Difference between revisions of "Logs:Of Searches"

Your location's current time: 15:24 on day 31, month 2, Turn 57, of the Tenth Pass. It is a winter afternoon.

Road Outside Nabol Hold(#814RJ)

In the sky, Vmireth has arrived. In the sky, Vmireth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky, Teonath has arrived. In the sky, Teonath emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky, Vmireth glides down to a gentle landing on the road. In the sky, Vmireth has left.

Vmireth backwings to a landing. Vmireth has arrived.

In the sky, Teonath glides down to a gentle landing on the road. In the sky, Teonath has left.

Teonath backwings to a landing. Teonath has arrived.

Satiet hops down Teonath's side to the ground, using her straps as handholds. Satiet has arrived.

Moll clambers down Vmireth's side to the ground, as the dragon warbles a greeting. Moll has arrived.

Rathin is perched on the steps of one of the Beowin trader wagons set up on the road just outside Nabol Hold; one leg swinging over the edge and the other bent to provide support for the slate he's concentrating on. Occasionally he glances up and towards one of the other wagons, where a loud-voiced figure is bellowing commands to another trader, who seems to be taking it in good spirits. A little smile twists the scruffy-haired young man's lips as he glances back down to the slate, moving the charcoal quickly across the surface.

Just before the arrival of her wingmates, Vmireth's lean cut figure appears from between, poised in the air long enough so that those below can catch a glimpse of her deep-hued hide before slicing cleaning downward towards the road beyond Nabol Hold. Atop, an aging woman yelps, her fingers tightening around the riding straps before one hand frees to wave exuberantly at the ground, "Ahoy! Ahoy!" Cheerful, almost sickeningly so, Moll nudges the beast beneath her legs towards a caravan of trader wagons with another delighted shriek to the air. It's only her looks that betray her age, and with movements as quick as someone decades younger, the greenrider slips off her muscle-knit dragon's neckridges. "Ahoy!" Above, a trio other hued dragons wink into between, spiraling down with marked less enthusiasm.

Teonath, not part of Vmireth's wing, is still a part of this expedition it would seem, though the lissome golden frame is the last to arrive, her large wings casting expansive shadows along the ground. Looking decidedly ill-pleased, and struggling to mask it unsuccessfully, her rider seems resigned to the fate of following in the wake of this detachment and with a physical gesture that's surely reinforced by a mental command, the youngest Reaches queen wings a gentle descent to the ground ahead of Vmireth and her rider. Thin lips indicate further displeasure, and a disdainful arc of her brow follows after blue-clad rider and her approach of the traders. "We're here to see if there's anything worth buying for the Weyr," Satiet reminds and rebukes aloud, "Not personal shopping."

The arrival of a wing of dragons results in a bit of minor chaos; some of the beasts attached to the wagons naturally react rather nervously to the predators swooping down and settling nearby. "Woah there!" The loud-voiced man turns his bellowing from another trader to the beasts, "Get those beasts unhitched and away from here, boys!" A number of the traders scramble towards the beasts - Rathin isn't one of them, but the wagon he's sitting on is jerked around unceremoniously as the beast attached to it begins edging warily back - dumping the scruffy-haired trader and his slate to the ground. "Shard it all," Rathin's muttering, dusting himself off as some of the other traders start leading the animals away towards the safety of the Hold's stables. The loud-voiced man - apparently in charge - quickly steps towards the wing of riders, clearing his throat. "Sorry, sorry, good riders, we've got a few new beasts that haven't adjusted to the presence of dragons yet. You know how it us. I'm Garain, leader of the Beowin traders."

Moll salutes sharply, though that broad grin doesn't vacillate. "High Reaches duties to the Beowins. We'd heard, belatedly," there's some good-natured accusation in her tone that's directed, along with a sharper glance, to their junior queenrider, "That there were traders in the vicinity, and been commissioned to go seek some sturdy furniture and other well-priced goods for our stores." Vmireth scuffs her front paws into the ground and stretches her lean frame to bask in the slightly warmer climes offered by the Nabol valleys. "So," the impish looking older woman leans forward, her arms crossed over her chest, and adds slyly, her brogue thick in the accent of Tillek, "What kinda deals can ya spare us poor riders?"

"Apologies for your beas-," but whatever Satiet means to say is cut of by Moll's brigadooning of the expedition. Her displeasure deepens into a faux slate stiffening of her blue eyes. Behind her, Teonath mirrors her rider's ruffled feathers and rustles the glittering wingsails with a low rumble of admonishment - though for who, it's unclear: Vmireth, Moll, or her rider. When the greenrider finally falls silent to allow her some time to speak, the goldrider's quick to add cool-voiced introductions, "Satiet, Teonath's rider. Moll, the green's. H'lias, the brown there, and Ulyera, the blue's."

Garain spreads his hands, indicating the wagons behind him, "Furniture eh? Half your luck - Beowin trades in some the finest wood creations from Lemos Hold, not to mention exquisite jewellery from the Minecraft. And, of course, the usual supply of clothing and food." He rubs his hands together, giving the group a careful going over, taking note of the various knots gracing the shoulders of the riders. "We've always done our best for High Reaches. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. Feel free to look around," he invites. While Garain is talking, Rathin bends to retrieve his slate, grimacing as he glances at it, attempting to blow dust off it before sighing and slipping it into the pouch hanging off his belt. A few more minutes are spent brushing dust off himself as he eyes Garain and the riders sidelong, before straightening a little, eyes narrowing briefly in recognition as gaze flickers over Satiet. "Oh, ho! Look, the great lady of High Reaches returns!" the trader chortles, not exactly quietly. Garain shoots a glare Rathin's way, before turning back to the riders, tipping his head at the introductions. His voice goes up in volume, as if to drown out any other comments from behind him. "Pleasure to meet you all, riders."

Gay laughter rises throatily from Moll, and while she flashes the leader a coy smile, it's attempts at beguiling are marred by the continual presence of youth's mischief in the swirl of blue-hazel eyes. "H'lias used to be a woodcrafter, apprentice 'fore the dragons took him off and now look at him, riding a brow that looks almost like a wooden statue himself. C'mon," never mind that Satiet seems to be upset with her, she reaches over to manhandle the brownrider to walk with her to observe what goods Garain may show off. "How have the trade routes fared for you now that there's no silver rain mucking up any travel plans?"

If Satiet's eyes hardened at Moll's handy takeover, her shoulders stiffen at the familiar voice. Conspicuously absent is any kind of pink pendant necklace, though the young woman's fingers lift as if to make sure of that fact before pivoting slowly to take in Rathin. "You," she responds distantly. "And here I thought the self-acclaimed 'Scoundrel' of Nabol would have better things to do than actually -work-." This disdain does little to stop her from taking a few steps away from a group she seems to abhor towards the young trader.

It wouldn't be the first time someone's used their talents to attempt to win Garain's attention - which doesn't mean he's immune to it, mind. The loud-voiced leader of the Beowins grins widely, winking at Moll, "This way then, good rider. A woodcrafter, eh? Then you'll be able to tell this lovely lady here what fine works we have within our possession." He leads the two riders towards one of the wagons, where some of his traders are unpacking the goods - mostly chairs, tables of various sizes, and presses. Garain leans in to knock at the lid of one of the presses, "Good work, that. The routes? Oh, the Beowins haven't changed their trading route in the last hundred Turns, don't see much of a need to change now, really." Meanwhile, Rathin strolls not-exactly-casually towards Satiet, eyeing her openly, gaze flickering to her neck. The scruffy-haired trader's looking considerably pleased with himself as he notes the gesture of the woman's fingers. "Some of us, Satiet of High Reaches, have to make a living. We don't have the option of flittering about Pern, picking the hard-earned fruits of someone else's labour." His hand, by no coincidence, flings out to gesture in the general direction of the orchard.

H'lias's own hearty laughter soon joins the echoing end of Moll's and he shakes his head, "Moll, love, it's been turns, and you know it, but let's see here, none in skybroom?" is his first question. "Always on that skybroom," Moll expresses in her exhale, her eyes rolling in further good-natured tease. "I suppose though, it's nice to be caught unawares. Do traders have the same Fall charts as we do? It'd be hard to plot a course without one, I bet." Vmireth stretches her neck further, canting her head from side to side and extending the length of it further forward to sniff with interest at one of the beasts. Lazily called from where Moll is with the brownrider and trader leader is, "S'not food, Vim." The other two riders, Ulyera and another bluerider, him more scamp-wards than respectable, inspect the other wares offered: jewelry.

All Satiet has in response to Rathin's accusation is a simple toss of her loose hair, the raven-locks glinting a sun-induced reddish hue as she does so. One hand finds her hip, her stance casually shifting into one that's unmasked superiority, the other hand rifles through her hair. "Some of us, Rathin of the Beowin, have longer memories than they should. We have good marks to pay for our goods if that's what you fear. Though," she flicks a glance up and down the young trader's frame appraisingly, and continues mildly annoyed, "Somehow I doubt you fear much."

Garain looks momentarily taken aback by H'lias's question, though recovers quickly, "We plan to pick up some on our next swing through Lemos Hold, could have some back here in a few months. If there's something specific you're after, we can pick it up." He lets out a good natured laugh, "Oh, indeed we have the same maps, as well as those from Telgar and Benden's sweep areas. They'll gather dust for a long time to come now, though. JERES!" The bellow comes abruptly towards one of his traders, "Get that beast away!" Garain, though engaged in conversation, glances occasionally in Rathin's way, as if aware of the disposition of the young trader -not- to win friends and influence people. He winces visibly as he sees just who Rathin is standing with. "How is that weyrmate of yours, Satiet of High Reaches?" Nothing in Rathin's tone could be construed as insult; it's simply a genial query. He takes note of one of the dragons sniffing at the beasts, and adds in more conspiratorial tone, "I have fears - for one, that one of your dragons will snap up one of our beasts. Garain'd pitch a fit for a week if one of them got eaten, and he's insufferable as it is. If he gets on a good rant he'll come and wake you up in the night, and I have nightmares about seeing him in his underthings." Rathin's lips curve ever so faintly, shooting a pointed look at Garain, wiggling fingers as if to say 'I've got this under control.'

Rebuked, Vmireth slinks away, though not without one last, very deep and appreciative inhalation of that beast. Instead the bluish-green dragon shifts her focus from the beasts who aren't as much fun, to shaking her wings loose and observing her surroundings further. "Aww, don't worry about her. She's harmless, 'cept when she hasn't eaten in a few days and, well," Moll lifts her face, tilting her head to consider the sky, the sun, and the trader before her, calculating, "Ah, that makes sense then. It's about feeding time. We'll be out of your hair soon, no worries." Waving off Garain's concerns, H'lias inspects a set of chairs. "Do you have any of those looking glasses the Smithcraft produces?" Between all the womenfolk here that are 'in charge,' it actually seems H'lias is the only one who has any clue of what to do.

"Still bronze." Satiet returns, her quip falling into the early cadence typical of easy banters. "High Reaches' dragons wouldn't take what is not theirs." But the sly curve of the goldrider's smile indicates the riders may have proven to be an altogether other story. "And there's little motivation for me to allow something where there'd be no rewards. The fact that you'd have nightmares at seeing Garain in his underthings doesn't allow me the enjoyment of seeing you completely repulsed, trader."

"We'll just get the beast out of your dragon's way, rider," Garain says, his voice largely moderated when talking to his customers, though it's quickly followed by another loud-voiced bellow, "-JERES-!" The trader in question comes at a dead run, quickly unhitching the beast in question with wary glances over his shoulder at the dragons. "Much better," Garain says, satisfied, before he inclines his head to H'lias. "We keep some packed away, they tend to be more fragile. I can show you if you'd like?" Rathin, for his part, seems mildly amused by Satiet's answer. "Non-committal. I sense trouble with the happy couple." His head tips, attention now focusing fully back on the goldrider. "And what -would- give you enjoyment, Satiet of High Reaches? I can give you a bit of time if you need to compose a sufficiently believable response...?" He half takes a step away, head canted, as if giving her space -and- time. "I'll give you a hint, though: food and jewellery are the opt out standard responses."

Moll's mount looks bemused at the sudden scurry to get the beast out of her way, and with feline-like reflexes, she moves swiftly across the ground, almost gliding to round about Teonath's massive form. An expressive croon is called to the sky, joined by H'lias' brown. "We could use a few more in our stores," Moll agrees with an agreeable bobble of her head, and then bounces on the balls of her feet up and down in further excitement. "Think of one large one in the resident's dorms, and one for my weyr. Perfect. Math won't mind at all. You two," the greenrider rounds to waggle a warning towards blue-green and brown, "Stay out of trouble. Lead on, merry trader man!"

Satiet lifts her chin, the distance allowing her space enough so that she doesn't have to look too far up to seek out Rathin's eyes in a flat look. "And do you plan on teasing me further, trader should I answer true? And if I did, would you even know?" Her lips curl lopsidedly, a smirk that reaches the flatness of her eyes enough to spark life into them: mocking that seems somehow empty. As for the state of her weyrmating, the goldrider betrays little, making no more mention of the subject. "Food and jewelry I have at my finger tips. There's more to happiness than those, /trader/." The emphasis and slant of her face conveys the impression that Rathin's happiness wouldn't hinge on much more than those two subjects.

Garain's kind of watching Vmireth warily, though when she doesn't come nearer the beasts he looks vaguely relieved. "Certainly, certainly. This way." The Beowin trader leads the two riders towards another wagon, stepping in amongst the various boxes before selecting one with a light tap of his knuckles. "This should be it... here," he opens the lid carefully and pulls out some packing material before producing various sizes of looking glasses, laying them carefully on the tops of the nearby boxes. Rathin's eyes follow the green dragon briefly, though are swiftly drawn back to the goldrider, straightening minutely as if to emphasise his height advantage over her. "Ah, that's half the challenge, love. Not knowing truth from falsehood. As for teasing you further, you can almost guarantee it. As you can see, Garain isn't much for verbal debates, so he's not much fun to mock. You, on the other hand," his eyes drift over Satiet's features deliberately, "Are a veritable fertile ground." The omission of a certain subject doesn't go unnoticed, but Rathin nevertheless lets it slip by, instead touching a hand to his chest, just over his heart. "You wound me deeply, great lady. I take it then that my present was gifted by you to a suitable fisherman's wife?"

Unbeknownst to the very mirror-enthralled Moll, Vmireth inches out from the shadow of the much larger gold, taking those very large draconic steps that bring her nearer Satiet and Rathin. The same appreciative sniff that was granted the beast hovers somewhere above the two - it may be Satiet's perfume, or the stench of trader. In any case, pleased with her new position, the green dragon curls up contentedly to provide a nearby wall of a bluish-shade for the pair. "Ah-," Moll exhales, "Absolutely lovely, but these may be far out of our price range. Do you have anything that might be more utilitarian?" H'lias, for his part, is entranced by the frame work that surrounds the mirrors, his fingers tracing the wooden etchings.

Able to keep her cool for the former of Rathin's comments, Satiet's cheeks flush scarlet at the implication of his final query. "My mother always taught me you don't re-gift presents. Even if they're from scoundrels such as yourself. Are you indicative of all traders? And here I always thought they were as charming as harpers, alas, the harper tales must be wrong, painting romantic epics of what simply does not exist." Pale blue eyes shift to take in Garain's extreme lack of romanticism, and then return to alight onto the scruffy younger man with equal askance. Her cheeks, however, are still blushing. Vmireth's approach does little to further disturb the goldrider's already ruffled state.

Garain looks vaguely disappointed, but isn't about to give up yet, "Well, since you're buying -two- I can do you a bit of a deal. Look at the fine workmanship that's been put into these," he holds up one as an example, "This will never fail you. Of course, we have plainer ones," he concedes reluctantly, digging further into the box to produce simplified versions without the additional etchings. Rathin is focused on Satiet, pleased by her reaction, although the nearby movement registers belatedly in his peripheral vision; the scruffy-haired trader glances sidelong, eyeing Vmireth warily as he takes an edgy step away - coincidentally placing Satiet between himself and the dragon before he responds, "Harper's tales are always exaggerations. After all, they paint goldriders as polite, genial, pleasant woman, do they not? Alas, I'm sorry to ruin your world view, my dear," his voice lowers, leaning close to the goldrider's ear murmur, "Harpers -do- lie."

Moll seems reluctant to leave dainty pretties in favor of something more useful, despite her request, and she looks between the two offerings, torn. H'lias decides for her, his lack of indecision crucial to this mission it would seem. "We'll take a large one of the plain ones, and Moll there'll take the smallest of the pretties for her pocket. Girl's as vain as when she was a teenager." Vmireth is placid in her curled up state, though the greenrider seems unaware of the deals brokered before her as her eyes glaze over. "Ah-, ah!" Swiftly, her smile returns and she bobbles her head, enthused. "If H'lias is agreeing to pay, we can get the large one for Sirana and the dorms, and I do want a small one. I haven't had a mirror in my weyr in turns since- well, that's another story for another time, wouldn't you say, handsome trader man?" She's cheerful, but somehow distracted as a look shoots across the way to the green and the couple she stands by. "You'll have to excuse our weyrwoman, Garain. She's... interesting." Funny enough, the greenrider takes the diplomatic way out.

The hand at her hip drops, and once again, Satiet's arms cross over her chest rigidly. The awareness that she's been placed deliberately between Rathin and Vmireth is keen in her eyes, but for once the young woman doesn't rise to bait the trader. "Goldriders are people too. As apparently are traders. Do you ever -bathe-?" Unable to fend off his remarks with a verbal quip, and bristling at the proximity of his words to her ear, the raven-haired girl attempts to shy away from both what he says and how close his lips are to that ear of hers.

"A wonderful decision," Garain enthuses. "A pretty woman like yourself should have pretty things, after all. And I'll give you my best price - two and a half marks for the lot." He glances towards Rathin and Satiet, managing not to wince this time - barely. "Ah, funny that. I was just about to say the same about Rathin there. Tends to get folks riled up, I don't let him talk with customers. Your weyrwoman's not here to buy, is she?" he asks, belatedly, grimacing. Rathin, oblivious to the talk of the riders and the trader's leader, says, "Then it seems we've both been led astray by the harpers." He lets her shy away, and doesn't pursue, rocking briefly back on his heels. At Satiet's question, the trader runs a hand through his hair, dislodging some of the dust of his earlier tumble, grinning wider, almost a smirk. "Frequently. Is that an invitation, Satiet of High Reaches?"

Moll pushes a pouch of marks into H'lias' hands, the brownrider looking startled a beat, before his eyes too glaze a moment and he nods curtly. "It seems we've other business besides the mirrors, but how much can we wrangle for these and for one of yours?" Deliberately cryptic, though not so much so when the greenrider moves away swiftly down the path towards the dragons once more, the brownrider also turns on his charm, having an iota of it it seems, and taps the wagon nearby with the ease of a man with infinite patience. Moll, however, after her initial swiftness slows to a nonchalant gait, coming up behind Rathin with an arm that aims to heartily swing around the young man's neck. "If'n you want to bathe with our weyrwoman," she's obviously heard that last part, "You'll have to first come to the Reaches. What say you?"

"/Moll/!" Aghast, enough to drive Satiet from any semblance of prim and proper to stare at the approaching greenrider, Vmireth's rider's statement is enough for her to forget the impropriety of Rathin's suggestion. Bristling again, she takes a few backward steps and tosses her loose curls, "You forget yourself, greenrider."

"One of... what?" Garain gives a puzzled look in Moll's wake, and looks set to follow the greenrider, though since H'lias is the one with the pouch of marks, he lingers. "I'll just wrap those looking glasses up for you so they'll be safe on the journey back." He takes the selected glasses, packing them away carefully, shooting a worried look in the direction of Rathin and the riders. If Rathin seems disturbed by the sudden appearance and the familiarity of Moll's hand around his neck, he recovers swiftly indeed: the scruffy-haired trader's grinning, looking from Moll in a sidelong glance, to Satiet speculatively, as if considering. "As tempting as the offer is, I believe your weyrwoman has developed a healthy dislike of me. I fear it wouldn't be a pleasant experience for anyone." A pause, then, "Don't think I don't appreciate the offer, however."

Moll seems as pleased with her maneuver as Vmireth is suddenly awake, the triple lids of the bluish-green lifting to give way to a rainbow of multi-colored hues that facet her eyes. "Well, if we can't tempt ya with our pretty ice weyrwoman, how 'bout Standing for those eggs that my cousin's gold's decided to deposit? 'course, H'lias is up there asking if we're allowed, that you won't be missed too much, and course, you'll have to charm Satiet's pants off," the greenrider laughs at that, tacking on a gay, "Literally, though we won't hold you to that promise should you accept. So what say you? Accept and I'll be sure to come by and grab a few more trinkets for myself." Expectantly, the middle-aged woman grins up at the would-be candidate. H'lias, for his part, flashes Garain a quick smile, "Ah, for one of yours. Him," he nods to Rathin, "The one you keep staring after in hopes that he won't completely ruin trader-Weyr relations."

Satiet, with cheeks scarlet again, huffs and turns completely. It's a first, or rarely seen, this moment of complete silence from the weyrwoman. She'll have absolutely no part in this and makes it clear by physically cutting herself off. Still, every so often, a flash of the brilliant blue of her eyes can be glimpsed from behind dark bangs as she glances in supposed nonchalance over her shoulder.

For once, it's Rathin that's completely flabbergasted, opening his mouth and shutting it again as he half turns, trying to eye Moll within the awkward grip she has on him. A moment or more, then, "I'd heard High Reaches had a clutch on the sands." Deliberately non-committal, and he's glancing at Satiet as if to get a measure of her reaction - as much to the offer to stand, as Moll's -other- comments. A faint little grin appears at the darted glances from the goldrider, and the scruffy-haired trader exhales. "How could I possibly pass up a challenge like that? I accept." It's not clear -which- challenge he means, though he possibly means both. "I doubt Garain will miss me all that much." Speaking of the Beowin trader, Garain's finally managing to tear his eyes from the group when H'lias's words sink in. "You want -him-?" The trader leader seems bemused. "Are you sure?" is swiftly followed by, "Take him, please. I could do with the vacation. Oh, and here are your glasses." He offers them up, wrapped in protective hides.

H'lias inclines his head, which then deepens into an actual bow, before he accepts those glasses, offering a handful of marks in exchange. Somehow, he manages the awkward sizes neatly beneath his lanky arm. "We're sure. Or at least Vmireth is. Of course," the brownrider's basso voice deepens in his tease, "If he's too much trouble, we also know where to deposit him. The Beowin traders' route haven't changed in hundreds of turns, eh?" Encumbered by mirrors and pouches of marks, he can't manage a sharp salute, but does turn to make his way back towards the dragons, and the trio of people. Along the way, his 'hoy' calls over the other two riders who just finish their exchanges for various personal wares and hop along after. "/Fan/-sharding-/tastic/!" enthuses the greenrider, her arm retrieved so she can clap excitedly. "You ever been dragon-back? If you haven't this'll be loads of fun, and hopefully you haven't eatn any breakfast or lunch either?"

"It's always the troublemakers," Satiet murmurs, one hand lifting so a finger can rub in exasperation at her forehead. Then it lowers to tick down a count of names that is more mumbled than not, though a few stand out midst it all: Cullen, Xeledyr, Lassen. "You realize," the goldrider finally remarks aloud, speaking so the others can hear her clearly, including Rathin for all that she's pointedly ignoring him, "I'll have to return the favor some day, Moll."

Garain actually scowls a little, and probably only does so because he already has the marks tucked away into one of his many pouches. "It might be time to start thinking about changing the routes," he mutters, mostly under his breath, and he turns to repack the remaining looking glasses carefully back into the box. Rathin straightens as the greenrider releases him, smoothing down his shirt as if recovering his composure. "Never been on a dragon before," the trader confirms, though his grin suggests he's looking forward to it. "I ate lunch, but I'm not afraid of heights. Do I get the pleasure of riding with you, love?" he's eyeing Moll speculatively. Satiet is shot a quick, amused sort of look, and the trader adds, "Since you seem to know so many, Satiet of High Reaches, perhaps you're the one that's drawn to troublemakers."

Moll dances away from Garain to H'lias, if only to relieve the brownrider of the smaller of the two packages, and with a loud smooch bestowed the man she reels away towards Vmireth again. "Of course, you always should ride with the dragon that Searches you, and not a larger gold, no matter how tempting it might be to needle our weyrwoman." It's clear the greenrider takes immense enjoyment from baiting the goldrider. "She's small at any rate, so easier to climb up to. Use those there," a set of straps that lead up to her lower neckridges, "And she'll lower her neck to make it even easier."

"Perhaps," Satiet, both finally calm in voice and in the coloring of her cheeks, returns with cool arrogance, "It's that troublemakers find me irresistable." Sadly, the arrogance is at complete odds with her moments prior flustered state and the lack of an impression it makes finds its way in a secreted smile on H'lias face as he mounts his brown. "I'll be one of your candidate coordinators, so we will at least have to tolerate each other. Just," she lifts a finger, wheeling around to emphasize this fact, "Stay out of my way and we'll be great." Pivoting again, she marches a sulky sort of march back to Teonath.

Rathin brushes a hand across his brow in relief, though it's purposely feigned. "I think there's a good chance your weyrwoman would probably toss me off once we got high enough, so I'm glad to ride with you." The trader trails after Moll towards the green, staring at the dragon for a moment. "Wait. I'm not coming back for a while, right? I just need to get some of my things." Without waiting for a response or permission, the trader heads off towards one of the wagons, ducking in. He isn't that long in packing - he is a guy after all - and appears shortly thereafter with a knapsack slung across his back. Satiet's words are caught as he's returning, a chortle his only response to the goldrider's show of arrogance; it's the latter comment that garners his attention. "Does that mean I'll have to obey you, Satiet of High Reaches? I'll do anything you ask of me, naturally, based purely on your overwhelming charisma." He stops by Vmireth's side, studying the straps. "I just climb up?" he asks, of Moll.

When Rathin returns, the riders are mounted, Moll reaching down to provide further assistance should the man need it. "It's just my lucky day today, isn't it? A mirror, a candidate, and pressed up against a delicious little man." The woman winks teasingly and then laughs for Rathin's words, "She might at that, she might. A character our weyrwoman, certainly nothing like my cousin or Josilina. Here, my hand," the slender arm is shook to draw more attention to it, "Hand me your bag, and then climb the straps and I'll haul you up the rest of the way."

While the riders around her chortle at Rathin's words, Satiet herself flushes, yet again, and finds solace in the pale hide of her dragon's neck. Teonath's launch upward relieves her, coincidentally, of having to form a reply, and once again, wide wingsails cast a dark shadow across the trading caravan before the pale glitter disappears into between.

Satiet vaults up onto Teonath's back, as the dragon rumbles softly. Satiet has left.

Teonath spreads her wings and leaps into the air. Teonath has left.

In the sky, Teonath rises up from the the road. In the sky, Teonath has arrived.

In the sky, Teonath disappears into Between. In the sky, Teonath has left.

Rathin passes up his bag as instructed, examining the green carefully once more before making the climb - grabbing hold of the straps and using them to haul himself up until he can take hold of Moll's hand - and with her assistance - reach Vmireth's neck ridges. It's sort of awkwardly clear he's never done it before, but at least he doesn't fall on his behind. "Your cousin?" the trader echoes Moll, inquiringly. His head turns to watch Teonath and rider disappear, lips curving briefly, before attention turns back to the straps. "How do these work?"

It's more polite to wait for a dragon's rider, first.

With Satiet gone, Moll's overt teasing voice seems to lapse into something a bit more normal, though the tremor of exuberance doesn't fade out. She accepts the bag, looping it through one of the numerous hooks along Vmireth's straps, and then considers the back before her. It's no coincidence that Vmireth moves suddenly to cause the greenrider's cheek to press against the trader's back and still further no coicidence that the middle-aged woman sighs appreciatively. "Ach, to be young again. My cousin. Matheny. Her dragon Jenryth's the clutch dam and you'll do well to learn how to charm a gold dragon's pants off even if you can't their riders. Here, let me help you." Affably, she reaches around with two loose straps to try and bear hug the man and get him situated nicely. "Y'all go on ahead!" While one hand holds the clasp together, the other waves the others off.

At the sudden movement, Rathin naturally grabs onto the most obvious thing - one of the neckridges in front of him. He doesn't seem perturbed by the nearness of the greenrider, and in fact glances over his shoulder at the woman with a cheery grin. "You're not that old, if you don't mind me saying. You can't be more than, what, thirty Turns?" He's exaggerating, of course, and it's clear that he is. Wryly, "Yeah, I kind of got that annoying the -dragon- isn't as healthy a move as it is with the rider." He half lifts his hands out of the way as Moll straps him in, exhaling slowly, a mild sign of his nervousness.

Moll hops up onto Vmireth's back, as the dragon warbles a greeting. Moll has left.

Vmireth You are perched on Vmireth's warm green neck, her hide soft against your touch. Contents: Moll

You clamber up onto Vmireth's back, using her foreleg as a step.

"Not smart, indeed. You'll learn quickly and adapt." Pleased with the compliment, and definitely susceptible to the charms of this trader, Moll still feigns a coy blush and shakes loose the short strands of her bob, "Aww, you'll fit -right- in. Forty-five, but that's between the two of us. Now, hold onto the contents of your tummy, and we'll be off." That's all the cue Vmireth needs to lean back and then launch herself into the sky, her lift off far more gentle than the sharp slicing landing she made previously.

You spread your wings and leap into the air. Sky Over Nabol Hold(#1987RJe) From this height, all of Nabol is spread out below you. The cliff which houses the Hold rises to the northwest, the famed orchards fill up the southeast, and the gather fields spread out in the southwest. Far beyond the Hold to the northwest is High Reaches Weyr, nestled deep in the mountains. Occasional traffic can be seen on the road which runs past the Hold, or in the courtyard, or moving from one place to another. The warm overtones of summer color the Hold and its surroundings with rich earthy tones and deep shaded greens. Far off in the distance the white dots of ovines can be made out against the mountainsides, even the distant bleats can be heard. Closer in, the rustling of the huge stands of apple trees in Nabol's orchard fill the air with a gentle restfulness. The same aura seems to extend outwards to the Hold, its residents sleepily going about their tasks in the midday heat, or more briskly come dawn and dusk as it cools. Several places seem to have enough room for a dragon to land. Obvious exits: Orchard Clearing High Reaches Weyr Gather Fields Road Fire Heights Courtyard

"It's our secret," Rathin promises with an easy smile. The warning isn't much, and Rathin grabs onto the straps, exhaling sharply as the green lifts up into the air. "Woah," he breathes, quickly, his grip loosening slightly once the initial jolt is over. He's peering over the side a little, trying to catch sight of the Beowin trader wagons. "I never realised what a great view you get," he says appreciatively, peering all around. He was right when he said he didn't have a fear of heights; he seems more fascinated than anything.

A silent directive causes Vmireth to slowly arc around the trading camp, rising higher as she does so, but as yet, the green doesn't go straight between. "Isn't it -grand-?" Between the flap of her dragon's wings to the wind, and how the sounds of that mingle with the rush of wind surrounding them, Moll shouts to get her words heard by the man before her. "The first time we flew, it was absolutely fantastic! Ready again? Three beats of cold and then we'll be home."

"It certainly is," Rathin agrees wholeheartedly, though the words are probably torn away by the wind. He looks delighted when they have a clear view of the trading camp, and even waves - not that it could be seen from this height. Confident, assured - completely without previous experience of between - he raises his voice to reply, "Ready when you are, love."

"Then, here we go-," Molls words disappear as a sudden onslaught of cold air surrounds Vmireth and the pair aboard the green. Darkness and the void of absolute nothing is almost suffocating for three beats before they emerge above the vista of a snow-drenched High Reaches Weyr.

» Vmireth disappears into Between.

Between

You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...

Black...

Blacker...

Blackest!