Logs:No Few Dragons
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| RL Date: 15 February, 2013 |
| Who: Brieli, Iesaryth, Arekoth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iesaryth and Arekoth get along much better than Brieli and H'kon. |
| Where: Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 13, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'kon/Mentions |
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| Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather. The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure.
Arekoth comes airborne, and comes alone - or, without H'kon. There is a former-something, one might even argue a former-someone (or a part of it) clutched in his talons. « Iesaryth, » greets his mate (whether she likes it or not), a warm, light tone, paired with a yellow glow of light. And that partial carcass? That's allowed to droop away from his body, to be shown, flaunted even. « Still warm. » And all hers, if she'll let him stop his circling glide. Iesaryth isn't immediately inclined to let Arekoth land, but the gift - such as it is - might do a little something to take the chill off seawinds. Her rider glances up and has roll her eyes skyward, as if it's a royal pain in the ass for her. But she seems a little resigned as she removes her jacket, carefully folding it over one arm as Iesaryth replies, « Arekoth. » It takes time for her to consider, but not so long that anything's going to get cold. « Fine. » He can come down, he can look... but if his comes along with him, they'd better both be on good behaviour. It might be a sign of just how chilly that cold shoulder's been taken, or maybe of that new stronger presence coming off the queen, that Arekoth doesn't start to give up altitude until he's allowed, where normally he would cheat toward his goal. Still, the landing isn't overtly reverent; the brown's feet find the edge of the sands, nearer the queen, that he can drop off his bri- err, gift, « First of many, » and, no sooner as his wings are settled, he's licking his talons clean while eyeballing those eggs. Maybe Iesaryth notices that. Maybe Brieli does too, from the arch of fine brows as she leans back against the rock of the cavern, set on just ignoring the whole thing. She'll look at the eggs too, rather than her dragon eating or Arekoth with the bloody talons. And the gold does eat; though she's not precisely stuck to the sands in the same way as her counterpart, but she's neither willing to leave them be if she's the only one to keep guard. « Thank you. » It's gracious, to make up for her lack of manners before. And then, « They are all nice eggs. » Hers might be a bit nicer, but not so much as to argue. « Especially ours. » Surely the brown can pick them out based on some sort of fatherly instinct. Or at least will claim as much, if questioned. Arekoth takes his good and sweet time in his grooming, and then gives a careful extension of that one tweaked leg, which surely is not opposed to the added warmth of the sands. After his final inspection of his feet, his gaze brushes past Iesaryth's before moving to the queen herself. A belated hint of play dares to change the yellow toward a pink. The gold will not argue with that; why really? Iesaryth is pleased with the eggs, what's more, pleased to be done with her eggs, but for the watching and hatching. « They are not so interesting now, but they will be once they are done. » Once they're dragons. It's too bad, really, that they do not yet talk. She's tried. Arekoth's cleaning does not bother her or distract her from her meal. As he moves over, she doesn't glance up, but there's a sense of knowing the brown is there. And she's not arguing with that, either. « What do you think they'll be? » That pink aurora grows as Iesaryth speaks more, Arekoth's ego salved well enough that any hints of manners are relaxing, melting away even there. He shifts a little more, cants his head, as if listening, intent. But for all that formality is slackening, the brown gives real time to answering Ieasryth's query, feeling his way until he decides, « Strong. » His head goes the other way. « Little at first, » is back to the more jovial intonation. Iesaryth's waves are likewise less chill; not quite her customary summer warmth, but better. Her rider might give another eyeroll at that, but who's paying attention to her? Maybe the gold, but not enough to do much about it. Eventually, she sits back from the little that's left of her meal, warmer for that besides. There's amusement as Arekoth listens, even though she's said they won't talk. The consideration isn't quite met with surprise, but she's pleased by it. « I would like them to be clever. » Little at first is a given, even she was small, once. They don't have to talk for Arekoth to listen, and to feel-hear things from them. He leans ever so slightly closer, front legs both shifting forward in the sand to support the weight of his chest and shoulders, carefully, slowly. There's a click in the brown's throat that could well be meant for his offspring. Iesaryth isn't alone in this being her first-ever. And there's the beginnings of excited crackles in the back of his mind, cold only because that's how that rare imagery just is. « And brave. » Neither Iesaryth nor her rider will chase Arekoth off, as he eases down into the hot sands. In face, Brieli seems content to leave them alone, more or less. The goldrider hasn't gone away, but she's moved off to the bowl entrance, where her feet will be less hot, where she can wear her jacket and pay no attention to bonding over eggs. The queen is again amused by the crackling, the excitement, if only because - as she's often reminded - all this will take time. « Few dragons are not brave. » But perhaps theirs, more so. « These eggs are no few dragons, » is a confirmation with all the sound of a father's boasting, the brown quite at home in this role now, with food and sand making him comfortable, with H'kon's absence ensuring things don't go the other way, and with all his progeny laid out before him. He swings his head for a quick look across both clutches, and then happily dwells on one egg that is fast working its way to becoming his favourite. Again, why argue? Iesaryth is content to believe that her lineage should be extraordinary. It sets the fish beneath waves into a frenzy of swimming, thoughts moving in that direction, all the eggs' direction. Maybe they can hear. As far as Arekoth is concerned, the gold seems likewise content to let him sit there for now - and perhaps if someone starts making a fuss about it, she will at least point out the brown's lack of culpability, and decent manners besides! It's enough for her to set down her head on the sand, as if the weight of thoughts are too heavy to hold it up. And, for now, Arekoth too is content to sit, to stare at those eggs, to turn his attention here to one, there to another. To inspect, examine, feel, listen, and maybe even occasionally click or churr. His stay probably won't last the full night, even if he were allowed that. But it's a moment of relative contentedness. Really, he should leave H'kon behind more often. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:No Few Dragons"Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 17 Feb 2013 20:30:27 GMT.
Arekoth is a good clutchpapa. c:
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