Logs:Your Age
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 22 June, 2010 |
| Who: Aleis, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aleis apologises. It's just not, maybe, exactly the apology K'del might have hoped for. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 1, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A blanket of cold, dense fog fills the bowl with its oppressive presence and obscures vision. |
| Mentions: Teris/Mentions |
 |
| 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. There aren't many people willing to brave the icy fog on offer this afternoon, but K'del is, apparently, one of them. Admittedly, it's not quite as bad, for some reason, down by the lake: visibility is low, but certainly not non-existant. The bronzerider meanders, hands stuffed into coat pockets (his cast is gone by now; hurray!), Cadejoth looming cheerfully this way and that, with tendrils of fog delighting his nose and headknobs. "Weaver Hall tomorrow, remember," he says, talking to-- himself? His dragon? "Be warmer there, thankfully. Stay for a while, maybe, warm up a bit." Sensible people are likely indoors. Aleis is a sensible person, but the same might not really be said of Galbreth, who is positively ecstatic as he lands near the shore. It's probably safer, landing there, than further into the bowl where the ground could be nearly anywhere. There's a pleased twitch of wings as Aleis dismounts. « The world, » he declares, apropos of nothing, « is a mystery. » His rider doesn't declare anything at all, too busy wrapping a muffler back around her face at first. Cadejoth tips his head up, his eyes, perhaps, visible through the gloom as he seeks out the source of the landing-- but of course, he knows already who it is. « Because of the fog? Yes: it makes everything mysterious and exciting. Is it a rock? A pile of snow? Something strange and interesting? » Hopefully, the latter! Snow crunches under K'del's feet as he keeps walking; he's silent, though whether because he does /not/ know who goes there, or because he does and doesn't want to talk-- well, that remains to be seen. « It is in general. The fog is only the mystery made manifest... » Galbreth's voice trails off into misty nothing as though a thought could dissipate in the damp, cold air. Once dismounted and settled in such a way as she's not apt to freeze to death in the next few moments, Aleis manages to call out, "Weyrleader." It's either a polite greeting or a grudging acknowlegment. Hard to tell; her voice isn't entirely clear. There's a reason they call such things mufflers. They muffle. The sensation of Cadejoth's mind isn't /precisely/ that of cogs turning, but there's something about the twang of his metal chains, one against the other, that suggests the sense of that anyway. Plainly, he's got no idea what Galbreth is on about. « Oh, » he says, still cheerful enough. « Okay. Why? » K'del's footsteps come to a halt upon receipt of Aleis' greeting; whatever his feelings on the subject, his reply is easy enough. "Assistant Weyrlingmaster. Something in particular bringing you out into this mess?" If someone somewhere really had an idea what Galbreth was on about, he wouldn't be Galbreth. He does seem to enjoy the abtracts. « Have you ever considered being a fish? » The downright surreal, even. But there's an image, there, a flickering of silver in tropical-blue waters. Waters that darken, ice over, the flickering freezes. « How do they survive? » His rider makes no move to advance closer to the source of K'del's voice, that's for sure. "Just coming back from an afternoon down south. Afraid however much I might like to hole up, I need supper before I do. Couldn't shake the feeling, though, that landing out in the bowl was going to mean landing right on somebody. Figuring on following the wall around." See? Sensible. "And you?" "/South/. Got to be nicer down there, right?" It's a mostly rhetorical question, by all appearances, because K'del continues onwards without pause. "Clearing my head. Or-- filling it, maybe. Fog's like that. Cadejoth wanted out, so figured we'd try-- anyway." Too complicated to explain? Too personal? Too /something/, anyway. « A fish, » repeats Cadejoth. And then: « Oh! I think I asked K'del that, once, and he said-- » Pause. A rumaging pause, probably. « The ice doesn't go all the way down, I think. So they can still swim under it. » He seems quite proud of himself for this. « You asked? » As though Galbreth himself never thought of actually asking. He's just... wondered, indefinitely. « So they're all swimming around down there, now. At the bottom. It would be crowded. » The silvery fish-flecks in his misty thoughts become denser, churning in a sort of choreographed swirl. "It is indeed nicer down there. Unnerving, though. Ought to be cold, start of the turn like this." Aleis pauses, and there are finally a few footsteps to bring her closer. Too unnerving, perhaps, to have a conversation with someone unseen. "Does seem like the weather never bothers them as much. He couldn't wait to get home. In case it was snowing, or something." « K'del knows lots of things, » reports Cadejoth, by way of saying, 'yes, of course I asked'. « I suppose it would be. But they'd be used to it. It's what they /do/. » He seems utterly fascinated by Galbreth's swirling fish, leaning into the idea with eager delight. His own eyes whirl: fast, faster, matching pace with those silvery fish. "Unnerving," repeats K'del. "Suppose it is. Me, I'm just glad there /are/ warm places somewhere, this time of turn. Winter gets miserable." He turns - perhaps - in the gloom, towards the direction her voice presumably seems to be coming from. It's so hard to tell. "Cadejoth's like that, too. Hates to miss anything. Think he still regrets being too big to slide around on the ice." That turn would bring him to just the right angle to be facing her as she finally comes out of the murk, close enough to be face-to-face. Or face-to-scarf, anyway. "He was autumn hatched. Something about that first winter. Fascinated him." She shakes her head and turns back in the direction the dragon presumably is. Galbreth has gone down nearer the frozen water, now, although he does have the sense not to take his weight out onto it, no matter how solid it seems. « They would have the whole lake, the rest of the turn. Poor fish. » Genuinely sorrowful for those fish, crammed down there like sardines. "I meant to apologize," Aleis says abruptly. K'del's expression is mostly bland as they do come face-to-face: /he/ has no muffler, just a coat-collar turned up around his neck, and, all right, a woolly hat on his head. "Ca--" he begins, but that abrupt remark catches his out, and he breaks off to blink at her. "Apologise?" And then: "Oh. No: s'okay, really. I--" He has to break off from that, too, to shake his head. "Get it." Cadejoth angles himself after Galbreth, to observe, and to sneak his tail out towards the ice, though he, too, keeps his weight away. « That's true. Perhaps they forget, from season to season. And each spring is a-- a revelation! A surprise. » "I was going to tell you that you should let it go. That they're just children." Aleis pauses at that. Lets the comment sit for a moment. Simmering. In the cold. Maybe that's a bad metaphor. "I forget, you know. Here. Not used to--she's older than you are, isn't she?" The question a lot gentler than anything else she's ever said in his presence. Maybe in anybody's presence. Trying very hard to be. « They think the whole world is just... a tiny space full of other fish. Then there's a whole lake. » Galbreth extends one leg out over the surface, tries it very gently, but even though the ice doesn't crack he goes no further. « Mystery. You see? » K'del gets a very funny look on his face as she says 'children', one that stays in place throughout that silence, and all the way to the end of that gentle question. Then, he gives a nod, his expression turning a bit more rueful. "Bunch of them are. But-- it's different, isn't it? Not quite as simple as that. Maybe things never are." He manages something of a smile, even. « Fighting for food, » agrees Cadejoth, thoughtfully. « Fighting for space. Like... weyrlings, just before they get their own weyrs! And then they have the whole world, even if they didn't realise that they didn't have it to begin with. » The idea seems to satisfy him. « /Mystery/. I do see! » His tail thumps at the ice. No cracks, still. And here, Galbreth was just talking about fish. Really. He lapses into silence as he inspects the ice, like he could possibly see that seething mass of fish down there beneath the surface, although in the shallows no doubt it's frozen through. "No, it's not. But--" Aleis finally goes so far as to pull her scarf down, taking a long breath and blowing it out like smoke in the cold air. "One learns to make allowances in what I do. Life... has a learning curve. Not, I should remember, just for the weyrlings." Cadejoth seems pretty satisfied with the analogy he's come up with, even if it doesn't get a response. But the ice holds plenty of attraction, regardless-- it's something to thump with his tail, to peer at, to breath on. K'del's silent as Aleis speaks, his only response an eventual slow nod and a quiet, "Guess it does. For all of us. Which means there's maybe hope that, one day, I'll learn to hold my temper better." Maybe. "Indeed." Part of that superior tone might just be age and experience, and not personal dislike. It could be. Aleis manages something barely akin to a smile. Though it's more the sort of kin that knows it has family off in the vicinity of smiling but has never done much more than exchanging holiday cards with them. "I was quite often an idiot myself when I was your age." That may be intended as reassurance? Galbreth seems almost about to actually chance going out on the ice when he suddenly pulls back. « No, I suppose it is a bad idea. We will see the fish when it thaws. » Decisive, even though he'll likely have forgotten by then. K'del takes a few moments after she finishes talking before, in an even enough voice, he says, "Of course, now that you're old and wise, you're almost never wrong." So maybe they're never going to be friends. It's still (maybe) an improvement. His shoulders straighten, though: maybe not defensive, not outright, and yet... "So perhaps there's hope for Teris, too. All of us. Should get in, before I freeze, at any rate." All eyes on Galbreth, Cadejoth seems at least slightly disappointed when the brown doesn't actually head onto the ice. Alas! « I shall get K'del to take me to see the fish with big teeth, I think. Tomorrow, maybe. » He shares the image of them, too: utterly cheerful with it. "Almost never," Aleis agrees. She starts to re-wrap her scarf, taking more care about it than is likely warranted. "Still old, though. It's a bit of a trade-off." Why, that's almost real humor. "Yes, you should get in before you freeze. People have certain expectations of their Weyrleaders, and ability not to die of hypothermia is usually one of the most important criteria." That just before she winds the scarf back over her face. "Take care." Then she's off in the direction of the living cavern and supper, though even if he's headed similarly, there will be a certain effort made to ensure she's not going quite the same direction. Galbreth? Lingers for a little longer. « Those are very impressive fish. » But even he does need shelter from the weather for the duration, so he's back airborne shortly to head back to his own ledge. It's probably not a very satisfying response, for K'del; he says nothing more, just a short, sharp nod before he heads back across the bowl. Seperately. /Definitely/ separately. « They are /excellent/, » agrees Cadejoth, launching himself back into the air, to head on home. |
Leave A Comment