Logs:Drill Review
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 10 September, 2012 |
| Who: H'kon, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Post-drills, K'del gets H'kon's opinion. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 10, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
 |
| Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north. Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries. A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark. Even in these post-thread days, Avalanche maintains a full-on drilling schedule-- although what constitutes as 'drills' can vary wildly from one day to the next. It's often nimble, Harper-trained Wingsecond Sisha who leads the most inventive ones, and so it has been this morning, with the wing set to performing intricate aerial acrobatics obviously intended to improve teamwork and trust, as well as more physical attributes. Now, the wing begins to disperse again, and K'del - who frequently flies as a simple rider in drills and exercises - hovers beside his Cadejoth, checking the bronze's straps with a quiet: "Thought I felt something pull, when you were looping. Not taking any chances, Cadejoth. You know that." The bronze's tail twitches: once, twice, three times, four. It's the more inventive drills that Arekoth likes best, and that has him, once again, schmoozing Balreth (or at least trying). The brown isn't any more in the mood for the post-flight inspections H'kon likes to make (although he's almost certainly not felt a pull on his own straps) than he ever is; the steps he takes after the green are timed, just close enough to the end that H'kon won't put too much effort into stopping him, but still in time to make that short brownrider grimace and follow those paces. Bringing him, quite conveniently, just within earshot of K'del for the last bit of the murmur. He pauses, attentive, waiting for his look to be noticed. "Hm. Like I thought," says K'del, continuing to speak out loud for no apparent reason, for all that it's obvious he's engaging Cadejoth with the words. "Stitches pulling loose. Guess that's what I'll be working on, later." Cadejoth wriggles, attention caught now by Arekoth and Balreth, and it's enough that his rider steps back with a sigh. Buckles clank as the bronze takes this as release; a moment later, he's pushing off the ground to hurtle himself back into the air. The line of K'del's mouth tightens, and, as he executes a careful half-turn, shifts into something more wry to meet H'kon's glance. "Arekoth looked good out there," he says, neutrally. At the word 'stitches,' H'kon turns his attention neatly away, onto nothing at all. Nothing soon becomes Arekoth, who's just managed an absolutely terrible joke, bad enough to make his rider wince a bit, and set the brown to what is almost a prance. His dragon's name spoken aloud brings H'kon back to his weyrleader. "That was what he was trying for," comes in the flat tone, the one which those who've known H'kon a while will know to be his long-suffering voice. "The wing has improved over the last time," isn't quite satisfied. By now, Cadejoth is gliding in low circles not so very far above the bowl floor, attempting to entice his wingmates (many of whom are in no way inclined towards more flying after drills) with enthusiastic rumbles and the mental rattling of bone-and-chain. His rider eyes him steadily for a few moments, then turns his attention back on to his wingmate, apparently finished with the bronze. His study of H'kon is knowing; the twist of his mouth is, again, inclined towards the rueful. "He should be pleased, then. But - you're right. Improved, but not perfect. Suggestions, H'kon? How can we do better?" The tall Weyrleader tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and rolls his shoulders back. "I assure you, he is." Arekoth ends his traditional pursuit with a nip at the air generally behind Balreth's tail. Only then does he look up toward the airborne bronze, letting his mouth open and his tongue stick out just a bit, wings stretching out: a test. "I suppose it would depend on what you want, sir." A sidelong glance toward that same green his dragon's been so interested in includes Sisha in that 'you'. H'kon ignores Arekoth's declaration of, « Fire! » just as he jumps up to join Cadejoth. For all that Sisha was Avalanche's Wingleader before K'del; for all that she's old enough to be his mother; for all that she led this drill, and, indeed, leads most of them; the greenrider lifts her head to regard the two male riders, but says nothing. "Just curious to hear if you've got ideas of any kind," says K'del, levelly, with a more genuinely encouraging smile set into place. "Know Sisha and I'd be more than happy to hear your thoughts." Cadejoth's smugness at recruiting Arekoth to his cause (a cause that really doesn't seem to be anything more intense than 'let's fly around some more!') radiates with a buzz and spark. Yay! H'kon shows discomfort in that he closes his mouth, the muscles at his jaw twitching just slightly. "Timing, then," comes after a pause. "Precision. A wing that flies together regularly should be able to anticipate one another better. Fly nearer each other. Turn at once." His eyebrows have drawn down, and he clasps his hands behind his back. Even as Arekoth makes it -his- cause to fly up close to Cadejoth. And maybe try get higher at the same time. "It's not the harder manoeuvres that are a problem, individually. It's the group." He ends, cautiously, with, "If you want this for the wing, and not the watchers. Sir." "Timing," repeats K'del, thoughtfully. "Precision. You're right, of course." And it's obvious in his expression, in the twist of his mouth, that he sees it as a failing of his own: his leadership is at fault, even more than Sisha's, though the greenrider is nodding along quietly, too. "Guess that means we need to learn to trust each other better. Believe that we're not going to hit each other." His nod, then, is considering one. "Appreciate the candour." Cadejoth is easily led, altering his path to follow the brown - wings moving almost in time - into higher skies, a rumbling thrum illustrating his contentment. Arekoth has no interest in keeping time, and leaves it fully to Cadejoth. Arekoth's interest is now entirely on that one specific point of blue in the cloudless sky; or rather, on getting there first and fastest. It's more a piercing cry than a proper bugle that announces the race he's just called. H'kon, meanwhile, turns his gaze down in the guise of a nod for the 'of course' from his weyrleader. "Trust," is repeated with a certain self-convincing force, an idea forced to fit into his interpretation. "As you say, sir." Sisha and K'del will each get eye contact when he looks up. Cadejoth promptly gives up on this whole matching thing: is it a race? It is a race! So exciting. And that-- well, that means faster and faster and faster, buckles and straps clanking merrily in the autumn breeze. K'del's silence holds several seconds longer than perhaps it needs to; he seems distracted, but mostly in a way that suggests he's attempting to read something in H'kon's expression. Whatever conclusion he reaches - if, indeed, he reaches one at all - he makes no comment of it. Instead; "Guess we'll see what we can do. Really do appreciate it, H'kon." He's aiming, now, for casual, but even after all these turns, there's a discomfort in wing matters that he doesn't have in weyr ones. His head tips back towards the weyr, and he adds, "See you both tomorrow. Hopefully, we'll do better then." Dismissed. H'kon isn't even aware there's a 'casual' target to aim for. (Must be behind his back or something.) "Yes, sir." And an extra, "Sir," goes for Sisha too. He executes a quick, sharp salute, and turns just as sharp on his heel. He only casts a glance skyward once he's a few paces away, and that quickly turns into a hopeless tilt of his head. Arekoth is left to his race, giving his all to outdo the bigger dragon, while his rider heads for the caverns. |
Leave A Comment