Difference between revisions of "Logs:Points of Contact"

Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.

The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.

Arekoth is notably absent from the ledges evening, but H'kon is here. Could be, he's slowly settled into the slumped-shouldered, clasped-hands position, staring out over the sands. Eyes are tight at their corners, but that might as much be blamed on drying in the heat as anything. And he stares. At a lump. Covered in sand.

From behind his shoulder, smoky-low as ever: "Good view?"

If H'kon reacts to the voice in any physical way, it's certainly unseen from behind him. "Unobstructed," comes after a beat, for thought.

"When did you start seeing through sand?" Leova inquires, any beat for emphasis.

H'kon lifts his head, just ever so slightly. His shoulders shift as he changes the position of clasped hands - though they move together. "Not quite thirteen turns, was it? You were there."

"Weren't no sandstorm in the mix," Leova points out as though missing the point, not missing that point. "What do you make of it? Now."

Another delay, longer, this time, before his answer. "It goes on," has all the heaviness of the infinite behind it, though it's spoken quietly.

She breathes in, silent. She breathes out, not so much. But it's slowly, slowly. "Going to Search anyone?" To make it go on in a different way.

H'kon's head lowers back down, slowly. "Not anyone."

"Someone," she counters.

Another rest before response, and all it brings is, "Perhaps."

"Mm." Since a nod won't be audible.

The conversation might as well be over, surely. H'kon doesn't say anything for a time, shifts forward a bit, weight pressing onto his feet the more, shoulders hunched. But tagging on at the very end is observed, "It is all points of contact."

Her, "Mm," carries a different tone. It's not, quite, interrogation.

Another of those 'this talk is finished' lags, though this time, H'kon stays motionless. "Perhaps no one can reach them all." And that, at least, has a clear finality to it.

Vrianth may never respect others' finality. Her rider, though, may. But: "'Perhaps,'" might as well quote him.

Arekoth and Vrianth always did get along well enough. And H'kon... H'kon takes a breath, eases it out, all in silence. And nods his head.

If she nods, he can't see it. But Leova is silent, at last.