Logs:You Sound Like a Woman
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| RL Date: 15 July, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova's been summoned. She wants to know why. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Late month 3, Turn 29 |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, E'gin/Mentions |
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| 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. Brilliant light plays off of the dunes of snow as a cloudless winter day brings with it extreme cold. K'del has not been an especially visible figure, these most recent days, though there's plenty of talk of his visits to other Weyrs, not to mention the Holds. Still, Cadejoth needs to eat, and he's always been a dragon who enjoys company as he does so-- besides, it's a good excuse to get out-of-doors in a way that doesn't necessarily involve too many other people. The bronze is blood-splattered and chewing; the rider leans forward, his arms crossed atop the fencepost, his eyes on his dragon. Vrianth's been watching, and now Leova is: an easy pace, not /too/ direct, up to join K'del a half-pole off. "It was this, or 'happening' to run into you after a wing meeting," the greenrider says, her smoky voice pitched low, just for him. She's looking at Cadejoth, though. Not the man. "Sorry to interrupt if you were looking to get away," but then he /could/ have. Gotten away. Away from here. "Ah, yes, those coincidental run-ins," says K'del, managing to sound almost amused, in a wry kind of way. "No, it's fine. What do you need, Leova." It should be a question, but it isn't, somehow, probably as a result of the studiously casual tone he employs, the one that almost hints at knowing the answer already. He doesn't look at her, though - just at Cadejoth, who lifts his head from his meal just once, then turns back to it with intensity. "What is this, the tenth so far today? Twelfth?" The dragonhealer keeps watching the bronze, checking his color out of more than habit. "I like to think you know I've been summoned. And that you'll tell me what it's all about." The blood of his kill shows up so much more redly in the snow-reflected sunlight, the air so cold that it barely pinkens into slush at all. Cadejoth is as green-bronze as ever, his hide gleaming with sunlight and a recent oiling, and the now-darkening trails of blood about his muzzle. "I lost count," says K'del, not entirely joking. "I know you've been summoned," he confirms, a moment later. "Iolene..." Whatever it was he began to say gets cut short as he straightens, glancing around as if to reassure himself that they are, indeed, alone. "She wants the Weyr run by council. Representatives of each dragon colour." Now she does look at K'del, a sharp dart of a glance so unlike her chosen, phlegmatic affect. "/Why/?" Dully, "She thinks the way Weyrs do things is stupid. I don't know. It's--" K'del's lack of emotion is telling of his feelings on this subject. So is his follow-up of, "I don't know what to do." The greenrider reaches to touch his arm, firm pressure but no grasp, nor is it long-lived. "She called S'trun too." Silver-threaded as she had been, /when/ she had been, and his Sevierth not greeny-bronze at all. Now, with her hand on his arm, K'del turns to regard Leova, his expression largely unreadable except in what can be read from that lack of outward emotion. "Yes," he says. "She did." And, "It was never supposed to be like this. She wanted to make sure there could never be another Tiriana, but that was... Ysavaeth wasn't supposed to rise first. The way we do things may not be perfect, but it's... it works. Mostly, it works." Her gaze meets his, keenly sympathetic in that sun- and wind-weathered face. Keenly /troubled/. "Is he to replace you? I can't know how this will work. If it can work. Are we supposed to sit and decide instead of being in the sky where we belong? Or just... agree." K'del's "No," is firm, though it could be that that is simply determination. Or: "I wouldn't let Tiriana fire me. Whatever happens, Wouldn't let Iolene do it either. But no. No. She loves me. Don't... You'll have to see what she tells you. At this point... she hasn't confirmed anything. I'm just worried that this is what she intends. She mentioned the whole idea months and months ago, before the hatching, and it was just... but now she's invited you all." Now he's beginning to sound emotional, frustrated and upset. Would he have let Rielsath do it? But if there had ever been a time to think it, much less ask it, that must have been long ago: longer than last week, than last month. "You sound like a woman." The way Leova says it, it's not an insult. "If you're having to wait to see what your master's decided. If you don't know. If you don't dare ask. If you love someone, but they can decide for you. If they can change everything." "I'm afraid to ask," is K'del's admission, after his mouth's curved for her 'woman' remark; he hasn't taken it as an insult, either, but in another context, at another moment, he'd probably find it funnier. "But I need to. We're co-leaders. She can't decide to change things on her own." He gives her a long glance. "What will you tell her?" "I don't know. I never thought she much cared for me, E'gin neither. Suppose she must have known S'trun existed." If there are dots to be connected, the onetime assistant weyrlingmaster does not herself lay out the lines. "Reckon I'll see what she has to say. What do you want me to tell her?" K'del can't answer the whys of the individual riders selected, and shakes his head: back and forth, back and forth. "Not my place to put words in people's mouths. Hope you'll be honest and upfront with her. Can't imagine you being otherwise." He's careful with the words; thoughtful. "Her heart is in the right place." No? says the arch of her brows, both of them even now. "Reckon I'll seek to be honest. Upfront?" Those amber eyes are so clear, as though if held to the light, he could see the whole world lit in gold. "Want to listen more than I talk," is what Leova settles for, in the end. This time, K'del has only a single nod, though it's a firm one. "That seems a wise course of action," he says, words neutral but still somehow approving. "We'll just... all play it by ear. See what happens. Could be everything goes fine. She's allowed to want to replace the lower caverns staff." Leova's already nodding. "More work for her in the short term," but there's that one-shouldered shrug, too. "For what it's worth. /Don't/ reckon I see our dragons following another male before Cadejoth, not anytime soon. Not 'less he goes away." Her eyes have drifted back to him. Energy crackles. Vrianth. Surely she doesn't need to say, /don't go away./ Nodding, rather than confirming that first statement verbally, K'del turns his gaze back onto his own dragon, who has concluded his meal and is now using his tongue to lick blood that has largely dried from around his mouth. Quietly, "We're not going anywhere. If nothing else... all this has meant I haven't lost my knot." And that means High Reaches is still his. Watching Cadejoth, watching the Cadejoth that used to be, Leova nods in her turn. And yet, "Who knows. There may be improvements to be made. Can't say as how I've seen everything under the sun." Though Vrianth might /like/ to, and witness. She tilts her face upward towards her dragon, flying now in slow figure-eight infinities, and steps back as though to go. But stops. "Any idea why she'd want me there?" "Maybe," agrees K'del, and though there's still wariness in his tone, there's hope, too: maybe she's right. Maybe everything is going to be fine, and he's been worrying about nothing at all. "We're so used to things being a certain way, we don't see from outside of it. How things could be better." It's these thoughts that have him glancing back at Leova, watching her step back. At least he seems sure with his answer: "You're well-liked. Respected. You're not someone she's close to." "Hm," says Leova, and there's no gratification to be read on her face, no excitement or denial. Finally there's that one-shouldered shrug, but then she focuses on K'del again, long enough to make sure he sees the simple salute she gives him before she goes. The footprints she leaves are deep at first, some crossed over those she'd left in walking there, and they disappear when she reaches better-trodden paths. The salute is returned in kind, K'del's expression serious and solemn for as long as he can see her across the bowl. It'll be a while yet before he seeks out the warmth of indoors himself, however: long enough for him to take a wander around the lake. Long enough to clear his head. To try. |
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