Difference between revisions of "Logs:Of Men, Of Bronzeriders"

Your location's current time: 16:24 on day 31, month 7, Turn 51, of the Tenth Pass. It is a summer afternoon.

Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr

High in the bowl, Ulfianth rises up into the sky from Ulfianth's ledge, high on the western bowl wall. High in the bowl, Ulfianth glides downward in the bowl, towards the western wall. Above the bowl, to the west, Ulfianth glides to a swift landing on the ground.

M'rek has arrived.

Satiet sits near the edge of the lake, rolling up the bottom of her pants with careful precision, feet bare. Placed near her hip is a large woven basket of dirty clothing, delicates in blues and pinks capping off the top. After her pants, then comes her arms, the sleeves of the sweater pushed up in little rolls. The high mountain sun casts its summer glow against the bowl walls and reflects across the lake, and tipping her head back, the dark-haired girl catches what little warmth she can along her face and neck. "Jays, colder than home here." A shadowed look is cast towards the waters, the girl's expression hovering between disdain and a small sliver of excitement. "Shouldn't expect the water to be much warmer, I suppose."

M'rek swaggers a little as he makes his way towards the waters of the lake, it's either a natural roll to his walk or he's been drinking. The smell of him would indicate it's the later, for the bronzerider is like something scraped off the floor of a pub walking and then there's the dirt that's crusted to part of his face and over his clothes. For some reason or another, not likely any that make sense, M'rek makes it to the lake, wades in to the mid point on his calves and then leans over and starts to splash water up to his head, cleansing his face. Either it's not that cold, or he's such a state not to notice for he doesn't shiver at any point during the action. Finally, he reaches a point where he runs a hand over his head, fingers touching carefully as if checking for wounds, "Faranth but I didn't expect that lad to have such a tempe...oh." He stops as speaking to himself (or maybe his dragon) as he takes in Satiet. "Hello to you, Lass."

M'rek Tall and broad shouldered, M'rek is impressive of form. The pale skin of his face is marked with a long healed scar that snakes down his left cheek for at least two inches. Other than the mark, his features are attractive enough if on the rugged side of handsome. His eyes are a dark and moody black that seems to spark all the more for their shadows. This twenty-six turns old male has had all of his hair shaved off, leaving him smoothly bald. His eyebrows are jet black, so possibly that was the color of his hair. The clean look of his pate is an interesting look for the man and calls more attention to the intensity of his eyes.

M'rek wears a dark blue shirt, dark wherhide breeches and boots of black. The belt around his waist holds a large knife and is fastened with a belt buckle in the shape of a dragon. There is a High Reaches Weyr rider's knot on his shoulder.

She's not so uninitiated in the ways of the Weyr, if new herself to one, to take in the smell and recognize it for what it is. The pointed nose twitches, a subtle shift of her seated stance directing her toes and body in the other direction. One side of her face however, the one most visible from the lake, is strained with the attempts to keep the unkempt man within sight - either to flee at the first sight of untowardness or out of curiosity remains to be seen. A hand snakes out to draw the basket of laundry back to her side, and in one fluid motion, Satiet gets to her feet, and makes her own way to the lake. It's mid-toedip that M'rek's greeting calls out, and a half beat later for her to realize she's the one being spoken to. Hints of snottiness escape in small slivers, only held back by the polite demeanor that masks her expression. "I have a name." Cool blue eyes skip across the man's features and appearance, dwelling briefly on the knot. "Sir. I half expect that most people would have a temper if you presented yourself in such a condition to them. Least that's what my mother taught me."

M'rek raises his eyebrows as he watches Satient while she speaks. Her first remark sends one side of his mouth curling up in bemusement and the second brings out a short bark of laughter before he leans over again, cupping his hands into the water and then bringing it up to pour over his shaved head. Then, that head is turned to rub the water from his eyes and onto the sleeve of his jacket. Another look is given the addressed lass and M'rek laughs, but while he seems humorous enough there's a haunted quality to his eyes that lingers stubbornly. "Aye. Most people do have a name. Unless they're working on not having a name. Mine would be M'rek." Spoken as if it doesn't matter to him that she didn't ask for the name. Next, his smile broadens a bit, "If I had your name, I could make an effort to use it. And. Aye. Most people do have a temper when I present myself as such. Which would be why I'm here at the lake getting cleaned up before I report. Of course. Most people have a temper when presented with me anyway. So. What does it matter if I'm either muddy. Or just wet. Or even drunker than Faranth's own after a two day's fall?"

"Dragons don't get drunk, do they?" Of course she'd latch onto that last question rather than addressing anything else first. Satiet's eyes narrow thoughtfully at the bronzerider's expression, before a few blinks brings them back to a more normal set. After she skips her toes across the top, the water rippling in the wake of her movements, she wades out to ankle deep, close enough to be able to prop the basket back along the water's edge. "You may call me Satiet. I prefer it to lass, my parents thought quite hard about my name, and decided it so, and it'd be best if it were used, don't you think? A pity to waste a good name like that. Just like it's a pity to waste good liquor when you're already drunk. No taste to it." Curiosity lingers in her pale gaze, and as she leans across to tap fingers along the top of the clothing, her question is voiced, marked with a cultivated lack of interest. "Perhaps it's your looks that bring out the best in people's tempers." A handful of underclothing is picked up and handled with idle contempt, "It's the image you present that matters more, I'd imagine, and you're doing no one a service if you come out like that." When she looks up, her lips curve into a sardonic smile, "I don't know you and with the way you look now?" Askance draws the brows upward, "I'd be hard pressed to waste my time speaking with you." - "Sir."

M'rek laughs and starts to thump his hands over his riding jacket to loosen any mud that's dry enough to flake off. "Faranth's own meaning her rider, not that it matters as I was just spouting nonsense anyway. As I tend to do. Ask anyone." He gives a rakish half smile and then wades back up to shore in a slow walk that could be designed to keep her from bolting if she's the type to scare easy. "Satiet. I imagine I could use it then. If only because it means so much to your parents." As if he knew them from any other stranger. "Is it a waste? Only if it's very good liquor. Should have something to push you over into that sweet blackness, after all, anything worth doing is worth doing all the way. Though. Clearly, I didn't make it all the way tonight. But. Only because of the tantilizing distraction of a brawl." He reaches up and touches two splayed fingers experimentally over different portions of his face. "Not even a black eye. There's going to disappointment over that no doubt." But as to who would be disappointed..anyone's guess from the man's comment. "Aye. Could very well be my looks. Though. My bet would be that it's my 'disrespectful nature.'" Spoken as if that label has been one he's heard applied to himself more times than he can count. "Am I doing no service?" He laughs now, and there's some kind of knowledge in his look, "You'd maybe be surprised what the service of me and my attitude was. Then again. Maybe you wouldn't. No telling with someone I've only just met." Her final remarks has him laughing once more, "Aye. And what's more. There's many who would be quick to tell you to keep from wasting your time speaking to me." He frowns then, "Could cost you dearly."

"Cost me?" Interest piqued, the struggle to keep up her disinterested facade becoming apparent, Satiet glances back at the bronzerider. "I doubt it'd cost me much to waste my time with you. My time, apparently, is the Weyr's to decide what to do. If Kari..." Her words stop abruptly and she shakes her head. Voice kept intentionally light, she comments, "You amuse me enough, for now. Whether it should cost me to waste my time with you, remains to be seen, don't you think?" Dark lashes brush across her lower eyelid as she peers down, readying herself to crouch into the water and begin washing the clothing in her hands. "I could think of far better ways to sleep off a hangover, but I suppose someone of your temperament -would- prefer a good brawl over anything else." The underthings are dropped to float along the top of the water, the coloring darkening in the places that are getting wet, and she straightens, offering M'rek a beautific smile in the process. At her sides, the now empty hands clench reflexively in loosely held fists. "If you're worried about disappointing people, or a person, or anyone in general, I could help you remedy the lack of a black eye. It really wouldn't do to disappoint people who are counting on you. And my brothers taught me well enough."

There's a shrugging of the bronzerider's broad shoulders then, as if he's trying to erase his last words, or at least to make them into something lighter than they really are to him. M'rek flashes a smile, as if that will dissolve the whisper of menace in regards to speaking with him and he drawls out the next words lightly, "Likely won't cost you anything but wear and tear to your ears, for I can talk when I've a mind to. And when I've a mind not to as well. I'm rare short on words." He steps free of the water and then moves his neck to stretch it before he relaxes his shoulders back once more and adopts a casual looking stance. "Aye. I would prefer a good brawl to most anything else." A half smile covers his mouth and then he regards her with greater interest of his own, life coming into his eyes as he chuckles lightly, regarding first that striking smile of hers and then the clenching of her fists. "Now then. That's quite promising. But then it would likely come around to me brawling with a candidate and that wouldn't do either of us any good. Even if it was just you doing me a favor. All things in my life have a way of being as the snowball rolling down hill, and it's not usual for people to ask for an explanation first before the punishment is handed out. Unless of course you're looking for a quick trip home?" He pauses for air and then asks another question, "Kari. Psamanth's Karimina?"

Aislinn has arrived.

Two people are in the waters, the slighter of the pair ankle-deep in the water with a basket of laundry close by. Satiet keeps one eye on the clothing and the other half of her attention on M'rek. The smile on her face warms up, almost touching her eyes in genuinity. "I can listen. I can talk as well. Though talking is overrated, at times." Her eyes slide from the various features on his face finally to the long scar down his cheek. "I'll let you go this time, but I don't forget too easily." Crouching once again, water lapping against the rolled up hem of her pants, she begins to swish the clothing vigorously, reaching out for a small tub within her basket of sweetened sandstone. "Brawling's only disallowed if anyone finds out, and unless you want to tell people you got hit by a girl, I'm sure no one has to know. If a lack of a black eye disappoints people, a black eye given by a girl, I'm sure, will just make you that much more esteemable in people's eyes." Her motions pause for a second, resuming as she speaks, "Yes, Karimina. Psamanth and Karimina."

M'rek is only ankle deep in the water now as he speaks with Satiet, his face drying out in the breeze and the rays of the sun, "Aye. Well. Maybe when I know you better." He responds in a more serious manner than he's adopted so far and then he gives himself a shake, "I either wasn't drunk enough, or I got too much adrenaline in the brawl and wasted all that lovely ale." He truly sounds disappointed in this, as if for him getting tanked was an art form. "Wouldn't be the first time a female's left a mark on my face, temporary or permanent." There's a shrug that goes with this statement and then he moves on as if he's talking about the weather, "I suppose I can survive one night off without rolling in with a black eye. Day's not over yet, after all. Maybe what's coming to me just hasn't arrived as of yet. I know Kari, we stood together. Been a candidate long then?" As if the idea that search is on hasn't been foremost in his mind of late and he seems to be trying to rectify that. "I don't know many of the candidates yet."

Tobias has arrived.

Aislinn strolls along the lake shore, and sits in the sand. She scrubs some cool water onto her face, and sighs with relief. Ais rubs her sore ankles, and her shoulders after that. Hearing something about a black eye, she looks up to see M'rek and Satiet. Too far away to see knots, she says just loud enough so they can hear, "Reaches' duties." She scoots hardly any closer, wiggling her fingers at them. Back to the sand. Ais wiggles her toes around in it, and starts to make little sand mounds.

In the sky directly above, Cibeth springs powerfully into the sky from Cibeth's ledge, low on the Eastern bowl wall. In the sky directly above, Cibeth closes her wings and dives into the lake with a splash! Above the bowl, to the west, Ulfianth rises up into the sky from the ground below. Above the bowl, to the west, Ulfianth turns, flying east. In the sky directly above, Ulfianth closes his wings and dives into the lake with a splash! In the lake, Cibeth warbles with delight having beaten the bigger bronze in the race to the lake.

"She searched me a sevenday or so ago, Psamanth did. Karimina neglected to mention all that candidacy entails and somehow, the Teaching Songs skip over that part." A lock of hair that falls over her eyes is pushed away with impatience, tucked behind her ear. "You stood with her, and impressed together? How does your dragon take to drinking your guts out so often then? And," a small smile plays on her lips, the look she shoots M'rek amused, "How did you stand candidacy and weyrlinghood without getting yourself sent home so early? You seem the type to attract trouble like that." A finger snap accompanies her last words. Shading her eyes from the afternoon sun, Aislinn is hailed with a lift of her free hand, "Tillek's duties back. Reaches as well, I suppose." - "You know me now, I'd say you know enough." That was Satiet, yes.

Tobias walks in from the bowl, his hands casually stuffed in his pockets. He flicks his glance up every now and again, taking in his surroundings. He doesn't even notice that anyone else is there, so he keeps walking, eventually starting to whistle a tuneless thing. Tobi adds a little skip to his step, and slows down some to examine the water.

M'rek turns his head a little and nods to Aislinn in greeting with a uptake of his head before he waves a hand as well. There's another nod then, this one of understanding at Satiet's words, "Aye. I think they like to leave out the part about back breaking labor and not being able to get drunk every day. It's kind of a sneaky thing." As if M'rek were hoodwinked himself one way or another. Still, his eyes track the flight of a summer hued dragon as it glides across the bowl and then dips into the lake, riding straps and all. The bronzerider curses, half under his breath and then says outloud, "Water can be rough on leather. Anyway." He moves his eyes back to Aislinn and then the closer Satiet, "Congratulations for the search, regardless of how much was left out about it. Aye. Kari and I stood and impressed both. Lord Ulf doesn't generally approve, but we agree to disagree on the matter of my drinking. And the past couple of weeks he's been more than understanding about it, all things considered." The laugh that comes now is genuine, "I'm particularly sneaky. That's how. That and people can't bust you when you catch them at trouble as well. Not that I'm encouraging anything, A'course." Oh no, not M'rek. Then. "Oh. So knowing the one is knowing them all?" Perhaps a deliberate misunderstanding for the sparkle to his eyes before the bronzerider is nodding his head to Tobias in greeting.

Aislinn looks over at the two conversing, and nods to them each. "Nice day, isn't it? I think so." She listens, and then grins at the mention of search. "Thanks-oh...wait, you were searched, too?" Of course that question was directed at Satiet. "I'm Aislinn, by the way. I've been searched about a sevenday ago I think." Ais examines the dragons diving into the lake with an amused grin. "I do hope they don't hit their heads on anything. That would be horrible." She, too, nods a greeting to Tobias. "Hello there."

"Something like that." Satiet's not about to correct the misunderstanding, perhaps the twitch of her lips indicating she understands the deliberate intent of M'rek's comment as well as the (un)intended advice. "I'll keep the congratulations close to heart when I'm out mucking stables. Some of the unluckies get to do that today. I've heard dragon mucking is just as bad so I suppose it's good enough training." Her voice trails of dubiously, attention refocusing on the laundry and watching the mill of people coming in and out. "It'll be hard to punch you now and not get sent home anyway. People like you usually find something else to occupy themselves or their bruises." Aislinn receives a nod and another soapsudded wave, "Satiet. And see, you're meeting us in droves now, M'rek. Sir. He was worried he wouldn't meet enough of us candidates." So putting words in other people's mouth isn't always polite, but the smile she offers Aislinn is wide and openly frank.

Ulfianth wades out of the lake, dripping. Ulfianth has arrived.

Tobias scratches the back of his head, and looks up as he's spoken to, only barely catching that nod from M'rek. "Greetings, everyone." A nod in turn for each, and he turns so he can face them, sometimes glancing back down at the water. "How are all of you doing today?" Tobi spies the basket of clothing that Satiet holds. "Hmm...laundry. Forgot to do that today. Oh well." He shrugs, and raises a corner of his mouth.

Aislinn eeps as the brown on her shoulder wakes up squawking and scratching. "Food! Okay!" She stands up, and stops the firelizard from going into a complete frenzy by stuffing a meatroll in his mouth. "Sheesh. Um...sorry about Torchwing, he's a feisty little bug." She grins broadly at Satiet. "Congratulations on search! Satiet, was it? Sorry, I've forgotten the name already. And you are, sir?" Too bad. Ais didn't catch his name the first time. She only smiles and nods Tobias' way before returning her focus back to the others.

"Aye. It's quite the nice day." If Aislinn gets close enough, she might notice that M'rek smells strongly of alcohol, and looks like he's been out for a really long day, maybe even the bronzerider's just recently getting home from the day before. He chuckles lightly, "Two candidates then. Already doubling my pool of knowledge in that regard. I'm M'rek. Nice to meet you Aislinn. Not to worry about Lord Ulf's head, it's as hard as they come." He seems amused by the flow of banter between he and Satiet and he says, "Sometimes you can swap chores. But Aye. If you impress, there's mucking enough, though only for awhile and most are too besotted to care." The rider pats his jacket down and then pulls a flask out from an inner pocket as he continues to speak, "Aye. People like me are always finding something to occupy themselves, be it meddling with sharding Lord Holders or hoisting one pint too many." The bronze dragon that has claimed this most unlikely of riders as his shakes the water from his hide a respectful distance away and then lumbers over closer to the people in a slow manner that manages to look latent rather than lazy. M'rek raises an eyebrow at the dragon and then drinks from his flask before he says, "I'm well myself, thanks Lad."

"Thanks, Aislinn was it?" Back to work, Satiet's tongue clucks disapprovingly at the usage of 'lad,' much in the same way her nose wrinkled at being called lass. "Double your knowledge, double your chances to place bets I'm sure." The basket is indicated with a jerk of her chin, "You should use some of that sweetsand to cover up your smell if you mean to report soon. Smelling good will probably win you points, or at least throw the other person off skelter for a little while. Mind the clothes. Don't need anyone to think I'm drinking when I'm not. Yet." The dragon that dips into the water is given closer scrutiny after M'rek's words, a sudden enlightenment dawning in her cool eyes. Tobias is given a quick look and a careful nod, "Well enough. Water's warmer than it looks if you're thinking of joining me in laundry."

Tobias kicks at some sand, not at all in the direction of the others, and lets out a light chuckle at the comments on M'rek's alcohol smell. He looks up when spoken to again, and hmms thoughtfully. "Well, I didn't brink my laundry with me...but...I could help you with what you had if you want some weight off of your shoulders. I wouldn't mind helping." Tobi walks closer, examining what she has left in the basket. "Would you like to split what's in there?"

M'rek laughs a bit and drinks once more from his flask before he reseals it and tucks it away. Wading back into the water the bald bronzerider does help himself to a handful of sweetsand and bends over the water, rubbing the grains between his hands as he lathers up. The suds are rubbed over forearms and then over his head and at his face and neck. "I suppose I could get the worst of it off. Not that I want it thought that I don't need a day to sleep it off. There's a careful balance to be maintained with these things. To be drunk enough, and yet not so drunk that the Weyrleader worries I really have lost my mind. Even if I very well have." M'rek seems to do most things with a running commentary. "Bets. Aye. Very useful things, as long as you win. Betting on candidates is generally not a sure thing. Still. Maybe I'll give it a go this time around." He uses more water to rinse off the suds, hiding a sly sort of smile as Tobias offers to help Satiet with her chores. He almost seems ready to laugh outloud when he suddenly straightens and throws a look over his shoulder at his dragon. The large beast has seated himself at the edge of the water and is giving a disapproving sort of look at the small gathering of people. M'rek chortles and looks Ulfianth over closely before he glances back to Satiet and Tobias, eyes bright with curiousity.

"Just be mindful of the undergarments. I know most girls prefer them not to be touched by male hands." Satiet smirks and nudges the basket over with a small push. "There's sweaters in there that you have to be sure not to stretch. Otherwise the owners'll have to gain a few pounds to look good in them. If they even looked good before," she adds under her breath. Throughout, she keeps a gauge on M'rek's commentary and reactions, as well as those of his dragons, watching the man lather up. The corners of her lips tug down into an expression of careful study, the decision to speak finally made in regards to one particular comment. Matter-of-factly she begins, "Nothing's ever a sure thing unless you carry a big stick and make it so. And even then, luck and chance will have its way with you I'm sure." A shrug ripples the fabric of her clothing, lips curved into a slow, half-smile. "Bet on me, I dare you."

Tobias nods, and avoids all undergarments in the basket by way of warning. He takes a few of the sweaters, and then anything else he can find to even out his load with hers. Sighing, he gets to work, scrubbing, rubbing, rinsing. Looking up at Satiet from his crouching position, he smirks. "Well, now it'll get done faster, no?" A curious tip of the head in M'rek's direction, Tobi frowns. "Is everything okay over there? You're lookin' at me funny."

Ulfianth closes his inner lids over his eyes and arches his great head forward as he regards first the candidate, Satiet, and then the young man, Tobias. There is a disdainful snort from the haughty looking bronze and then he yawns hugely and starts to regard one of his foreclaws as if it were the most fascinating thing in his whole world. M'rek remains quiet a moment, or perhaps it's only that the dialogue he's engaged in now can only be heard by he and the regal Ulfianth until he suddenly answers Tobias, "Am I, Lad? Aye. I might well be. Lord Ulf thinks you should stand for the eggs, but he's not generally much of one to take an insterest in the affairs of humans. Be that as it may, you might want to still consider the standing. All hard work and discomfort aside, it's an interesting thing to do with yourself for some months." A little more water takes the last of the suds off the bronzerider's head and then he looks at Satiet with something of a deeply intense look, "Aye. I know more about things not being sure than I wish I did. Many a candidate doesn't even make it to the final test." He doesn't really even seem to be speaking about weyr candidates, and yet, he could very well be for the way the words are couched. "I can carry a big stick. Aye. That I can when there's no other way, but I prefer..well. It doesn't matter how I prefer matters to be handled. They are as they are." Now he surely does speak to impression for he goes on with, "Not that a stick would be any help on the sands. Aye. Luck and chance. Well. Those things will have their way. Still. It doesn't hurt to have long ears and the wit to use what you know. Bet on you? I think I will." Yet, he doesn't say in which fashion the bet will be made.

"He looks at everyone funny from what I gather. It's just the way he looks." The reproof in Satiet's intonation fades out as M'rek makes his offer, her blue gaze darting to take in Tobias again, reassessing the boy. "I'd tell you not to accept, but I doubt it'd do much good in the long run. And only pansies don't accept just for fear of hard work. Though, if you like to drink and make merry, perhaps it's better." Her advise is teasing, but the pull on her cheeks is strained by the quirking of her lips this way and that. "Big sticks are figurative, bronzerider. You could easily just beat someone over the head with the words you're so fond of saying aloud, than a tangible plank of wood." From her crouched position, she gathers up the articles of clothing being washed and sets them into a clear compartment along one side of the basket. Thus straightened she levels the rider an incautious stare, misunderstanding the subject of M'rek's initial words, "You do that, I don't plan on not making it to the final test. That, at least, I can assure."

Tobias shakes out the shirt he was washing as he nods to M'rek. "Yes, sir, you were." He nearly falls over at the offer, slipping on something as he fidgets. Catching himself, he straightens up, and raises a corner of his mouth. "I accept your offer. Um...Lord Ulf. And M'rek." He winks over at Satiet. "Drinking and making merry aren't always that fun for me. Plus, you're right. Only pansies pass this kind of thing up." Tobi falls silent again, and keeps washing the clothes, a very broad grin being worn on his face. "Brilliant."

M'rek gives Satiet a close look of his own and then he nods his head and laughs dryly, "Aye. Well said, Satiet. Words can be such weapons in some hands." Spoken as if he knows this far too well. "Words as daggers. Words and daggers. The favorite sport of some, are you Bitran then, Satiet?" His smile is lopsided as he speaks to the girl again, "Good then. Now I'll know which way to bet." Attention shifts to Tobias and the smile on the bronzerider's face changes to something either more warmly felt or less genuine of the man's true emotions. "Good then. Always nice to face fate head on and see what's in store. Could be a lifemate for you, or at the very least, a close up look at the hatching of Lhiannonth's eggs. You can report to the barracks for candidates when you've a mind for it. That'll be your lodging for the duration." He's quiet a moment and could be talking to the searching dragon, but the bronze now seems all engrossed in the worship of his own talons. "Congratulations. I wish you luck." And that's got the ring of truth to it.

Tobias has left.

Satiet's expression changes, the smile she offers Tobias sweetly tempered and verging on wheedling, "Good for you. I'll be sure to remember you're not a pansy. Even write it down somewhere if I can find a slip of hide to waste on that. Do you mind taking care of the rest of this for me? I'll be back, just need to get my feet out of the water for a bit." On cue a knee bends, the girl looking over her shoulder at the bottom of her feet, "Wrinkles. They're getting a fair bit waterlogged, and since you're not a pansy and nice enough to help out, you won't mind would you?" Without awaiting the new candidate's answer, the girl slogs out from the water, feet dancing somewhat along the sandy shores to shake off excess water. "Tillek, sir," she replies archly, the emphasis on the title a combination of sarcastic and amused. "Close enough that it doesn't matter if I wasn't born at the big Hold myself. I'll see you around sometime, M'rek. Hopefully not smelling as horrid next time, and a little less tipsy." She watches Tobias move off, her nose wrinkling, "Or not." Filled with dried clothing and wet, she reaches down to pick up her basket and props it on her hip. "Will have to finish this tomorrow when the sun's at peak again to dry. Afternoon then."

Ulfianth Summer's golden bronze soaks the hide of this young dragon, sharp lines highlighting icy edges and bright expression. Sunlight seems to filter through him from within, illuminating joints and breast, ricocheting off talons' dark gleam and emerging as a shade-dappled pattern on smooth surface. Even a small amount of light pervades lean wingsails, a glow that swirls amidst lighter flecks like stirred sugar. Clearer strains of bronze trace a stubborn maw and even neckridges, and a tart, translucent green forms frayed crescents near long tail and powerful shoulders. The balance is subtle yet striking, cool and crisp against the darker, burnt shades that fade up from tailtip and talons to merge with shimmery warmth. At 3 Turns, 4 months, and 0 days old, Ulfianth is approximately 38 meters in length with a wingspan of 63 meters.

M'rek watches the attempted shuffling off of chore with amusement and yet doesn't get involved. "Tillek? Hmm." A comment that's vague enough before M'rek nods, "Aye. See you around sometime then. Maybe I'll smell better. Like it as not, I'll probably be either drunker or on my way to get so." Still, he chuckles and then he waves to the lass before he turns to regard that dragon of his. "Now then, your Lordship. Let me have a look at those straps."