Difference between revisions of "Logs:Fatherly Concern"

Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.
Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.

Lythronath has once again descended upon the hatching sands, in a way that is becoming habitual, and perhaps even comforting and cozy, in that bronze's lizard brain. It might explain A'rist's relatively easy stride, at least, even while watching his dragon drop down. That ease fades, though, when H'vier is spotted. It's overtaken by purpose, a determined look that carries all the way into his boots, as the younger bronzerider starts across the bowl at a jog. He closes on H'vier promptly, but stops short of complete rudeness, remaining a few steps back, waiting to be recognised, with his breath condensing into little cloudy puffs in the failing daylight.

Reisoth has surely noticed Lythronath's interest in the hatching sands but, as of yet, he's made no comment or complaint. There are no eggs there, so there's no reason for him to be protective of them. H'vier is not always quite so observant as his lifemate, but he does notice A'rist when the younger man comes near enough to make it obvious that it is, indeed, the wingleader he's focused on. "Bored with your wing already?" he prompts, steps coming to a halt so he can turn and face the other bronzerider.

The curl of A'rist's lip might have pretended to be an appreciative smile, at its initiation. It doesn't quite grow enough, though it does come with a, "Hah," that seems designed for civility, perhaps even humour. "No," is there for good measure, afterwards. Then, a glance around the bowl, to triangulate H'vier's apparent direction, or look for anything else he might be doing. A'rist shoves his hands into the pockets of his riding jacket, and thereafter, with an upward nod of his head: "You got a minute?"

"Good," says H'vier, glancing in the direction he'd been headed toward the inner caverns. His gaze returns to the younger bronzerider after a moment, though, and a small, amiable nod is offered. "Sure. What's up?"

A'rist's quick nod is the launch. "You've heard everyone talking about what's gonna happen to this clutch? Quinlys is mad. Maybe that goldrider even told you her plans, I dunno. Niahvth said something to Lythronath... 'bout part of it going back to Igen, but after weyrlinghood?" Just in case H'vier hasn't heard, though the explanatory bit is hurried through.

"I've... heard," is H'vier's answer. It's maybe just a little bit suspicious, but certainly not dismissive. "What about it?" As yet his own opinion is purposefully difficult to read, but he seems, maybe for the first time ever, interested in what A'rist has to say.

"What's your take on it?" asks A'rist the Grown-Up.

Interest gone, H'vier frowns at the younger man. "It's not going to happen." There's something to be said for confidence, anyway.

A'rist pushes his hands deeper into his pockets, the jacket, which is open, pushed straight out on either side of him. He rocks on his heels, but looks thoughtful. "Not at all? Not any of them?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it." H'vier considers A'rist as though he's not sure he trusts him. But he doesn't trust many people, so that's not really very unusual. "What do you want? I can't imagine you were just making sure I was kept in the loop."

A'rist might give himself away a little, in the sidelong look toward the hatching cavern, to Lythronath. "What are your reasons?" It might, in its own way, be an answer to the question H'vier's only just put to him. It's certainly not asked in a cryptic tone at all. "And what do you think you might do about it?"

"My reasons? For what? For not wanting my dragon's progeny shipped off to another Weyr?" The tone of his voice suggests H'vier thinks that's a foolish question for him to have to answer. "I'll do what needs to be done. And you can tell that to K'del." Who A'rist is obviously here scouting for. Because H'vier is slightly paranoid sometimes.

A'rist rolls his eyes, at the mention of the weyrleader, with no attempt at hiding it. "So you're worried about the dragons, more." It makes him nod. "What needs to be done," is softer, said almost drolly. "Anything else I should know?" Now, the look to the hatching sands, to Lythronath, is quite deliberate. "'Cause he's not like other dragons."

H'vier glances toward the hatching sands, then back to the younger man. "How is that helpful to me?" he asks outright, probably for more than just the actual answer.

A'rist gives no hesitation in admitting, "Dunno yet." He shrugs. "We just got back. Don't have lots to go on. Doesn't seem like you've got ideas yet, either. But we were in your wing for turns." He probes at a tooth with his tongue, flaps his jacket slightly, with a little swing of his arms, outside, then in, hands still in pockets. "And we're 'Reaches. Lythronath's pretty clear on that."

The larger bronzerider doesn't comment directly on his apparent lack of ideas, but he says, "If he Searches, make sure you aren't giving knots to anyone who will be willing to transfer. I only want people who will refuse to go to Igen on the Sands when the time comes." If H'vier has any other ideas, they aren't freely shared just now.

A'rist looks at H'vier, an assessing look, his jaw moving faintly as his tongue keeps on checking out the backs of his teeth behind closed lips. "Hm." It's not a commitment, either way. A nod follows, once whatever it was he was processing seems to have worked through at least its initial stage. And he takes a step back, and gestures toward the caverns, as if giving the older rider permission to carry on.

The sound H'vier makes is sort of a rumble, but most of it is lost on the open air. His attention turns away from the younger bronzerider, though, and he continues on his way without another word. There are certainly more important things to do than be agitated by ex wingriders.