Difference between revisions of "Logs:Whole and Significant"

Riyoth has decided he likes the sunroom. He likes the nook he's found to curl in, still warmed by the afternoon sun. Catling is sprawled on a rug beside him, though his head rests happily on her back. "Well, no, Riyoth, I can *count*, and I can subtract. Erm... call it *un-counting*. One dragon and one dragon make two dragons. Two dragons make-- what? Oh...." She buries her head in her arm for a moment, laughing. "Well. That will be explained soon enough. But it isn't the counting that's the problem. It's.... Right. Everything else. Well, not everything. You're never a problem." The dragon nudges the girl until she turns and puts her arms around him. "No, I had a big lunch. Dinner can wait. I just want to see if I can stuff some more thinking into my brain..."

Given the hour, most of the weyrlings have headed off for dinner, and perhaps it's for that reason that Mirinda's head appears in the doorway of the sunroom, tracking the sound of Catling's voice amidst an otherwise quiet set of caverns (save the shuffle and rumble of small dragons). The weyrwoman's an infrequent-but-unsurprising visitor, checking in on her Weyr's future riders from time-to-time with considered interest. Now, dark eyes studying little Riyoth and his rider, she makes her presence known with a quiet, "You do need to make sure to eat, weyrling."

"Ma'am? Oh! Yes ma'am. I... ermm... I will, ma'am. I'm not really very hungry though..." Catling sits up, clunking her head on her dragon's chin, and she checks on him before giving a proper, though sheepish salute. "I... ermm.... I'm trying to review for my testing." She looks down, rubbing her hands together. "Every time I think about it.... well. I lose my appetite."

Mirinda's return salute has an air of awkwardness to it; it's a gesture she doesn't seem wholly comfortable with, preferring, it seems, to rest both hands at her sides and reserve politeness to her smile. That her gaze checks for Rioyth's well-being following that clunk is obvious; that it returns, promptly, to the human part of the pairing soon after is equally so. "Exams can be stressful," she allows, ruefully. "I think, with these, the important thing to remember is all your weyrlingmasters are trying to do is gauge what you know... a base-line, if you will. There's no shame in not knowing; it just means there are things you need to learn, going forward."

"It's just that I ... no, Riyoth, my head is just fine; he gives his duty, Weyrwoman.... It's just that I waven't had harper teaching since I was.... eight or nine. I'm so very far behind.... I'm not sure how I'll ever keep up. I've been studying since I got here, but still..." She sighs softly. "I don't want to fail Riyoth just because I'm stupid." She runs her fingers over where she clipped the dragon, then nudges open his mouth. "No, your tongue's fine, I just bit mine a little," she adds. Then she shakes herself and bobs her head sheepishly. "Sorry ma'am."

Zaisavyth extends a tendril of thought-- burning water, heated and intense-- towards Riyoth, acknowledging that duty more directly. "And we, to him. You look well, Riyoth." Mirinda's smile is a genuine one, if not effusively warm, though it fades to something more thoughtful as she considers Catling once more. "You're not stupid, weyrling; of that I am sure. There's no need to apologise, either." She straightens, attempting another smile. "Lack of education does not make you stupid. Having to have additional harper classes now doesn't, either; and if you do, you won't be the only one. These exams aren't judgement."

"But I didn't...." Catling begins, then turns her head sharply to look at Riyoth. A shy smile brushes her lips, and she laughs again. He nudges her again, his eyes whirling, then sends a wisp of thought like flickering light at Zaisavyth, a good-natured, respectful, yet cheery hello. "He says I am who I am, not who I was. He also said my math makes no sense." She snorts. "Which is why dragons don't have to study maths...."

Mirinda's attention tracks back and forth between dragon and rider; she smiles. "He's right on at least the first count-- I can't promise the latter, though you're probably correct. I've never heard of a mathematician dragon, not that that means there couldn't be such a thing. Still, it seems unlikely." She hesitates, now, and then offers: "Is there something I can help with?" Zaisavyth is pleased with Riyoth's respect, even if she seems less than sure about his cheerfulness; she sends, now, an image of the Weyr from above, lovingly painted from her thoughts with such pride and possessiveness. Hers.

"I was counting dragons for him. He says one dragon and one dragon make him and his clutchmates. But he doesn't understand how." Catling rubs her hand over her cheeks, flushing slightly. "Anyway. Fortian history. And Weyr history. Especially that. Oh, pretty much everything. At least the anatomy's not so bad..." She rolls her shoulders. Riyoth trills at the image sent to him, and he half-extends his wings before the girl turns her attention towards him. Still, he manages to knock her over before he folds them back again. He sends forth a dazzling flicker of wonder and delight, followed by a question of when he will fly.

The amused smile that Mirinda embarks upon in answer to the topic of counting dragons is interrupted by Riyoth's wing-extension, one hand outstretched towards the pair in obvious concern as she reassures herself: "Careful, Riyoth! I do apologise; my Zaisavyth is, I think, feeding him terrible things. Fortian history is not, perhaps, my best subject, but it is one I've been working on this past turn; if you've questions..." Zaisavyth is unchastened despite her rider's attempts, a wicked, roiling wave of solar flares chasing after Riyoth in sheer delight. « Not yet, » she tells him. « You're too little. But perhaps, one day. Perhaps. »

Wistful longing is clear in Riyoth's mental tone. « I am big. I will be bigger. We will fly then? » He dips his muzzle down to nuzzle Catling, then starts to nudge her up as she rises, and she nearly topples from the force of that. "Riyoth," she breathes, then leans against him, draping an arm over his neck. "My apologies, Weyrwoman." She shakes her head. "Most of history is a jumble to me, to be honest. Fortian or otherwise. And my father didn't like to hear the harper teaching weyr history. So those lessons we snuck in while he was off with the herd. But... just a good way to know what is important to know." She looks at Riyoth. "When I exercise, so does he. He likes to warm up in the morning."

« Yes, » agrees Zaisavyth. « But you must be a lot bigger. You're tiny. Insignificantly tiny. » She's almost affectionate in that; it amuses her, albeit in an imperious kind of way. Mirinda opens her mouth to say something as Catling nearly topples, but stops herself; she smiles, instead, though it's not a smile that lingers when faced with the rest of what Catling has to say. "The trouble with history," she says, "is that it's often not easy to know what is important until you see what happens next, and it can be very difficult to break down. To start with, focus on major events: not hatchings, not flights, but natural disasters, major disagreements, shifts in policy. Start piecing the little bits in to that context, and then they'll start making more sense. It's good that he exercises." An abrupt change in direction. "He'll need those muscles, in time. You will, too. You're adjusting well, I hope?"

"His clutchmates think he's .... odd, and I seem to have an unfairly easy time with his itches and his hunger." Catling's voice is fondly affectionate. "And he is remarkably full of advice. Sayings of Riyoth. Should be a harper's ballad." The girl snorts, though her expression is tender, softly amused. "Wake up, wake up. Catch the morning first before it catches you." She sighs softly. "And thank you for the advice, ma'am. I'll try to remember that." Riyoth tilts his head, crooning softly, half-puzzled. « I am not insignificant. Queens have other dragons talk to insignificant ones. » There is a quiet, sturdy confidence there.

Catling's tenderness towards her brown pleases Mirinda, who smiles. "They're all odd, in their own ways," she tells the girl. "Or so I have found, anyway. I'm glad for you-- that it's not too difficult. I hope it stays that way. I know I struggled to find my balance with Zaisavyth; that you don't have that issue is a good thing, I'm sure." « Insignificantly small » Zaisavyth emphasises. « Whether you are insignificant I couldn't say; to me, perhaps. To others, perhaps not. I speak to whomever I choose, whenever I choose. That does not speak to significance or not... if I spoke to a wherry, it would still not be a significant wherry. »

« But.... It would suddenly be significant, because you spoke to it, » answers Riyoth. « Because you make things special. By being you. » He then presses against Catling as if startled by his own answer, and the girl reassures him with touch and with a wave of warmth from her. "He's there for me. And I'm there for him. Just to have that support... and to give it.... every day. It's wonderful. He's wonderful. It's not easy but.... usually the worthwhile things aren't. I can't say I understand why he chose me, but I'm so incredibly grateful that he did."

This conversation has taken a difficult turn for Zaisavyth, who must surely be pleased at the acknowledgement of her own significance (she wears that not like a mantle, but as something innately part of her; it simply is), and yet... « By that logic, » she says, « Every beast I eat, every one that dies for leather for me, must also be significant. And every dragon in this Weyr must be significant, because I am their queen. » "Of course you are," says Mirinda, pleased. "He chose you because you're you. Because you were meant to be, the pair of you. It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it? Being chosen."

« Even so. Because you are our queen. » Riyoth's mind-voice flashes like light-beams through water, rainbow colors of delight that the queen agrees with him. He almost flutters, but instead preens himself happily. Catling eyes the young brown, clapping him on the shoulder. "I admit... I feel.... whole now. It's a good feeling."

Zaisavyth is that, and very pleased with herself for it. « And so I am, » she agrees, with a roiling solar shockwave, one that lights up her thoughts-- and burns, electric and sharp, towards Riyoth, for all that it is not intended to harm. "Whole," repeats Mirinda, and then she smiles, straightening from the door jam at which she has begun to lean. "Yes-- yes that describes it well, I think. You could have lived without him, had you never met, but now... now you are only whole as long as he's at your side, and he will be." She gestures, now, towards the door. "Will you come and eat?"

« Thank you for making me significant, » comes the answer, a rainbow flicker of light flashing and then receding. Then Riyoth dips his head towards Catling as she looks at him. "He says he'll stay here and watch the stars...." Her voice trails off, and she just looks at the young brown, her brows raised. She shakes her head. "And yes, ma'am, I'll come and eat."

Zaisavyth does not reply-- at least, not in words. Instead, she shares another image of the Weyr-- her Weyr-- before retreating, with another wave of light. "The stars? Well, and why shouldn't he. I won't keep her from you for too long, Riyoth, I promise." To Catling, she gestures towards the door again, leading the way out of the sunroom, and from there, out across the bowl to the living caverns. Food, too, is significant.