Difference between revisions of "Logs:Hunting Herdbeasts"

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.

A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.

It was Isath's moonlit tones that invited a handful of weyrlings to the feeding grounds, this morning, in lieu of normal feeding habits. The dragons aren't gliding, yet, though that's a matter of hot discussion, but so too is this prospect of actual /hunting/. Quinlys, one of the first assembled, rests her forearms upon the topmost fencepost and stares out over the mottly collection of old beasts. "Stringy," is her assessment, one that Olveraeth doesn't seem to share; the blue is a bundle of energy, wriggling delightedly as he waits.

Coming slow to the gathering of weyrlings, Rhaelyn and Amareth are taking their time. The green's strange wing-brace becoming less of a burden as all those hours of strengthening exercises slowly start to pay off. Perhaps that's why Rhae hasn't been as involved with the other weyrlings. Today though, the pair are part of this little outing. The green angles her sharp muzzle towards the beasts and lets out a shrill cry of eagerness that makes Rhaelyn's lips quirk into an amused angle. Whatever is shared between them...is silent.

Vysravth is slinking, as much as the bulky brown can slink. He has been promised something and he's keen to get his first taste of it. Well, he's tasted it, his first kill of it. There is an eager whirl in his small eyes. The beasts are watched predatorily, he's clutch sister's eager cry is hissed at in annoyance. A mechanical *clunk*, < [Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<shh,>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

Date: Day 1, Month 9, Turn 26 Location: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr Synopsis: Weyrling dragons make their first kills. Some of their riders chat.

<lj-cut text="How do they die? How does it work?"> 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. A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.

It was Isath's moonlit tones that invited a handful of weyrlings to the feeding grounds, this morning, in lieu of normal feeding habits. The dragons aren't gliding, yet, though that's a matter of hot discussion, but so too is this prospect of actual /hunting/. Quinlys, one of the first assembled, rests her forearms upon the topmost fencepost and stares out over the mottly collection of old beasts. "Stringy," is her assessment, one that Olveraeth doesn't seem to share; the blue is a bundle of energy, wriggling delightedly as he waits.

Coming slow to the gathering of weyrlings, Rhaelyn and Amareth are taking their time. The green's strange wing-brace becoming less of a burden as all those hours of strengthening exercises slowly start to pay off. Perhaps that's why Rhae hasn't been as involved with the other weyrlings. Today though, the pair are part of this little outing. The green angles her sharp muzzle towards the beasts and lets out a shrill cry of eagerness that makes Rhaelyn's lips quirk into an amused angle. Whatever is shared between them...is silent.

Vysravth is slinking, as much as the bulky brown can slink. He has been promised something and he's keen to get his first taste of it. Well, he's tasted it, his first kill of it. There is an eager whirl in his small eyes. The beasts are watched predatorily, he's clutch sister's eager cry is hissed at in annoyance. A mechanical *clunk*, «Shh, do not /scare/ them. I have seen this.» There is smoothness in his voice, the bubbling joy of being able to kill is barely contained. E'gin finds an open spot near Quinlys, leaning against the fence, but silent.

Meara has actually perched herself atop the fencepost, feet firmly upon the lowest rung; she counts up the assembled weyrlings, one by one, and seems to find the number she expects. "This is going to look pretty silly," she warns, without preamble. "But these old beasts won't run too much, so it shouldn't be too hard. No wings - no jumping. Just chase them, catch them, kill them. Are there questions?" Quinlys, who has paused to give a crooked smile to each of her fellow weyrlings, shakes her head. Olveraeth, however: « How do they die? How does it work? Is there a best way to do it? What happens if we do scare them? »

Rhaelyn's cruel little smile greets E'gin, "Long time no see." She also gives a small nod towards Quinlys but then she's turning back to Amareth. There's a quick check of the hardware brace before the girl steps away to let the green slink into the feeding pens. "Becareful not to get hurt." She warns her dragon who is already sizing up the old critters. « I think they die when we bite them of course. » This seems very logical. In her thoughts is sketched out a plan, like a map with gleaming green dots leading from beast to beast. It's all in a controlled, very orderly gameplan drawn out for the others to see.

"We live in the same place." Is E'gin's off handed remark as Rhaelyn walks off. If he gives the brown a looking over it isn't visible and when Rhae tells Amareth to not get hurt he simply grunts at Vysravth. For his part the brown seems content to hunker down, to watch his clutchmates' antics. Less than successful as they might be. The first one to try an awkward blue manages to send the long stray of the herd scurrying back to the pack. Vysravth quietly notes each movement and the reaction of the beast. «When they are scared they run back to the pack....If you scared them all, they might...» He pauses contemplating, the metallic clanking of the machine growing louder, «All run.» A projected image of the beasts scattering as he imagines, it is overly dramatic, especially for the rather older beasts before them.

« But /why/? » is Olveraeth's response to Amareth, not plaintive: merely fascinated. Isath interrupts, then, to explain, « Because they lose their blood and become food. » It's not quite /because I said so/ - but it's not far off. Quinlys makes a face as the first dragon to try actually, finally, takes down a creature, all blood and cuts. "Ugh. Olly, I'm not coming out to watch you do this any more often than I absolutely have to." If the blue responds, he does so on a quieter band; more loudly, and to Vysravth, this time, « That would be an interesting experiment. I wonder, if we worked together... maybe we could make them do things. » An experiment! Fascinating. Meara, then: "Rhaelyn, Amareth's up next. Do you think she's up to it?"

Rhaelyn motions E'gin to come join her, "Sure sure. Live together and all that. Right. But when have we had a chance to just..." She motions a hand around as though to display the here and now of being together beyond that brain-dead lull of things after days too long, "Talk." Though her words are short-lived as Amareth hunches down low, as though that might make the old animals not see her. She's all whirling eyes and the scorpion tip of her tail making a whistling sound with the swift slice it makes back and forth in the air. "She's ready. She can do it." Rhaelyn's voice all but dares anyone to say otherwise. Meanwhile the green is full of quiet plans, « Make them do things? They only have to do one thing. » End up in her belly is left unsaid, but all her plots and plans lead to that end. Creeping forward slowly on her belly the green takes the easy mark and pounces nimbly on the beast. But it's the biting and actual killing that ends up being the hard part. Claws dig in and blood spills but the green is pulled several lengths, « Wait...it's still going...shouldn't it stop going....?»

"...Yah." E'gin responds to Rhaelyn's cut off thought without really responding at all. "Maybe, soon..." Vysravth is watching the beginning of Amareth's advance. «Yes, we should try that sometime. When we understand how they respond, maybe - we can make them do what we want!» The war machine is awake now, a rhythmic sound of turning gears. E'gin's attention is squarely on the green, who is being dragged, across the pens. Vysravth also seems keenly aware of what is going on. Waiting until the beast, draggin clutch sister behind it, approaches. He places himself directly in it's path, bracing for the blow. «Trying biting somewhere...The neck?» The guess is wild, but current strategy doesn't seem to be working.

Quinlys seems disinclined to actually watch the feeding, so perhaps it's not surprising that her attention falls on Rhaelyn and E'gin; after a moment, her eyes widen. "Are you two--?" she begins, apparently genuinely curious. "That's so sweet." Beat. "Olly, stay out. This is /Amareth's/ kill." The blue can't seem to help himself: he's eager, bounding around the edges, rapidly whirling gaze flicking from the green to the brown to the other dragons - and the beasts beyond. He's hungry. « The neck! Quinlys says the neck. Or you could hit it on the head, but I'm not sure /how/. It will be better when we work out how to make them do what we want, » he decides, a little dreamily. « Perhaps we need to get into their heads to understand. I wonder what they think about. »

Rhaelyn's eyes zip towards the Weyrlingmaster but there's no apparent concern from that corner, and Amareth has a good hold on the beast, just trying to figure out the ways and hows of getting the darn thing go die already. « If I could use my /wings/--this would be /better/.» But she's a good girl and keeps the wings folded in close. The poor beast bawls as Amareth snakes her neck to the left and right and back to the left again, jaws snapping a few times without making enough damage and then finally she gets a good, solid hold. Between the clamp on the throat and the talons dragging into flesh--and the solid brown wall, the green finally gets her meal to give it up and with a shudder topples over dead. « GOt um! I got um!! » There's ripples of appreciation glittering off the excitement of her success towards her clutchmates. Meanwhile, Rhae gives Quinlys a puzzled look, "Two what?"

Vysravth was trying to take care of his clutchmate but by the time the dying beast gets to him it's front legs are dragging the rest of it behind it. When it finally runs into him it is a last ditch effort at life, which seems to be quickly thrawted by his green sister. «Congratulations, Amareth.» There is a wistful sound to the dragon's voice, «Make them understand that we are going to kill them...no, we have to use what they would normally do against them.» Vysravth looks back to the old, sick herd. His turn? E'gin eyes Quinlys and shakes his head, "Not right now." A thumb is jabbed towards the dragon, in response to the question.

Meara /is/ keeping a close eye on proceedings, but Amareth gets her kill, and she's not, it seems, inclined to jump in - except to nod towards Vysravth as Isath encourages him onwards. « You got him! » enthuses Olveraeth. « Well done, Amareth. I hope I can get one that well. They're funnier. More fun than the ones we /have/ been getting. » He leans back on his haunches, tail wriggling idly behind him as he concentrates on watching his clutchmates. « Use what they would normally do? Oh. Because that's /what they are/. And what /we/ are. It's all natural. » He understands! Quinlys, meanwhile: "Not righ-- oh! Of course. But, I mean. You were, and you will be again? When we're allowed. That's what my parents did: they weyrmated during weyrlinghood, even. It's sweet." And so, her expression suggests, are her two fellow weyrlings: she's dimpling at them.

Amareth enjoys making a mess of her kill, or rather, enjoys the fresh off the bone taste of her first kill, thrumming happily as she chews the first messy mouthful. « Funner! » She agrees, heart still pounding with the thrill of bringing down the beast, even if it was old and worn out. « You two should run at them. Get them in the corner and get the biggest one. » Radiant in the victory, she watches the clutchmates as she chews. Rhae doesn't shy away from watching all the gore, except that she can't help but gawk at Quinlys' remark, "Did they? When they were weyrlings?" Sweet it might be, but sweet stuff equals toothaches later. Ick.

Quinlys' questions preturb E'gin. He turns toward her, pulling his eyebrows together with a sigh. Has this other clutchmate noticed the distance, the aloofness, the fact that E'gin has been as withdrawn as his dragon while they figure -them- out. "We'll see." Is the flat response. "Doesn't matter much right now." The dirt is scraped off the bottom of his boot absently, an escape of the questioning, the lack of eye contact with Rhae all too apparent. Vysravth is likewise ignored, at least visibly. The brown has been watching the herd, watching his clutchmates, he has a game plan. The biggest one is dimissed, not for a first attempt, the weakest likewise - too much pride- the prefect kill is picked out. «Make their nature work /against/ them.» Lowering himself to the ground he side steps away from his clutchmates.

Quinlys' gaze flicks from one weyrling to the other, then back, her expression easy enough despite obvious curiosity. "Once they were allowed. Once they're flying - properly - and with us on their backs and everything, we'll get weyrs of our own. And then you could weyrmate, if you wanted." She's not pushing, just /relating/, leaning back upon the fencepost now - a fount of knowledge. « Do you want me to chase from the other side? » Olveraeth wants to know, clearly itching to move in to action, even if he's being oh-so-patient for the moment. « Like Amareth says. Or do you want to do it alone? Quinlys says it might be more fair. She doesn't want to watch; I wonder why not. It's /fascinating/. »

Rhaelyn notices E'gin's lack of look in her direction. Oh yes. Her lips thin a bit as though pieces to a puzzle are being clicked together. Two can play the 'oh don't look' game, though Rhae's is with sharper edges, "I think I have better taste than to just settle anyway." A little haughty upward angle to her chin as she positions herself away from E'gin and at last taking a few steps away, although it's really just to check on the progress of her lifemate and the bloody feeding. « I don't know why either. She should be proud of your skill! » Even the skill of a messy eater, for the green is tucking into the choicer bits of the kill, « Oh, what part is the heart. THe liver....what's this? » This is much more exciting than cut slabs.

"Yah..." E'gin sighs softly, not looking up, "You're better off not settling." The resignation echoes back with a touch of sadness, though the words are said quietly, no point in letting Meara over hear. A hand runs through scruffy hair as his attention turns to his stalking lifemate. «No, I want my first kill to be my own.» There is a silent pause, «Though, if you want help I would be happy to offer assistance, an experiment assistant, if you will.»

You can't blame Quinlys for being utterly fascinated by this exchange - probably, anyway. But she keeps her silence, remarking, instead, "Oh well, it's not as though you /have/ to weyrmate in order to sleep together or anything. Only a couple of months, now!" She shifts her stance, turning back towards the dragons though she looks no more enthusiastic about proceedings than she was before, and even faintly green as her blue-eyed gaze slides past Amareth's explorative gastronomic adventures. « Let's both try on our own, for this time, » decides Olveraeth, unwilling to receive 'help' if he isn't going to provide it in turn. « Go, go, go! And then it's my turn. »

Rhaelyn's nose crinkles up, "Oh, that's just disgusting." Oh, just like Rhae to have her stomach flip-flop about possible intimacy but completely find with the butchering going on in the feeding pens. "I know...I'll have to stomach it for mating flights but that's /it/." A little shudder passes over her at that little reminder too. "Yuck." And a glare out into the distance along with her wayward thoughts because E'gin might as well not even be there now. "I /am/ looking forward to my very own weyr though. Privacy. A bed of my own." She sighs, fixing her thoughts on better things. Comfortable things. Expensive things. « Go get um Vysravth! Go for the throat! » There's even a trill of encouragement between the bites of meat.

"I..." Elgin - E'gin trails off, his head slowly turning towards Rhaelyn for a moment, searching to make eye contact but lowered again as she is clearly disgusted by any proposition, his head rested against the wood, his hands clasping together behind his neck. «Yes. We will experiment later...» Vysravth is engulfed in his own strategy. His clutchmates forgotten, only their successes and failures remembered. A beast, older, but not the oldest, off on its own is singled out. The brown makes large circles as he stalks it, each one slightly smaller. Suddenly, he springs forward, muscles contracting visibly beneath is massive frame - a black talon is locked into the hide of the beast, dragging it backwards even as it squirms to move the opposite way. Vysravth seem unwilling to end the misery of the beast - clearly in thoes of death.

"That's boring," is Quinlys' appraisal of the situation, though the glance she aims at Rhaelyn is sympathetic. Condescending, maybe, but still: sympathetic. « Ooh, ooh! Kill it! » Olveraeth can't seem to help his own enthusiasm, and has begun to move now, darting this way and that as he tries to get a better look at the whole situation. « You got it! And now you get to eat it. /And/ it gets to be my turn. » Even if the creature isn't dead yet. Olveraeth doesn't seem inclined to wait any longer, hurrying forward as quickly as his little legs can carry him. « This will be /much/ more fun when we can fly to do it. We can drop on them! Quinlys says that that's what some dragons do; she's seen it. Quinlys is full of interesting stuff. »

It's too late for eye contact now. Oh, E'gin is all but dead to Rhae now. "Boring? How can it be boring when I'll not have to listen to snoring or stupid pranks or stinky feet from boys who doesn't know how to sharding -wash-." She'll give Quinlys her attention, but the sex part is so foreign to her that she doens't quite get it. « Bite it! USe your teeth. And then there's the warm blood copper fire taste. And yes, flying will be much better. We should do flying next. Now. I'm ready. Can it be now Now?»

E'gin knows it, but he did it for her. Chivalry? Well, there probably won't be any Harper tales written about it. "Vys..." The brown drags the kill underneath him. Unlike Amareth's surgical like investigation Vysravth seem most intent on inflicting as much pain as possible. The beast is now on it's back and a talon rips the stomach open, blood spurts out, guts and organs spilling out, a sickening flop as they hit the ground. The cries of the animal are echoed by Vysravth in a mocking tone before death finally over comes it.

"You want a /man/, not a boy," is Quinlys' summation of Rhaelyn's situation. "You wait and see. I'm not saying that, as a greenrider, you need to have a different one in your bed each night, mind. But. It can be fun, sometimes. Me, I prefer something relatively stable." The bluerider pauses in her commentary as Olveraeth launches himself bodily at his chosen beast, its spine making a sickening crunch as the weight of his body snaps it. It doesn't take any time to die - but rather than get to /enjoy/ his meal, Olveraeth sticks his head up in surprise and alarm as the bluerider takes a hasty step away from the fence post and throws up her breakfast over the ground. Between retches, she manages to say, hastily: "Excuse me." Hurriedly, she dashes away.

Rhaelyn murmurs, "Yes. Perhaps. A -Man-." Rhaelyn angles the word towards E'gin without really turning her body towards him. The smile is ruthless. "I honestly don't think that sex is really my thing. Messy. Sticky. Dirty. Sweaty. Yuck." An eyebrow goes up as Quinlys goes to vomit and now it's Rhae's turn to be condescending, "You ok sweetie?"

Vysravth is still taking time with his kill. Less concerned with eating it than with destroying it. Finding every cavity inside that might ooze or spurt or rupture. E'gin is listening to Quinlys' assertation of their situation, though he doesn't comment. One leg is propped up against the fence, his hands glasping the top rail as he watches the brown decimate his kill. The scene before him seems less fatal then making eye contact with the greenrider. His frown deepens, his brows drawing together, pretending he can't hear anything else going on, and there he stands until Vysravth is done and they are dismissed.

Surprisingly, Quinlys doesn't take being condescended to all that well - funny, given how good she is at doing it herself. "/Fine/," she manages to get out, as she breathes. "I'm just... going to get some water. Excuse me." No doubt it'll be her turn for a meeting with Meara, later, about this surprisingly delicate stomach of hers.