds haven't walked off anywhere they shouldn't, rivers haven't leapt their banks, and they haven't caught any vicious, knife-eating renegades by surprise. So far. Cadejoth's enthusiasm has yet to wane, at least: the long flight and the cold have no real impact upon his dogged enjoyment for being out and about and /doing/ something, even if that something is uneventful and repetitive. Subtle difference, clearly, that line between what counts as exciting, and what as boring. So while he keeps his pace even, avoids too much by way of fancy flying, he positively radiates delight - quite a contrast to his rider, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat, turning his gaze this way and that, skipping past hills and valleys, cotholds and ponds. His jacket gets pulled about himself more tightly, his breath huffed out in a visible cloud. His shoulders slump. This has been going on for some time, now. And by contrast to the weyrling, the full rider's adopted a different sort of slouch: leaning forward against the neckridge before her, arms hooked around it, working with the lee so it flows over and past her helmet. Comfortable. Like she could do it for hours more, if Vrianth had the endurance of the larger dragons, or if the green wouldn't burn out her heart doing it anyway. And then. Then, something about Vrianth's regular flight alters, more of the way she /attends/ to their surroundings, the intense gleam in those eyes single-lidded against the endless wins. And Leova casts a look over her shoulder, over to Cadejoth and his rider: did they notice? It must be the scenery, the surrounds, that keeps Cadejoth so brilliant in his contentment, because he has noticed as surely as Vrianth has, if perhaps a moment or two later, his path instantly altering to sweep lower. It's a good thing he's on the ball, because the alteration in altitude is the first thing K'del notices (were his eyes closed? So hard to tell, but the way he jolts, now, not impossible). He strains, leaning forward, then casts a glance towards Vrianth and her rider. Down below, a collection of people have apparently gathered, and, now, dispersed, each in a different direction - hunting, perhaps calling out at something, though from this height, that's impossible to know. Even if the senior weyrling had been blatant about keeping his eyes closed, it's not something Leova would have called him out on: dragons have longer sight than humans, after all. As long as those humans don't fall asleep. Now, though, once she's caught his eye, her Vrianth begins to descend. « Take our time, » the green explains to Cadejoth, although there's a humming intensity beneath that suggests that she'd like to do otherwise, would like to spook them like a wherry flock. « Low, but not too low. » In case. That's how they do it. Cadejoth leans in to that intensity, perhaps as eager as she is - what fun! - though he accepts the explanation, moderating his flight to match hers, his wings held close. Below, some of the people on the ground have noticed the descending pair, some even have raised their arms to hail them, encourage them down. K'del leans forward, biting his lip and frowning, as he attempts to straighten his posture, making himself look - alert? Authoritative? « Why? » Cadejoth wants to know. « Why not too low? They couldn't hurt us. Wouldn't! » « If we are too fast, we spook them. » That thread of anticipation's lower-lying now, watching their reactions. « When anyone is spooked, there may be accidents. And we must be gentle, Cadejoth.... See, how they show they want us? We land not too far, but not too close. And ask your rider to wave: it will not hurt him. » Vrianth might be acerbic there, gravel against gravel, but also amused: see? her rider waves. And then the green lands, in empty space closer to the group than where her mental image points the now-larger bronze. 'Ah!' goes Cadejoth's mind, accepting this explanation with a shadow of an image, the stampede of a herd. Not like that, then. « So they can come to us, » he concludes, with an added flick of the tiniest of his chains, illustration that yes, he'll ask his rider, he doesn't mind that. K'del doesn't follow the direction until some time after Leova does it, some time after the instruction is passed long, but he does manage a smile as he does so, and it's a proper wave, nothing half-hearted. Cadejoth swings down in the appointed spot, if a little disgruntled at being put further back, his rider leaning forward to see as a few from the group hurry closer. "Our duties to your weyr!" calls out one of the men, red-faced and clearly concerned. "One of the little ones has wandered off. Can you help us look?" And Vrianth's /yes/ lights that chain-flick with one of her very particular sparks, though she does note afterward, « He is quite slow. » Perhaps Cadejoth might illuminate why? She arches her neck, peers around, while her rider's all business. "High Reaches' duties to Merry Meet," and a quick snap of buckles has her rider sliding down to meet the holder on his own level. "Can do. I'm Leova, assistant weyrlingmaster, and with me's senior weyrling K'del. What's your little wearing? About how old, and how long's it been?" Under normal circumstances, weyrlings would see the dragons also introduced, but Vrianth fairly radiates the sense that this is different, right to the serpentine back-and-forthing of her tail. Sparks! Cadejoth does so enjoy the sparks. And the sparks aid the illumination, zipping merrily up and down his chains as, amused, he tells her, « He thinks it makes him look silly. Undignified. » Riders! /He/ thinks it's quite silly. K'del seems determined to look less silly, now on the ground, hurrying to join Leova, standing just behind her, with his hands behind his back. The holder nervously bobs his head at the greeting, introducing himself only distractedly: "Cayvil. And my wife, Emeline." The woman is wringing her hands, close to tears, letting her husband continue. "He's four. My wife says he was napping with his sister, and then she went to get some water from the well, and he was gone when she came back. He must have wandered off. He was wearing--" He breaks off, glances at his wife, who responds dully: "A blue shirt. Just the shirt. They were near the hearth, so--" Cadejoth seems aware of the differentness, his own tail active, though the rest of him is unusually still, watching, waiting. "Holder Cayvil, Emeline, ma'am. We'll do what we can," says Leova with that calm-and-steady assurance she's had to practice so often. Vrianth, pleased for the zip-zip-zipping, « And here she thought it made him look pollite. » Her rider: "Important thing is, since you went to the well, you'd have seen him if he went that-a-way himself. And blue, easy to spot this time of Turn, good choice." Quite as though they'd planned to have him visible from afar. Again, "About how long ago was it? And any particular areas he liked to run off to? We'll want someone watching his sister, and someone at the well in case he shows up there, as you'll have thought of already. And a double-check that he's not hiding under the bed wouldn't hurt." K'del tries to mimic Leova's expression with his own, even nodding hurriedly in his own apparent attempt to look reassuring. "We'll find him," he puts in, sounds altogether too confident, as Cayvil puts his arm around his wife and looks hopeful. "About--" Emeline begins, interrupted by a sob. "An hour? Maybe less. I don't know. I wasn't gone for very long, and I called Cayvil as soon as I reali--" Her husband quiets her with a steady hand. "An hour," he confirms. "He likes watching me working with the beasts, but I didn't see him. My mother is watching our daughter, she'll stay there, in case he shows up. But - " He glances around, calling for one of the other searchers. "The bed. Good point. Davander? Can you search inside the house?" « /Polite/. Well. Sometimes, K'del wouldn't know polite from anything! But he's trying. I think he was hoping for something more exciting than a lost child, though. » « Cadejoth. » Vrianth all-of-a-sudden has an /idea/. Better: a /plan/. « Can you reach out? Can you feel what they are feeling, but very gently, so they cannot tell. And then let him feel it too. » That should be exciting, should it not. Her rider meanwhile, as Cayvil has addressed Davander, has half-turned to explain to K'del more, perhaps, for the holders' sake than his own: "If this weren't true Interval, I'd have you go on without me, finish the sweep regular, K'del. As it is, we can spare this long." Back to Cayvil again: "My Vrianth, she can fly quite low. I'd like one of your men with sharp eyes and who doesn't get wagon-sick to go with us, do a quick skim. For K'del, here... have any particular areas the boy's attracted to, to give someone a ride that-a-way? Or seeing as how the boy couldn't have gotten to the river by my reckoning," though her glance does check with the holder, in case, "He can also drop your men a ways off, let them work inward. You know your territory. What do you think?" Interest sparks at this idea, from the young bronze, who darts, mentally, into action, almost before the idea has been fully planted into his brain. « I bet I can! » he declares, positively exuding delight, a faint tendril already extending towards those nearby. The impact on K'del is not quite immediate, but certainly visible: he straightens further, his jaw setting. He looks far more alert and engaged, as he confirms Leova's words with a nod. Cayvil looks relieved, and nods, while turning about again: "Bradin, you come ride with the greenrider, your eyes are best. No, the river's too far - he's just little. I just can't think where he would've gone. But: yes. Bren and Mairi, they can ride with your boy. I can't thank you enough, Assistant Weyrlingmaster." Though K'del's lip twists for being referred to as a boy, he manages, otherwise, to retain his alertness. Decided praise from Vrianth, who must have been 'listening' too: a wordless spike of energy that soon becomes, « We hunt. » A mission! "Bradin," her rider asides to the barely-taller man with a nod of her own before she's listening attentively to Cayvil again. And it's not the twist of K'del's lip that does it, with him behind her that way, that has her mentioning, "Your pair should do well with Senior Weyrling K'del," and this time it does subtly take on the inflection of a title, though she doesn't waste time emphasizing the point. "Those two are pretty sharp, and it won't be the smoothest ride, but you'll be safe as houses. Let's go." A hike of her thumb to Bradin indicates where the man should accompany her, and then it's a matter of moments to rearrange Vrianth's straps for a passenger and barely longer to show him how to get astride. How long it actually takes? Up to him. Vrianth, amused again (still!) mentions, « She does ask that your rider buckle them in very well. » Very, very well. Cadejoth, oh so pleased with the praise, projects an image of himself, eagle-eyed, scouring the landscape and triumphantly, too, if this mental-Cadejoth's thrum of satisfaction is anything to go by. So pleased. So excited! Bradin looks honestly terrified, glancing from Leova to Vrianth, then to Cayvil and Emeline - and it's the holder's wife that seems to steel him in that regard. If Cayvil doesn't seem to pick up on the title, at least Bren and Mairi seem unbothered, the pair - husband and wife, perhaps? - moving to join them, and K'del, who adjusts his own straps, helps the two up. Bradin swallows hard, slowing down the process with his reticence, though, in time, he does manage to steel himself to following Leova's instructions, and getting astride. « He will, » Cadejoth promises, forcing himself - such conscious, visible effort - to stay still while his passengers are secured, buckles and straps tested and retested before K'del is satisfied. Below, Cayvil and Emeline watch them, the latter now dissolved utterly into tears. Heard and received: in this search for the human boy, Vrianth's not inclined to forget who's her charge, and keeps mental tabs on the younger dragon. No doubt, all that excitement helps. Leova? Has patter for Bradin, a request for the boy's name, an admiring mention of the hold's upkeep, particularly the fences, useful-aren't-they. An offered knee, since "about everyone" needs the boost. A gloved palm for Vrianth's neck when the green threatens to rebel, though it would be visible to the holder only in one brightly rolling eye. And the projected expectation that he's going to get. up. there. right. now. All that also means Leova doesn't have to look at Emeline and her crying (crying!) as she swings up in front of Bradin and, after a last straps-check, releases Vrianth aloft and into a gradually widening spiral. Mission begun! Cadejoth's stillness only lasts until his passengers are secured: then, the tail begins again, his neck stretches out, everyone wobbles. For Vrianth, he has a fluted mental note - he's fine, he's fine, she doesn't need to worry! Besides, there's the air to leap for, and, as always, it's a jubilant shove, utterly graceless, that sends him hurtling into the air. Bradin manages to respond to Leova only in monosyllables - yes, it's well kept, yes the fences are good - and while he accepts the boost up, he does so unhappily. He positively clings to the straps, one aloft, and his eyes are unlikely to be that useful, since he's shut them entirely. Conveniently, K'del's passengers, despite the way he tosses himself about, are not too concerned, and manage to point the right way, towards the river, but not quite that far. Reassurance or no, Vrianth tracks that Cadejoth anyway: she's just subtler about it. Less subtle, however, about eyeing Cayvil on the first two passes like she'd sweep him off and away instead of her passenger. Who knows, maybe this will even get her to Search someone someday, though hopefully not a man with a wife and hold and children. Bradin's discomfiture may be palpable, but neither green nor rider thinks to look back for the man's eyes, and so off they continue to fly: over stone rooftops, low by safely distant trees, sweeping past courtyards and following ditches just deep enough for a little one to hide. "What color hair?" she calls back. "Uh--" says Bradin, eyes still shut. "Brown. Dark brown." Cayvil lets his wife wrap her arms about him, clinging like a limpet, as he watches the dragons off - and keeps watching, expression set with concern, as his wife dampens his shirt with her tears. On the ground, searching continues, and Davander returns with, evidently, no success. Despite his initial glee, Cadejoth is smoother in his flight, keeping low, though not so long as his tail might skim through the trees. At length, under instruction from his rider, who is under instruction from his passengers, they dip down to the ground, and it's with one less that they return to the sky a few minutes later. "Dark brown," Leova repeats calmly. Which is, of course, just before Vrianth surges into quicker-winged exasperation for a few short wingbeats before she's coaxed into better, or at least more productive, behavior. More gliding ensues, consistent progress during which the green thinks to ask, « What happened to that one? » And add, « My Leova wonders if you are capable of scenting the boy, if they showed you a garment of his. » Challenging, but perhaps possible? Hopefully not involving a diaper. Vrianth's exasperation leads to a startled, barely muffled gasp from their companion. /Almost/ a squeal. « Searching on the ground, where the trees are too thick for us to see through, » reports back the bronze. « They're full of useful suggestions, K'del says. » There's a pause, at the question, then, uncertain, « I don't know. /Should/ I be able to do it? I've never tried. I could though. Try, at least. » The woman has her arms around K'del, as they dip and soar, heading for another, more open patch, closer to the Hold. A garden, perhaps, though the time of turn has rendered it more bare than usual. The green's neck begins to undulate, as though that near-squeal encourages her to do it /again/... but Leova squeezes her knees together as reminder and again her lifemate agrees to comply, thoughts tinged bright with laughter. Must search. So search she does, using her longsight, down paths and over towards some plowbeasts' trough, headknobs cocked to listen as they slowly pass over a canvas-covered wagon. Meanwhile, « /Very/ useful. Perhaps we could keep one of them. » And a moment later, « We will not know until you try it, Cadejoth. But we may give flying a little longer, first. I have wondered if a warble might call him out, to see, but he might also be scared, and hide, so I have not tried it. » Nor should he. Yet. Probably a good thing - poor Bradin has at least opened his eyes, for all that it may go utterly unnoticed, and makes an unconvincing attempt at looking around. Helping! Sort of. « K'del wouldn't mind keeping this one, » opines young Cadejoth, projecting an image of the young woman seated behind him, tinged with hearty amusement as well as a good deal of affection for his rider, flaws and all. « Fly first. Of course. And no warbles. » Alas, at this. A warble, right now, would feel /so/ good. The garden, evidently, is clear, because he flies onwards, tilting to head northwards right as a call goes up from someone below. « He may, for all of me. So long as she is useful. And also interesting, » Vrianth notes through whatever her rider may think of the matter. Never mind poor Bradin. Or Bren. Only then the green catches on the call, but it's Cadejoth who's close enough to really hear, and suddenly she's /there/: show her. Now. Physically, it's just a moment's veer in that direction before resuming the methodical search: he knows. He can show her. She doesn't have to go there herself, unless it's the boy that's found. (Probably.) She can count on him. (Perhaps.) Yes? K'del's image of the girl, which is the one Cadejoth has best to reference, may linger overly long on more physical facets of the girl in question, but Cadejoth is content enough to note, « She has good ideas for where to look, at least. Maybe that makes her useful. And interesting. I think she's connected to the other boy, though. » Poor Bren. But there's the call to concern himself over, with a flick of assent for Vrianth's request, as he projects towards her what he sees: first, just the garden beneath, the trees surrounding it, and then, as his wingbeats take him closer towards the source of the call, there's a man, one of the other helpers, waving his arms madly, with a small child in hand. Safe. « They've got him! » trills the bronze, /warbles/ the bronze, loud as can be. Then, amused: « K'del's disappointed. » K'del wanted to be the hero. Likely Vrianth might have considered the girl and her maybe-connection a little longer if that other answer hadn't come hard on its heels, but as it is, the fleeting spark of interest proves secondary as she indulges in a sharp, sudden surge toward the scene. At least poor-Bradin gets a got-'im from her rider? « We wanted to find him too, » comes her anything but abashed admission. But. K'del wants to be the hero? The garden just might be far enough away to justify it... « Have him ask to take the little one to his mother. He'll always remember it. » And she, /she'll/ bring the news, swing back around and arrow straight to where they had left the mother and the man, Leova's arms raised in the air: all clear! Bradin's relief - the long, low exhale - probably has as much to do with the recovery of the child as with the knowledge that, any minute now, he's going to be able to /get down/. "Ah," is what he says, however. "Good." There's some satisfaction from the bronze, at Vrianth's unabashed admission, two-toned with affection for his rider, and glee for her suggestion. « On our way, » he reports, as he can be seen circling down to land in the clear space near the garden. The man who did the saving is, evidently, more like Bradin than Bren and Mairi, hurriedly insisting that no, it's fine, he'll walk back, though he entrusts the small boy to Mairi, K'del and Cadejoth, who are on their way again within moments, positively zooming back towards the awaiting parents. Emeline's sobs have only grown louder, with the news, though her husband has straightened, eager and relieved, at Leova's visible gesture. No answer for Bradin: Leova's busy leaning forward, calling down, "By the plantings, that-a-way, K'del's got him and the girl," just as soon as quick-as-anything Vrianth's landed. After that, though, she's nearly as happy to help their poor passenger get down as he is to get there, and wait by the parents for Cadejoth's arrival. But on Cayvil's side, not Emeline's. And not without Vrianth reminding, « Gentle with the landing, he hasn't straps, » gentle herself but very firm. The boys may be excited, but no point in dropping the littlest one /now/. Solid ground! Bradin actually /pants/, now safely on the ground, as though he's been doing some kind of intense exercise. Cayvil fixes him with a knowing glance, clearly disapproving, but that's got nothing on his relief, so it's Leova that he addresses. "You're sure? He's safe? Oh, thank Faranth. Emmy, sweetheart, it's okay, they'll bring him back." But Emeline just cries. Which leaves Cayvil to clear his throat, watching the skyline as Cadejoth soars into view. « Gentle, slow, got it. Promise! » he assures Vrianth, and he's true enough to his word, his landing only a little bumpy in his excitement. K'del is all grins, now properly in view, as is young Mairi, though the little boy is positively bug-eyed, full of wonder. "Flew, mama! Flew!" Within moments, K'del has both of his passengers safely on the ground, the younger one too excited to do anything but stare up at Cadejoth, as his mother runs for him, arms outstretched. "He's coming," is what Leova replies, her low, smoky voice saying she's-sure even if she doesn't put it into words, in case there's some twisted ankle or skinned elbow that she doesn't know about. "Cadejoth's being extra careful." Which means it's lucky for her as well as the boy that the weyrling bronze actually /is/. All that crying gets Cayvil a sympathetic look from the greenrider, though she laces her hands behind her back afterward. Waiting. Watching, right down to Cadejoth's landing, the mother and son reuniting, the greenrider's mouth curving up on one side at K'del behind them: better? That, before it's back to business. Cayvil smiles blandly, a little thin-lipped, at Leova, though he keeps his arms tightly about his wife, fondly stroking her hair all the wait, until she pulls away from him to rush towards her son. K'del toussles the boy's hair as his mother picks him up, managing a glance at Leova in time to catch her expression. Better, his grin says, before he murmurs a few words towards mother and son, then to Mairi, who grins and bats her eyelashes at him. Then, he draws away from them, to stride towards Leova and Cayvil. "Home, safe and sound. Doesn't look like he's hurt or anything, just maybe a little cold." Leova's nod underscores the senior weyrling's summation. "What a relief." Then to Cayvil specifically, "One of your people found him," « Which he would have found out anyway, » Vrianth points out with that particular relay-this sort of tone, and without her rider's missing a beat, "But High Reaches is glad to have made the wait a little shorter. Our best to you and your hold, sir." "Thank you, thank you," repeats Cayvil, his gaze shifting from the two riders towards his wife and their child, clearly eager to depart, though politesse keeps him where he is for a few moments more. "Our best to the weyr, too. We won't forget your assistance. Assistant Weyrlingmaster," beat, "Weyrling. But I should let you get back--" « I don't think he cares who found him, » points out Cadejoth, but he's too pleased to be fussed either way. The effusiveness seems to please K'del, who bobs his head several times quickly in response. "It was our pleasure," he insists, grinning. His head tips slightly towards Leova: time to go? "Back to work," Leova agrees. "Clear skies," and she gives the family a wave, and any lingering searchers, before heading for her dragon with a distinctly martial air. « He will remember us, » is possibly agreement from Vrianth, possibly something else entirely. What's more certain: « Let's give the boy something else to see. » Unison takeoff, as sharp as they can despite their disparate sizes: ready? Emeline doesn't even look up, but most of the others do - and the little boy, whatever his name is, waves with both arms, almost as if he'd like to get free, get back on one of the dragons. K'del follows, his head held high, his posture straight, returning to Cadejoth with one last wave for the little boy. « Reckon so, » agrees Cadejoth, all awhirr. « Ooh! Done deal! » Ready, ready, ready, is his unspoken mental wave, once K'del is strapped on and ready to go. Ready, ready, ready and « /Up/, » Vrianth signals, her rider's lifted fist unnecessary theater before the green leaps for the sky with a dramatic rush of wings: just slow enough that his greater mass can match it, and not a jot slower. And maybe the rest of the sweepride will be less eventful, but either way, her rider will have something to add to his on the other side. On the up, Cadejoth hurtles up, controlling his movement just a little more than usual, which allows them that almost-perfect symmetry as they depart the ground. K'del's grin looks likely to remain in place throughout the trip - no more closed-eyes, nor the slump of boredom. So while there's little else to see, for the rest of the sweep, it passes more easily than the first part, and in almost no time, it's home again, home again, jiggedy jig. |
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