Logs:Not Only A Healer
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| RL Date: 13 September, 2008 |
| Who: Leova, Luttrell, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova and Vrianth take Madilla to High Reaches Hold to run an errand, where they meet Luttrall; then, Leova takes her home. Home home, not High Reaches-home. |
| Where: High Reaches Hold / Tredor's Cothold |
| When: Day 25, Month 9, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
| High Reaches Hold Isolated on its westward-jutting peninsula, from the landward side High Reaches Hold appears burrowed deep into the mountain, with only a few shuttered windows overlooking the rows of cotholds that line the river road. Its double courtyards appear designed more for transportation or defense than for welcoming visitors. From the seaward side, the slant of the windows overlooking the fine deep bay attempts to ward off the sea winds, the higher stories evading the less pleasant odors prevalent at low tide. However cold and bleak the Hold's setting may be, inside, its colors of dark blue and tan act as neutrals for the warmer, brighter hues of its llama-wool tapestries and rugs. Below the Hold, oval caverns house lengths of seasoned wood for its shipbuilders, and to its outskirts are several minor Crafthalls including a glass-smith's shop. Though the Hold's main access is by sea, the river road leads to its Weyr and the rest of Pern, while minor roads lead to a few outlying Holds and the distant lighthouse. It's the early evening over the High Reaches Hold, the sun is setting, and glow baskets are being opened around the courtyard, along the paths to the hold itself. A few are still attending to their usual tasks, but most are inside enjoying the evening meal. In the outer courtyard, a very small trader caravan sits. In fact it is just two wagons that are parked there, you almost wouldn't know it was a caravan. A young man is standing next to the front wagon talking to a holder girl in hushed tones. If you get close enough you'll hear him say, "Yeah, were heading out tomorrow morning, Da wants to be in Crom before winter sets in." Even earlier in the evening, high in the sky, the silhouette of a dragon startled into view as a black spot against the sun. If her flight prior to /between/ had been sharp on the turns, it didn't show then: instead, she shaped a slow spiral over the sun-caught ocean, only eventually cruising over the docks and slowly, gradually descending toward the fireheights. Not that she stayed there. No. By now she's stationed herself in the road past the trader wagons and, when in the mood, gives the outer courtyard a distant eye. It hasn't taken Madilla too much time to complete her errand; she emerges from the Hold amidst the workers bearing glow baskets, using their light to see her way into the Courtyard, though, once there, she hesitates to look about her at the unfamiliar landscape. A small package is clutched in one hand - held on to for dear life, an apparent prized possession. "Well, I hope I'm here when you return." The holder girl says smiling at the young man before she comes running past Madilla into the hold. Luttrell sighs deeply leaning against the wagon wheel. He looks toward the courtyard and the hold, not really paying attention to those coming out, then he looks toward the dragon down the road. "Must be nice to go anywhere, any time you want." He says, then giving another sigh he dusts away unseen dirt paticles from his trousers. No answer from the rangy green, at least, not in words. What she /does/ do is unfold her wings, spar by spar, and never mind that the angle of the sun and the hill cast her in partial shadow. Madilla dodges out of the way of the holder girl, her package lifted to be clutched towards her chest for safe-keeping until the threat is well past. Though her gaze slides towards the green down the road, she doesn't immediately head in her direction. Curiosity, instead, brings her towards Luttrell, whom she greets with a smile. "There's downsides, I think, though maybe fewer now there's no Threadfall. But it's better than travelling by road, that's for sure." Luttrell grins looking up at Madilla. "Can't be all that bad. Or so many boys wouldn't dream of becoming a dragon rider." He gives a shrug. "Shes beautiful though." He says glancing back toward the green for a brief moment then his gaze shifts back to Madilla. "Names Luttrell, trader by nature. And you are?" He asks holding his hand out toward Madilla. Around the bend, heading down the pathway that leads toward the various minor crafthalls, the green's rider takes her time, slowing further as their passenger's seen to engage herself in conversation. Seen by Vrianth, at least, whose eyes gleam that much greener. The angle of her head shifts. Her headknobs have pricked. And she's eyeing the beasts that draw that wagon and leaning. Just a little. "Boys dreams of lots of things," scoffs Madilla, though not unkindly, her crooked smile still pleasant. "I'm pretty sure not all of them are quite what they expect. It's all about the romance of it, I think. Vrianth? Mm, she is." She turns her gaze in that direction, eyes seeking out the green in question, though apparently not able to pick Leova out as yet. Accepting the hand offered to her, her grip loose, as she turns her attention back, she says, "Madilla, Apprentice Healer. Well met, Luttrell." "Well met, Madilla." Luttrell replies then it clicks. "Wait, your not her rider." He'll glance back to Vrianth. "She's not hungry is she?" He adds noticing the dragon watching the runners. He turns back to Madilla. "Oh, i guess you wouldn't know." He smiles to her, and takes a few steps toward the from on the wagon to steady the unnerved beast. "What do you have there? If you don't mind my asking." He inquires nodding toward the parcel in her hands. Is she hungry? Vrianth flexes her jaw, as though she /could/ show off those teeth of hers, but keeps her mouth mostly closed in the end. Nor does she move closer. Her rider does, however, drawing near: even more slowly, though, not a race-down-and-throw-passenger-over-her-shoulder maneuver. Madilla's head shakes rapidly, and she laughs, as her hand is drawn back towards her package protectively. "Not her rider, now. Leova is Vrianth's rider. I think-- I think they generally let them eat before going out, but," she shrugs. "What would I know?" As her gaze shifts, Leova is noticed, a half-step forward taken, though she continues her conversation in light tones. "Just some herbs. My Journeywoman sent me out to get them, because we hadn't enough." Luttrell gives an "Ah." At the parcels contents. "Not that i'm trying to push, but if you need any thing else, Ma's got a good collection of herbs and remedies she's willing to trade." He says his voice as calm as ever. "That must be her rider." He adds noticing Leova as well. That half-step gets an unhurried nod from the greenrider who adds a tongue-in-cheek, "Vrianth's duties," to the taller of the teenagers. "Good to know there /are/ still those herbs and such this late in the season, though her journeyman wouldn't send us off on a fool's errand." But Leova's sidelong look marks the healer anyway. "I've not got the authority to trade anything myself," Madilla explains, upon receipt of the offer, "But thank you - I'll tell my Journeyman, in case we do need anything." Her head bobs again, partially in response to Luttrell's surmise, and partially towards the greenrider herself, her cheeks going slightly pink. "No, they had them. Delifa--" She breaks off, to simply nod. "No fool's errands here." Luttrell nods with a half shrug. "Ma takes good care to preserve all the herbs she can especially late in the season." As the runner takes a step back and jerks his head Luttrell reaches to calm her again. "Shh, it's okay Magi." A hand rubs her nose and the beast settles more. "Ah well, we'll be stopping by the Weyr when he leave here, back on our way to Crom, perhaps if you interested you can find something then." Luttrell toward Madilla and smiles awkwardly, though with his features he could know nothing else. He steps back toward the healer, and thus the rider. Holding a hand out toward the latter, "Well met, Rider. Names Luttrell." Leova's grip is as solid as her square stance: "Well met, Luttrell. Leova. This a usual route for you..." Her glance roams the caravan, all two wagons of it, and finally lifts the sentence into a question before she tacks on, "Crom." Her Vrianth's a little better-behaved just now, although she's switched from eyeing yon Magi in favor of the back of /Madilla's/ head. Madilla, with her attention on Luttrell, and now, Leova, fails to notice Vrianth's interest in her own head. "I'll tell Delifa that," she promises the young trader, smiling genuinely. "It's good to know we won't be left without, if we do find anything we need." Luttrell nods readily. "We come this way maybe twice a turn. Normally we travel between Crom and Nabol. It's not the best route, but the trades are /usually/ fair." He says with a nod, then smiles again. "Is there anything else I can interest you in while your here?" He asks glancing between the two of them, with a brief gaze upon Vrianth. "What else do your wagons trade for?" Leova inquires, but it's an over-the-shoulder question now: she's drifting off towards not the wagons themselves, but the runners, nervous Magi in particular, her own demeanor that much more calm and even when it comes to the beast. "Seems to me you do plenty of travel even without a dragon," comments Madilla, grinning at Luttrell, though her tone is even - no criticism, or barb of sarcasm, there. "Nothing for me, though," she adds, even if her head does tilt at Leova's comment, as if to indicate her own interest in what else might be available. "No marks for the spending." "Everything from wares to wines, and a number of items in between. And if we don't have it, changes are good my Da can find it for you." Luttrell says in reply to Leova. To Madilla he gives a simple grin. "You don't always need marks to trade. We trade for all kinds of items." "No specialties, then," Leova says with what might have been disappointment, were it not mollified by the warm runner-breath against her palm. She rounds the beast, checking it over for health, condition, that sort of thing. Madilla lifts her shoulders into a half-shrug, her free hand upturned, empty. "Nothing to trade, either, really. I'm a Pharmacist: we don't sell what we make, not things that will help people. That's our normal job." Her gaze slides towards Leova, clearly puzzled at the greenrider's inspection of the runner, though she makes no comment on it. Luttrell gives another have shrug. "No specialties that I know of." To Madilla he smiles. "Oh it's quite all right, maybe next time." He'll watch Leova until he's called away for a moment by another young girl. "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me, my Da is in need of my help inside. It was a pleasure meeting you all. My duties to Weyr and Craft, excuse me." He nods politely and marches off with the girl toward the hold. The greenrider glances after him in lieu of a wave, gets more forward with the beast despite Madilla's glance unless someone comes out to interfere: touching its neck, gauging its hide beneath the headstall, seeing whether it's chafed or not. "Handy, being able to handle everything. For journeyers." Possibly not just journeying traders. "Nice to meet you!" Madilla tells Luttrell, as the trader removes himself from the vicinity. "Is it-- is it considered polite, to come up and inspect someone's animal likes that?" Her cheeks are slightly pink, though she sounds more curious than scandalised. "You know a lot about them, I guess. Animals." Light footsteps take her closer, her curiousity clearly getting the better of her. "This closely?" Leova half-turns, her hand threaded through the beast's mane. Her mouth curves up, just at one side. "Perhaps not. But I know some about runners, at least," not-all-animals. "And sometimes... sometimes it don't hurt to take advantage of my license to be odd." The tilt of her head marks the winged license over there, whose neck is arched away, patently /not/ looking at her rider mingling with lesser beasts. Madilla covers her snicker of amusement with her free hand, eyes dancing enough to show her response even while her mouth is covered. "Oh, I see," she declares, nodding rapidly, as the hand is drawn away again, gaze following the tilt of Leova's hand just long enough to gain an understanding of the greenrider's explanation. "You were a Stablehand. Like Oysric. It makes sense." "Only at Tillek," Leova agrees, that amusement picking up a glint in her eyes, "And not afeared of goats, poor man." Her fingers might drum, were they not against the runner's neck. As it is, they press in, gently. "How long has it since you have been to your family's hold, Madilla?" Madilla agrees, after a moment, "Only /loosely/ like Oysric. I can't imagine you afraid of anything, let alone something as silly as a goat - though, I suppose, I do feel for Oysric on that one." Her expression clouds at mention of her family's Hold, though she's quick to answer, needing no time to think. "It will be two turns just past Turnover." "Not so much, these days," Leova says plainly, not without a smile. And since it's just them, them and Vrianth looking over, them and Vrianth and the runner whuffling into her palm, "But. Even if I were it. Wouldn't want to look it, hm?" And she might go on about goats, only, "Would an hour's visit be worse than not at all? How soon are you needed back?" Madilla's brows raise just slightly, curiosity visible once more, but she doesn't press - aside from her lips, firmly together. "No, absolutely not," she agrees, all smiles again. "Better to be assumed fearless. Less embarrassing. I-- what?" Taken aback completely, the young healer hesitates, her eyes widening, her expression tangled in hope and surprise and nervousness. "That would be... It would... Please? Delifa doesn't need these herbs until tomorrow." The rider's mouth tugs up at one corner, and she /might/ have said more, only she's pleased to let the healer override it. Instead: "Does she need you back tonight, or are apprentices allowed out until all hours? S'long as you promise me not to change your mind, stay home, abandon your Craft forever and all that. Don't mind dropping off the herbs and an explanation on my way in, either." And Madilla's now far too distracted to even remember for a moment that there was something she was curious about. Convenient. "I don't think she'll mind; she doesn't really mind what I do outside of my hours of duty. She's always telling me to enjoy my freedom. So... I promise I won't. I-- I'd miss everything too much. And it's my duty to my family, too, to stay with it." Her head bobs madly, smile ready to split her cheeks in half. Leova watches her closely. At the end, more to punctuate the bobbing than to interrupt the babbling, a nod. But a smiling nod. "Up you go, then," and she stays by the runner just long enough for a brief pat, a few words whispered towards the velvety ear and then her back's turned as though it's already forgotten. Onward! "Remind me again where it's located, your cothold? I'll stay at least long enough to make sure you have a place." To soften it, "Not off at some late Gather or some such." Madilla's cheeks blossom with pink in embarrassment at her babbling, but it's hard to hide the shine to her eyes, and the sheer excitement of her expression; she doesn't quite manage to apologise for it. So she does what she's told, returning to Vrianth. "Near Peyton. North a bit, but still closer to Peyton than to Fort Hold. They should be there. They don't... they don't travel much. Only my Uncle, sometimes, or one of the older boys. I'll introduce you. I-- I really can't thank you enough, Leova." Nor does Leova ask for an apology, following, her dragon greeting their passenger with a lowered nose that still manages to not be low enough to invite a touch. No, her neck's for that, and after a moment it curves the rest of the way down, lengthening. There's room. "Peyton's what I'm more familiar with. Let's see. It's going to be about as dark, being more easterly, but far more south as well," Leova calculates out loud as she catches up, a breath after all those thanks. "Want a hand?" And, "Timor's going to be up in a while, so that's something. We'll fly straight from there. Hops if we need to. See what we can find." Madilla bows her head, if not the rest of her, in Vrianth's direction as she approaches, gratefully putting in a "Yes, please" in response to needing a hand, in between Leova's thinking. "I think I should be able to pick it out from above," she adds, her words interrupted only faintly by a note of dubiousness. "It should be all right." A sidelong glance at Madilla's shoes means that Leova doesn't offer her knee: instead, she eases her dragon over toward one of the rocks that serve as mounting blocks for runners, Vrianth crouching even lower and extending that neck even further. And gets up first. Not that she needs such aid, but it's a matter of showing the way. Once she's buckled in, she offers a hand: "Up you go. And she appreciates your... politeness." With these concessions made, Madilla manages to make her way up without too much trouble, looking grateful, and settles herself in gingerly. "She's welcome, of course. I appreciate her - and you, of course - being willing to take me as a passenger." There's a throaty warble, perceptible through that long neck as well as audibly, and an impulse of flex-and-release that might have meant Vrianth /moving/ if it weren't for something else pausing her, delaying at least long enough for Leova to twist around and aid with Madilla's buckles too. "Welcome. And... we'll go quickly this time, get whatever light we can. Just to warn you." There's a second's pause, maybe two, the tension of /waiting/ before Vrianth sinks back beneath them and then leaps skyward. Up, up, cold sea wind and then colder and /coldest/, Peyton just heartbeats away. Madilla, despite the fact that she must surely have gotten at least a little used to riding dragons by now, seems a little warily uncomfortable, an appreciative smile given for the aid with the buckles, and a hasty nod made as Leova gives her warning. She takes a deep breath just in time for Vrianth to rise, to go Between - letting it out partway through, breathing rapidly, then. Then they're there, easy as that, the twilight by comparison a warm grey blanket about them. And sailing. Northward. "Can you see?" Leova calls back, and they would be literally shadowing the road if there were enough light to cast such a thing. "How long a wagon ride?" Madilla's cheeks unclench, as do her shoulders, as they're in the clear again, just sky and land about them. "Maybe-- a few hours? I think I know where we are. Keep following the road a distance," she says, with more confidence than her words seem so suggest she ought. It might be easy to relax into the rise and fall of wingbeats, if one weren't anticipating family so much, or if one didn't perhaps know what might come... "Then we'll just hop over to those hills, there," Leova warns, arm stretching forward to point... to aim, really, because then they're skipping through /between/ and there they are again, skimming over the hills so that the healer can check again with a good chunk of time saved. It's an easy-enough process to repeat, as many times as needed, while light allows. Madilla, for certain, is /not/ relaxed, though she valiantly keeps smiling - so hard, with the being torn between excitement and terror and anticipation. "Getting closer," she reports, head bobbing quickly. "That hill there - the one in the distance? I think I played there, when I was a child. Just over that, and sort of halfway up the next one, if I'm right." She sounds less sure, now, though, rather than more. One more hop, then: just over the hill, and does that utter cold ever get familiar? They're working on it. And then gliding, gliding, out into the warmth, and if those blocky stone buildings aren't Madilla's family's cothold down there... maybe it's /someone's/. "Don't mind going down to ask, it comes to that," Leova lets the wind carry back. Madilla shudders, as they emerge from Between again, though at least the air is warm - doesn't really get too cold in this region, no matter how chilly the Reaches are getting at this time of the turn. "Our neighbours," she reports, sounding pleased. "Actually, the boy I was going to marry - he lives down there." Her voice sounds sort of strained as she says that, embarrassed and-- something else, all mixed in together. "So it should be just over the next hill? I didn't travel much, when I lived there." Chilly enough, but warmer than their reputation, what with that maritime influence. "Want to say hello sometime, all decked out in your healer knot, riding a /dragon/... we can do that," and does the good humor in Leova's voice carry through the wind? "If they won't be too scandalized. Though tonight, let's just /get/ there." To where they're going. And at the prospect of over that next hill, Vrianth shimmies in the air, not one to fly straight for /too/ long by choice: an easy curve to the left, a matching one to the right, and they're flying faster now, hunting that cothold down. Madilla lets out a peal of laughter. A little stilted, maybe, but that's not surprising; still, she seems honestly pleased with the idea. "They probably would be. I think they'd think they dodged something awful, escaping my addition to the family. Sad. But it would be funny." She strains in her seat, seeking out any sign of home amid the encroaching dark, seeming to be less concerned, now, by the speed and variations to their path. "There. I think." She points, a little cothold barely visible ahead. Which means that Vrianth speeds faster yet. She can always stop later, right? Her rider has her head tilted into the wind, the better to hear Madilla with one ear, and then call back, "Not only a healer, but a reading-and-writing healer, no less! Shocking!" And Vrianth? She's taken to descending, heading for that cothold, though if it turns out /not/ to be the right one she might be dissuaded at the last minute. Maybe. But it is the right one - or so it seems, by the way Madilla's throat catches, and her eyes go wide. Or maybe that's just the speed at which they're going; it's all pretty hard to tell. "One who has lived in a weyr, and-- kissed a boy, and - lots of things." Her voice is less strong, though, harder to hear, and obviously gaining steadily in nervousness. "It's definitely this one," she reports, finally, nodding rapidly. "My Uncle's cot, and my father's, and the outbuildings. All there." The same as ever. "Won't tell them about that last part if you don't!" and for all Leova's teasing, the wind can't sweep all the confidence for Madilla out of her tone. And so they go: a few more wingbeats, low and maybe louder than they have to be, circling a time or two, perhaps enough to let residents spill out and gawk if they choose. And finally, though it looks as though Vrianth just might land atop one of the stone roofs like a miniature fireheights, in the end she chooses the closest equivalent to a courtyard. Easy as that. "Please," says Madilla, blandly, knuckles and face white as they make that final descent. Sure enough, a shout goes out from within one of the cots - Madilla's Uncle's - and people begin to spill out from there, soon followed by others from Madilla's father's. "It's Madilla!" comes a cry from one of the pre-teens, followed by a - "What's going on out here?" from an older man. Madilla swallows, thickly, waving nervously at the assembling crowd. There's a chuckle from Leova, and no more until they have landed, Vrianth's still-wide wings designed to keep all those humans from getting too close. Then, quietly enough to be for Madilla and Vrianth alone, "Hand me your package. And watch me." Now that Vrianth's not quite so shifty under them, Leova can straighten her back, even send an open wave down to the gathering, her low voice amiable. "High Reaches' duties," she calls down. "Seems our newest healer got some time off for good behavior, wanted to visit her family. Happen to know where we can find Apprentice Madilla's mother, sir?" With wide, nervous eyes, Madilla hands over her packet, wringing her hands together once they're free - relief visible on her face as Leova takes control of the situation. In the courtyard, one of the men steps forward. "Our duties to you and your Weyr, Greenrider. We don't get many Dragonriders in these parts; please excuse the excitement of our younger residents. My name is Tredor - this is my hold." He turned, scanning those assembled. "Linde. Fetch your mother." "Holder Tredor." The greenrider inclines her head. And as long as they're waiting, she secrets away the packet where it won't be crushed and... "Leova, from Tillek before the 'Reaches. This is my Vrianth." The dragon curves her neck, giving the older man a longer look and letting those younger residents see how her muscles ripple beneath her hide, how her wings half-furl but still steal some of the rising moon's light. And the flick of that extravagantly long tail? If it discourages the youngest from sneaking up behind her, so much the better. "...Who's pleased at your welcome. We hope your harvest has gone well?" "From Tillek? I went there once - a fine Hold," says Tredor, bowing his head respectfully towards both green (a little nervously, it may be said) and her rider. "Well met to you both. It has been a good harvest, thank you. I hope my niece has not been giving you any trouble." His disapproving glance rests upon Madilla for a moment, who squirms beneath it - but her attention is distracted, her fingers grasping at the buckle, as a woman emerges from one of the buildings, trailed by the aforementioned Linde. "Mother!" says Madilla, at much the same time as the woman says, "Madilla?" "Very glad to hear it," Leova says genuinely, and while Vrianth doesn't bow /her/ head, she does seem otherwise well-behaved. No flashing of fangs this time. Just staring. "The girl's journeyman speaks quite highly of her progress. It isn't every apprentice who's reliable enough to be posted away from the Hall, hm?" inviting him to agree, moments before her beckon encourages the woman to approach. /Then/ she'll turn, will help Madilla with her remaining buckles, though she keeps the advantage of height rather than unbuckling her own. Not so quietly that she can't be overheard, "I'll release you into your mother's care, there you go, slide right on down to her when she gets here." If the woman does dare. Tredor keeps sneaking Vrianth nervous looks, like a tic he can't quite help, though he is otherwise quite genial to the Greenrider. "Is that so? Good to hear the girl is doing us proud, then." If his face twitches, just slightly, at mention of his niece being posted away from the Hall - well, it surely doesn't mean that this is the first he's heard of it, right? Madilla's mother hesitates only a moment, and then, dragon or no dragon, she just runs forward, arms outstretched. "Thank you," says Madilla, earnestly, probably for more than just the buckles, but those, too. Then: down she goes, hurtling like the teenage girl she is, right into her mother's arms. With such temptation, Vrianth might finally flash just a /little/ fang, but maybe it's a lot like a smile? "Indeed." Leova nods benignly afterward, too, but such enthusiasm as the two have for each other, girl and woman, it's enough to lower her glance and wait it out for a few moments more. Finally, though, she can recover those amiable but very plain tones: "Ma'am? I release your daughter into your care, will be back for her after my morning drills. Good evening, Holder, everyone." And once the passenger's straps are rebuckled and tightened now that the girl's out of them, Vrianth slinks back a few steps, wings shifting into the wind: going /up/ soon, everyone best be out of her way. Tredor sort of jumps back a bit, hastily covering it up with his booming bluster - "Yes, well, excellent, excellent." Madilla's mother is obviously a calmer, more genuine woman, for though she continues to clutch her daughter close to her, the younger woman taller than the elder, she pulls her far enough away to address Leova, utterly ignoring the tears in her eyes. "Of course, Greenrider. Thank you for bringing her to us." Madilla lifts her hand to wave at Leova, smile honestly threatening to break her face into pieces. The younger children watch in awe - and everyone steps back, well back, as the green takes off again. "Madilla! Let's get some food into you. They can't have been feeding you properly; I just don't trust them..." Tears. Tears and women, and women who are mothers, and Leova winds up having to clear her throat a time or two before waving back to them both, and thank goodness it's just moonlight and whatever glows they've got before Vrianth whisks them safely up into the air and over the crowd and then over the cotholds themselves. The green dips her wingtips this way, that way, /just/ for Holder Trevor who's made her evening, and then easy-as-that they're gone. And so, too, is Madilla, swept inside by a mother and the rest of her daughters, not to mention a dozen envious others - how come /Madilla/ got to ride a dragon like that, huh? Welcome home. |
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