Difference between revisions of "Logs:Questions"

Arekoth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

Narrow at first and then widening, this ledge unfurls like a tongue from the mouth of the weyr. Medium to large, it could likely hold one bronze or perhaps two smaller dragons. Unremarkable, the pockmarked surface is smooth in places and ruggedly chipped away in others. Within the holes and crevasses, mold is beginning to grow, safe there from things that scrape over the surface of the rock and showing the rather shadowed nature of this low-set ledge.

To Hraedhyth, Arekoth's almost formal, « Hraedhyth, » comes late in the evening, after the main supper hour. « We're on our ledge. » There's a brief passing-along of imagery, that ledge, the one that is pockmarked, the one that the brown knows the gold and hers know. « Will you come? » almost sounds like H'kon's voice, let alone his words.

To Arekoth, Hraedhyth lacks formality, savage howl whistling past thundering drums, « Arekoth. » Primal joy is felt as she barrels through the air, earthier dragon still sick of the ground after so much time stuck on the sands. « You are? » Mad cackling from her ranks, shocked that he's on his ledge. Shocked! Amusement is snuffed even as flames remain, roused by his, their, request. Drumstrikes are heavy with suspicion, « Why. » With no trace of her own lifemate's awareness.

« Questions. » All Hraedhyth's drums, all her hoards, are left to dissipate on their own. The brown has no imagery for this moment, just a vocal tone that is once again purely his. « Sometimes he gets ones that even I can't answer. » (Arekoth to Hraedhyth)

To Arekoth, Hraedhyth's jaws part in a snarl, hackles raised and ready to deliver what would have been a satisfying blow. Instead, she's held at bay by the smokey, floral scent which has wound its way into their conversation. Finally, « We come. » Stubborn contralto and whispery soprano speak as one.

The promise is acknowledged only with a repeated image of the ledge, and the faintest hint of a winter's cold. On that ledge, Arekoth has gathered himself off into a corner, halfway into his couch, to provide ample landing space, hide shining with fresh oil. H'kon is near him, that little stool, present from Azaylia, a bit back of him, the sleeves of his sweater rolled to his elbows, hands equally shiny, and probably even softened by his recent task. Both are clearly waiting.

Hraedhyth isn't subtle. Period. Even less so about having to drop from the heights above High Reaches Weyr in order to retrieve her rider. It doesn't take long until tawny gold is launching back into the air and landing with a heavy, purposeful WHUMP on their ledge. Her eyes are on both brown and his rider, all too reminiscent of her mood when guarding her eggs. Azaylia hop-slides down from the massive gold, hands smoothing her dress back down with little care thanks to her usual leggings. The goldrider's gaze shifts from Arekoth to H'kon, standing with only a little distance between her and Hraedhyth, and a lot between them. She changes that with a step, and then stops. She tries for a neutral expression, but there's a downwards pull at the edges of her lips, eyes just wide enough for it to be unnatural. She waits.

"Weyrwoman," H'kon greets, stepping forward from his dragon once Azaylia has arrived and seems more or less settled. Arekoth chirrumbles something to the gold with whom he'd shared the sands - if indirectly. Hraedhyth, too, gets a nod, and his, "I appreciate your coming," is said with gaze shifting between both of them. Eyebrows lift faintly. "I will not keep you long. But I would ask after that pendant you found." Pause. "Where it was."

"H'kon." His name carried on a sigh, a wavering breath she only just realizes she's been holding. In the same instance, Hraedhyth sucks in a snort for Arekoth, a contrast to that pleasant greeting earlier. The gold shifts, claws biting into the stone of the ledge while she watches H'kon with a rapid gaze. "...'Course." Not as informal as it sounds, voice only found at the end of a much more diplomatic response. His question prompts a blink that's held for a quick wince until her face is forced back into that tired, not-quite neutrality. It's an excuse for her gaze to drop to the stone beneath her boots, "It was snowing. Badly. I, uhm... tripped." She shuffles forward, leaving it up to the brownrider to get out of her way or not, too focused on remembering. Closer to his weyr now, she stops to let her toes glide over what might be a dip worn into the rock... or her imagination. "Not sure." Her voice is not as resigned as she seems to be, not yet.

H'kon does indeed give Azaylia ample space, keeping more than an arm's length from her, arms crossing over his chest as he watches. "Near the entrance then, somewhere," he muses, expression stoney, even more so than the usual Face. "Outside, though." He looks to where she's walked, thoughtful, falling into that broodiness a moment while his dragon turns an eye on him. It makes, "What brought you to my ledge?" the more sudden.

The toe of Azaylia's boots are scuffed by her probing kicks, head still hanging heavily as she stares straight down. "Kind of. But yes, outside." She murmurs down at her chest, hands still worrying at the sides of her dress. Dark blue is made darker when she wipes her nerves off on the fabric, suddenly rumpled by fingers that grip tightly at his question. "I... had wanted to apologize." The nearby stool earns a glance from beneath her lashes, "Again." Finally lifting her head she aims that miserable look away, only offering H'kon her tense shoulders and stiff back.

"Hm," is all H'kon gives her for the confirmation, his own steps moving on the outskirts of Azaylia's stance once they're resumed, almost circling. "Hm," comes again to her explanation, as his eyes sweep over the area near the entrance to his weyr, glancing up briefly, and then continuing their scan when he sees only the back of her. He moves back around the same circuit he'd started, back toward Arekoth, who is now watching Azaylia with at least a mild interest.

As Arekoth watches hers, Hraedhyth watches his. At each Hm, she answers with an agitated rumble, muzzle twitching as she keeps most of her teeth sheathed. Those that slip free, that always have, can't be helped. Azaylia's hands squeeze once, twice, "So," Confident tone fades as soon as the decision is made, "I'm..." Closing her eyes, she blocks out the sight of Arekoth, second attempt a weak mimic of H'kon's own curt tones. "I apologize." It fits as well as one would expect, shoulders drooping once it's realized. With one last wince she opens her eyes and turns to look at the brownrider, fingers abandon the dress to splay expectantly near her hips. "Is there..? Do you need anything else?" Voice is flat, lacking a hopeful lilt for either staying or going.

If Hraedhyth earns herself a glance, it is not a worried one. Maybe so much time near her has made him more attuned. Maybe, he sees no need to worry until those teeth are as near as they were once before. "And I do not know what it is you've done that needs apologising to me." He takes another step back, nearer his dragon. Her question brings a faint lilt to his head, off to tone side, the shadow, only, of a negating shake. "I would ask the same of you," is forced, comes only once he's etched a frown and forced his head to lift into some mockery of a proud look. "With all that has been disclosed of late."

Azaylia's uneasy look narrows into something sharper, Hraedhyth's suspicion shining through at H'kon's words. It doesn't linger, quickly replaced by guilt that seems all too fresh for what she has to say. "For not listening when you tried to warn me about... Aishani." It takes far too long for her to find a distant, polite tone for the Acting Weyrwoman's name. "For... h-hitting you." She sounds a few breaths away from being sick, again. With a swallow and a sharp sniff, "I don't know. I don't deserve--" No, she won't even burden him with that, "I don't know." Simply said.

"Hm," is given again. H'kon's weight rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels, back to readiness again. "So now she has a name," H'kon decides after an uncomfortable bit of quiet, of looking to the stone just before the goldrider's feet. "And it is not a name of High Reaches." The darkness in his tone will stand in for other words to describe his fears or suspicions. He jerks his head to the side opposite that to which it had lilted moments earlier, peering sharply now past the edge of the ledge. "Azaylia is." It's said with a shrug, and all at once he's drawn up, more formal. "I am grateful for your answering my questions."

The weyrwoman doesn't look to interrupt that quiet, discomfort accepted either out of patience or penance. It's only when he speaks that Azaylia realizes she's been staring at H'kon, through him, her own dark thoughts having stolen her away. For his matching mood, "My fault." The rest, along with her jerky motions, has surprise flashing in her gaze, pushed away after his shrug. "It is." She insists, blurted words losing none of that conviction. Embarrassment weakens her resolve, "A-and if it's not? It will be." That she can promise. Finally her gaze drops to the stone between them, "You're welcome." Hraedhyth's focus shifts to her rider, the woman turning to return to her gold with unhurried steps.

H'kon watches the goldrider carefully as she sets toward her dragon, pivoting slowly to keep fully faced to her. It's when she's gone about halfway that he offers, "I too went to her once. As a loyal rider should." The following, "Awareness is a strange thing," is softer, more to himself. And he will most assuredly wait, facing her, until Azaylia and Hraedhyth have taken their leave of his ledge.

His addition doesn't keep Azaylia from climbing up, taking longer with only bunched muscles beneath hide and ridges to guide her. She pauses, pose awkward as a stray thought interrupts a swinging, straddling leg. Dropping down heavily, "H'kon is too, you know." To late to be profound, a smile tugs at her lips for a split second, "A name of High Reaches." Hraedhyth lurches off of the ledge with little warning, bone clubs spread and slowing her bulk into an easy glide down towards their ledge. Their harmony reaches out to Arekoth and his rider one last time, « Good night. »

With such a departure, likely they won't see the press of his lips together. They're gone by the time H'kon has closed his eyes, and stepped the remaining distance to Arekoth, where his hand presses against brown hide as Arekoth returns the wish of, « Good night, » to Hraedhyth and hers.