Logs:The Little Carnivore That Could
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| RL Date: 26 June, 2013 |
| Who: Solith, Hraedhyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Solith can't sleep, which means Hraedhyth can't either. She's surprisingly okay with this. |
| Where: The Minds of Dragons, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 1, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
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| It's not that Solith is bored, exactly, but everyone else is asleep and she's awake and so... a little breath of fresh air goes roaming to see what it can see. (To Hraedhyth from Solith) A puff of roaming air is hardly enough to howl, though it would compliment the flutter of Hraedhyth's flames well. Cozy heat reaches for Solith, tongues of harmless flame that stretch and settle back within the queen's drowsy hearth. An invitation for the wanderer. (To Solith from Hraedhyth) That reaching has her skittering reflexively back, only when they don't quite touch, when Solith can sense what's currently so harmless and cozy, she can't help but follow after them. Not that she pounces... well, with the equivalent of one paw she does, to try and tease at that last little retreating tongue. (To Hraedhyth from Solith) A deep inhale quickens the retreat of fiery tendrils, and when they reach out once more it's with a slow, guttural rumble. There's no annoyance to the growl. It simply is. Just as Hraedhyth is. Quieted drums roll ever closer, louder, their rhythmic focus settling on the little green with a patience that speaks of both instinct and her own nature: Yes? (To Solith from Hraedhyth) That quicker retreat is enticing, it's like prey... but the realization that comes with Hraedhyth's rumble has more to do with chasing right into some massive creature's maw. Solith should run, perhaps, but she freezes, even with those drums rolling closer-closer-closer. Then she moves again, but hesitation embodied, an all-over twitch. « Hello? » (To Hraedhyth from Solith) Indeed, there's a great maw in the darkness. And though there are those oversized jaws that flash as it opens, all that will be felt is the drag of that cozy fire. Not wet but stifling with the weight of her genuine affection. « Hello, Solith. » Her contralto husks with obvious amusement. (To Solith from Hraedhyth) Forgive Solith, for she does not want to be eaten, even in an imaginary sense. She'll stay just shy, even if it isn't quite as warm and cozy, a little curled-up ball of attention that becomes smaller under that stifling-ness but still here. And curious! « Why... are you not awake? Hraedhyth? » (To Hraedhyth from Solith) To Solith, Hraedhyth takes no offense as the green keeps her distance, though there's a moment she'll keep trying before the heat finally recedes. Not completely, far too aware of Solith now. The light of her attention flickers and dances over the younger dragon's curiosity, « It is cold. Halleth is warm. » And so is the blue's wallow. It's a recipe for contrasting comfort, though the gold is awake now. « Why are you not asleep? » They can be not-asleep together, now that she's shaking off that unexpected slumber. For that, her attention fans out, becoming ever so slightly more visible, if only so she and Hraedhyth can see how it reflects the older dragon's lovely light. « Is he? Does he also not poke you with his wingspars, even by accident? » This seems to be, at the moment, important. As for her, she'd almost forgotten already but now she confesses, « I am hungry. » (To Hraedhyth from Solith) There is much to consider, and Hraedhyth does so with a pensive drumroll instead of silence. Never silence. Not with fire's crackle, and predator's growl and that constant, pulsating rhythm. « He does not. He is very... » A witty soul might find humor in her being unfamiliar with this word, « ...considerate. » As one who invites herself over would be. « Hungry. » The rumble steadily rises, a curious note, « How hungry? » It never mattered before. Now it does. (To Solith from Hraedhyth) Solith's grown up with those sounds in the distance, those and the rise and fall of the waves, they're all part of home. It's only the up-close that can be a little more... unnerving. « Keep him, » the young green suggests, as though that would be proper reward for his consideration, at least from what she knows of Hraedhyth. And... how hungry is she? « So hungry! » All of a sudden it kicked in, « And I can see them from my ledge but I'm not supposed to eat them, because I am not little enough, but also not old enough. I am too in between. » (To Hraedhyth from Solith) « I will. » Hraedhyth doesn't hesitate to agree, though she does add, « Tonight. » It's a casual spark, tossed out in a lazy arc before the ember throbs and fades. It leaves a trail that lasts just that much longer: who knows who she will keep tomorrow? It could be Solith. Another great inhale, smokey curiosity curling to feel the green's hunger if she can. « Are you hungry because you see them? » Or is she hungry? « It... If you are hungry, » Because there's a difference. « Eat. But only if you are able to eat it all. » Use all parts of the herdbeast. (To Solith from Hraedhyth) Solith instinctively flinches at first sight of the rise and fall of that spark, though she can't really remember why; it was months ago, after all. She may not run, but she's also... uneasy, now. Uneasier, anyway, enough to miss any thought of being kept. She doesn't mind sharing the hunger, even offers it up like a sacrifice, the gnawing sensation beneath her ribs that's not quite the burn her rider gets, sometimes. « I am hungry, » though out of sight, out of mind, maybe? But, « I can, I can eat it all! » And she will, winging downward before... well, maybe not before Hraedhyth can change her mind, but still: the little carnivore that could. (To Hraedhyth from Solith) That spark is as short lived as any other, though Hraedhyth's curiosity lingers long enough to bloom into concern. There's unnerved, and then there's fear, predator's keen sense quick in realizing the difference. « You are hungry. » So clever is the queen, to have finally figured that out. Solith is not only allowed, but encouraged to feed that genuine appetite, a push of mental muzzle to her hindend. Go on. While the green finds satisfaction in the pens, the queen already has a sense of it-- of one of hers not going unfed this night. (To Solith from Hraedhyth) |
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