Logs:The First Hunt
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| RL Date: 16 July, 2015 |
| Who: Aislara, Dee, I'dro, Ka'ge, Nasmaeth, Ryerith, Taeliyth, Zymadiath |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Some weyrlings go hunting for the first time. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 4, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Ranging from mist to drizzle to downpour, rain falls almost unbroken all day long-- that cold, persistent spring rain. |
| Mentions: Ead/Mentions |
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>---< Feeding Grounds, Fort Weyr >-------------------------------------------<
The feeding grounds are fenced off from the rest of the Weyr with a high,
wooden fence and gate, providing plenty of space for the resident
herdbeasts -- bovines, in particular -- to ramble about. The vast majority
of the animals are for draconic consumption, but some of the more valuable
varieties are penned away from those designated to be dragon food. Ovines
and porcines are a bit more useful to humans than to the dragons that
would happily dine on them and are kept further away from the bovines and
closer to the stables as a result. There's plenty of grass to feed them,
while herders and stablehands regularly add feed to the troughs along the
eastern fence. The soil turns to mud as one gets closer to where the area
butts up against the lake, which doubles as a watering hole for the
animals.
Ranging from mist to drizzle to downpour, rain falls almost unbroken all
day long-- that cold, persistent spring rain. A rainy day cannot be called truly lucky for the weyrlings and their dragons as the Weyrlingmaster staff escorts a smaller group of them to the Feeding Grounds and the part of the pens where the old and injured beasts await fulfilling their final calling as 'breakfast.' The rain, however, has lightened for the moment into a drizzle rather than a downpour so that much is good fortune. Taeliyth's excitement radiates as the gold uses her long stride to the head of the group. It only means she has to wait for one of the weyrlingmasters to get in place and open the gate, which she does, impatiently. Dee doesn't have the same sort of excitement as her dragon, her mood subdued into something grimly resolved, arms hugged around her oilskin coat that keeps off the worst of the drizzle. Deliberate, stalking steps are not slow, they are purposeful. Zymadiath's stride is one not outright glowing with excitement like the gold that led the line, but it's hard to mistake the intense, watchful focus that is- this time- not on the other weyrlings but on what's beyond that gate. His wings remain loosely collected, cape-like, against his back, though they still are much too large, too heavy for his rapidly growing frame. Beside him at about the same pace is his rider, dressed as he always is as if the concept of an oilskin coat to battle the soakenness to come was lost on him or, more likely, ignored. Gloved hands are shoved in pockets, head angled down to watch his foot steps and those of whomever is in front of him. He'd stop when the others would stop, ending behind Dee but looking beyond her to the older animals collecting at the fenceline as far from the gathering predators as possible. "Still our job to pick up the pieces?" Is asked of anyone, smugness and its grin attached, and more for effort of saying something than caring about an appropriate response. Hungry dragons, things destined to be food? Nasmaeth should have a little more enthusiasm about this, too, but ground locomotion is not her strongest suit, and she's obviously considerably smaller than Taeliyth. Her lagging feet might have something to do with her own trepidation about this endeavor, or maybe it's I'dro's. It's a very gray day to start with, but his pallor is a bit more green than that. "I hope not. I don't even know--what happens if they can't actually take something that size down, yet?" « This is going to be amazing. » Taeliyth comments to no one in particular as she slips in through the opened gate. She glances behind herself to let her gaze settle briefly on Nasmaeth as she asks, « Aren't you hungry? » Zymadiath gets only a look and the addition of some sort of amusement to her mindtouch, an amusement that will never be so pure as Caidelyth's, but sullied by her natural sarcasm and pluckiness. "We've had to butcher the beasts before, so..." Dee concludes the answer is yes, giving both boys a helpless sort of shrug. "I guess if they're hungry we do that again. More. Still." She eyes the gold, "She won't be happy if she doesn't take something down." It's possible Dee doesn't see how the difference of size impacts the chances of success. The beasts in the pen? They do, starting to edge toward the gate-- toward escape, only to shy back as other dragons move to enter. The instructions from the staff are fairly straightforward, the dragons providing more insight into hunting technique than the riders. Pay enough attention not to tangle with one another, only a few dragons into the pen at a time. The standard fare when it comes to first hunt rules. The 'right' answer is 'try again', isn't it? "See if she likes hay instead?" is what's actually offered from Ka'ge, a nod of his head given towards one of the bales in the paddock in front of them. Zymadiath's shadows are prominent at the edges of the minds of all of the weyrling dragons present at this lesson and the olders' who instruct them. Writhing, twisting, nightmarish dances that form and unform into nothing inparticular in their ghastly presence. From the darkness, eventually comes sensation of agreement, of fierceness, of that edge of waiting coiled that reflects well the poise that the young bronze. The night doesn't have many words to share, yet, except apparently to his rider who does manage to get him to turn his head to angle a hungry, whirling eye on him for a brief moment. "I'dro is pushing the wheelbarrow this time, then." Ka'ge volunteers him, drawing his arms up to fold them across his chest, apparently settling in to be here awhile. Aislara is propped against the fence just inside the gate. She's got her elbows resting against a lower fence rail as she watches the milling beasts and dragons with a watchful gaze. Ryerith has taken her own perch deeper in the pen, settled in a crouch as she watches the younger dragons stalk their prey. « It will be easier when you fly » she tells them in an off-handed way, « But sometimes this way is still fun even for us older dragons. » "Being an asshole doesn't make you seem older, Ka'ge, it just makes you seem like an asshole." I'dro does at least have the good sense to keep his voice down, for that. Nasmaeth might be hungry, but apparently not hungry enough for that kind of enthusiasm. Once the rules have been clearly laid out, though, she's more interested in watching the creatures. I'dro gives her neck a pat, but whatever conversation is going on there, it's Private. Less so, to the others: "Maybe they can just save her a smaller one?" That much is enough provocation: « I don't want something skinny, I want the biiig one. » Eyes bigger than stomach, no doubt. Dee's words overlap with the tail end of I'dro's, her tone wearied in its reproof, "You're not as funny as you think you are, Kael." She reaches a hand to rub her forehead, "I'll push the wheelbarrow," is her peacemaking attempt before stepping closer to Aislara to ask, "We do clean up after their kills, don't we, ma'am?" Taeliyth's encouragement, « Then get a big one! » to Nasmaeth is surely helpful to her rider's goals. She hasn't picked one to make an attempt with, but she seems to be assessing the shuffling nervous beasts for just that purpose. « You first, » she directs to the bronze, waiting to watch. Ryerith earns some part of her mental attention, « Diving seems cleaner than pouncing. » There's a questioning there; she's asserting and letting the green correct if she's not got the right idea. Despite all that Zymadiath is Zymadiath and presents himself as such, he is not so impressive in motion on land. Ontop of his awkwardness of long legs and tail, and heavy wings making ground movement cumbersome, the fact he'd had weeks of restrained physical activity stunted play and the benefits of such. As he moves through the opened gate not all so long after Taeliyth's suggestion, his belly, marked over with a rune-shaped scar that becomes more silvery against his nightly shades as time goes on, nearly brushes the ground with how low he crouches. Slowly, perhaps, it's becoming less 'scuttling' and more stalking. It's clear he's picked the one when he stops mid-step and holds himself there. The darkness of the bronze's mental presence is there, though the phantasms remain distanced as if specters at the end of an abandoned tunnel. « Need an example? » Cockiness, not all unlike his rider's, provokes Taeliyth for her to follow. Ka'ge leans forwards over the fenceline, "I don't intend to sound older," He notes dismissively, "That defeats the point." A beat, and to Dee, "I'm not? But it makes me laugh." And surely that's what matters. "Even the older dragons'," Aislara answers Dee with a patient smile, "if they leave a mess their riders' will pick up after them. Still, we can cheat and make them take it Between." She glances towards Ryerith and then at the milling beasts with a slight headshake. « I will show you » Ryerith declares, looking back at her rider before the assistant weyrlingmaster looks away, « If you do not figure it out first. A swipe to trip them » she explains, lifting a forelimb to mime a swipe in the air. « And then bite » She tilts her head and lowers herself back down to wait as she watches the young bronze begin his 'stalking'. « Swipeandbite. » Nasmaeth is mesmerized by the instructions, momentarily, and very nearly in such a rush to put them into practice as to not be able to wait her turn--but the queen's instructions appear to be enough to keep hold her back. I'dro is content to hang back further and not watch any of this too closely. "So the point is to sound more juvenile? I guess suit yourself, then." It is, at least, more baffled than mean-spirited. "I'll be much happier when we don't have to deal with any of the mess. Keep telling myself it's all just for the moment, and then we'll have the rest of our lives with her able to actually take herself between." « Need would be overstating, » Taeliyth answers the bronze coolly but with an undercurrent of her amusement. She turns her attention to the green as she demonstrates, cocking her head as she considers the lesson. There's an approving feeling as Nasmaeth sums up the instruction and it's adopted mentally by the wheaten dragon. "It can't be worse than mucking," is Dee's groaned rejoinder that sympathizes with I'dro's words of betweening. She gives Aislara resigned look before looking to the pens. Evidently if Ka'ge is going to be concerned with only amusing himself, she's going to ignore him. "How much practice does it usually take before they get good enough for it not to be... messy?" She queries of the assistant. "You can take it however you'd like it to sound. Doesn't matter to me." Nor does the negative perception of it mean it will change, of course. Ka'ge's reponse is never displeased, the amusement simply carrying on. Zymadiath's predatory stance would be excellent if he were any more coordinated, and if one thing will wipe the smug grin from Ka'ge, it's the leaking annoyance of the bronze to his rider that is just shy of creating a headache. For now, it's only a twitch at the edge of his expression that denotes it. With the instruction in mind, the weyrling bronze's coiled muscle spring- an awkward thing though in his mind is surely not nearly so much- and dark paw with darker talons rakes for the closest prey animal. The hip is scored, too high to knock it down, and Zymadiath struggles to recollect his balance, a heavy wing ending up under his feet and paws ending up not entirely grounded, hatchling-like. It's worse, of course, that it followed what he told the young queen. Ka'ge relieves his post along the fence-line to walk a couple of steps away, the conversation ensuing apparently not a pleasant one. Aislara is kind enough not to laugh at Dee's innocent question. "It may always be messy," she tells the weyrling with a twitch of her shoulder. "Some personalities love the blood and guts while others are dainty eaters." She glances towards Ryerith with a fond tilt to her lips, "Ryerith is only messy when she bloods, otherwise she is a very polite eater." She winks at Dee and then glances as I'dro and then Ka'ge in turn. If she's noticing the commentary amongst the trio she doesn't seem inclined to do more than answer questions directed at her. Her eyes sharpen on Zymadiath as he takes his stumble and she watches closely at the direction in which Ka'ge takes to correct it. « Almost » Ryerith sends a tendril of thought towards the young bronze. Her ribbons drift in the wind and tickle at his awareness with a gentle tinkling of chimes. « Remember your wings when you leap. You can use them to scare them. » She straightens and stretches her own wings out and gives them a resounding flap that sends the beasts scattering, with one anglingg towards the younger green and another pair tearing in the gold's direction. While I'dro does make a little 'oooo-kay' with his mouth, he doesn't put any voice into it. He spends some time regarding his fingernails with furrowed brows until Zymadiath's pounce, and whether he intends to or not, he can't seem to look away. Even a wincy-face for the lack of balance; maybe the sympathy doesn't get voice, either, but it's something. It's also something that provokes enough concern to tie up I'dro's attention in talking to his dragon, until such time as she gets her chance, but she's not apt to fare much better at that point. « Bravo, » is Taeliyth's helpful commentary with a measured beat that might just be a slow clap for the bronze. « Let's see if I can do better. » She lunges at one of the beasts Ryerith's display scared her way. The answer is ultimately 'no' though her approach was really an attempt to follow the green's advice that ends with her sprawled on the ground and the beasts dashing out of range. Dee leans on the fence, watching silently, the weight of the world obviously settled on tense shoulders. She looks at Aislara a moment and then to Ka'ge. No words needed to express the worry in her eyes. Zymadiath draws his dark wings up, shuffling paws to do so. He doesn't show overt aggression about this, though there may have been hints of his lips curling. A shake of his head dissolves that though. Shaking it off, in essence. The shadows are not so welcoming of ribbons or tickling, the unpleasant dark figments creating nondescript things, and then just as quickly shifting them away again. They don't receed into the heavier layers of darkness beneath, however, so he must be listening at least. The darkling bronze takes the few necessary steps to attempt again to corner the one he'd scathed, wings spread as he lunges again. This time teeth clamp down on a back leg. But even an old beast can kick with the best of them, and before he can throw his weight into it enough to yank it down, a hoof flies close enough to his face that his jaw releases and it scrambles back to standing, panting and eyes white and wide in terror. The shadow's coarse, gravelly mindvoice doesn't hide its annoyance of the situation, « This would be better from the air. » Not that he's flown, but it sounds better. Ka'ge wouldn't catch Dee's tension or glance of worry, as his back is to her. There's a tension to his own shoulders, though, as he scuffs a booted toe on the damp ground. Aislara seems to have fallen to quietly observing the situation unfolding in front of her as each young dragon makes an attempt and ends up failing. She's likely seen this countless times and her shoulders are loose and her body language otherwise indicating she is at her ease in the observation. Ryerith is all encouragement for Taeliyth's and Zymadiath's attempts. « Yes! » she encourages, « That's the idea. Use your wings. Herd them against the fence. Corner them. When you bite, shake them senseless. » Her wings unfurl again and stretch outwards as she lifts her head up and drops her jaw in a display of her teeth. The older animals seem more concerned with the larger dragon than the smaller ones and continue to mill about in blind panic. Taeliyth's rising from the dirt sees a delayed reaction in Dee. "Taeliyth!" The twinge of pain can be felt in the moments before she seals off that emotional leak. Dee is seeking entry to the pen even as Taeliyth shifts to come to the gate, green ichor standing out against the hide of her legs. It's just a bad scrape, nothing that won't heal and nothing that probably doesn't happen often enough on first hunt experiences. Certainly it's nothing worthy the panicked look in Dee's face, but then the pair has been emotionally on edge practically since the gold shelled, so it mightn't be unusual. The third time the young bronze goes after that bleeding, battered old animal, the pounce is a solid one that knocks if off its remaining three planted legs and to the ground where Zymadiath ends its thrashing in a bloody mess. The bronze's reaction to Taeliyth's wounding is delayed by his excitement over his kill, of finally being able to ebate hunger. But when Ka'ge turns at Dee's exclaimation, his dragon's blood-covered face looks to the gold almost in synch. He reclaims the few paces away that he'd taken from the small group, arms falling from their fold, "What happened?" Perhaps sounds more angry than he intends. The darkling dragon is more proactive than words, relinquishing his kill for sake of turning to face the young queen. His shadows, the night that he is, becomes heavier in its existance, the writhing figures reaching more towards her. They don't demonstrate concern directly in the tones that rise from the blackness, but a bitterness that escapes, « Which one was it? » Because clearly, killing the offender will fix this. Aislara's looseness dissolves as she pushes free of the fence and strides in a purposeful way towards the young gold. Ka'ge gets a warning look from the greenrider as she kneels to inspect Taeliyth's injury. She clucks her tongues a few times as she inspects the wound and upon seeing no large rends she rises. Her hands are dusted off on her pants and she focuses her attention on Dee. "It looks like something clipped her deep enough to spill ichor." Her eyes flick from the gold and back to her rider with a frown for Dee's distress. "Why don't you take her to the Infirmary and have them wash it out and examine it? Once they give the all clear, you can come back. Groups will be at this most of the day." "She's fine," is probably the vocalization of the annoyed reassurance Dee is being given by Taeliyth. Nevermind that Dee's voice edges just a little toward hysterical when she says it. "Yes, ma'am," is automatic answer to Aislara. Neither the gold nor her lifemate have an answer for the bronze and his. Perhaps the gold doesn't feel the need to be avenged over a little scratch. She just moves once Aislara has moved back, meeting her concerned rider at the now open gate. The gold might limp a little just as she adjusts to the feeling of her injury, not for long, just favoring the scraped leg, her gait normalizing before they're even out of sight. |
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