Logs:Leader Of The Pack
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| RL Date: 26 June, 2013 |
| Who: Cadejoth, Solith |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: On the first day of the camping trip, Solith seeks Cadejoth out. |
| Where: Southern Continent / High Reaches Area |
| When: Day 4, Month 2, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Yes, well. |
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| All the way over there, wherever there is... there's a rush of bright breeze, Solith not even thinking about whether he might be asleep or landing or taking off or flaming something, even. With that breeze comes an image, and within the image there is a cove much like theirs, and in the cove there is a beach, and off the beach there are... things, human things, all sorts of things, but up high there are cliffs to sit on and that is where she is, with the world so small down below. (To Cadejoth from Solith) To Solith, Cadejoth's is a world of ice and snow, white and white and white-upon-white. There's a cold, icy wind beneath his wings as he soars, and now - that bright breeze, and all those images Solith shares. « It's a lovely spot, » he tells her, sharing his in return: distant mountains, ice-capped and glorious. Home. That's very nice and all, where he's at, pretty and white enough that she'd have to close two of her eyelids, maybe, not just one. But she's been there. Recently. So recently! Though Solith does watch for a while, to see if anything comes up that's... different. (To Cadejoth from Solith) There's nothing different. Whiteness... lots of whiteness. Even Cadejoth is a little bored of it, if we're going to be honest, though that is only a whisper amidst his thoughts. « Show me more of where you are? » he prompts, then, as if he intends to warm himself under her reflected sun. (To Solith from Cadejoth) Solith likes whispers, likes teasing them out from where they lurk, and this whisper she particularly likes. There's a hint of glitter on the wind, light fragmented off the froth of waves, made slower and shallower by the sandbar that makes the lagoon that much more secluded. Within the cliffs upon which she sits there are weyrs, almost, only not so large, and without proper ledges. They should have ledges. Perhaps they will arrange for a ledge, while they are here, but in the meantime the top of this cliff is almost, almost like one big ledge, and it will almost, almost do. (To Cadejoth from Solith) Almost. Cadejoth leans in to Solith's glitter, and in to the wonders she shares; good, very good, very nice. A weyr without a ledge is no weyr at all to his mind, but he can appreciate her cliff-top repose, nonetheless, and the view that extends from it. He'd like that. The sun. The sand. The water. The fish, too, the ones he suggests with a clank of metal: maybe? (To Solith from Cadejoth) There are fish, Solith relates; she saw them earlier, she swam with them. She didn't even eat them... if only because they were too small. But also colorful, and bright, and they wanted to live... and so they get to live. At least, until they are bigger and worth it. (To Cadejoth from Solith) To Solith, Cadejoth mostly resists the urge to add tiny but razor-sharp teeth to the brightly coloured fish in his thoughts (mostly, because a few of them do show up with those vicious smiles). He seems pleased with them - with their being, and also their prettiness, and perhaps, most of all, the fact that they get to live. For now. « Perhaps you will find bigger ones. » « Perhaps! » But in the meantime, Solith is absolutely not averse to those fish and those sharp, sharp, sharp teeth. They don't want to bite her, after all. They know better, or at least, Solith's fish do; Cadejoth's, perhaps not. In fact, they might be the prettier for such fangs, which all of hers develop now in turn... except for one. (To Cadejoth from Solith) Cadejoth's are certainly vicious little creatures, like a packing of barking, hounding dogs, clustered around him. But it's okay: he's the king of them all, leader of the pack. But, « I won't let them hurt you. » (To Solith from Cadejoth) Solith stares. Big eyes. Fish-dogs! « You had better not, » she tells him. And then suddenly, « Did you make them that way so that you could say that? » (To Cadejoth from Solith) To Solith, Cadejoth's answer holds mock offense. « I? Make them? » Surely they popped up out of nowhere, here to escort him, to court him. « Why would I do that deliberately? To make myself seem big and strong and protective? » (Which he is. But that's rather beside the point.) « Yes. » But she sounds more amused than otherwise, warm as the tropics, fresh as mountain snow. (To Cadejoth from Solith) Fresh as the mountain snow he's still flying so far above, though the mountains are closer now, their precipices hinted at despite the warmth and the fish of his thoughts. « I would never, » he insists, hangdog. « They have minds of their owns. » (To Solith from Cadejoth) Hangdog. Cadejoth. She stalls, a swirl of air, because it doesn't seem right. « Would you show me? » Could he? May he? She doesn't think to ask whether it would be wrong to. (To Cadejoth from Solith) Showing is different, and leaves Cadejoth momentarily at a loss. Because... his dog-fish don't have minds of their own, and that much is obvious as he opens his thoughts, revealing the chaotic cacophony of them. There's not much thinking going on here at all! (To Solith from Cadejoth) Oh. « They are very... loud, » Solith offers, as though she were trying to make it a compliment. (To Cadejoth from Solith) To Solith, Cadejoth dismisses them, all teeth and tail, and draws the quiet back towards himself (quiet interrupted, granted, by the continued jangling of his chains). « They can be, » he confirms. « They're friendly. And fun. But they won't hurt you. » Just now, the chains feel just like part of Cadejoth: not to be ignored, more like just part of life. « How are they fun? » Solith watches them, not exactly warily, but not yet dipping her toe in. (To Cadejoth from Solith) To Solith, Cadejoth's counter is prompt, and at least one part bewildered. « How are they not fun? » What could be more fun? Wind circles. Then, « Show me how they are fun with you? » Solith tries. (To Cadejoth from Solith) The dismissed dog-fish return, flooding through Cadejoth's thoughts. From the outside, it's probably not terribly obvious where the 'fun' is, and yet... Cadejoth's thoughts near burst with exuberance. His pack. Run free. (To Solith from Cadejoth) Freedom is good. Solith... thinks. And the fast, and all of them together, going and going and going. And the exuberance. It's just that, all of a sudden, it's a little overwhelming and she isn't sure why, surely it shouldn't be. (To Cadejoth from Solith) Perhaps it's because this pack, so fierce and proud and strong, could be threatening, for all that Cadejoth reins it in once more. (To Solith from Cadejoth) Perhaps. Solith rarely thinks of herself as fragile, not the way her rider does... and yet. (To Cadejoth from Solith) To Solith, Cadejoth draws them away from her-- he'll protect her. He's said that already, of course, but the thought stands: she's safe. With him. She already half-misses them: they were his, after all, and they were interesting, even if they're a little... a little... what they were. He must miss them more, she might think, for being his-- even if they're still his, just elsewhere. And, « They will miss you. Go, be with them, » run or fly or swim, it's all the same, She's just a little... something... is all. Perhaps it's just something in the wind. (To Cadejoth from Solith) To Solith, Cadejoth assents, though there's something thoughtful and restrained in his touch, now. Perhaps... well. There will be other occasions. « Stay safe, young Solith, » he says, as jangling marks his departure to that world of ice and snow. |
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