Difference between revisions of "Logs:Any As Needs It"

Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.
Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off.
An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

It's not the kind of late where the Weyr has found its quiet, eerie waiting, in that zone shared by night owls and early risers; the Snowasis is still open, at least one wing table is raucous, and Arekoth is not, nor has he been, waiting solo. He has been rather in the same vicinity as Kavith for most of it, though much of the conversation has died away. The same must be true for the table shared by wingleader and his 'second. Y'rel is the first to exit, and Kavith is the first to go. H'kon steps into the night afterwards, pausing a moment to let the cool air hit his face, refresh him, before making his way to his brown.

"H'kon." Quiet as the night air where the Snowasis is not: Y'rel's footsteps and Kavith's departing wingbeats, all drawn into one word.

It's alertness only, that slight tilt of H'kon's head, the slow turn to look in the direction whence it came. Yes.

"Over here," she says. With it, a glowbasket unshutters to join what Belior provides.

It's likely recognition, that accounts for the change in H'kon's posture. He draws his head back and brings his chin down, a look almost of determination; although his steps are consciously measured, they aren't quick. "Leova," when he draws near. There's almost a question, in that name. Arekoth's eyes are both focused the way his rider had gone.

The glowbasket, it's on a chair. The greenrider's leaning, uplit, on that chair's back. "No news out of Healer yet."

"No." Confirmation. H'kon stops, and crosses his arms over his chest. And waits.

"Not likely to happen again, anytime soon. But." Leova considers him. "Wrote a message, Anvori's idea. Had it 'put in my file.'" The smoke of her voice is, tonight, tinged bitter.

How much can she see of those green eyes, in glow- and moonlight? They move just enough to show some sort of thought, for the comment of frequency. They stay locked on Leova for what follows. "Hm."

"Did the same," Leova says, "Make it so Madilla never had to decide. Not that."

H'kon moistens his lips with the tip of his tongue. Nods. And still waits.

"Be good," the dragonhealer says, just that plain. "To have people, as could make sure the healers don't have to decide."

"People." H'kon's chin lifts, just a touch.

"Aye." Leova's chin, it ain't going anywhere.

"Not healers." It lowers, again.

"Not their business." Beat. "Not their grief."

"Hm," is not full agreement, this time. "Riders." Not full question.

"Our families will," the woman says. "Because they are that."

H'kon's expression quite precisely does not change. He does not repeat his assumption. He does lift his eyebrows. More question than the last.

"Grieve." The woman repeats that, in case. "They are that to us. Whatever the colors of their knots."

Where before, this might have carried some time, now, H'kon glances across the bowl. To Arekoth. To home, surely Leova must know the direction. "Do you look for riders only to leave testaments? Or a more active role?"

"Mm. Don't want to drop anyone off before her time."

"Hmm." With one, small nod.

"Would you want the draught," Leova asks. "Or between. Or both."

The eyebrows drop. "Leova."

"Between," says the greenrider deliberately, "for me."

"Hm," acknowledges. He shifts his weight, leaning back in Arekoth's direction.

"Active," just as deliberately, "is traditional."

The eyebrows stay. The discomfort seems to have been put aside, so quickly as it came on. H'kon nods. More purposefully.

"So."

"If you are asking us."

"For?" invites breadth.

"What is it you ask," has a hint of an edge forming on it. Maybe it's even quiet enough it might be caught.

"What a rider needs. Should need be."

"Any rider?" That hint of an edge is becoming a hint of a point. "You? Me?"

"Not you for us." Vrianth might prickle with electricity. Her rider is calm, calm even in reconsideration. "'Less you were there. More: any as needs it. If you're there. If you can bring yourself. Would hope most would. Hard to think, though, then. Hard to think any'd deny."

"We can." Certainty. "And would." Another shift of his feet, a breath taken in. "This is what you came to ask?"

"Aye." Though there's the lift to one shoulder. She reaches for the glowbasket, then, just short of shuttering it. "Aught else?"

"It was you came to me." It might have started as a shake of his head. It turns into a look for his dragon.

Then the glowbasket, it's closed.

And H'kon and Arekoth go home. As they should.

Vrianth watches. Vrianth lets them.