Difference between revisions of "Logs:Camping Trip"

The promise was made long ago, when Dilan was still at the Hold, when H'kon and Madilla were settling on their weyr of choice, and the brownrider went seeking approval from each of the older children: the promise that, once there was a weyr they all would share, the boys could still all get away, have their own time. This is one of those times. The place is Ista island, a cove far enough away from any major settlements, with plenty of wherries inland for chasing, and plenty of ocean for swimming. Like Arekoth is only just finishing doing, making a minor production of letting the droplets fall off his hide in the sunset as he comes back ashore, and toward the little sheltered spot where camp has been pitched. H'kon is far less showy when he squeegees water from fresh-cropped hair with his hands, and snorts it out of his nose, and shakes it from his ears.

Dilan, having discovered the joys of body-surfing, has resorted to, "One more wave!" and so is slower than the other two to exit the water; his wave dumps him on the shore, quite as if it has had enough now, thank you very much, tickling the boy's toes as it retreats back into the ocean. Dilan's plainly not bothered by the rather unceremonious exit, nor by the fact that he's covered with sand as he hoists himself back up to his feet, padding after brown and rider; "Did you see? That was fun."

H'kon likes water, even these strangely warm waters of Ista. It's probably that, and the sense of 'getaway', that has what looks suspiciously like a grin being shared with the boy. "The waves are a part of why Arekoth and I came here often as we did." As weyrlings. There was prior introduction, obviously. Whatever it is Arekoth has offered H'kon gets an out-loud response, a habit that's been forming, for the most part, only among the 'boys', "You would need a bigger wave."

There's no question over whether or not Dilan grins; it's broad enough to show the big gaps in his teeth where, recently, a few more baby teeth have fallen out. "They're brilliant," he declares, dusting himself off ineffectually as he reaches for the towel awaiting him at their camp. "D'you think they make big enough waves for Arekoth?" The question is for H'kon, plainly, but his eyes are on the brown - but then, they so often are.

That's almost a look of hidden triumph that passes between rider and dragon, though for the question, H'kon offers evenly enough, "There are better waves for him a bit farther out. Though they don't break the same way as when coming into shore. Land affects water. Water affects land." With a sort of wry amusement, he repeats, for Arekoth, "Dragons take on both." His own towel is reached, and the man sets to his head. Arekoth has stopped a bit shorter, and mantled his wings. They do catch the light quite nicely, don't they?

Towel in hand, Dilan's attention is much more focused upon the brown than upon actually drying himself, though no doubt it helps that the air is warm; he'll dry regardless. "I wish I could catch waves like that," he says. "I think it'd be like flying. Not as good, but-- close." Close-ish, his expression revises; he is, after all, looking at those wings and there is, as always, that quiet admiration and awe.

"Air," muses H'kon, perhaps more to himself than the other two, Dilan watching Arekoth like that, Arekoth showing off in response (if not quite in the same clownish way he used to, when the boy was younger), "is affected by land and water." He is far more efficient in drying himself, and then, in dropping the towel to the sand to sit on a moment and take in what's left of the sun. He can find proper clothing later. "There's nothing like it," offered up after a moment, that same moment when Arekoth turns to look squarely at the blonde-haired boy, "flying with a shared mind. One of those things that makes all else you sacrifice to ride so worthwhile."

"Air," repeats Dilan, though he's still not looking at H'kon, and his recitation is little more than a murmur. "I want that," he says, finally, in answer to the rest. "I do. And then I worry... what if there's not a dragon for me? I should have more I want. I shouldn't... just hope for that one thing. It's not like Vinien, who knows for absolute sure."

H'kon tongues at one of his teeth behind closed lips, considering Dilan a moment, and slowly, slowly nodding. "I wanted a wife, children, to care for my sister. Perhaps charge of my own boat." There's something of humour on the last, though it doesn't stop him. The brownrider shrugs. "Given the chance to do it over, I would, as it happened. What we want... does not always dictate what comes to us. What is best for us."

"You've got Mom," Dilan is prompt to point out, finally looking at H'kon. "And Raija, and me and Lilabet too. And you're a wingsecond and--" He stops, giving the brownrider another of those gap-toothed grin. "So you're telling me not to worry about it. Because whatever happens will happens. It's not like I'll be old enough to Stand for turns, anyway."

"I do," H'kon agrees. "But none of you, nor I myself, will ever come first, before Arekoth." Who is folding his wings quite precisely against his back. "I don't know if I mean that you should not worry about it - not think or prepare yourself for the possibility of impression, or being left standing... Hm." Those well-worn furrows are back in H'kon's forehead. "Such a part of that life - riding - is up to chance, circumstance. I suppose."

Now, finally, Dilan drops his towel to the ground and sits upon it, still damp but steadily less so. His arms wrap around his thin, knobbly knees, and he pauses, thinking. "Because there's no Arekoth, without you," he concludes. It may be that his thoughts trend towards Teris; if so, he doesn't voice them. "So I should be prepared, but... not expect it. Maybe I can be a sailor, until. Or... or I could help Vinny. Or lots of things. And the dragonhealing." Clearly: all of the above. It totally works.

"No. I have wondered, at times, if he had chosen someone else, how different he might now be. Except I cannot imagine it." Now, H'kon smiles a little, and not one of those tight, awkward, painful-looking ones either. "Even if you were expecting, if you did impress, I should think you'd find you'd expected wrong. Even if I'd been searched when the clutch was first laid, I cannot imagine I'd have expected," a hand gestures, up and down, toward the brown, and his rider ends with, "him." H'kon tilts his head when his dragon turns that sharp stare onto him. "Dragonhealing at least you can do now... sailing I suppose you could. Though there's a dearth of ships at the Weyr." Green eyes shift to the boy once more.

"He," a pause, and then, more reluctantly, "or she, I guess, wouldn't be Arekoth." Dilan doesn't sound disappointed about this; it's more of an acknowledgement. "That's kind of the exciting thing, isn't it? Not knowing until you do. The unknown." His sigh is just short of dreamy; he probably wouldn't be this unguarded in front of his peers! "I don't really want to leave the Weyr again," he admits, more seriously. "But... I don't know. I keep thinking about it. Maybe 'cause of last turn, and Lily and everything."

H'kon agrees with, "No. For the best," he adds, more playfully. "If there were two of him, the Weyr would be quite doomed." It's affection, there, really. H'kon looks over his shoulder, to where their gear was left. Rukbat's not so low yet as to offer a chill (so much as an Istan night gets, without sunlight), but that time is drawing nearer. He waits, however, the plan made almost subconsciously, the bulk of his attention still with Dilan. "You could. There is something, also, about the sea. And your mother would understand." Unspoken, the 'eventually' for the full adjustment. "And when you're of standing age, of course Arekoth and I could seek you out, if you were gone from the Weyr at the time."

For that remark, that first one, Dilan grins, though it's plain most of his attention is focused on the rest of the conversation. Staring out over the ocean, now, he hesitates. Finally, he nods - just once. "Not yet," he says. "Not for a few turns." As if that needed saying; no one would let him go at nine. "But... yes. I think I'd like it. And I know you'd come."

H'kon simply nods to this, to all of this. "And for now, you do live practically next door to the dragonhealers." It's an encouraging little smile, that one. "Nothing wrong in learning all you can." A moment for that to settle, and then H'kon does stand, moving over to secure his clothes. Dilan's are tossed, of course. And Arekoth has started giving each limb a good stretch, preparing to settle down.

Still sandy, if not actually wet, Dilan dresses without comment; his expression is thoughtful, though - outright considering. "Mm," he agrees. "They won't let me do anything, but... I can watch." This, half-muffled by the shirt he's pulling over his head, is just short of triumphant. As his blond head appears above the neck of the shirt, and as it gets pulled down, he adds, "I liked being with Vinny. Only... I like that I have choices, too. He doesn't. He just has to be Lord."

"I suppose there is a freedom," H'kon agrees, also dressing, quietly, efficiently, "to a lower birth. Especially in a Weyr." He slows with the clothes then, a bit more thoughtful, though doesn't stop altogether. Once all is settled, and on a very different sort of subject: "You've a choice now, in fact. There's a fire needs made, and that spot by Koth's wingjoint will need oiled, after the water."

Dilan's nod will have to suffice as comment - and answer - to the first of H'kon's remarks. It's that choice that has him straightening, bare feet already shifted to allow him to stand in a single, enthusiastic motion. "Is that even a choice?" The grin says it all, really: who wants to play with fire when there are wingjoints to oil?