Logs:Of Believing in Good
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| RL Date: 1 January, 2007 |
| Who: M'wen, R'hin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Your location's current time: 17:12 on day 26, month 5, Turn 60, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring afternoon. You bank and land neatly on Maxeoth's ledge. You vault down Leiventh's side to the ground, as the dragon warbles a greeting. Maxeoth's Ledge This cozy weyr's ledge is small, only just enough room for a single dragon to land upon it. It makes up for this lacking by having an unusually large chamber just inside, big enough for a pair of browns. The weyr itself is equally cozy, with a small room behind the dragon's area for the rider. It has only a bed visible inside. The most interesting aspect of this little weyr is found in a spot just at the doorway to the ledge. When one stands in the precise right spot, noises, even quiet voices, echo upward from the bowl to the ledge, an anomaly found no where else in the weyr. Fortunately, the rest of the weyr is relatively quiet and peaceful. Contents: Leiventh M'wen Maxeoth Obvious exits: Inner Weyr Sky Looking down over the bowl, M'wen is leaning against one of the edges of the entrance to his weyr, eye's nearly closed as he listens to the sounds below. As he spots the flight of the familiar bronze dragon, the brownrider stretches slightly, standly slowly to walk towards a pair of elegantly carved chairs taking residence in the chamber past the ledge. Taking a seat in the left one, he awaits the arrival of his guest. Leiventh's path is a lazy one, spiraling slowly up from the large ledge by the hatching grounds, the cinnamon bronze appears to be in no hurry on this warm spring afternoon. His low, rumbling greeting of Maxeoth is presaged by his landing on the ledge, just long enough to allow his rider to dismount. With little room for him to remain, the bronze launches off again soon after, sailing out to circle in the thermals rising above the lake, as is his norm - watching over the Weyr, it would seem. "You look well," his rider says by way of greeting to M'wen, nodding towards Maxeoth, too. R'hin's bearing the bottle of wine gifted him, and a pair of glasses, tilting them in silent invitation as he crosses over to join the brownrider. M'wen's offer of greeting as the Weyrleader is deposited on his ledge is a cordial smile and nod. He gives a faint gesture towards the other chair in the pair, a small table sitting between them. "And you as well. You seem...less stressed then usual." Why the brownrider decides this, it's unclear but mentioned nonetheless. Spotting the wine in R'hin's hand, M'wen gives a small nod of recognition and adds with a smile, "Got the wine then, did you?" R'hin takes the invitation in stride, settling down into the indicated chair, the glasses carefully placed on the table. "Mm," is his sidelong, non-commital response to M'wen's assessment of him. "Change makes me happy, my friend, what can I say?" the blithe comment is accompanied by a quirk of lips, as he brandishes the bottle, attention turning towards it. "I did. Never one to turn down a good bottle of Benden, though I'm not entirely sure why--?" a questioning lilt at the end is followed by a tilt of head. "Change for the better at least," M'wen replies with a grin, taking the comment at face value, whether or not he actually believes the sincerity of it. "Change is in the air, yes. More will change in the next turn or so then since thread stopped falling for the High Reaches, I can just feel it." He returns the query with a sly smile, replying, "Well, I said that if your advice worked I owed you a bottle of Benden did I not?" he leaves it at that, seeing if R'hin gets what he's implying. Judging by the pleased glittering of R'hin's pale eyes, the brownrider is the not the only one that can feel the changes in the air. The Weyrleader's movements are full of confidence, surety - none of the hesitations and uncertainties he was showing in sevendays past. He uncorks the bottle, filling the glasses, pausing briefly at the news with a quirk of brows before handing over one of the glasses. "Oh?" he drawls, pleased grin twitching across his lips. "So my advice worked? Who would've thought," he mutters, self-directed deprecation. "I'm glad," he adds, sincerely. "Shall we make a toast? To... good counsel?" "To good counsel!" M'wen echoes after a brief pause. He downs a small gulp of the liquid, savouring it as he was slowly becoming accustomed to do. "You think too low of yourself R'hin, as long as the advice doesn't affect you, it happens to be perfectly sound, or so I've come to believe." He places the glass slowly to the table, looking to the weyrleader with interest, "Any news of your own to share?" R'hin, too, savours the wine, leaning back in his chair, eyes half closed as he lets the liquid slide down his throat. A pleased nod of his head follows, approving, as he takes another sip. If anything, M'wen's comment of him, and his advice, earns puzzled astonishment, bemused look slanted towards the brownrider. "Indeed?" he says, musingly. "I wouldn't... rely on it that strongly. One success out of one attempt isn't precisely a proven track record, wise man." Humor cuts through his low tones, lips curling. "News? Not as such. I was going to ask you the same, of our weyrlings. I hear they are flying now, and obtaining their own weyrs?" "It still happens to be a positive record, does it not?" M"wen replies, a tad offhandedly. "I'd like to believe I'm getting something back from helping you as I do." He takes a slow, considering sip of wine as he considers what to say next, "Most of the weyrlings are advancing nicely and all will have weyrs and begin flying within the next seven-day or so. They are progressing faster then I remeber it was for us." "I would hope so, too, my friend," R'hin says, though the comment is not so off-handed, and there's a dark thread of honesty on the words. He's studying his glass, tipping it this way and that, staring through the liquid. "It always seems slower, when you must do it. Remember how slow it felt on hatching day, when we were standing?" There's a fond note of remembrance, and distantly, Leiventh's low rumble can be heard, eliciting a grin from the bronzerider. "I'd hoped there'd be some diplomats amongst those." His hand waves, and he exhales disappointedly. "There are a couple with potential, but they must be... groomed. And I must sound them out, first." "When giving counsel, you have to believe what you're saying, or there is no purpose of saying it at all," M'wen says, somewhat sagely. "Your doubt may be what makes you think you can't give advice of your own." He quickly changes the subject, not even seeming to notice, "Indeed I do. Seeing from the eyes of a spectator made it seem almost to be over in the blink of an eye. Though the nervous stresses at the hatching were well worth it." He gives a low laugh to the last comment, "Diplomats seem in short supply these days; some but not all of these bunch have the spark however." "That is, I think, why you are the wise man, not I." R'hin observes, somewhat dryly. He takes another savouring gulp of the wine, before a flicker of grin follows. "I'm looking forward to watching a hatching that neither I, nor Leiventh have any part in. Much more enjoyable-- and the feast after, too." A brief tip of head, "Not all, not by half," he agrees. "I'd asked I'daur to keep an eye out for diplomats for me, but I've yet to seek his opinion. Perhaps I ought to, now they are moving into senior weyrling status." "Considering Leiventh's successes, that may happen farther from now then you may imagine," M'wen replies with a small grin. "I do concede thaat the hatching where I wasn't involved was a -bit- less stressful and more enjoyable or that matter." He doesn't make a comment on the first remark, instead giving a slow nod, "I'm sure the weyrlings would be fine talking to you or I'daur. Despite your roots, most only know you as their Weyrleader, causing at least some level of respect towards yourself." R'hin grimaces briefly, casting a glance towards the cinnamon bronze circling above the lake. "Don't," he half-jokingly begs, "Leiventh wanting to stay in the Weyr is not one of the better outcomes of such things. I little like the restriction-- too much like being a weyrling again, almost." An unbidden chuckle bubbles up from the scruffy-haired bronzerider at the mention of his roots, and respect, pale eyes gleaming. "Too true, all too true. I've become respectable by default, no?" "But without the stickler Weyrlingmaster making you run laps everyday?" M'wen asks, an innocent chuckle escaping. "Leiventh looks the position well. You? Maybe not so much. But you have been doing a good job either way." The last comment gets a full throated laugh out, the brownriders eyes twinkling, "Who wouldv'e thought it eh?" "No," R'hin agrees, laughingly, "But that I do everyday anyway, so it's almost like not much has changed, some days." The praise is taken instride, though the pleased glitter of the bronzerider's eyes suggests he's happy with the compliment. "Certainly not me," he concedes with an expansive wave of his hand. "Though Leiventh probably thought so - it was one of the things we often disagreed about. Still do, really." He leans to pick up the bottle and refill his own glass, before tipping it towards M'wen in silent invitation. "I feel the need to get out of the Weyr for a while. We should go somewhere, like we used to. Refresh our minds. Clarify our purpose. Cause an incident." His grin deepens at the last. "For old time's sake," M'wen confirms with a grin, lifting the empty glass to the invitation of more. "Maybe not an incident, but clearing our heads could only be an improvement." The brownrider adopts a far off expression, any dragonrider knowing he was talking to his lifemate. "Where shall we go?" He asks after the pause, "Maxeoth comes." Before any response is given he adds, "You haven't been impeached yet, have you? That must tell you something." R'hin promptly refills M'wen's glass, setting the bottle on the table between them. He takes a gulp from his own glass, giving a dark chuckle. "Perhaps not an incident," he agrees, mildly, a faint curl of lips however giving hint to amusement. The bronze shadow that plagues the lake breaks away, lazily winging in their direction, too. "Go? I don't care. Somewhere distant, I think. Maybe to the weavercraft hall? I could do with some new clothes.. if I am to be impeached?" "I didn't imply you'd be impeached," M'wen explains, taking the refilled glass with a nod of thanks, taking a small sip. "I'm just saying you seemed so certain it would happen when Leiventh first caught Lhiannonth. And now, people actually respect you, not just the position." His train of thought ends with the brown dragon landing on the ledge, quickly walking into the chamber to avoid cramping the small ledge. "This is your trip, you choose the destination." "Wonder of wonders," R'hin acknowledges. "But I wouldn't hold my breath just yet, wise man. We are only just at the beginning, after all." His hands spread wide, pale eyes watching Maxeoth's landing with a nod for the dragon, before he drains the remainder of his glass. Leiventh can be seen, hovering nearby, waiting for for the space to land. A flicker of a smile appears on the Weyrleader's expression. "Ah, but you share whatever spoils or pushiments that come with the choice... no?" Perhaps he's not speaking merely of the choice of their destination, anymore, though he waves a hand dismissively. "Weavercraft it is, then. Lead on, as ever, my good man." M'wen mirrors the motions to drain the rest of his glass, placing it on the table with a soft clinking, standingslowly to his feet to walk towards the brown dragon who so recently because part of the rooms decor. "Punishments? Perhaps. Spoils? We shall see." is all the brownrider cryptically replies to the last comment before throwing on his riding jacket (which happens to be hanging on a peg near the entrance) and skillfully jumping up Maxeoth's back. He sits perched atop the dragon, awaiting the Weyrleaders readyness for the coming flight "We shall," R'hin agrees, with good humor, cryptic comment or not. Leiventh lands soon after, the bronzerider retrieving his flying gear and putting them on before mounting, with a nod towards M'wen. As usual, he defers to the brownrider in the matter of flying, the bronze content to take his clutchmate's lead. You hop up onto Leiventh's back, using his foreleg as a step. » M'wen jumps up onto Maxeoth's back, using his straps as handholds. » Maxeoth rises effortlessly into the sky. You rise effortlessly into the air. » Maxeoth disappears into Between. » Leiventh disappears into Between. Between You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats... Black... Blacker... Blackest! You suddenly emerge... Sky Above The Weavercrafthall Soft tropical breezes swirl in thermal patterns above the WeaverCraft Hall making it easy to float above the colourful panorama below. That same current plays with the lush tropical trees of the rainforest just beyond the Hall. Directly below you lies the inner courtyard: a colourful patchwork of green and other vivid colours lined by tall palms that sway in the breeze. Light reflects off the water in the white fountain placed at the centre of the courtyard and gleams on the pure white slate of the WeaverCraft Hall building that surrounds the courtyard on all four sides. To the north lie the great doors of the main entrance to the Hall, a field just beyond with a large area perfect for dragons. In the distance, you can see Southern Boll Hold. Brown pathways lead from the entrance cutting through fields of cotton and beyond to the verdant green of the forest. Contents: Maxeoth Obvious exits: FIelds Upper Sky » Leiventh emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! » Maxeoth wings down into the fields of the WeaverCraft Hall. You wing down into the fields of the WeaverCraft Hall. You jump down Leiventh's side to the ground, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely. Fields Around the WeaverCraft Hall(#11968RJa) A white stone path leads up to the impressive double doors of the Hall made of heavy skybroom with solid metal hinges in the form of shuttles. Meadering through the field around the hall, gravel paths lead to various areas of planted beds. Flowers and herbs fill the area with fragrant scents. Trees provide welcome shade from Boll's hot sun around a large area has been cleared for dragon landings to one side. Y'tell and Phelth (+view), the craft's watchrider and his dragon, can usually be found at the landing, ready to exchange gossip with visiting riders. Weavers can be seen harvesting plants for the dye room or just for adding to the beauty of the hall. In the distance are flax and cotton fields and a large storage building. A paddock fenced in by stone is adjacent to a stable. Contents: M'wen Maxeoth Leiventh Obvious exits: Great Hall Outer Entrance This far south, the weather is a great deal warmer than 'Reaches, warm enough that R'hin sheds his flight jacket as he reaches the ground, glancing around. "I haven't been here since our trip, when we were weyrlings," he confesses, breathing in deeply as if enjoying being away from the Weyr for a time. Leiventh, after rumbling his low greeting to the watchdragon, settles down, disinterested in their surroundings in contrast to his rider. "That way, perhaps?" the Weyrleader suggests, with a nod towards the hall. M'wen looks around with mild confusion, sliding down his dragons flank, shucking off his jacket as he goes. A light slap is given to Maxeoth's flank as he turns to the bronzerider, a non-commital shrug presented. "I truthfully have little clue, but that would seem the most logical course of action at the moment." He begins to walk slowly in the indicated direction, only speeding up when and if the Weyrleader joins him. You stride through the doors into the great hall. Weavercrafthall Great Hall(#2555RJ) Plants are grouped in the corners of this light, airy hall. Doors and windows are usually left open, allowing in the balmy air. Lavender draperies frame the windows in a soft lightweight brocade. The tables, from the plain apprentice tables with benches to the ornately carved master's platform with its chairs covered in plush lavender corduroy, are made of light golden oak. The walls are painted the palest of yellows, contrasting pleasantly with the beige terra cotta floor scattered randomly with lavender tiles. Several vibrant colored tapestries depicting scenes from Pern's history line the walls between the glow baskets that provide light when needed. The low murmur of conversations adds a pleasant background noise. Large golden oak doors lead west into the fitting room, northwest into the working wing, east into the kitchen, northeast into the teaching wing, and north into the inner courtyard. An enormous set of oak doors with spindle-shapes hinges lead out to the fields and front entrance of the WeaverCraft Hall. Tucked in the corner near the kitchen are a set of stairs that lead to the masters' hallway on the second floor. +views available Contents: Fort Area Tapestry Northern Continent Model Obvious exits: Stairs Up Fields Fitting Room Kitchen Teaching Wing Inner Courtyard Working Wing M'wen walks through the doors into the great hall from the outside. M'wen has arrived. "I see our last trip here had an amazing impact on you, wise man," R'hin comments in an amused undertone, matching his pace to M'wen's. He's not in any great hurry, it would seem, and allows the other to set a slow, easy walk, pale eyes flickering around the hall. "Though, I imagine it pales in comparison to some of the other... encounters?" The few glances they get receive a murmured, "'Reaches duties'," from the bronzerider. M'wen looks around with faint recognition, but nothing more. "We've been here before in our travels? I actually don't remember." He admits sheepishly, looking at the people about with interest. "It mustn't have been very problematic for me to not remember it though, maybe they won't kick us out before we actually get to look around?" He gives a little grin before giving a small gesture, "You should probably lead on." "Briefly," R'hin concedes, with a sidelong glance to his companion. "Not long after the Fort incident, which is understandable that you should forget." A thread of amusement lilts through the Weyrleader's tone, gesturing briefly across the hall to his intended destination. It's accompanied by a wry sort of chuckle as he sets an easy pace across the floor. "As ever, the burden of command lies on my shoulders, hm?" "You need the practice," M'wen throws back with a grin, following after the Weyrleaders stride. "Doesn't ring a bell," The brownrider responds after a long pause, "I don't really remember it at all, though I guess not much happened?" His query sounds more rhetorical then anything, looking in the direction of gesture towards their destination, a brief nod given. R'hin throws a grin towards the brownrider, picking up his pace as he heads towards the wooden door leading to the fitting rooms. "Not much," he agrees. "But remember: we -are- in Fort's territory." His tone is low, though sufficient enough to convey bland amusement as he heads through the door. You stride into the fitting room. Fitting Room(#12024RJ) A riot of colors and textures assaults your eyes from the long wall to one side. Floor-to-ceiling shelves contain bolts of fabric of every imaginable type as well as finished, ready-to-wear clothing that is neatly folded. Large wardrobes line the short wall on the other side with finished commissions hanging neatly on the racks inside. In front of you is a line of curtained-off rooms where visitors can try on clothing. Set in each corner are wooden platforms raised several inches off the floor around which a three-panel mirror is wrapped. Windows set into the short walls provide natural light in addition to the glows placed strategically around the room. Large golden oak doors lead from this room to the working wing and sewing room, and a set of double oak doors open into the great hall to the east. Obvious exits: Working Room Great Hall Working Wing M'wen steps into the fitting room from the great hall. M'wen has arrived. "I assume they probably have long forgotten and we're just stirring a pot long taken off the kettle." M'wen replies, though he seems to find humor in the previous statement of R'hin's. Looking around at the fabrics about, M'wen looks to the bronzerider, asking only, "Looking for anything in particular?" "Perhaps." R'hin's amusement lingers as he steps into the room, gaze sweeping the racks of clothing. "Something suitably formal for me," he eventually answers, with a sidelong glance, adding, "And for you too, I think, wise man." M'wen takes a step back at the last comment, "Why do I need something formal? My job isn't a formal one and you know I tryto avoid big fancy do's." Quickly changing the subject the brownrider points to a fabric of a royal blue, "That'd look good on you...I think." "Mm. Not yet," is all R'hin says, secretive curl of lip visible as he turns his attention to the indicated fabric, with a tip of head. "Hm. A nice shirt, perhaps," he allows, nodding agreeably. "You've a good eye." M'wen raises a brow questioningly before shrugging softly and looking around the rows of fabrics. "Maybe I do need a nice shirt or something for the Weyrlings graduation. I don't want to disapppoint." Who he doesn't want to disappoint is unclear, but the brownriders attention is not on the varying shades of green along the far wall. A knowing sort of grin appears on R'hin's face, the bronzerider agreeing, "That would be... appropriate. And I'm sure we'd be able to obtain a minor discount, if we both order something." He moves along the racks of fabric, selecting a black, with a thoughtful expression. No coincidence, really, that he chooses the black to go with the blue - the colors of High Reaches. Idly: "What is Tavrie's favorite color?" "It would." M'wen agrees, absently scanning the colours. "I'm sure the weavers would be thrilled to give a discount." He lets out a small chuckle though his attention is still thoughtful. The brownrider notes the Weyrleaders pick before his attention fully goes back to R'hin, "I...I don't really know, it's never come up." He frowns, brow furrowed in thought, looking away from the bronzerider. "You should ask. Women like you to know that sort of information." There's a glint in R'hin's pale eyes, as he confides in a low voice, "The lady of the spires' favorite color is pink, though if you asked she'd claim it was red." The brief chuckle he gives is somewhat dark, and, having decided on his colors, looks over others. "Perhaps a burgundy?" He suggests, blandly. "Perhaps you're right, but as I said, it isn't something that comes up too often you know?" M'wen replies with a shrug, "I really don't think I want to know how you know that." The brownrider gives a look about at all the darker shades, "Something not that offensive, so even though it may not be her favourite, I won't be scaring anyone away." He lets a low chuckle escape, the burgundy and deep green fabrics getting a one over. With a twitch of brows, R'hin suggests: "Offer to help her find furnishings for her Weyr. Then you'll be able to make an educated enough guess." While the Weyrleader's grin widens, all he says is: "It was not difficult to guess, soon after meeting her. The weyrwoman is, at heart, a girl's girl, hidden well though it might be." The latter comment earns a low chuckle of his own, the bronzerider nodding towards a darker green in agreement. "This, perhaps? With a dark grey trousers." M'wen can only grin at the suggestion, seeming to find the answer more then satisfactory, "I don't know why I'm the wise man with you having ideas like that. I wouldv'e just ummed and ahhed until I find little things like that accidentally." He looks to the pointed out fabric, nodding in agreement, "I think that would do nicely, the grey would accent it well." The previous comment though, brings a look of surprise to the brownriders face, "Who wouldv'e thought it eh?" he then adds, somewhat cryptically, "I wonder what -she- has to hide." "I'm the visionary, remember? That means I have the ideas. Not always -good- ideas, but ideas, nonetheless." R'hin's tone is rather dryly sardonic, though he does give an approving nod at M'wen's decision, moving towards the journeyman weaver who was hovering discreetly nearby. After a bit of haggling, the pair decide on a price, R'hin pointing out the appropriate fabrics, before handing over part payment. Only when that's done, does he answer the brownrider's comment, with a thin-lipped smile. "We -all- have something to hide, my friend." "They -mostly- seem good to me, though before I doubt I could say that." M'wen waits for the Weyrleader to return before adding, "The more someone has to hide, the more they act like they are not. You may not have noticed it yourself, but as you relinquish the hold secrets have on you by either forgetting the past or letting them known can and will change a person, usually for the better." He pauses to shoot R'hin a smile, "I don't know why, but you now seem to be acting like you always have wanted to, or at least closer to that unattainable goal. Satiet, on the other hand, seems to have something big enough to hide behind that shell we all know and..." He pauses, a wry look crossing his face, "I guess some may love." "Not always for the better," R'hin says, a hint of sharpness in the quiet rejoinder. "As for my... acting. Perhaps that is-- all that it is. Acting. Truth or falsehood, it will do well enough for now. And we have the trappings to accompany the illusion?" facetious words are offered with a wave of hand towards the fabrics, twitch of lips betraying faint humor. A glitter of eyes, knowing, at the talk of Satiet. "The lady of the spires is a fisherman's daughter, almost a fisherman's wife, who would be great. It is a story to inspire harpers, though in harper's tales, she would have the personality of someone everyone would know and love. Real life is not quite like that. Frailties make us as much as anything, my friend." M'wen lets no emotion show other then a brief shrug, coming along with his comment, "Believe what you may, and say what you must to keep your image, but I know who's right here whetehr you'll admit it or not." He shakes his head, looking to be shaking a nagging thought, "I can't, no, I won't believe that people as smart as yourselves would act as you do without a purpose. Be it to hide a past indiscretion or to further a personal agenda." His brows are furrowed, avoiding the bronzeriders gaze, mearly asking, "Do you truly believe that the way you, and even others act, not just act, are even, is how they want to? Do -you- think it's possible to be bad an yet still think of others over yourself?" All traces of good cheer - falsity or not - have vanished from R'hin's demeanor by the time the brownrider asks his question. There's a faint tension to the Weyrleader's posture, pale eyes guarded as he responds, simply, "Yes." A beat, then, "I have to believe that. Choices are never black and white. They are fuelled by our relationships - the strengths and weaknesses, the ebbs and flows of those we interact with. -You- have made -me- a better person," he confesses, blandly honest. "Maybe even sometimes made me -want- to be a better person, though I don't know if that's possible, no matter what you believe. Whatever the case, there is a handful of people I would put before me. Only a handful. Does that make me good... or bad?" M'wen looks straight at R'hin, answering the question with one of his own, only, "Is there a difference between being good and believing you're good? You know the answer in this case and it answers your question." "Perhaps not," R'hin concedes, with a spread of his hands, "Though the proposition falls apart when one believes neither." M'wen gives a small grin, his point recieved. "How can one be something without belief. If you tell yourself you're bad, then what are you other then bad? It is all up to oneself to decide, only for others to help them on the path." He takes a step back from the rows of fabric, the tensions in his features fading. "Did you hear about Eniolth?" "Belief," R'hin echoes, somewhat doubtfully, "That is something I leave to you. To Maja. Perhaps your belief in me will be sufficient to the cause." His own tension lingers, visible in the slightly stiff movements, the tip of head and furrow of brow. "I did." He's silent a moment, unhappy. "If nothing else, he'll set an example for the others to be patient, and for their riders' will to be strong. Tavaith has me concerned, though W'red appears to be working hard to keep him in hand." "I'm afraid..." M'wen admits, dropping his eyes to the ground, "What if it happens when one of the weyrlings is on the dragons back," Weyrlings is stressed in such a way it probably implies one or two certain ones. "I couldn't stand to see-" He pauses to gather himself, somewhat, "-plummeting towards the ground, wings not able to hold them in the sky." He gives a nervous grin, "But I'm just over reacting, right?" "You're not overreacting. You're considering the possibilities. It's what you do, for me. It's natural that you should... use it in your job, too." R'hin exhales, and with it, the remainder of his tension begins to fade away, acutely aware of M'wen's uneasiness and ill-at-ease with it. "It they really want to do it, there's nothing you can do. Except, perhaps, have Maxeoth ready to try and slow down their decent. They're still small enough that he could do that, even with Nabrimeth, I'd bet." M'wen nods with a firm set to his features, "It's better then nothing. We don't want to have too many crippled riders and dragons..." He pales slightly at a thought, before taking a deep breath, seeming to be at peace with the latest problem. "Maybe we should head back soon? They may be missing you in the weyr." "No, we don't," R'hin agrees fervently, his voice probably as serious as M'wen's ever heard it. He gives an acknowledging nod to M'wen's suggestion, accompanied by a faint smile. "I appreciate your company as ever, my friend. But you're right, past time to get back. The Journeyman said the clothes should be ready in a sevenday's time." With a last look over the fabrics, he heads towards the door. M'wen nods in response, following at R'hin's heels, looking at least slightly better then he was before. You stroll into the great hall. |
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