Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.
High winds whip through the bowl and whistle up the walls around the spires.
It's been the better part of a seven since Madilla and her family were last seen at High Reaches, but now, skin a little browner than it was, the healer is out by the lake shore, wandering through the old, miserable-looking snow. Earlier (and, for the record, after much deliberation and a number of false starts), she sent a message by firelizard to H'kon, letting him know that she's back, and that if he's free this evening... The late winter air is cold, but not as frosty as it has been, and though the healer looks tired, her expression is much more thoughtful than sad.
Once that note reaches him, come evening, there is little hesitation from H'kon. A pointed look to his dragon across the feeding pens, maybe even the beginning of a smile for something the brown has said, a still moment to gather himself up... and it's only a matter of travel time. The motion of short legs - purposeful, quick - does not change even once the woman is spotted. One of several slow breaths as he approaches is eventually let out in that soft greeting of, "Welcome back," that's just a little uncertain.
Madilla's head lifts from the dirty snow she's been inspecting, expression showing a tangled, complicated combination of relief and uncertainty, and the hint of a smile. She tucks her hands behind her, studying him as he approaches. Her, "Thank you," sounds pleased, at least. As does her, "It's good to be home. How is... everything here?" There's subtext to that, very likely along the lines of 'how are you?', but she seems content enough to leave it at that except for her added, "I'm glad you came. I... didn't want to presume."
"Much as they were before," H'kon offers with only minimal reflection. The 'hm,' that is almost a soundtrack of a smile comes late enough it might be inspired by that other mind linked to his, and it spurs, "The eggs are perhaps harder." The brownrider takes a few longer steps to come up alongside her, where he pauses, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. "Hm," is not a smile this time, and he twists his mouth at that dirty snow Madilla was inspecting a moment earlier. "I'd not have returned the first time, if I'd no intention of doing so again." That said, he can look at her, maybe a bit too studious. Curious, even.
"Lily's especially glad that we didn't miss the hatching," puts in Madilla, hurrying the words out likely before she's even considered the last of what H'kon says. Her cheeks a pink, and not just from the cold, though she keeps her gaze on him, head turning to track his movements as he draws up beside her. "I suppose you wouldn't have. It's silly of me. It's-- been a long few days."
H'kon's feet are still just long enough to press good prints into the snow. Then one foot drags back, assisting a slight pivot too look more fully at the healer, gaze unbroken throughout. "Has it?" is only gently probing, more invitation than a proper query. He's still watching her carefully, though his arms have relaxed at his sides, hands still in his pockets.
Madilla lets out a breath, and she's still looking at him, too, with an expression that likely intends to convey something-- but mostly it just makes her look vaguely longing. Her hands unclasp behind her back, sliding towards her side, and she says, "Death is never easy. Even when it's expected. I'm just-- glad to be home. I," she hesitates. "Missed you."
For all those furrows are so often inwardly directed, this way, when they're a bit sloped, it's nearly empathetic. Although H'kon certainly can't think of any words to offer the healer. He nods to her, but still it takes until that admission on her part for him to fully withdraw a hand from his pocket, and make a reach for the nearest of hers. "I'm glad you're back." With the faintest cant of his head. "And you've not missed the hatching."
Madilla isn't wearing any gloves, for a change; her hand is cold. She lets him take it, wrapping her fingers around his and squeezing, just once. "Then we're quite on the same page," she says, the wry laughter audible in her tone probably self-focused. "Arekoth must be excited. And you... I suppose it will be nice to have him less focused upon... the eggs and the sands and being nearby?"
H'kon's hands, too, are bare (thus, pockets). But it's because of pockets that they are, for now at least, warm. That squeeze is faintly returned; he doesn't release her right off. "Indeed," almost manages to have the brownrider rolling his eyes. A vague nod is given toward the perimeter of the lake, an invitation. "I've been to the galleries somewhat more often for it. But I would like to take a trip to Tillek once all is done, provided no restrictions are placed upon us."
Nor does Madilla seem determined to pull her hand away-- not even as she twists her mouth wryly upon receipt of his nodded invitation, rather as if she'd forgotten entirely her original intent. She takes the first step, as her other hand slides into a poacket, and asks, "You think there might be restrictions placed upon you?" And then, "I'm sure your family will be pleased to see you. And hear about Arekoth's children, perhaps."
H'kon makes a point of keeping his step, his breathing, in steady rhythm, eyes soon enough dropping to the ground before his feet. Still, there's no hunching of shoulders, no signs of closing up. And he does speak after a moment's thought. "There were, the first time." A careful glance flicks over to her. He misses a breath, but not a step. "I will be pleased to see them. To tell them, at least." A pause. "I should think."
It knits Madilla's eyebrows, and has her drawing in a long breath, one that she exhales, finally, a few seconds later. "I'm sure if they were going to do something like that," she says, "they would have done so already. It doesn't seem as though anyone is pushing for-- that?" 'That' probably implies more than just restrictions. More levelly, "I'm sure you will. Of course. I imagine it will be... easier, elsewhere. For a little while."
H'kon accepts her assessment - if not showing signs of being fully convinced - with a faint raise of his eyebrows. His fingers press idly against hers, quite possibly more for the sake of motion, an attempt to keep warm, than anything. Those brows drop soon enough thereafter, and he turns to her with a flat, "I've no intention of staying there for any length of time."
Madilla flushes, turning her gaze more directly towards H'kon so that she can shake her head at him, though neither action causes her lose her step. "I didn't mean to imply that you would," she says, quickly. "I don't advocate-- it would be like running away, wouldn't it? But even a few hours, somewhere where people aren't--" Talking? Staring? Wondering? "That's all I meant." She squeezes at his hand, more firmly, this time.
H'kon holds her gaze a moment, expression almost stern. The look relents quickly enough, with a soft, "It would be." Agreement, not without something... not rightly wistful, but certainly contemplative. By the time he lands on, "Was it family?", he's eased neatly back into the walk, and is looking at her a bit more intently.
Madilla is solemn and cautious under the weight of that almost sternness, though as it relents, her own softens. His contemplativeness draws her mouth open, as if she intends to say something, but it never quite makes it out there-- and perhaps that's why she seems both relieved and confused in the wake of his question, and the look accompanying it. It takes her a moment-- and then? Realisation. Now, she exhales lengthily. "It might as well have been. The closest thing I have-- had."
H'kon waits, attentive, listening. When Madilla speaks, there's little change to the man. He shifts a bit nearer, allowing his arm to press hers, above their linked hands. And then, he waits, attentive. Still listening.
At first, Madilla is quiet, though there's gratitude in the glance she aims at H'kon, only partially hidden beneath her own... what? Reticence? Abruptly, her eyes close, as she takes in a deep breath, and then, as they open again: "Delifa was my friend, as much as she was my mentor, and my boss. I don't know if I would have made it through my apprenticeship, if she hadn't... She adopted me." Her words aren't much above a whisper, though it doesn't sound as if she's about to cry. "It never gets any easier. Losing people."
H'kon mouths out the name, but makes no sound in that. Or for some time after. He keeps close. He keeps walking. "Perhaps," he hazards, at length, "it is better that it doesn't." A few more steps before he asks, "Did your children know her?"
Talking about her own emotions is very clearly not something Madilla is especially good at, or comfortable with, but she seems more comfortable, now - and direct questions seem to help. "Probably," she agrees, on an exhale, as she continues walking. "I don't know that I'd like it to be easy. But..." A pause; a swallow. "She delivered them. I delivered her daughter... daughters. Yes, they knew her. While she was still at High Reaches, before she got too sick, we spent a lot of time together."
H'kon offers Madilla's hand another squeeze, cold fingers and warm palm, and in the end is left with nothing of depth to say. "I'm sorry," spoken low, is earnest, for all he seems quite cognisant of how little there might actually be in those words. "Strange," comes after a pause. "To deal with death and, surely, to see new life, all so close together."
"Thank you," she says, and there's genuine sentiment to it, despite the expression on her face that is both wistful and knowing. His latter remark is easier, though she still takes her times in answering it, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other, and (perhaps) the comfort of bare hand on bare hand. "It's comforting, in a way. A reminder that - that life goes on? That new replaces the old. I'm looking forward to it." Beat. "And it will be spring, soon."
"Hatchings and warmer, longer days do much for a Weyr. For those in it." At first, H'kon looks wholly serious as he contemplates that. The crack of his face into something of a smile is more abrupt. "Though I imagine Arekoth will miss the comedy of sending the herds into a panic until a beast hits an ice slick." That smile is fought down, and he manages, more softly, "I am less certain if he will miss sitting the sands."
Madilla's nod is clearly meant for that first remark; her smile, rather broader than H'kon's, is for the second, and it does not get fought down. "Poor Arekoth, deprived of such entertainment," she teases. "Those poor beasts. Do you think he will... keep up with his offspring? Remember them? I can imagine him - from what you've said - teaching them all kinds of bad habits."
H'kon's voice maintains a practiced flatness for, "He suffers greatly, indeed." But there's something looser in his shoulders when he turns his head to consider Madilla, her question. "Perhaps for a time. But... he did not long consider Cadejoth his father. And while he enjoys Iesaryth on the sands, already he is more aware of the greens." The brownrider's tone dips at the end of that, and it's not long before he's looking forward with that seriousness to which he's so accustomed. "I believe they will be dragons of his Weyr, and just that, sooner than later."
Madilla can't help the low chuckle that escapes, or the smile that follows it, the one she wears as she listens so intently - so interestedly - to what H'kon has to say in answer to her questions. "I suppose that's simply the way it goes," she says, nodding, even if he's not looking in her direction to see it. "For dragons. Short-term memories. And so... it will be back to normal life, as much as it can be. Except for those twenty-two new riders." She pauses, just for a moment. "I suppose there will be more people out here, of an evening, come spring."
"Twenty-four." The correction is distracted, offhand. "They will learn their new lives." It's her last comment, though, that has him pushing the cold in his fingertips to the back of her hand, expression this time more reactively stubborn than anything. Maybe the delay in his words, this time, is to take advantage of the quiet that's left them, with spring and its crowds now seeming uncomfortably close. "It was not a misguided assumption." But this time, his abrupt change is at least explained. "From earlier. Not a strange thing to assume of a dragonrider."
"Twenty four," Madilla repeats under her breath, with a self-conscious laugh, though the recitation is largely lost in lieu of focusing on what he's saying. On his fingertips on her hand, too, perhaps. She's silent, after he speaks, her eyebrows knitting all over again, as she pieces together what he's saying. "Oh," she says. "No. Perhaps not. But it's not-- I do try not to assume things based on that."
That grip he's taken on her hand now is in no mood to let up. Perhaps luckily for Madilla, it also seems not to be in a mood to press any tighter. "Still. Constancy is not a notable feature-" of what isn't given voice. Instead, H'kon is peering up at her, at least one of those lines in his forehead certainly bothered by the contention he's dancing around.
Madilla stops walking, now, and turns, so that she can face him properly. "It wasn't because you were a dragonrider," she says, quietly, green eyes studying his expression. "Not really. Nor even because you are you. I simply... don't have a great deal of experience with this. I don't want to misstep." It's abrupt, quiet honesty. "I know plenty of riders who are as constant as they can be, given... givens."
H'kon stops when she does, an abrupt halt that digs his toe into the snow. He looks straight back to her, though he's worrying the tip of his tongue between his teeth - if behind closed lips - as she speaks. "I've not even considered... not in quite some time." It's here he looks for that hand of hers he's holding, shifting his wrist lightly, though his fingers remain much the same. "There is much in a thing such as this that I should like to offer." He glances up, but eyes soon fall back down. "Givens. Details." Both spoken low.
Madilla's gaze follows H'kon's towards their joined hands, lingering there for several long seconds before she, too, lifts her gaze back towards his. Hers stays, watching him even after he's stopped watching her. Quietly, "I'm not asking for anything. Not-- not anything more than whatever it is you can-- that is, I do understand. I'm not naive, or blind, or... I have no illusions."
H'kon stays with his head down all through her words, though the faintest nod does at least acknowledge them, receive them. That other hand is drawn from his pocket, to join that colder one around Madilla's. "Not anything more," he repeats, words careful right down to enunciation. Now he can look up. "But the rest..."
A moment later, Madilla's other hand joins the other three: one on top of the other, all joined in front of them both. Her cheeks are pink with more than just cold when she says, quiet but firm, "I'll take the rest." Evidently, she finds something funny in what she's just said, because her face contorts, briefly; ultimately, she shakes her head, shrugging, both awkward and pleased. "Whatever that is."
H'kon's features take a twist of their own, as answer to hers. He raises that mass of hands partway up, halts it when he has the need to close his eyes, to let his chest expand in a careful breath. It's just a nod goes to the healer at the end of it all, serious again. It's a slow process, pulling that other hand back away, so they can continue on.
That nod? It's enough. Madilla withdraws her own second hand, letting it drop back towards her side as she resumes walking around the edge of the lake. Her exhale, this time, speaks of contentment. It's after some further strides that she says, "Will you come in? Tonight. They're asleep." It's safe! As much as it can be.
H'kon walks close to Madilla once more, when they're underway again, happy as ever in the silence. The words that would break it don't seem to jar him, though. He looks over to the healer, nods again. "I will," comes afterwards, simple as that. Simpler now, surely.
As simple as that. Madilla's nod-of-reply is deliberate, and takes though the corners of her mouth have turned up into what can only be called pleasure. It gets aimed, at first, at the brownrider, but only for a moment: she turns it off towards the still-mostly-frozen lake, too, and the dark bowl walls beyond. Silence reigns.
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