Logs:Jorrth and T'mic's First Mounted Flight
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| RL Date: 2 June, 2015 |
| Who: T'mic, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Telavi throws snowballs, and Jorrth and T'mic get to fly together. |
| Where: Mountain Meadow, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snow. All over the ground. |
| Mentions: Sabella/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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Mountain Meadow A long, broad valley sandwiched between taller mountain peaks, its lush grasses stand at waist height in the summertime and sway gently in the constant breeze, dying back only in early winter. In spring, the meadow comes alive, turning the ocean of green into a sea of reds, blues, yellows and oranges as tiny flowers burst into bloom. At dawn and dusk, small herds of wild herbivores might be seen at the end of the valley as shadowy shapes who keep well away from visitors. Winding along the edge of the mountain base as it follows a downward slope, a small stream provides clear, fresh water from the snow-capped peaks. In springtime, in summertime, the meadow's lovely with wildflowers amid the lush grasses; right now, it's just a whole lot of snow and ice that, while anything but comfortable to land upon, has the virtue of also not having much in the way of pointy trees or stabby rocks. "Not that you'll need it, because you'll do fine," Tela enthuses to T'mic on their short trip to the valley; Solith's still half again Jorrth's length, but light-boned without that growing crest to his neck. If there's a dead dragonet somewhere, it's between, nowhere near here at all. "Oh yeah. He's pretty good at this sort of stuff," T'mic agrees with an easy shrug. He's no more bothered by the snow than Jorrth, who is making his way happily alongside Solith, excited, yes, but focused too, even to the point of (mostly) ignoring the lumps that promise to be buried interesting treasures, and the patches of ice that might let him have a quick slide. "And he's been doing good flying alone, too. And he's got so much bigger." Not that T'mic's a little nervous or excited or anything. "So much!" Telavi unnecessarily secures her hat and then trudges-- it would be a trot, but snow-- jauntily over to Jorrth to inspect his straps; she's exceedingly careful about it, and shares a relieved glance with T'mic after. "He didn't grow out of this set, at least. What is it, number three? Five? Forty-two?" T'mic offers Telavi a bit of a grin, and shakes his head. "Just three. Thought we had plenty but... his shoulders, you know? Ever since they started flying." It's said with an obvious fondness, one the bluerider makes no attempt to hide, and pride, too. Jorrth watches Telavi go about her things, reaching that nose a little bit toward her, but not touching. She's doing important things. Very important. "Faranth, I hope these last, at least a while." Telavi wiggles her shoulders, for the fun of it; "I do too," she says, but as though it's pure and simple hope without any promise of reality. "Maybe it's better to make lots of straps when he's littler, and then have it slow down when he's larger? If, you know, we could plan any of that..." She steps back. "Go ahead, get up, just like we practiced, and let's make sure they hold before they get up there." This time, after she steps back, she reaches down for some snow to shape in her mittened hands. Jorrth echoes that, a little shake of his wings, done from the shoulders, without stretching out his sails or anything. T'mic is next (it's worse than a yawn), rolling his own shoulders back, pushing his chest out a bit, and lifting his chin to stare straight at Jorrth. "Sure." And so rider steps to dragon, tests at one of the straps with a tug, and then pulls himself up. He's a big man, T'mic; Jorrth can handle him. As if he had any choice but to grow, really. As soon as he's up, Telavi tosses a snowball at him, fast and aimed for his chin. She has a few by now, and the next one's coming hard on the heels of the first. "Hey!" says T'mic, flinching a shoulder up for that first snowball. After that one, he's ready, with a big hand to bat them away. Jorrth has taken a sidestep, pivoting a bit, snorting at Telavi, though even he seems not to know if he's amused or affronted. T'mic does not, in fact, fall off his dragon in all this, nor do the straps snap. "Come on." Solith doesn't so much snort as sigh lengthily through her nose, albeit more amused than not; "I had to be sure," says her rider, her tone at once sparkling and very certain indeed. It's part of a plan. Tela moves back, poking at her green to shield her from the cold breeze better. "Do it! Short up, short glide, short down. Just like we practiced in the beginning!" Jorrth, show your stuff! Jorrth comes down a bit from alert, snorting again, and digging those little paws about in the snow as he repositions himself, shakes that broadening head of his, and then stretches his wings, long and wide and a little bit impressive. T'mic normally watches those wings, but not today. Today, he's focused forward, nodding a little to something said that Telavi won't overhear, adjusting one glove, shrugging in the shoulders of his jacket. « Ready, » comes the warning. "Hah!" comes the moment they're airborne. Telavi applauds, of course she does, there's even a delighted hurray to go with it-- but then she goes silent to watch, her face tilted up, the cold snapping roses into her cheeks: proud and enjoying and yet somehow anxious. They haven't landed yet. Solith lowers her own head to nudge Tela's shoulder; it doesn't change a thing. Wingstroke. Wingstroke. Wingstroke... Wingstroke. An extra one, just for good measure, before Jorrth is willing to stretch out in a glide. He feels T'mic's weight, of course, and those initial wingstrokes weren't fully smooth as he adjusted the angle of his body. There's one or two correction wobbles in the glide as well, while his rider does his best to help accommodate based on very little practical experience. But they're in the air! Together! And then, then they have to land. Those shoulder muscles have their work cut out for them, and the landing begins early, plenty of time to kill their velocity, to make sure they don't slide into something if they hit ice. To drop down from a little too high up, but that's why Jorrth has knees, right? T'mic grunts just a little. An extra. Of course. When don't they? Except for that well-behaved green last seven, and Tela really does worry about her sometimes... "Look at you!" and now Tela does get to be relieved, unconcerned for T'mic's future littles; she doesn't even toss a snowball at them. Instead she hikes towards them, towards Jorrth's shoulder, looking up; she waits until it seems like they're more back before asking, "How do you feel?" They can't headbutt, not with T'mic all the way up on Jorrth's shoulders. So T'mic just smacks Jorrth's neck a couple times (while sitting decidedly up on his dragon), and Jorrth shakes out his wings. And when Telavi comes close, he kicks up some snow, too. Call it celebration. "We could do more," comes out in a rush from the bluerider. The dragon doesn't offer any argument. He's looking back along the path they've only just traced in the sky. "And better." Now Telavi has to scrape snow off her shoulders. And hair! Rather, hat. She doesn't even scrape it at Jorrth, though her lips have pursed when she looks at him, pursed against a smile. "You can. Now, even... but only one wingbeat because you did extra last time." Does she need to specify what happens if they do more this time? "If you don't think you can do it, then don't." To Jorrth, T'mic projects, « How high can you jump? » T'mic looks toward the back of his dragon's head. Jorrth looks to the ground. "Only one," confirms the rider, and braces himself, overmuch. Jorrth crouches down, takes one run-step forward, and jumps, as high as he can. It's pretty high. The wingbeat is as deep a sweep as he can manage, but they're gliding. Even if they could do more. Even if it would all be fine. The glide is better, this time. Also, shorter. The landing has a bit more forward motion, but the snow is there to help stop them. And no big falls. That brings out a dimple, that height, that depth. Upon their return, Telavi doesn't offer a third go; it's on the flight back to the Weyr proper-- when she's safely facing forward and he can't exactly see her expression well-- that she mentions almost conversationally, "My clutchmate fell off her dragon, their first time, and barely just broke her arm. This is much better." T'mic is hardly paying attention, looking to Jorrth, and wanting very, very much to be flying with him. Not, of course, that he doesn't appreciate Solith giving him a lift or anything. "What's better?" comes back at a bit of a shout when he catches the tail end of her words. Jorrth is a little tired, sure, but he could do more. He could absolutely do more. He could fly T'mic home, he knows it. Solith is pretty sure Jorrth is right, but-- she settles for taking it easy, flying so as to make it convenient for him to keep his rider in sight. "Not falling off," Telavi says sharply, and initiates nothing more before they have deposited him smack dab in front of the barracks. "Oh," says T'mic, quieter, as he looks over to Jorrth again. As if he'd fall off. Jorrth lands after Solith when they've arrived, and it doesn't take T'mic long to get to his dragon's side. There's no headbutting here (there may have been, after the dismount back in the meadow), but they stand close, side by side. "So it was good," T'mic prompts of Telavi. It's Jorrth who follows it up with, « But if there were something to work on? » She tightens her scarf as she looks down at them, and summons a proper amount of enthusiasm. And besides, it was, "Good," Tela praises. She glances at Jorrth, while Solith is more of a fluttery wind than words; "You're a real rider now! You'll have plenty to do. Balance, lots of takeoffs and landings, more balance, your posture so you don't get backaches as much, all sorts of things... just all supervised for now," to which the once-upon-a-time weyrling adds a wrinkle of her nose. T'mic looks to Jorrth, and Jorrth looks to T'mic. Both, then, back to Telavi. "I was a real rider before. Ever since." A thumb juts toward Jorrth, who just stretches his wings - this time, not for effect, but because those muscles want the stretch so much. "Yeah. Supervised." He'll accept it, maybe more easily now that some of the adrenaline is wearing off. That even can affect the most T'mic of T'mics, that adrenaline. Telavi looks at him, and then at Jorrth, and then she smiles. "Give him an extra rubdown tonight, why don't you?" but doesn't wait for an answer. Up, off, she goes. |
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