Logs:Wyaeth's First Flight
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| RL Date: 6 August, 2007 |
| Who: A'son, Emilly, I'daur, N'thei, Talien |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 1, Turn 13 (Interval 10) |
| Rather than having the whole class out all at once, I'daur is taking people out for their first unmmanned flights one or two at a time, as he feels they're ready. In fact, the first pair he has Zunaeth call for are Wyaeth and Svodriyth, to meet him out in the bowl with their riders. I'daur and Zunaeth are already there, the bronze hovering just behind his rider near the very middle of the dirt expanse while they wait for the pair to arrive this afternoon. Emilly perches on Sionath's foreleg not far off, waiting for the pair to turn up. "Want me to spot from above, I'daur, or just stay put?" asks the greenrider with a grin for the Weyrlingmaster. Svodriyth's leading the way, Talien not too far behind and keeping a fast paced jog to keep up with the blue. She's working her hair into a messy braid as she runs and one boot is untied. By grace and fortune alike, she manages not to trip and fall flat on her face. She's not so fortunate when it comes to looking composed by the time she plants herself just beside Svodriyth and confront of the Weyrlingmaster. Wyaeth makes the first appearance. He foregoes his usual cool swagger to barrel out of the barracks, nearly slip and fall on a patch of ice, recover himself with fractured dignity, and continue apace like nothing happened. N'thei takes longer to emerge from the barracks, his scarf busily wound around his neck, his gloves quickly donned. "Sir. Ma'am." His voice behind his scarf is muffled but contained, nothing at all like the brim of me-first energy exhibited by Wyaeth. "I think we can handle it down here," I'daur tells Emilly absently, while he watches Svodriyth and Wyaeth. "Well. You two ready?" he asks, glancing to their riders and studying both of them a moment. "Our wingleader can go first," he decides with a nod. "Unless you'd rather delegate your duty to someone else?" He shoots a look between blue and rider, mildly curious as he arches a brow slightly at the girl. Emilly nods just the once and folds her arms across her chest, maintaining her position on Sionath's foreleg, just watching for now as I'daur organizes the pairs for their exercise. Wyaeth looks fit to be tied, from barely contained to instantly disdained. N'thei can do nothing but shrug at the bronze, and so the dragon settles on his haunches in the fragments of snow, glaring hard at I'daur. Gunmetal talons tappity tap noisily on the cold hard stone under foot, impatience personified. Talien pauses - actually pauses to consider I'daur's offer. One side of her mouth tips upward in a half quirk too, and after a moment of hesitation she says, "Yeah," Indecision turns to certainty as she glances toward Wyaeth and N'thei, "We're gonna do that and they can go first." If Svodriyth holds any reserves or resentment it doesn't show. I'daur is quite thoroughly immune to glares from dragons; in fact, he might very well be amused, because he's biting back a smirk and not looking at Wyaeth as he watches Talien expectantly. Of course, he's definitely surprised that Talien actually does agree to let N'thei and his bronze go first, but he nods once to her, with a hint of a smile, as he turns to N'thei. "All right, Wyaeth. You've been watching how it's done, and practicing here on the ground; this time you're actually going to take off. Give us a couple of slow laps around the bowl--two, that's it. Understood?" He looks from dragon to N'thei, serious now as he impresses that bit of information. "Watch the landing especially; it's the roughest part, and don't rush any of it." A'son meanders in from the weyrling barracks. A'son has arrived. N'thei won't be the one flying, and his expression conveys this information to I'daur when the weyrlingmaster turns to him, a shrug and an uninvolved smile. No words though, only a hitch of his forehead to indicate the bronze and then the return of his previous look: He's settled to watching Talien skeptically, full of mistrust. Because he could not possibly care less /why/ Talien would pass the honors and he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Wyaeth takes a running start across an open stretch of the bowl, picks up speed, and gives a timely hop that lets him settle into an initially teetery but soon smooth glide. Talien gains confidence at the smile and stands a little straighter for it. Svodriyth turns to regard his bronze clutchmate before he offers a clipped whuff and toss of his head. A resettling of his wings later and the blue returns to his stone-still posture. Talien almost pointedly ignores N'thei. "Count them off for me, please," I'daur asks of N'thei, glancing to the bronzerider as Wyaeth takes off. He doesn't spare much attention for the humans, though, as his eyes go back to the bronze in the air, and he straightens stiffly. Zunaeth is watching a little apprehensively, too, shifting his weight. "One." N'thei looks impassive save for the occasional lingering suspicion he fires at Talien. "Two." Wyaeth ought to be leveling out for his landing now, but the bronze is still going strong. He turns again, ready to complete his third circuit, passing a few dragonlengths away from the onlookers. Quieter; "Three?" The word that N'thei says under his breath when his dragon arcs away again starts with F and ends with K. The tiniest flush of red hits Talien square in the cheeks and, for as brief as the sharp inhalation of breath lasts, so too does a small sparkle in her eyes. One hand fists at her side in a contrasting display of anxiousness, and though Talien's intent was to ignore N'thei fully she can't help but glance toward him as the bronze starts on a third circuit. Svodriyth shifts in place, acting as though he wants more than anything to move from his spot by Talien's side. "You sound awfully sure of that," drawls I'daur as N'thei sounds so hesitant to say that last number. He doesn't really look surprised by it, though, more resigned and accepting than anything else. "The harpers must have done a good job on you. Hang around after Svodriyth does his two and we'll chat. Now bring him in, N'thei." A glance to Talien assures him that she's still waiting more or less patiently, before he looks back to Wyaeth. Emilly makes a little face as Wyaeth overshoots, likely out of enthusiasm and she nods just once as I'daur asks his rider to stay after. N'thei pulls at his collar with one mitten, like it's hot enough out here that he's steamy under his jacket, scarf, and all; "I'd love to bring him in, sir, but he's gotten a little too big to be manhandled. And he's a bit higher than I am tall, hard as it is to believe." So the weyrling, with a newly implacable look on his face, just stands and waits while Wyaeth the triumphant comes skidding to a rough landing. Practically crowing, the bronze parades over to the onlookers, set to receive adulations. Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with « Tough act to follow, chief. Try not to eat too much of my dust. » Talien is still waiting, one hand now resting on Svodriyth and her face scrunched with concentration. The blue's head is tilted up to watch his bronze brother, his wings slightly unfolded. They rustle as the bronze finally lands and approaches. "That," Talien says softly and with a sidelong glance toward Emilly and I'daur, "You know, aside from the whole third time 'round... that wasn't half bad." She bites her lip then, and awaits I'daur's comment. Svodriyth bespoke Wyaeth with « One, » Careful and slow, Svodriyth continues counting, « Two. » A pause follows to let the two-count sink in, « Awful difficult thing to remember, ain't it? » Emilly winces again as N'thei speaks. She tries to signal the young bronzerider not to push it, but it's a lost cause. "You're big," observes I'daur, "but I'd hoped you had a little more going for you, so you /don't/ have to wrestle him down with your bare hands every time." He studies N'thei a moment, and then Wyaeth, lips pursing. "Svodriyth," he speaks to the blue, turning to look at him and his girl. "Same drill, understand?" Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with « I'll be damned, son. You're getting smarter every day, you know that? » N'thei opens his hands toward I'daur, not bare but gloved, in some gesture of apology for his helplessness in the matter. He doesn't show much more remorse than Wyaeth, to be honest; his expression is sober, but his eyes are merry. Averting them with a subtle wink toward Talien and a calm smile to answer Emilly, he steps away-- ostensibly to check over Wyaeth physically. Svodriyth stands when he's addressed, his wings snapping straight against his sides like a soldier coming to attention. Talien is ever slow to follow his lead, "Twice 'round sir, or three... like Wyaeth?" She jerks her head in N'thei's direction with a hasty, "Just wanna make sure we're doin' what you want, sir." Wyaeth senses that Sionath bubbles silvery seafoam amusement your way. « That was very impressive. But you shouldn't have done it. » The green's tone is lightly teasing, clearly not put out by the young bronze's defiance of instructions. « Better usually, not to fuss up Zunaeth's. » Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth leaves an impression that /someone/ oughta get smarter - why not him? "Two," says I'daur, giving Talien a Look. "Just two. Now go on when you're ready--take it slow," he applies the same advice he gave to N'thei and Wyaeth to the girl now. Wyaeth> Sionath senses that Wyaeth gives every indication that he just stopped listening after the word "impressive." « Thank ya kindly, ma'am. Little rocky, but I'll get it down. » From N'thei's direction, indistinct, comes a cough; sounds like, "Suck up." Another cough. "Excuse me. Must be catching a cold." Emilly's lips press together just a little at N'thei's behavior and her brows draw together as well. She doesn't interfere however, looking over towards Svodriyth to see how he does on this first flight around the Bowl. A'son has been here all along really, with Nikoth too! The weyrling and his dragon are just blended in with everyone else in the crowd for now. A quick look is shot in the direction of N'thei, but his face is expressionless while he watches Svodriyth. "Two." Talien daftly repeats. The Look she gets from I'daur is pinned on Svodriyth, though it soon switches to N'thei. It takes restraint, but she manages a chilly platitude. "I'll get you a bowl of soup later." Then, to Svodriyth, Talien gives a nod. The blue takes a moment before starting off in much the same manner as Wyaeth. His launch is a little stilted and the first airborne dip nearly sends him belly-flopping into the ground but he manages to hold steady and starts out on his first lap around the bowl. Talien, drawing the number out, "Oooooooneeeee...." I'daur doesn't react as he watches Svodriyth, though his expression is solemn now. Zunaeth twitches, though, wings flaring slightly as he lifts his head, watching with less easily concealed anxiety as the blue takes his flight. Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth shares a rare moment of something /other/ than nettling. « Watch out there about a hundred yards. The damn wind comes down off the mountain, it's like icicles all up'n down. » So as not to be too nice; « And you're stiff enough without the breeze sneakin' up on you. Loosen up. Ain't like you're gonna look as good as me anyways, so you may as well enjoy it. » N'thei flickers a smile of gratitude to Talien after her offer of soup. He fades into the background for now, out of Svodriyth's spotlight. It takes some doing and a great deal of huffs, gasps and lip gnashing on Talien's part, but Svodriyth's first circuit is completed without much incident. The blue is buffeted by a few gusts of wind, though it throws him off course he continues to plough headfirst into the task at hand. Mid-way through his second circuit, Talien's count catches when he takes a too tight turn and inadvertently dips back toward the ground. The nosedive is pulled out of at the critical point and Svodriyth manages to land with some semblance of grace. "Two." Talien hastily finishes the count before worriedly heading in Svodriyth's direction. Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's mind is tumultuous as the winds he's combating - frigid, too, though it lessens at Wyaeth's warning. An echo of the wind buffeting him passes through the link, the chill encasing his words, « Through and through, » Svodriyth says of the icicles with a mental cast-off. The camaraderie passes quickly, and once Svodriyth is through the rough part, he relays, « Anyone ever tell you, buddy, you gotta big a- » The connection drops suddenly as another gust of wind gives him incentive to *focus*. Wyaeth rumbles in amusement, and N'thei turns his head with a newfound interest in scraping a freckle of ice off of the bronze's neck. The activity successfully hides his face from view, even though it costs him the chance to watch Svodriyth land. "Could use some work," says I'daur of Svodriyth's flight. "But he'll get that starting tomorrow. For now, make sure nothing's hurting him, maybe bathe him down if he wants it, or hang around and watch a bit. I think we can get one more in today?" A glance to Emilly, and then I'daur raises his voice to call, "A'son?" Either he's seen the bronzerider, or suspects he's out there; at any rate, Zunaeth is sending out a call for Nikoth mentally, too. The promised talk with N'thei is apparently delayed a little longer, too. Emilly gets another pained look on her face for Svodriyth's less that smooth flight, but she nods at I'daur's question. "Mm. Don't see why not." Then she detaches herself from Sionath's hide to tag after Talien in case the bluerider needs assistance checking Svodriyth over. Wyaeth senses that Sionath continues amused and yet encouraging at the same time. « I'm sure you will. I look forward to seeing it. » Talien's too busy with fussing over an injured looking Svodriyth to pay I'daur much mind. Or N'thei. Or even A'son. It is, however, quite safe to say that her cheeks are once more burning and one hand can't quite manage to steady itself fully as she works her way down his side and over his wings. "He's not hurt, right?" She asks of Emilly without turning to take the other woman in, "I can't - I mean I'm not sure how to tell." A'son scratches nervously at his forehead, then does a hair raking just for kicks. Where as he's looking worried about this, Nikoth is looking far more than excited. The bronze has his head lifted high as he and his rider make their way to the front. Once they're out and in a ready position, he looks towards I'daur for the go-ahead. "First off, ask him. If he's hurt he should be able to tell you where. If he can't, I can get Sionath to help, she can walk him through," says Emilly in a calm voice. "Also, if you think he's hurt in a particular place, you can ask him to move that part, gently and slowly to see if it pains him. Other injuries are more obvious. Let's check to make sure he hasn't got any scrapes - you'll see ichor, green stuff, if he does and abraded skin." The greenrider starts a walkaround of Svodriyth. While Emilly tends to Talien and Svodriyth, I'daur turns to get Nikoth and A'son ready. "All right. You've seen how it's down, so give us two easy laps--that's all. Understand? Take off when you're ready," he tells the bronzerider. With the idea that Svodriyth might be hurt, Wyaeth comes shouldering toward the blue, snorts and bullishness to try and peer at him. N'thei hangs back, only tries to catch Talien with a questioning look of raised brows and seldom seen concern. Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth gives the blue the chance to be a man here; « Damn riders'll insist a dragon's bleeding to death over a scrape. What'd you do to yourself to get her all lathered up? » Talien practically sticks herself to Emilly's side and walks with her to check out Svodriyth. The blue continues to look affronted and rustles his wings to voice as much. In the end, all he can do is muster what dignity there is to be found whilst Talien and Emily check him for boo-boos. Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's defensiveness lingers, not relenting despite Wyaeth's gift. An image of him with an oversized nose taking a rather steep dive toward the ground is followed by a dry, « Figure that was what put the thought into her head. » "Give him some space, Wyaeth," says Emilly in a calm, but authoritative voice and casts a look back N'thei's way as she continues the examination. "I don't see anything on this side, Talien, on bad landings the feet of course, legs and knees, underside and wings should all be closely checked and ask him to open and close his wings to make sure there's no strains." Calm authority is a fine thing to master, but N'thei evidently hadn't been kidding when he spoke of physically restraining the leathery bronze. Wyaeth bristles at Emilly, lowers his nose like he's set to push past her regardless, and is saved at the critical moment when N'thei draws a hand on his wing bone and steers him away. Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with « I went first'n showed you how it's done and you still botched it? Shells, chief, you really ain't very good at this. » Talien eyes Wyaeth suspiciously, and during Emilly's orders, N'thei. It's the blue who finally gains her attention when he huffs in her direction. "He's ok," she says with transparent certainty, "He's sayin' he's alright." She turns back to him and runs her hands over his side. His hide ripples with muscle twitches at her light touch. Svodriyth, to Wyaeth and of Talien's fussing, gives a resigned sigh. Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's backlash is quick, but mostly without bite. « Figured, » he attempts to imitate Wyaeth's drawl, « I had to make you look good 'cause it took you so long in the first place. » A fade-out is mimicked before he cuts back in to interject, « Don't feel like you gotta thank me or anythin', either. » A'son takes a breath and gives the message, along with an additional thumbs up. Nikoth then takes off lumbering across the bowl, almost comical considering he's gotten big and is a little ungainly right now. His wings beat and after a little difficulty, he actually uses those muscles he's been developing for something. Off the ground, he completes his first circuit, and then the second. A'son meanwhile, has been ticking the rounds off verbally. Though his breath is bated the whole time. It's gone smoothly, but Nikoth's landing leaves much to be desired. He lands much harder than he should and looks abashed as he gets his momentum under control and stops. Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with « Real charitable to make yourself look damn dumb on my behalf. Much obliged. » Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's offered the mental equivalent of a thumbs up. « Alway's gonna be there to watch your back, » is his reassuring sentiment, « Don't ever gotta worry about a thing like that. » Was there an edge of steel there, somewhere? I'daur and Zunaeth both tense as Nikoth flubs his landing, but as the bronze looks mostly okay, I'daur at least relaxes. "Check him over, make sure he's all right," he tells A'son. And then, to all three of them, he says, "They'll probably be sore tomorrow, but we'll work it back out of them after I get a couple more of them off the ground. You two, dismissed--go see to your dragons." A lazy salute's tossed off to A'son and Talien, and I'daur tells Emilly, "If you'll make sure they're both all right, please? Thanks." And then, to his rebel. I'daur turns to just look at N'thei, to sigh, and then to start limping off toward his office again. "Well, come on, you." He gestures for the bronzerider to follow. Emilly completes her circuit of the blue and nods. "I don't see any trouble signs, and Sionath confirms that he says he's unhurt. It's always a good idea to do a walk around though and do just what you did, check his hide manually to make sure." She smiles encouragingly at Talien. "Rough landing but all's well and hopefully it won't happen again as he learns the Bowl's air currents better." She nods at I'daur's directions. "Of course, sir," and she salutes. Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with « Again, much obliged. Now if you'll just pardon me. » He even sounds like he thinks he's off to get his adulations. « I'daur wants to see us in the barracks. Try not to break your neck walking back to your couch, son. » Talien can't help but provide N'thei with support... as much support as the snide little smile she sends his way will offer, that is. Clapping Svodriyth on the shoulder, Talien pulls away as he stands and shakes himself free of her motherly fussing. She's late (as always) to follow Emilly's salute to I'daur and when she's through with that, she turns to the greenrider, "He's - I'm gonna oil him, now, I think. Said he was getting itchy 'cause of all that wind and, well-" She glances toward A'son and Nikoth before turning back to Emilly with a smile. "Thanks." Quiet for a while now, N'thei sticks with what works for him. He touches his forehead in salute to Talien, a grin sparkling in his eyes, and spins on his heels to follow I'daur at a respectful distance. Wyaeth swaggers alongside them, full of pomp. Emilly nods her approval at Talien's words. "Good, probably wisest and it'll help you find anything we missed, see you back at Barracks, Talien." The greenrider steps back towards A'son and Nikoth. "You two doing all right?" Svodriyth bespoke Wyaeth with « Notta problem, » Svodriyth banters back, « 'm gonna do you a favor, too, and keep some oil handy for when He is finished with you. » I'daur is imaged, by proxy, Zunaeth too. « One, two... damn I'm glad I'm not you. » A'son nods once to I'daur, before hurrying off in direction of Nikoth. He looks to be in deep communication with the bronze as he walks around him, poking here and there. "You sure? You landed like.. a uh, something that lands really bad. A wherry with half a set of wings. You're bulky, you have to slow down before you try and ground." Once he's done with Nikoth, he looks around with some concern for Talien. But by the time he catches sight of her, she already seems to be leaving. Disappointed, he does try to wave. His attention is then snagged by Emilly, "I think we're okay. He's just too sharding big for his own good, I think." "Have you checked him thoroughly?" inquires Emilly, starting her own walkaround of the bulky bronze. "He'll need to do some extra practice on coming in smoothly I think," she says quietly, eyes sharp for any signs of scrapes or muscular distress on Nikoth's bronze hide. I'daur wanders into the weyrling training room. I'daur has left. You meander into the weyrling training room. Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr(#530RIJs$) This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked. On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which. Wyaeth tromps in from the bowl. Wyaeth has arrived. In his office, I'daur heads to his desk without looking to see if N'thei is following. He heads straight to his desk to drop unceremoniously in his seat and dig around in the desk until he finds the bottle and glasses that are always there. He fills a couple and slides one across his desk toward the bronze weyrling, while he drains the other and refills for a slower sip. "All right," he says then. "So tell me, what's the difference between two and three." Pause. "And don't get cute and say one, either--I had harper lessons, too," he adds dryly on the end of that. Ready to answer, N'thei opens his mouth. I'daur beats him to the punch, and he shuts his mouth. Wyaeth strolls right on through the room and into the barracks, for all the world like he's just won a medal and not lined up a world of hurt. After watching the bronze leave, N'thei looks back to I'daur and shrugs; "Sir, I'm not sure what answer you're looking for, since it's not the obvious one." "The difference," says I'daur, "is I asked you to do two. Have a seat and a drink if you want it." He nods toward the second glass across his desk, and leans back slowly in his chair. "Why do you think I picked two?" is his next question. N'thei finds a hopeful tone; "Because that's how many it takes to tango, sir?" He sits down with his eyes pinned to the glass, leans forward and takes it between his fingers like he's afraid it's going to escape any minute now. "Because one number's good as the next when you're not going to stick to any of them," I'daur supplies the correct answer in dry fashion. "If I'd of said ten, he'd have done twelve, and if I said a hundred he'd do five hundred if it killed him. Am I right?" "I think you've really hit the nail on the head, sir." N'thei drinks and then sits and looks chided. "Now," says I'daur, "I'll be the first to admit sometimes the people in charge give dumb rules. And if that's the case it's your job to make sure the people in charge know they're being stupid--/beforehand/. You two have a problem with something, you talk to me and we'll discuss it." He finishes his own drink, and moves to refill the glass slowly as he continues, "But you better have a damn good life-or-death reason to break orders in the future, because for the rest of your life most orders are going to /be/ life-or-death, yours or someone else's. Maybe not today, because I know Wyaeth could probably do half a dozen laps around the bowl and be fine, but. I don't want to end up cleaning out another cot like D'rian's." The bottle's slid back toward N'thei should he want more himself. N'thei shakes his head at the bottle. He places his cup on the desk and reclines into the chair, elbows rested on the arms of the chair and fingers steepled across his mouth. "Sir, your point is as clear as crystal to me. It really is." It's a lip-service answer, and he knows it, and he probably knows that I'daur knows it too. "Is it?" I'daur knows as well as N'thei does the patness of that answer. "Then tell me what you think I should do, since you understand. Ground you the next month, set you that far behind in training, and just make the both of you more surly and reckless? Or let you slide on by, and pull every string I've got in this Weyr to get a wingleader to take you off my hands, and make you their problem--make it their riders you get hurt or killed in a 'Fall instead of my weyrlings: Madison, Talien, J'ome, all of them?" "Sir." N'thei has an implacably /reasonable/ tone. "With all due respect, he broke an arbitrary guideline, and one that you admitted was arbitrary. I assure you, I understand the difference between arbitrary and life-threatening. If you feel the need to punish me for that, then do so, by all means. I can respect your position. But you'll have to forgive me if I'm unmoved by lectures." He sounds it too. "I will accept unquestioningly whatever punishment you need to mete out." I'daur explains, still as patient himself, even if continued drinking is enough of a sign of frustrations, "It's not the arbitrariness of the rule that gets me. It's the arbitrariness of breaking it." He sits forward slightly, studying N'thei across his desk. "'Wyaeth is strong enough' or 'he needs a better approach' or 'he's flying better than any other dragon out here can, Zunaeth included'--those are reasons to push the rules. So next time you do it, I need a reason--a better one than 'arbitrary rules don't apply because it's just arbitrary'. Can you do that much? Because I know asking either one of you to do like I say is probably too much to ask." Wryly, he shakes his head at that notion. "If all you need is justification, sir, I'll endeavor to provide some in the future." N'thei makes no promises, it should be noted, but he'll /endeavor/. Lowering his hands to place them on the arms of the chair, prepared to push to his feet, he remembers his subordinate position in time to brake the follow-through; "I can't speak for Wyaeth, but I understand your point." "I should hope," says I'daur, "that you'd have enough influence over his mind by now to make him see a little reason. Not easy when they're that headstrong, but you're going to have to work with him the rest of your lives, and you don't seem to be lacking in hardheadedness yourself." He half-smiles then, wryly, though, and nods once to the bronzerider. "Go on, then. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon with Talien and A'son. Make sure he's all right and everything." The latter's added mechanically, not something he's really worried about. He offers another of those lazy salutes to N'thei as he sends him off, and adds in parting, "He did fly well." N'thei stands with a duck of his head, humility or good grace or perhaps just a desire to be free for the weyrlingmaster's clutches-- whatever it is, he doesn't put up a fuss about his control over Wyaeth or their collective hard heads. A simple agreement on facts, not a matter of vanity: "I know he did, sir." He touches on a salute to I'daur. Light-footed for a man of his size, he slips around the chair and into the barracks. |
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