Logs:Teisyth Vs. The Tree (and Lythronath)
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| RL Date: 12 January, 2014 |
| Who: Teisyth, Lythronath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Teisyth's having a bad day. She picks the wrong tree to mess with. Lythronath's help is effective if painful. |
| Where: Mountain Meadow, somewhere near High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 10, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Cameo by G'laer. |
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| Mountain Meadow A long, broad valley sandwiched between taller mountain peaks, its lush grasses stand at waist height in the summertime and sway gently in the constant breeze, dying back only in early winter. In spring, the meadow comes alive, turning the ocean of green into a sea of reds, blues, yellows and oranges as tiny flowers burst into bloom. At dawn and dusk, small herds of wild herbivores might be seen at the end of the valley as shadowy shapes who keep well away from visitors. Winding along the edge of the mountain base as it follows a downward slope, a small stream provides clear, fresh water from the snow-capped peaks. After yet another abysmal day for Teisyth with flaming drills, after the 'stone has worked its way through their systems and all the weyrlings have been released, Teisyth's distraught mind seeks Lynner. Her mind usually has an easy vibration, that if a little rickety is of the familiar and comforting variety. Just now, the vibration is off-kilter, with a harangue of unhealthy sounding pops, chokes, and loud cracks. « Lynner, I cain't do it. » A cartooned sketch of sadly muted tones shows Teisyth in a mountainous meadow near the Weyr, a tree and her head butting against it flip-book style. The request for some kind of help is implicit, though it's not specified just what kind of help she wants or needs. (To Lythronath from Teisyth) Flaming drills. Lythronath loves flaming. Lythronath is relatively good at flaming. Lythronath, up to his nose in a victory buck's guts, has a simple recommendation, preceded by the shared smells of blood and char, the moment she has his attention. Lythronath suggests: « Fire. » (To Teisyth from Lythronath) As good as Lythronath is, Teisyth is the opposite, and worse. She can't seem to focus once she's chewed the stone and they've been rebuked so many times for not paying enough attention, not being careful enough, and she's been trying so very hard! « That's what I cain't do. » Getting her initial flame going took longer than it should; maybe she's not built for fire. « Oooh, I'm so mad I just wanna-- » Bonk bonk bonk goes cartoon Teisyth against the tree. Then she bites it. Does she really? Well, he'd have to come to her to find out. (To Lythronath from Teisyth) To Teisyth, Lythronath snaps through one of the beast's bones - the sound carries right along the link, along with his joy in it - more complex now then it once was, but still joy. « Little, » he decides next, a word shared with her time and again in drills, and probably, in those times, very little to do with her actual size. Ooh, that cartilage is chewy and crunchy all at once! If only Teisyth could enjoy such joys right now. Normally, she does, but right now? Woe is she. She is sad. And the gosh darn tree just won't budge. Cartoon Teisyth slumps onto the ground, the dying grasses swishing. Even the trio of mauve-drawn wild herbivores that traipse through the scene don't lift her spirits or cajole her into a hunt. « I keep lettin' him down, Lynner. I keep tryin' and I keep not bein' good enough. » (To Lythronath from Teisyth) « Little, » the bronze observes. There's no sympathy in him, not even for Teisyth. With a final and satisfying crunch, the smells and tastes and sounds and everything all start to fade. For a moment, that blood-and-flesh-fueled attention is hers, shoved into her mental space. « Push. » Not as good as fire, though. (To Teisyth from Lythronath) « Little, little, little! » Teisyth explodes. She's not angry at Lythronath, but at herself. And up gets cartoon Teisyth and she's back at the fight with the tree. There is pushing, and biting, and scratching now too, but still, the tree defeats her. « Too little. Yer big, you come help me. » Please? She doesn't say it, but it's there. (To Lythronath from Teisyth) « Little! » There's a devilish glee in that anger coming off of Teisyth. Lythronath likes the taste of it. He shoves the weight of his mind up against hers, and then, there's nothing. Until, there's Lythronath. « Hahahah. Little. » (To Teisyth from Lythronath) Where Teisyth can no longer compete with the bronze in actual strength, she fares better in matters of the mind. Gentle though her mind is given to being, there is sometimes surprising strength there, so there's nary an oof to satisfy Lynner's shove, just a snort. He can have all the anger she has to give; she doesn't want it, she doesn't like feeling it. Mentally, his laughter is swallowed, and blown back at him like soap bubbles from a wand. Little indeed. And she had to pick a big tree, of course, to take her frustrations out on. (To Lythronath from Teisyth) Lythronath is big, now. He's found her, somewhere, in all that mental pushing and prodding and shoving. He's found her, and he lands, licking at the gore left on his muzzle, and ignoring the rest on his chest and claws and even his wings. He doesn't look at Teisyth long, though. The bronze looks at the tree. And then reverts back to, « Fire. » Well, of course, he's found her. She's practically her own neon 'you are here' sign, minus the glowing part (Thank Faranth). She wanted him to find her, so it wouldn't have been difficult for him to follow her mental trail to where she's glowering at that stupid tree. She turns when he lands and stalks around him. « You got any fire left? » Her tone is doubtful; and never mind the danger of forest fires. Lythronath burps. Lythronath licks his chops again. Lythronath finds, « Blood. » Never mind that he's already horked up all the waste of his firestone. As if he'd save any when he could be flaming it out. The bronze shifts his big feet, two steps made more a semi-circle by his lean than anything. He watches the tree, and even rumbles at the tree, but it doesn't move, and it's boring. Teisyth sighs. No fire then. And the tree isn't exciting enough for Lynner. She can't even get her rage-targets right, then. She shifts from stalking around the bronze to stalking toward him, but rather than engage him, she means to flop against him. « There were some beasts. You could hunt them instead, if you want. » She sounds a little dejected, though there's no expectation that the bronze will care. But see, when she lies down like that, and her tail's all sinewy like it is... it's the little muscles under his hide that twitch first. And then a few more times, where Teisyth's tail still lies across his hip. And then again, and again, and then Lythronath shoves the green, and turns, and tries to bite at the itch. He's not that bendy now, though, if ever he was. « Itch. » Sigh. Shoving. She can't even flop in defeat properly! Poor Teisyth. She rolls once she's shoved, getting back onto her feet, and wiggling from shoulders to tail tip before she stops to watch him try to get the itch. There's a moment's pause. For any other dragon, it would be a moment of choice, for Teisyth, it's just a moment of surprise. Since he's not having luck getting to that spot, she's moving back toward him, « Hold still an' I'll get it. » That, at least, she can do, if he lets her. « Itch! » This time, it comes with a frustrated roar. Lythronath spins in a circle, teeth snapping ineffectually, and harder every time. It's a good thing he can't get his mouth back there, or he'd be bleeding. « Itch. » He's not watching for Teisyth, no. And sprawl goes Teisyth, bumped by the bronze. But she's not hurt when she goes, and thankfully with a dragon like Teisyth there's nothing silly like pride to keep her from getting right back up and bounding back into the fray. She'll get that dirty, rotten itch if it's the last thing she does (today)! She can try. But when Lythronath spins, that massive tail of his swings around with full force, and thwacks her squarely in the side. And right toward that tree. All that, and he's still itchy. Chomp snap chomp. There's good news and there's bad news. The good news is that upon impact of the full weight of Teisyth's blocky form, the sturdy tree (weakened by tooth and claw) snaps with a sharp crack (not unlike those that had been rattling around in the green's mind) and the top half falls noisily into the rest on the edge of the meadow. So, it's not how Teisyth intended to take the tree down, but she can still call that a win. Well, she can after she deals with the bad news. The bad news is « Whaaaaaa! » Her mental anguish is acute. That tree was proven to be sturdy, and doubtless her side has a mighty bruise that's causing her such pain. She probably even has splinters. And at least, at the moment, she's not trying to get up. In the confines of his weyr, G'laer snaps out of sound sleep and feels pain. Out comes the knife from under his pillow, but there's no assailant and when he seeks, there's no source for the pain. Then he remembers where he is, who he is, and that he has a dragon. Lythronath at least doesn't hit Teisyth a second time. He does drop, and roll a bit, until a happily placed rock manages to soothe him. It's as he's getting up that Teisyth's cry registers. The bronze bobs his head, and inspects the fallen green, the way he might have once inspected a half-eaten carcass when his own hunts were less successful. He claws the dirt. He says, « Up. » To her credit, she tries, despite her mental sniffles. Teisyth, once she's taken a moment to try to recover herself, she tries, shifting first one way, and then another as she tries to flex muscles to get herself up as the bronze instructs. Only, her limbs shake as she tries, and wobbling for a moment with her bulk barely off the ground she thumps back down. « I cain't. It hurts. » She lets him feel it. And she sniffles. Lythronath knows what hurt is. He feels it, sure. And he repeats, « Up. » And claws the ground. And bobs his head a time or two more. Hopefully, the weyrlingmasters, or dragonhealers, or some mix thereof are on their way. Before anyone gets eaten. |
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