Logs:For The Weyr
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| RL Date: 21 October, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: R'hin and Leiventh return home to feed. Azaylia doesn't let personal bias effect her judgement, this time. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions |
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| Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr Wedged between the lake and the rest of the vast bowl are the dusty feeding grounds. Here, the well-trampled ground is contained by a sturdy wooden fence, cutting right through one end of the lake to section it off into a muddy watering hole for the animals. Several gates allow people in and out, while at the back, large overhangs of rock provide the herd -- a mixed bag of herdbeasts, wing-clipped wherries, and fat porcines -- shelter from storms or the hot sun. What grass survives is usually bloodstained, but feeding troughs are stationed around the edges of the pen.
It's not like Hraedhyth to prolong their fear with her presence, usually one to try and spare the beasts with a quick and clean kill. Instead, she hunches just outside the fence and watches the huddled prey, head lifting when Leiventh appears from between. Rather than a boisterous roar she simply reaches out with her hearth's fire as a warm welcome Home. More of that tawny hue has returned to the senior gold's hide, but it still isn't as rich and healthy as it could be. Azaylia leans against her dragon's chest, figure wrapped up in a warm dress and cloak, watching Leiventh now rather than the mass of 'beasts. Hraedhyth lurches to her feet, far more interested in the bronze's hunt than taking part in one of her own. Azaylia is slow as she begins to drift down the length of fence, her destination obvious even if she takes her time to actually near R'hin. Leiventh acknowledges the queen, as ever, with a stirring of cold wintry High Reaches winds to bank the fires, but he doesn't linger long in the attention. He has other things to focus on -- like dinner. Two slow circles upwind allow him to determine his chosen beast, and only then does he descend, swiftly. It's likely he's well aware Hraedhyth is watching, but he's never been a showy dragon: his descent is to the point, using the speed of his descent and his weight to quickly snap the neck of the creature he's chosen while the others race away in fear. R'hin, for his part, watches the whole thing, from selection to death, and even the beginnings of the feast, while he tugs off goggles and helmet, running a gloved hand through his unkempt hair, though leaves his flight jacket done up in deference to the cold. As Azaylia nears: "If I hadn't arrived, how long would you have stood there while Hraedhyth decided whether she wanted to eat or not?" It's likely he knows that's not the gold's motivations, and yet there's a blandness to his tone, gaze not yet straying from his dragon. The dark smoke isn't as quick to dance with his wind, but it does caress those chilled winds, breaking contact as soon as Leiventh does. Hraedhyth is unusually still as her gaze follows the bronze from sky to kill. While he may not mean to impress there is still a low rumble of approval from her spot behind the fence. Azaylia's quiet voice is even more so, soft husk still audible, "She's trying to get me to eat, actually." The queen may be content in only her lack of hunger, and yet Leiventh's display of a healthy appetite is appreciated. "I'm not hungry." She's quick to add on, "Not enough to eat a whole herdbeast, anyway." Leiventh seems not to notice the approval; he's wholly invested in his meal, enjoying it with loud and satisfactory crunches. "Is she?" a thread of amusement, almost unnoticed, in R'hin's voice. "Perhaps she should start with cooked food." The slight turn of his head towards where Hraedhyth is might indicate he's directing the advice to the dragon rather than rider. "Or," with a shrug, "With alcohol." "She's been impossible." And yet there's not a trace of actual annoyance for Hraedhyth's behavior, Azaylia turning to watch her lifemate. "As if she can coddle each and every dragon. As if they all want it." Evidence to the contrary found in Leiventh as he feasts with vigor. It makes sense, that those overwhelming urges be poured onto her own rider. The queen turns her head, acknowledging R'hin with a stretch of that blunt neck and a short grunt-growl. The goldrider steps forward, fingers curling into the wood of the fence as she rests her brow against it, peering in through the gap. Quiet, and without accusation, "You've been gone." "Dragons forget," there's a sudden roughness to R'hin's voice, making them seem perhaps more acerbic than he means. A long silence follows, and he says, "If you let them. Protect them." It's a conversation they've had before, and the bronzerider doesn't linger on it, pale eyes fixed on Leiventh as he eats. A nod to her statement, acknowledging. He's been gone. "And now I'm here." The silence that follows is weighty, pensive, until Azaylia remembers to answer with a soft, "She will. We will." Pushing off of the fence, she turns to rest her shoulder against the damp wood, hazy gaze lifting to settle on R'hin's profile. "Easier to forget during busy days, when there's things that need to be done." People who need them. "Going to stay long?" A slight movement from R'hin. "It depends." He's looking at her, now, not Leiventh. Rolling her head back, the smile Azaylia aims up at him is tired, "Don't have much to tempt you with. Spiced rum." She closes her eyes, self deprecating in that mild humor, "A hug. Though that's more for me than you, I admit." When her eyes open, her gaze is aimed at the bowl. "I want to know if you're... if you're okay. But I don't expect you to tell me." Another twitch of her lips for her own presumption. "You need to work on that." Having things to tempt R'hin with, apparently; there's even a faint twitch of amusement within the tired lines of his face. More crunching draws his attention back to Leiventh, and he exhales at her question. Silence follows, for three long heartbeats, but no coincidence, then: "They're talking differently in Tillek now. A few nudges here and there helped. I wasn't the first to use the word hero," his lips twist, "But, there's a sense that the Weyr has made a great sacrifice to protect them. The worst," he stops, as the bronze finishes the remnants of his meal, "May be past, once you hand on those gifts K'del negotiated from High Reaches Hold." "Normally, I'd be able to think of a dozen things." Or at least one, but given her not-quite convincing delivery there's a reason for that. Azaylia allows him his silence, straightening when R'hin begins to speak at length. His choice of subject earns a soft sigh of resignation, but even in her fog she's able to recognize good news. At 'hero' her gaze flicks back over to him, dark eyes hard for a moment, "That..." She's quick to let it go, "That works for us. For the Weyr." All business, she gives a curt nod and straightens, "Right. It's good timing--" A wince as she hears herself, cold expression suddenly replaced by that tired guilt from earlier. A quiet murmur, an attempt to defend what she feels, "I didn't think she was the type to care about wayward sailors." Or it could be what she doesn't feel. "Do you want to know why she was there? Or let history stand, let her save the Weyr, in her own way?" R'hin asks, curious, tone light as if he isn't invested either way, totally reliant on her opinion. For a moment, Azaylia's face tightens, jaw muscles working as she squeezes her eyes shut against her first impulse. "Does it matter?" It's not quite a snap, but there's anger there. "Why do I even care?" Anger is easy, "Faranth knows what she was doing, what she's done and I just..." She cuts herself off with a shaky inhale, and slowly the red and orange fades from the watching Hraedhyth's gaze. It takes several swallows for that hard tone to return, "It'd be the first good she's done in a while." She doesn't allow herself to be cruel for long, anger successfully snuffed out. "Whatever's best for the Weyr. That's what matters. ...I need a drink." Probably to wash the bitter taste out of her mouth. Leiventh sails across the short distance to join them, barely above the ground. "Then you have your answer. I have good wine up in my weyr." R'hin's dropping off the fence and climbing up the bronze's side. It might be invitation, or merely observation, but moments later the dragon's aloft, circling lazily upwards. Hopefully it's an invitation, given Azaylia's current selfish streak and how quickly the gold pair follow Leiventh into the air. Drinks are a start, and perhaps the combined efforts of Hraedhyth and R'hin will get the Weyrwoman to nibble on something. And if she has her way, Azaylia will get that hug. |
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