Logs:Feathers!
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| RL Date: 24 May, 2015 |
| Who: Roszadyth, Jorrth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two baby dragons play in the mud during the rain. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Rainy. |
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| Jorrth has been under the wind and rain protection of one of the bowl walls, waiting, resting, talking to a green who's only just left. It frees him up to look over the bowl that is home, to focus on the state of the bowl's floor, to snort out breath hot enough that there's a little puff of condensation... and then to lift up his tail and wings, and to run, full out, for the centre of the bowl. Roszadyth loves to watch and observe, and make pleasant conversation from wherever it is that she has chosen to relax for the day. She has done as much since after lunchtime and even now, lounges placidly by the barracks, her buttery-gold hide visible in the dark, stormy muck. Her touch is light, dappled, and full of her customary warmth. « Jorrth! » is brimming with laughter, and enthusiasm. « Are you racing? » Jorrth gains full speed, aimed right at that good muddy patch, and then stops, locking all four legs. « Sliding! » corrects the blue, his mindvoice cracking, presumably with excitement, even while his back end suddenly decides it wants to go faster than his front, and he spins and has to hop once to avoid falling over. Shaggy wings get a shake once his momentum's all used up, and he starts trotting back, to regain a good starting distance for round two. Mud, the smell and the sound and the feel of it radiates from Jorrth from a not-so-far-off memory. « I do so enjoy mud, » Roszadyth admits primly, and hefts her bulk up from the bowl floor to amble curiously after Jorrth. He may be smaller and bluer, but she gives him the lead, skirting his proximity in such a way to suggest she's waiting. Jorrth doesn't actually lean his head against Roszadyth as she comes around, but there's a mental lean there, pleased at being joined. « It works best, » he tells her, while watching her make her circuit, « if you jump a little right before you hit the mud. » Thus follows the demonstration, full speed ahead. Roszadyth is watchful, but remains excited. « Amazing! You do it with such ease, » she praises. It is soon her turn and she, true to her nature, chooses not to run, though when she gets to the end of her lumbering-trot, she simply tips over into the squishy mud. « How can one not love the mud? » « I do it with lots of practice, » Jorrth corrects, though there's a playfulness to his words, and to the little flick of his wings as he re-orients himself to face Roszadyth. Her tip-over is watched, the motion mimicked in the bob of his head. Those big eyes stare right at his golden sister. « Do you love the rain, too? » Roszadyth wallows in the mud, turning until all of her sides are covered. She's unconcerned for Farideh's hard work to clean her up later; for now, it's fun. « It shows. » On the next turn, she ends up on her belly, head lifting, wings twitching, flinging mud this way and that. « Rain makes a lovely sound but mud, » she sighs, « is endlessly delightful. Do you, Jorrth, love the rain? » Jorrth considers that question for a while, backing up, but not quite as far this time, those eyes still more on Roszadyth than where he's going. (It's proof of the fact that his growth spurts have slowed, that he doesn't do a faceplant right then and there.) « I think it's interesting, » the blue says carefully, thoughtfully, « how different rain can be. Sometimes it's light and sometimes you can't even see through it. But I don't always like to be wet. I like being sunny-warm. » Roszadyth agrees with an encouraging sound. « Sunny-warm, » is mimicked in both words and feel, her mind touch brightening. « It dries up the mud, » she says, less enthusiastically; it's almost doleful. « Farideh hates the snow. Have you seen snow? » « But then the mud can get good and dusty, if you run over it all for a while, once it's dry. » The blue orients himself carefully, a sidestep this way, a shift that, a flick of his wings, a swing of his tail, a toss of his head. « Yes! There was snow... there was snow days ago. » He doesn't remember how many, and T'mic's no help. « It was like cold little bits of feathers. » Like the one he saw floating through the barracks recently. It's another trot, rather than a run, and more of a skid than a jump into the mud alongside the gold. Roszadyth lists to the right. « Does it? » She's mildly inquisitive, pleasantly so. « Does it feel as cool and soothing as mud? Does it squelch? » But there is the little blue to watch, his trot, that leads him up to her and she only slightly leans out of the way, not to bump her head against his side when he lands in the mud nearby. « Feathers? » She tries hard to remember, but they're such a tenuous things, memories. « Feathers! » The image that gets shared with Roszadyth is one that doesn't come from Jorrth; it's an image of Jorrth himself watching a little white feather float through the air. It's T'mic's image. But here, she can have it. Stationary, blue considers gold a moment longer, and then flops onto his belly, in the mud. « Dry mud doesn't squelch. But it scratches and covers you up without making it hard to move. » '"Feathers. Roszadyth turns around the image in her mind, exulting in the newness and excitement of something so simple. « That, » she sighs, rolling next to the blue, « is a pity. » She luxuriates in being in the mud up to her elbows, mindless of any strange stares two weyrling dragons in the mud might garner. « I could fall asleep right here. » And she sounds sleepy enough that she just might. Jorrth wiggles his legs and scooches his belly around in the mud. « Even in the rain, » isn't quite a question, so much as a consideration. Jorrth wiggle-scooches enough that he can push his big flat head up against the gold's shoulder. He'll wait for a while... but probably not sleep. He has to be ready to go help T'mic, after all. |
Comments
Alida (03:43, 25 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
- giggles* This reminded me of Ilicaeth destroying one of his clutchsib's rider's bed by hopping onto it. Kids. ^^
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