Logs:Waste Not
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 21 September, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, H'kon |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia and Hraedhyth are fresh (or not so fresh) from their first duty as a Glacier rider. H'kon disapproves... probably. Maybe? Most likely. |
| Where: Feeding Pens, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 11, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr Wedged between the lake and the rest of the vast bowl are the dusty feeding grounds. Here, the well-trampled ground is contained by a sturdy wooden fence, cutting right through one end of the lake to section it off into a muddy watering hole for the animals. Several gates allow people in and out, while at the back, large overhangs of rock provide the herd -- a mixed bag of herdbeasts, wing-clipped wherries, and fat porcines -- shelter from storms or the hot sun. What grass survives is usually bloodstained, but feeding troughs are stationed around the edges of the pen. While Rukbat sets, its path along the sky is hidden behind a layer of clouds which refuse to shift despite constant, cool wind. Beneath overcast sky, Hraedhyth is quite a sight. While not as sadistic as some dragons, the gold still takes time to rile her intended food into a frenzy. Corralling them with snaps of her oversized jaws, it's some time before one herdbeast falters and is left behind by stampeding brethren. That's when Hraedhyth strikes, the kill is quick, efficient, and merciful. Azaylia pays little mind which seems almost callous given the goldrider's known love of all creatures. Flipping through a stack of hides, she sits atop the wooden fence, still in her riding leathers from sweeps earlier that day. Gear is loosened and in disarray, having no time to clean herself up due to simultaneous hunger, meatroll shoved into her mouth as she reads. The landing is purposefully near Azaylia, and H'kon is wincing before he's even unbuckled the first of the strap anchors. He's barely dismounted when Arekoth lifts off. It's sudden enough that the brownrider has to duck, and his dragon is careening through the air, after the herd, before they have time to settle once Hraedhyth's attention is focused on the one left behind. Koth shrieks. Koth shows his talons and rakes the air just above the beasts' backs, and circles, and does everything he can to maintain the panic. « You weren't done yet, duck! » is joyously called to the gold. "Weyrwoman," is careful acknowledgement of his dragon's misbehaviour, as well as the change in rank of which H'kon has heard. Azaylia looks up with the butt of the roll sticking out of her mouth. It takes a moment for Hraedhyth to name the brown, and when she does a smile forms around the junior's bread. Then her eyes settle on his rider. All too quickly, a finger shoves the last of it into her mouth. Chewing, she can't smile, but she can give a polite wave with subtle finger-wiggle. Hraedhyth lifts her bloodied muzzle to watch Arekoth, stepping over her fallen beast with a growl she's not even aware of. « Do not be too cruel. » Protective over the animals, she only narrowly escapes hypocrisy, « Kill swiftly. » When the queen lowers her muzzle, the crunching of bones and noisy slurping resumes. Arekoth is far too much enjoying the riling of the herd to be concerned with cruelty. « Running's good for them, » he decides. « And either way you kill them, they wind up dead. » There's something almost songlike to the second sentence's rhythm, and the brown times his wingflaps to his words. H'kon watches Azaylia for a moment in silence. Then, "Perhaps it would be right to offer you congratulations," is a far cry from actually doing so, although the brownrider dips his head politely, a vague recognition of his station. Azaylia chews slowly and swallows, her eyes never leaving the brownrider. It's not suspicion that keeps her gaze, looking more like one of the terrorized herdbeasts remembering its close call with a dragon. Her surprise is obvious as well as pleasant, "Oh! Thank you." She sweeps crumbs off her hidework with the back of her hand, "I wasn't expecting sweeps so soon." Is that what he means to congratulate her on? Hraedhyth won't ruin his hunt just yet, forcing a gurgling, bloody growl past wet, bared jaws « Be grateful. They give their lives to feed us. » Drums thunder in warning, echoing even in the distance, « Kill swiftly. » There's what might be a muscle, off-centre on H'kon's forehead, that twitches at the mention of sweeps. "As you say," barely makes it out with any force behind it. « We take their lives to feed ourselves. They run from us. They would leave if there weren't a fence, dove. » Arekoth gives another wailing shriek, and sets the herd to move again. One of them falls right down, maybe a failing of the heart, to be trampled by its brethren. "I don't recommend trying to read during them, though." Azaylia is certainly the type to attempt and fail at multitasking in the air. It must be that she has missed H'kon's facial spasm, continuing on in an effort for a better, second impression. "Do you enjoy being in the Weyrleader's wing?" Like a child with a new toy, her fixation is obvious. Arekoth has Hraedhyth's attention now, eyes whirling with flecks of hungry red, « It does not make them lesser. It is their place in our world. We must respect it. » There is nothing subtle about the gold's low rumble: He had better not let that trampled one go to waste. « If they aren't lesser, little bird, then that's more reason to run them. » In a show of his sport, the brown swoops, barely avoiding nicking the side of one of the beasts on the fringes of the herd. The beasts veer away as one. All but a fresh and kicking creature who swings too far. But rather than pick this one, Arekoth seeks more altitude, and lets it rejoin its group. "It's an honour to fly with the weyrleader," H'kon replies quite properly, green eyes narrowing a little on Azaylia. "Arekoth and I fit well into the wing." « I do not care if you 'run them'. » Hraedhyth's low register is rife with bristling annoyance that might have more to do with her hunger than she realizes. She won't repeat herself a third time, though a faceted eye remains on the brown as the gold returns to her meal. Azaylia gives a nod, "K'del is a good man. If Glacier hadn't let me in, I might have taken up..." Turning back from a quick, measuring glance at her lifemate the goldrider catches H'kon's narrowed gaze. "...his offer- Uhm." Lower lip is chewed on, head tilted up to look up at the brown. Finally, "That's good." About his and Arekoth's fitting in. H'kon's narrowed eyes unnarrow themselves quickly. "I see," is tight, curt, and the last he says. The brownrider's head turns stiffly to Arekoth. His chest puffs up with a quick inhalation, the corner of his mouth twitches, and the brown dragon promptly stops his sport. Arekoth does at least soar up a bit before descending to that tenderised bit of meat. H'kon does look back to Azaylia, but the look only accomplishes another twitch of that muscle in his forehead. Hraedhyth is filled with warm satisfaction after the brown descends upon the right beast, flames shrinking into something more manageable. Something to be shared. So she does, settling more firmly into the difficult task of sucking marrow out of bones that shatter too easily. Azaylia's head follows Arekoth's drop, watching him with faintly pursed lips and a nervous grip on the hides in her lap. The silence is awkward and heavy, the junior's head half-turning once or twice until she decides to keep her eyes on the dragons. "H'kon," The 'Mister' doesn't need to be said, weighing in on her quiet tone. Meek, even for her, "Have I, o-or has Hraedhyth, done something to upset you?" Arekoth tucks his legs in as close to one another as they will go, an asymmetrical pose on account of the tweaked front limb. Wings are spread out, mantled to keep his kill private. Or perhaps to sulk for having been forced into doing Hraedhyth's bidding. Externally! H'kon lifts his chin at his name, eyes cool when he looks the young goldrider over. "If you've need of anything," initiates a bobbing of his head, "you may always call upon either of us." The look to his dragon is indication rather than observation. When he turns back to Azaylia, he also takes a step back from her. "There are things I must see to. You'll excuse me." And he fires a sharp salute to her. Azaylia only becomes aware of her drooping head when it suddenly lifts at H'kon's excuse. It's not quite anger that has her mouth open as if to object. Whatever it is, she quickly reigns it in and dips her chin in a nod that leaves her staring down at the ground. "Okay." Mouthed rather than spoken. Is it any surprise that Hraedhyth's been watching this exchange? With a 'beast leg hanging out the side of her muzzle, « Yours. » As if that's all that needs to be said. The junior doesn't bother him any further with a farewell, instead turning back to the pens and catching her dragon's eye. Shoulders flinch in a weak shrug: she has no idea. |
Leave A Comment