Difference between revisions of "Logs:Kill Old Things"

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.

The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little sticks.

For being winter, the temperature isn't /that/ bad. But it's still a little chilly to be outside for long period of time. The snow on the ground is light, hardly sticking at all today. It's early afternoon that A'son tromps to the feeding grounds from the barracks, bringing a group of weyrlings along with him. Nikoth is already there, having settled in the feeding grounds. He's having more than his share of fun, spooking the herdbeasts anytime they feel safe enough to group in one area. Once everyone is there, the bronzerider will clear a patch of snow off the fence and hoist himself up to sit there. Then he'll wait just a few minutes for the newly gliding weyrlings to get themselves all assembled.

Both attentive, though one decidedly moreso than the other, K'ndro and Xadovith are among that group of led-along weyrlings. The lean bronze looks a tad bit silly, the low-bellied stalking gait he's perfecting something at odds with the way he holds his head up high in anticipation. There must be some conversation happening, as Mik shakes his head and says with a shrug, "Maybe he thinks it's fun. Ask -him- not me."

Waiting silently by the face is C'sel, face as unreadable as usual, Corvinth far too keen nearby. The brownrider does try a small smile for the approaching group, nods politely A'son-wards. "Good afternoon," he says in typically measured fashion.

Zhikath can glide. He can glide extremely well--well, for being as new to it as he is. Has been an extremely enthusiastic glider, whenever the opportunity has presented itself. Enthusiasm is more than can be said for W'chek, who is only here because his dragon is excited and hungry. W'chek would obviously like to be lurking out of the way in the back of the group, but Zhikath is having none of that. He's decidedly perky, for a dragon--head held high, back straight, eyes whirling quickly, wings kind of half-fanned until the proximity of other dragons forces folding them properly. "Yes, I'm coming, okay? I'm right here."

The young green that makes her way along with her clutchmates must be just a little excited. It's the little trip in Jeibeth's careful step that says so much. B'tal touches a hand to her shoulder and slides it up her neck before she breaks away from him, wings unfurling straight up in all their shimmering translucence before settling down into place along her back.

A'son raises his hand to the brownrider, a sort of half-smile on his face. "Hey, there. Come to watch the... delicate dining?" He asks, his gaze sweeping over to the assembled weyrlings. Looking at the group in front of them, he twists his lips to the side, considering something. "So, I'm sure you guys are glad that you don't have to be personally involved in the feeding process. And so am I." The undertone: It's pretty gross. "To help your lifemates get their hunting skills more finely honed, we're going to do a little exercise. You may need to help direct them in the choosing so." He twists, gesturing out to the herdbeasts in the pen. "Mixed amongst the healthy are the older, weaker beasts. One by one, you're 'mates are going to go out, pick an older beast from the herd. Run 'em down, catch 'em and eat them."

"Mm, to observe and assist if necessary," C'sel informs A'son gravely. "Corvinth is quite excited by the -- nature of the exercise." The brownrider nods to each weyrling in turn that approaches, murmurs a good-day, then quiets to listen to A'son's directives.

K'ndro shares a look with Xadovith after that little introduction, offers another silent shrug. Standing now side by side, Xado's attention on the milling animals, Mik's eyes wandering over the little group. Ignoring W'chek, settling briefly on B'tal, skipping onwards again. Returning, finally, into a steady stare at A'son, since he's leading this little exercise.

Oh, is Zhikath ever perky, all gleaming and pleased at this very prospect, and W'chek is kind of lurking behind him--which is very easy to do, now. Thank heavens for big dragons. There is, however, some muttering from in that direction, but it's too muffled to make out anything in particular. Zhikath is very, very attentive, like maybe he could make up for his rider somehow. W'chek shoots a pointed look--not exactly a glare, but close--at K'ndro, even if he's not looking to see it, just on general principle.

B'tal keeps his focus fixed on A'son, standing with his gloved hands clasped behind his back. Proper and attentive. Jeibeth is much the same, though now that she's standing still, the whirling of her eyes gives away more of her excitement. If the two speak, it's privately because they're both more or less silent except for the warble Jeibeth offers in greeting to the elder dragons and anyone else that cares to accept it for themselves.

"...Is he hungry?" A'son asks in a quiet aside to the other weyrlingmaster. He glances over at the brown, eyebrows lifting questioningly. Then his attention sweeps back out to the class gathered. He hunkers down in his thick jacket, hand twisting around one of the fence poles for support. "Questions?" While waiting for any possible answers, Nikoth lifts his wings and flaps them. Also, he makes a good deal of noise. The result? All those beasts are nice and riled up so that they're not sedate when the weyrlings come for them. Hopefully there aren't /too/ many because the bronzerider is now finger-pointing at the first person up. "K'ndro. Send Xadovith over, please?"

Up come blue eyes and there's a minute shake of C'sel's head in answer to A'son's quiet query. "No. He -- merely enjoys the -- pursuit," the brownrider says slowly and looks out over the assembled weyrlings as the bronzerider selects one to start with. Corvinth's head lowers and he stares through the bars, keener than ever. Maybe a little scary.

To all Flurry dragons, Corvinth is shadows and little flickers of light, but mostly fog stealing along the ground, questing for contact amongst young minds, an electric current of excitement threading in beneath all that misty darkness of his.

To all Flurry dragons, Nikoth projects, « Corvinth. Don't stare like that, you're going to scare them. »

To all Flurry dragons, Xadovith's own dark-light responds to Corvinth's, a swirling combination of anticipation and reserve, though his words are directed more for Nikoth, « Why should we be afraid? »

To all Flurry dragons, Corvinth snickers under cover of darkness. « You're the scary one. Making everyone's ears hurt. » Sneaky sneaky and he drifts over towards Xadovith, matching like thought patterns to like thought patterns. « Just checking in to see who's going to have /fun/ with this little game. I bet you all are going to just do /the best/ at it. » Encouragement by way of instigation?

« Are they dangerous, herdbeasts? They do not look particularly dangerous. If there is some danger, I believe we should be informed of it in advance. » Zhikath's voice is just his voice, but there's thinly-veiled excitement in the tone. « They look more delicious than dangerous. » (Zhikath to all Flurry dragons)

K'ndro nods sharply, but doesn't even have to turn his head. No sooner is the request made than Xadovith is putting the recent lessons to use. Surging away to give himself room, shadowed tattered-seeming wings unfurling, leg muscles bunching. Not as good as, say, Zhikath the great shiny lump, is this darkling shadow, but his launch-and-glide at least clear the fence. "Steady... steady..." Mik is muttering, brown eyes narrowed. "No. Too eager. Wait. Yes, that one." That one there, shaggy winter hide and a lame right hind leg. That's still somehow spry enough to avoid the initial swipe of wicked talons.

Watching, watching. Not that Zhikath would be in the least bit competitive. After all, he doesn't have to be. He's the great shiny lump. But such comparisons would never occur to him anyhow; the colors of his eyes swirl more hungry as Xadovith makes the first attempt and he's probably compiling copious mental notes about every last detail. And his rider? W'chek, of course, just has to be snarky. "Well, that was *impressive*."

To all Flurry dragons, Corvinth makes a shadow cow, old and crickety. « Does this look like a dangerous thing to you? » Needling, just a little. Just a little. « They are meant for eating. » And thick trickle of the pleasures of a good meal suffuses fog and shadow.

B'tal watches K'ndro and Xadovith when they're chosen first. A brief glance is sent greenwards when Jeibeth takes a step, and then another, forward to watch with great intensity as the bronze swipes at his prey. B'tal is less focused on the proceedings within the pen and he turns his head toward the other bronze weyrling's position to snaps back, "Hush, W'chek."

« Will you be quiet? » Xadovith's suddenly annoyed request comes laced with a heavy puff of garlic. (Xadovith to all Flurry dragons)

Nikoth's head swings over to level an eye at his rider, sending some sort of message over. When the bronze weyrling dragon comes over the fence to begin his hunt, the older dragon lays down leisurely. Tail all the way out, neck, wings too. He's an imposing enough lump that the beasts don't try to get past him to the far side of the pen. Making the hunting area a little more manageable for the younger dragons. For A'son's odd eyeballed look to C'sel, his attention picks up when Xadovith begins his hunt. W'chek's comment doesn't go unnoticed and he pauses in his watching to look over and at him closely. Not exactly a glare, or a look of doom, but he heard him. Then, "He's doing fine, K'ndro. Old sucker has some spirit in him."

There's a puff of breath from C'sel that makes steam in the air and blue eyes narrow faintly. After that, there's no more peanut gallery from Corvinth for just a little bit. Only ... after a few minutes there's a tiny whisper: « Get 'im! » and then more expectant silence. The brownrider turns another look, unreadable look on his brown, but Corvinth only affects 'I meant to do that' non-chalance. And watches the hunt-in-progress.

"Piss off," K'ndro replies in annoyed tones to W'chek, though his attention never leaves Xadovith and the animals in the pen. A'son doesn't get much more than a wordless grunt. He'll be surprised at B'tal later. For now, he's back to that low rumbling mutter. "Patience, wait, watch. Ye worked it out, now ye jus' gotta do it." Xadovith pauses, slowing his chase and glances once over his shoulder. Wings mantled, bellow low, quivering though still, he allows the lame 'beast to hobble to a nervous halt. Slinks forward, one careful step, another. Watching, watching, and when the 'beast tries another limping break for it, the lean bronze moves in the correct direction this time. Coiled like a spring, he pounces, talons gouge through hide and make the animal squall in pain and fear. But his grip isn't good enough, blood flowing as the 'beast staggers and falls, but is still alive and trying to drag itself away. Messy.

Lapsing into silence, W'chek manages only a sullen half-attention to the goings-on out there. Yes, yes, herdbeasts, hunting, etc, etc. Zhikath finally gives him a nudge to the shoulder with his muzzle, but W'chek waves it off and the bronze goes back to watching Xadovith's progress. "You'll be fine," W'chek says, more of a murmur, definitely not snarky, before reaching up to pat Zhikath's shoulder.

Jeibeth stays silent but the touch of her mind spreads; vibrant, excited shades of red and gold and the swelling heat of pride for her clutchmates. For Xadovith in particular since he's the one on display. B'tal falls back into silence but he moves forward to stand beside the green, who doesn't seem to be paying him any attention whatsoever.

"K'ndro, if you can, have him move his dinner over to the side?" A'son asks, watching the bronze with a quirk of his lips. "He did an excellent job, also. You too." The warm-fuzzy moment isn't one that lasts long, because he's turning back to the assembled. A finger is crooked in B'tal's direction. "Jeibeth is up next. Once Xadovith and his new friend are out of your way." Nikoth out in the pens does some more more leisuring stretching, and those herdbeasts are looking pretty nervous now that one of their buddies has croaked.

Xadovith and his new friend are noisy and gross, just like A'son warned this would be. "Th'throat, th' -throat!-" K'ndro chokes, and thankfully shortly thereafter the herdbeast no longer has the anatomy required to bawl so horrificly. Mantling and growling, Xado drags his swiftly draining of all its blood kill as far away from everyone as he can. Yum! Er, yuck.

C'sel observes the messy with a rather abstracted look. "He will get -- neater," the brownrider offers over with quiet confidence and he shoots Corvinth a look, suddenly thumps the brown on the shoulder for whatever internal commentary was just offered. A moment later, Corvinth's shadows cluster, reveal a bit of shining light for Jeibeth, encouraging. Her turn.

Not an impatient dragon, Zhikath, not as a rule. No, he's content to sit, to observe. And W'chek with him, leaning against his side, occasionally half-vocalizing something as they converse. W'chek is not particularly observing, however, because noisy and gross is not something you're going to like even when you're from a rural background and accustomed to the fact that things die and sometimes it's not pretty. But when it's B'tal, he at least glances over to watch for Jeibeth *without* any kind of nasty comment.

At the sound of Jeibeth's name, B'tal looks vaguely worried and glances very briefly in a certain weyrling's direction again before he nods to the green. "Try to focus on one of the smaller ones," he says before she moves forward. Jeibeth croons her thanks at A'son's choice - her - and launches to glide over the fence with an easy grace that would be so much nicer if she landed without surging forward to keep her balance. B'tal moves forward to the fence to watch while the comparatively, to the other dragons present at least, small green picks her prey from the nervous beasts. It's one on the edges, thin and slower and maybe not all that bright as herdbeasts go. It's not a very high bar to begin with. "No rush. Be careful," says B'tal, lifting a hand to push his knit hat further up his forehead. Jeibeth moves with natural grace, rather than deliberate, to snake her target from the rest of the herd.

"Hopefully. At the very least he'll stop the noise earlier." A'son watches the herdbeast's final moments with rather wide eyes. It would seem that he forgot just how gross weyrlings killing things could be. "Nikoth's tactic was to just sit on them. And break them. Actually it still is, he's a slow learner." Then Jeibeth is up and over the fence. He reorganizes his attention, shifting it back to the pen. There's a little concerned look when she surges forward, but since there's a decent recovery he relaxes. The adult bronze out in the pen with her is looking as impressed as a dragon can look, watching her move the 'beast around.

K'ndro might be looking a little queasy, and his voice might be a bit strained, but still he's trying for encouraging when he sends, "She's gonna be fine." over B'tal's direction. Not wanting to think about the process of Xadovith getting neater, that is, all the practice that will be required first. So please forgive him, weyrlingmasters, for -completely ignoring- you. Eugh. At least Xadovith's far enough away that they're spared sound effects.

There's nodding going on in C'sel-camp. The brownrider watching Jeibeth's slow careful stalk. Kicky herdbeast dying over there, well that doesn't bear much staring at. Corvinth is watching Jeibeth now, head lifted to hang over the edge of the fence. Voyeur.

Not late. Just.. becoming more active, as Ajatha and Rasiyoth were there the whole (most) of the time. Really. The grizzled chin of the much larger - now - brown comes to bump into Jathi's shoulder as she steps up closer like a ghost on the snowy ground on the safe side of the fence. Ras perks at the sounds of the 'beast fighting for its life, but he turns back to watch the little female try her stalk-and-kill method. "Psst. K'ndro. You okay?" Quietly.

Zhikath has a special interest for Xadovith and his kill right up until the point that Jeibeth picks out her choice and then there's just too much going on. Oh, if only he could be in two places at once, perhaps W'chek could report on the goings-on over there, that he's torn so very evident in the twist of his head back and forth between the two--"*No*," says W'chek in no uncertain terms. "He's eating it, we've seen him eat before and it's not any more interesting this time."

B'tal is purposefully not looking anywhere in Xadovith's direction. His focus is solely on Jeibeth. He only lifts a hand in acknowledgement when he hears other people talking in his direction. The green edges the heardbeast away from the rest and when the beast finally realizes that it's cut off and subsequently freaks out, Jeibeth lunges. Her wings fan out to keep her balance during the short chase. What might one day be more graceful to watch ends with Jeibeth basically bowling over the old beast with a hiss and jumping on top of it. Her jaws find its neck, talons digging into its side, and she shakes in an attempt to break its neck. It doesn't quite work as she perhaps imagined it might and after repositioning her jaws several times to find the right angle, the beast is left disembowelled by careless talons and throatless. And dead! B'tal turns away from the fence, looking a little pale, while the green hovers possessively over her kill. A quick glance around is offered before she drags the carcass a little off to the side and digs in daintily. Don't ask. She can do this sort of thing.

C'sel clears his throat and from within a pocket, withdraws some hard candies. THey smell like ginger with its stomach-settling properties. Without further commentary, there's one on offer for B'tal and another for K'ndro if they so choose. Otherwise, the brownrider makes no comment.

"W'chek. You and your dragon are next to go once it's clear." A'son is still perched on his fence. He alternates between glancing at Xadovith as he eats, then to check up on the Jeibeth's progress. The way that the young green dispatches her prey gets a 'huh' from the bronzerider. When B'tal turns to get out of there, he'll lean over a little to pat him on the shoulder. If he doesn't get too far away. In which case, hopefully he won't fall onto the ground and break something. "She did great, kid." Ah, another fuzzy moment from Uncle A'son. Maybe he had a good night or something the day before.

"Will be, 'spect," K'ndro rumbles low to Jathi, after a bit of a start for her appearance there. Make some -noise- woman! His cheeks puff a bit as he blows out a breath, before attempting a wan smile. His gaze doesn't linger too long, however. Less reluctant than W'chek, he needs to be Xadovith's eyes, pay attention to what Jeibeth does so they can go over her tactic in minute detail later. Joy. A grateful look for C'sel, as he does indeed accept that offered ginger. And so he and his bronze both will fade out into off-to-one-side observation until the exercise is over, intent on their own internal dialogue.

"He has a name," snaps W'chek, and only W'chek would manage to get offended over something like that, but clearly he has. Zhikath is not, however, offended. No, Zhikath is too busy to be offended. Then he's in the air and over the fence, landing heavily but neatly on the other side. W'chek is--standing there. Waiting. Considering how often his side of their conversations *is* audible, either his silence means an improvement or they're just not talking. Probably they're just not talking. Zhikath is also too busy to talk, spreading his wings again, jumping far enough to get good height on his glide. One triumphant sentence, to all of those nearby dragons: « I can see them very well from here! » He's triumphant, and W'chek is doing his best not to look like he's sulking, because there's no shiny dragon to hide behind now.

What? Can't help that the brightly-scarved Jathi is nothing, if not silent at the moment. Patting K'ndro on the shoulder as he wanders off to get down to talking to his messy-muzzled bronze, she moves in closer to the fence, perching a boot on the lowest rung and resting her arms on a higher one. Rasiyoth's staring hard at the other dragons that have made their kills, studying them and how they eat - even Zhikath's shiny butt in the air. Hunter's got a biiig butt.

For the remainder of the exercise, C'sel remains a stalwart, mostly silent but supportive presence with those ginger tabs at the ready should anyone else develope a case of swimming stomach. Corvinth? Oh he's just enjoying it all way too much and he continues to encourage or instigate as the case may be, with some nudging from Cas to cease and desist at key points.

B'tal glances at C'sel and the candy for a confused moment before he pulls off a glove to take it. Best not to drop it in the snow. "Thanks," he says, then moves somewhere away from the fence. He doesn't really want to watch anymore. At some point he probably even pops it into his mouth since he manages not to throw up, back turned to the pen. Jeibeth doesn't seem all that worried about her lifemate's discomfort. She's too busy being particular about how she eats her beast. Soft stuff first since the rest is kind of stringy anyway.

"Yeah, whatever you say Wittykins." A'son answers smoothly, "Calm down." He turns away to watch Zhikath glide off into the air. Which makes it easier for him to notice that Ajatha has come along to the fence, perhaps replacing the spot where B'tal was earlier. Since he doesn't have to yell and get her attention, he says in a lower voice to the blonde, "Rasiyoth should get himself all ready. Because once Zhikath is done you two are going to be up." His fingers dig into the cold wood, and his gaze shifts to Nikoth still out there in the pen playing babysitter.

Zhikath is all caught up in this whole seeing business for a few moments, but then there's business to attend to. He seems to know exactly which one he's going for, a fat and lazy outlier that's already been favoring one leg progressively more with each dragon's approach. When he's upon it, it attempts to bolt, but after just a short distance the bad leg goes and the whole creature goes down, and all Zhikath really has to do is loom threateningly to make that happen. And with one efficient movement, Zhikath has broken its neck. "Faranth, don't talk like that, it makes you sound like--" W'chek shakes his head, shrinks back a little. "A girl or something." He's not even vaguely paying attention to his dragon's achievement, merciful end or not. But while the death was merciful, the part where Zhikath sets about dragging it off, that's not so much something one wants to pay attention to. Then, and only then, does he set about dismembering his kill, hindquarters first. Well out of the way for Rasiyoth.

B'tal ends up crouched down in the snow a little ways away from other people since he went there on purpose. His head rests in his hands and he stays that way for a few long moments before he's gathered himself all up and rises to turn back toward everyone else. His gaze still doesn't shift toward the pen, though, and he doesn't move to join everyone again either. He's good right here, pulling the glove he'd taken off back on and looking at the snow on the ground.

"Rasiyoth's ready," Ajatha assures A'son with a suddenly determined edge to her tone, though she doesn't glance over his way for longer than a beat, the lift of her chin putting her chin back atop her crossed arms with avid attention pain the massacre. - Or the stalking before the kill. Pursing her lips faintly at the manner with which Zhikath brings down the beast, she turns her head to consider Rasiyoth, and once can almost see the words passing between them. Rasiyoth shifts closer and crouches near-but-not-too-near the rail, still staring at the herd without looking at her, his eyes zeroing in on likely targets. Her tone is calm and self-assured, her gaze turning back into the pen. "Rasiyoth. Time to go.. /hunting/." There's an eager lilt to the Southern-cum-Ista drawl, her eyes narrowing with pleasure that is an abrupt spring to attention for the hothouse flower. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, a sudden whomp of air and flying snow - small amount! - denote the brown's skip into the air and gliding over the rail, an act that actually might be imposing, granted it's right over his rider's head. Imposing, that is, for anyone else. It's high enough that she doesn't move. No dallying, no hanging back. He seems to have this one in the column marked 'yay, let's do this!' Landing with a bit of a flare of his wings to steady himself, they fold again, and the big brown sets to stalking. Like.. well, a cat. The 'beasts can tell this is wrong - very wrong, in case the earlier dismantling of their fellows wasn't an indication, and move aside. But once he's selected his choice, he does belly-down in the snow, his eyes keen on one big, -fat- herdbeast. Ambitious. He even has the tip of his tail twitching like a stalking cat, just a hint.

A'son has only one reaction to the weyrling dragon suddenly gliding over his head. So very close to his head, or so it seems. Since it's not /his/ dragon doing the gliding over him bit. Oh right, the reaction. He just about falls off the fence, catching himself and somehow managing to land on both of his feet. He stares not at Rasiyoth, but at Ajatha. "You've got to be kidding me." The bronzerider looks at her, deadpan. Then his eye shift over to the pen. Considering that he is who he is, and not somebody else, him not having a mini-nervous breakdown is probably something of an accomplishment. "Don't let him do that again. That's not really okay."

No, no teeth-removal for W'chek, so A'son is probably safe. He's just going to be scowly over there by himself, while Zhikath methodically renders his herdbeast into a pile of bones and less-pleasant viscera. Not that he isn't enjoying it. "Yeah," says W'chek, almost under his breath. "Good job. But you could have gone for one that wasn't going to do all the work for y--I know it wouldn't have been *logical*, but this supposed to be practice."

"Do we have to stay here till they're done?" B'tal finally speaks up, raising his voice in an attempt for someone to actually notice him and maybe give him an answer. Jeibeth looks up and around toward her lifemate. "No, I'm fine. Just eat," he says softer and presumably in answer to the green.

Twitch, twitch. This way. That way. One can almost see the 'wtf'-ness on the 'beast's face, though that might just be him adopting an 'I can't see you, you can't see me if I don't move' technique. Which proves ineffective, from the manner of staring the brown is doing, moving a little closer, then a little more. By this point, he's gotten close enough to be too close, which sets the herdbeast into 'flee' mode, turning tail and bolting - the brown lifting up and moving him one way, and then the other as the beast breaks into a bawl. Ajatha's mouth purses atop her hands, inching up the fence to lean more on the rails, watching this one intently. Rasiyoth's little trick of overhead flying freaking (He Totally Freaked) out A'son has her sudenly-dark eyes flashing down his way - and she's seriously deadpan as well. Not laughing. Utterly not. "Didn't tell him to." Really. "He'll watch it, next time." Maybe. Turning her eyes back on the stalking, her pursing mouth returns to that expression. "Rasiyoth, quit toying with him. Do it." Bawl. Terror, horror, mortification all in one sound, when the bull finds the big bulk of Rasiyoth before him again, having stayed with him through every feint and bolt he can think of. Belly-down again, the sleek muscles under that banded hide coil as he readies himself for the pounce, his legs poising with one seeming in mid step. There's a spring again, and then the full crashing weight of the young weyrling brown comes down upon the ourcrying bull, the fearful cries for help or mercy turning to agony as something snaps, pops, even crackles, made worse by the fervent, pointless kickings of his legs. A spine, definitely. Maybe a leg. There goes a spleen, we're pretty sure. "Do it!" Pitiful, pitiful sounds pour out, growing louder and louder, until Rasiyoth finally steps to the side and extends his grizzled muzzle down to go for the throat, to rip or tear, severing the windpipe or something to silence the bull. The kicking slows and finally stops. Like a cat with a kill, he takes it by the throat and starts to drag it off to the side - to his lonesome to eat in peace - or pieces. Whichever is messier.

While A'son is rubbing his face and staring at her, he hears B'tal. The green weyrling is a much more acceptable thing to look at than the girl and her crazy brown. "Sure, kid. You can get out of here if you're done. So can the rest of you, unless you want to wat- What the hell." Then there's the noises of utter death and disembowelment from the pen. Even Nikoth is looking a little surprised, in fact? He leaves the pen. Crazy baby dragons. "Actually, class dismissed."

Thankfully, Zhikath is prompt about this eating business. So, soon enough, he's had his fill--which is quite a lot, after all, growing young male and so on--and he makes it over the fence again but with a heavier landing. W'chek is sort of--staring after Rasiyoth. "Wonder which side of the family tree the crazy's on. If it's Iovniath throwing the crazy ones, we're all in trouble." A whole Weyr full of Isforaiths and Rasiyoths... there's a thought. But Zhikath and W'chek, they just walk back to the barracks together, no thought after that for the others.

B'tal doesn't run. But he leaves quickly. And with plenty of distance between himself and anyone else so he doesn't have to worry about silly little things like talking to other people or being noticed. Jeibeth can call him when she wants him again, after all.

Ajatha doesn't go anywhere for a while, as it happens, doesn't even wave after them. Rasiyoth takes ever bit of time he can to eat his fill, and she just circles around the pen closer to keep an eye on him, perching on top of the fence. So it's a little later that she's appearing in the barracks - after a Rasi bath, with all that bit blood splattering on his muzzle as he eats. Bleh. But does she get sick or not? One may never know.

It's entirely possible that A'son may have gotten sick after that last one. And while the weyrlings seem to have all held their stomachs rather well, it may be rumored later that he was sick out in the snow. Or crying. Or laughing. It's hard to tell with him, after all. Either way, he wasn't back in the barracks right away. And when he did appear, he seemed pretty composed. But his nose was red.