Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Good One"

Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.

At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.

The cool but clear day is a draw for many, a pleasant relief to High Reaches' winter. Even the Weyrwoman can't resist an afternoon walk, though she still dresses with warmth in mind-- dark dress and leggings keeping out the residual chill. Her destination is obvious, long legs bringing her closer to where Hraedhyth spends much of her day. The tawny queen is careful to keep her distance from the fragile hatchlings, even her mindvoice stifled when she does risk interaction. Otherwise, the gold enjoys watching the coming and going of the weyrlings, settled closer to the training cavern than the lake.

With spending much of the day cooped up with the other weyrlings and dragons, the coppery smell of meat, and /whatever/ smells accompany mucking, the crisp cool day is relief indeed. With her lifemate fed, oiled, and settled, Evanthe has escaped. She hasn't any particular destination in mind, though, meandering her way through the bowl with her face tilted up towards the clear sky. Breathe that fresh air, oh yes. The queen is unavoidably noticeable, and Ev offers a respectful, if distracted, nod towards her... then catches sight of Azaylia. "Ma'am."

Azaylia has settled next to her lifemate, stroking that dark and scarred hide as she watches a weyrling pair head back into the barracks. Evanthe is noticed, and Hraedhyth gives a low snarl, although there is little in her posture to suggest a threat. Perhaps to soften the savage sound, "Hraedhyth says hello." The goldrider's smile is bright as she approaches, "Please, call me Azaylia. How are you doing?" A rumble from the queen, "You and Zvaraseth?"

Evanthe stops quite firmly in her tracks at that sound from Hraedhyth. It's an effective deterrent. It's only after the assurance from Azaylia that that was some form of a greeting that Ev, with skepticism, moves a little closer. "Hullo... Hraedhyth," she says slowly. "Azaylia. Right. Um..." How to answer that question. She considers it, gaze drifting back towards the barracks, lips pursed. Finally, the inevitably and utterly undescriptive, "We're fine. We're... you know. Learning. Each other. How are you?"

"I realize you might only know how Hraedhyth gets when she's on the sands," Azaylia reassures, "But she'd never hurt anyone." On purpose. Though some may find Evanthe's answer lacking, it has the Weyrwoman bringing her hands together with a smile. "Good." She seems startled a moment by the returned question, smile maintained with a soft laugh, "I'm doing fine, thank you. Excited to have a new weyrling class." And baby dragons waddling around, certainly.

Evanthe will trust the weyrwoman's assurance and responds with a nod, though her posture doesn't /entirely/ relax while in Hraedhyth's presence - not only is she remembered as the clutchmama, but Ev is also far more familiar now with Much Smaller Dragons. The contrast with the fully sized gold is dramatic to say the least. There's a faint expression of relief when Azaylia accepts Evanthe's feeble answer without further prodding - it's as though she was bracing herself for it, the inevitable questions that would follow about Zvar. But they don't. "Is she keeping an eye on them?" she asks, with a nod up towards the gold. "Her offspring? What does she think of 'em all?"

Thankfully, Hraedhyth's attention shifts from Evanthe to another weyrling, thick tail sweeping behind her with interest. The Weyrwoman has no reason to doubt Evanthe's response, happy to take it at face value. Azaylia looks up at her gold, unashamed by the warmth in her gaze and voice, "Always." This being her third clutch, there are habits. "She thinks they're good, strong dragons. She's very proud of them and can't wait until they're big enough for her to play with." Otherwise, Hraedhyth is the overly-cautious sentinel outside of the barracks.

"Good," Evanthe murmurs, looking up at Hraedhyth with her own appreciation - for very different reasons. It helps to hear that Zvaraseth's mama is proud of him, despite. Things. "They seem like a good bunch. Not that I have very much to compare it to, but. They seem good. How long is that, usually?" she adds, dropping her gaze back to Azaylia with curiosity. "How long does it take for 'em to get big enough? Or fully grown? He's... Zvaraseth, I mean, he's smaller than the other browns."

There's a pause as Azaylia considers, "She just knows." Her smile softens, "When they get sturdier. When their minds can handle her full intensity." Rather than the muted gruffness she offers those inquiring young voices, or the soft drumming they might catch as they drift to sleep. To be big enough, "A few months, at least." Until they're fully grown, "It'll take them around 8 months or so until they stop growing. It depends." Zvaraseth's size doesn't seem to concern the Weyrwoman, though she does reach to give Evanthe's shoulder a soft squeeze, "He may just be smaller, as an adult. Nothing wrong with that." Gentle, but honest.

Evanthe shifts a little uncomfortably under that compassionate gesture, though she doesn't pull away. While she is normally fairly coarse and gruff to make up for the youthfulness of her appearance, now she's too uncertain of anything to put on a show, and only nods. "I s'pose it doesn't matter. He's not going to be like the others, no matter what size he is," she says slowly. "He /is/ a good one, though. He is strong," is added, with a look up towards the queen. Not that anyone has suggested otherwise, at least to her face, but she still feels it warrants saying. "I... sorry, didn't mean to ramble at you, ma'am. Azaylia."

Azaylia's hand doesn't linger, perhaps used to subtle discomfort-- she is rather touchy-feely, after all. With a nod of agreement, "He is." Perhaps too candid, the Weyrwoman admits, "I was worried, when he hatched. But he found you. He's different, and it may not be easy," She's kind, not blind, "But we know he's strong. That you will be good together." Another breathless laugh, "I really don't mind. You should talk to Quinlys about these things, but... I'm here, if you need me." There are ways to sneak in some time, despite the goldrider's busy schedule.

"I... appreciate it," Evanthe says simply. She's not quite smiling, but there's a certain ease in her features that wasn't there when she first came striding from the barracks. She's about to say something further, but her attention is redirected with a flick of her eyes towards the barracks. "He's waking up," she murmurs. So soon, so quickly those moments of respite end. More meat. More oil. "Thank you Azaylia, Hraedhyth. I'll leave you to it," she says, already drifting away, pulled by that invisible thread between rider and dragon.

"Take care, Evanthe." A pleasant farewell, even as Azaylia's hands shoo the weyrling off with a light sense of urgency. Can't keep him waiting! Hraedhyth's eyes turn back to the retreating girl, giving a soft chuff once Evanthe is out of sight. The Weyrwoman doesn't linger, though she clearly wants to, turning back to where a stack of hidework is waiting for her.