Difference between revisions of "Logs:Visiting"

It's not particularly early in the morning when light finally starts to warm the rather active air at High Reaches; late enough in the day for there to be activity in the snowy bowl and in the air, around the weyrling barracks and down along the lakeshore. Though there's not too many people braving the winds down by the ice, there's a tall figure on the edge of the lake, wrapped in a shapeless black coat and topped with a red hat that presses newly shorn hair to her cheeks. Brieli and Iesaryth have time enough this morning for the gold to do some of her aforementioned gliding - she's out on the lake ice proper, angling her wings to catch the wind and almost-kinda-sorta fly.

Sometimes, when one's mind is likened to a sieve, it's actually helpful: a fine wire mesh to sort through a Weyr's minds and find the youngest dragon there. It's no languid sorting, but rather a quick swoosh: find, catch, release. Greet. Fly. Vhaeryth's quick wingbeats send him on a direct course from living caverns to lakeshore, as low to the ground as is convenient for a not quite as young dragon who is not the smallest of his kind, and then to pounce on a great big dune of snow just shy of the ice: victory! N'rov doesn't even bother to wipe the flung snow off his goggles, instead just pulling them up and peering out from underneath as his dragon's trumpet rings off into echoes. "You," he calls towards the woman he's spotted.

The constant sound of the tide rises; sunlight glitters off the waves. Iesaryth is bright, shiny, pleased. « Your letter-writer, Shan. » The bronze is fine company too, but she's far more interested in her rider's situation. (To Brieli from Iesaryth)

Iesaryth doesn't have much warning, but that doesn't seem to bother her as it might some queens - out there on the ice with its snowdrifts, she shoots back towards the shore with a particularly strong gust of wind and a rumble of her own. Welcome! But don't get on the ice, big guy. If the dragon is barely forewarned, Brieli only has time enough to turn around and see the snow fly as Vhaeryth lands; the wind sends some to sprinkle across her. Arching fine brows as she starts to brush it off, she raises her voice to return, "Me. Yes. You." Perhaps it's her manners that has her start their way, despite snowiness. "How are you? Mostly undamaged, it looks like?"

Amused - and certainly more appreciative of the visit than she's letting on - Aishani notes, « Yes. In person. So leave me be. » (To Iesaryth from Brieli)

N'rov glances indulgently down at his lifemate, one hand curled about the paler tip of his neckridge, "I got your note. He may not wallow in blood, but it seems that snow is another story." His lifemate, who's easing one dark paw towards the edge of Iesaryth's lake, talons flexing to curve just short as he eyes the littler dragon: not at all? Not even a little bit? Is she positive? But N'rov can and does ignore that teasing in favor of Brieli's and his own: "And, it seems so." Look, a nose: he points at it, reddened at its bridge but basically smooth. "I can breathe through it." He illustrates, snorting. "You? Sorry about your neck, but I daren't get down: extra messages to run today."

"Better one than the other, I think." Brieli takes off red mittens to shake the snow from them as she glances down to where Iesaryth has managed to skid to a stop near the bronze's offending paw; the much smaller dragon makes a show of considering Vhaeryth, his talons, her own size before ocean's waves can carry: « A little. » Magnanimous again, amused. The weyrling herself will pay all due attention to N'rov's nose, dark eyes all too serious - though she wrinkles her nose at the snorting. "Lovely. You were right, though - not much for me to swoon over or fuss about." What might be more gratifying is her disappointment at extra messages, transparent for but a moment before, "I'll manage. Besides, this way, you can't make me take off my hat." Drifting a bit closer, gaze shifting to the bronze's straps, "These all seem in one piece too?"

Under Iesaryth's scrutiny, Vhaeryth extends his paw further, over the ice even if it is towards her so that she can see, flexing that much more: talons. Dark. Sharp. Admittedly, chipped here and there, but these things happen. « A very, verrry little? » It's so delicate, the way he curves to tap one talon, just one at first, then the other. Tap-tap. He could put his weight on them. He isn't. "Imagine the fussing if I didn't get it fixed, and it made me snore," N'rov suggests in the meantime, and yes, he does have a smile for that hat. "Matching gloves. Mittens? Now your hands won't freeze either," as though she hadn't had either before being shorn. "I'm impressed. What a convenient color, too." It's a lot of prattle, with her final question hanging there as it is. He looks away, over the lake, and then back down at Brieli, his hand smoothing the leather nearest him. Finally, sobered: "I hope they'll stay that way. No word yet, on how much the kid has spilled. Perhaps they're worried about his... finer sensibilities."

« I don't know if you know what will break the ice. I have not been to your home. » Iesaryth seems sure that she will at some point in the future; is not sure there is as much ice anywhere else. Smaller talons echo the tapping, the noise barely audible above the wind. Brieli is game for N'rov's prattle, despite her unfortunate tendency to shift conversation to the serious, tilting her head as she tells him, "If you didn't get it fixed and you looked awful, the snoring wouldn't matter much would it? And I must have something nice. This coat is beastly." She pulls on her mittens, then glances up at him again, her own expression serious - but shaking her head. "It's not as if a child isn't easily frightened. But - you're right, some people aren't willing to do that sort of thing." No judgment, but...

« I know what will break ice, » Vhaeryth assures, drawing his talons towards him in a slow, curving, confident scratch that barely scores the ice in white. « That is not it, yet. When you are done with your ice, tell me, and I will break it for you. » Or they could break it, the two of them, all pounce and stomp and just maybe splash. That lean of his leads to N'rov unthinkingly rebalancing against the neckridge, and now replying, "Your point is made. I don't imagine even red buttons would save it," his nose or her coat, whichever. As for the child... "Don't want him to make something up, of course. But your Iesaryth, does she have a nose for when someone's telling the truth? Does she care?"

« I do not mind if you break the ice, as long as I am not on it. » As embarrassingly without flight as she is, Iesaryth would not only be cold, but also have to wade out of the water and look undignified. Which is okay sometimes, but freezing and wet and not gliding all seems too much to bear. Drama. (Though the idea of the stomping and pouncing and benign destruction does brighten her.) Glancing down at her coat, Brieli notes, "I suppose I could upgrade. I really haven't hard the time. And that's a point." She has to admit that, looking up to N'rov again, thoughtful. "Kids are like to do that anyway. And she... she hasn't shown a lot of interest. I haven't tried to see if she can tell. And... I only think I can tell when someone's lying." A wry grin for that, shoving mittened hands deep in her pockets.

Vhaeryth's head lifts, surveying the lake, as though now might be an option... and yet, he must have picked up for what went unspoken, for when he peers back down to Iesaryth it's to ask, « Do you have any of these? » Icicles, long ones, long as fangs or the poles that some humans use to steer by: perhaps they might serve as some lesser form of distraction since she must undergo this inexplicable hardship of not flying. And perhaps worse, waiting. "We should set up tests, sometime," N'rov teases, leaning on Vhaeryth's neckridge for all that he's begun to shiver. There's just a brief, regretful look skyward before he adds, "When there's more time. Or would you rather keep it a mystery?" They should go. Some mental nudge, or perhaps it's the very physical one of his knee, bestirs Vhaeryth to stretch and then stretch some more. Grown wings. About-to-be-flying-again wings.

« Yes. » Iesaryth might look for these, but it's the waiting that is indeed killing the gold; she images all the others gliding, including a browny brutish looking gold, and poor Iesaryth, able to know how, but left to wait. So sad. She is pleased Vhaeryth understands. Brieli is also getting that look - except her glances toward the bowl are a good deal more shifty, like she might be hearing about it if she doesn't get going soon. Even so, "We could. Inside, maybe. Or in better weather." Her steps back are reluctant, but there's not much to do about giving the bronze some room; holding her hat with one hand against the wind as she looks up, amused, "Do you really want me to figure out your tells right off, actually? Seems a little unfair."

Must she wait? Can she not... just a little? Just to try? « I would not tell on you, » Vhaeryth mentions in all but a whisper, as though her weyrlingmasters might be listening in right now and would hear if he weren't so hushed. Perhaps when they're distracted, perhaps she could see, perhaps she would let him know of her success. In the meantime... "You're right," exclaims N'rov. "We'll have to do it the other way around too," and his smile down at her slants briefly wicked as he tugs down those goggles of his. And since she's free and clear, Vhaeryth turns enough to not knock down Iesaryth either, and takes wing. In that meantime, the bronze can share the feel of icy wind on fine, strong wings that beat more and more strongly, flooding with warmth even as they rise and she and hers become dizzyingly small beneath them. It's not the same, but it's a taste.

"Write," is all Brieli shouts over the wind and wingbeats by way of farewell before she's busy collecting Iesaryth - who is grateful for that shared moment, despite it being secondhand. Soon, she'll fly with him.