The following is a log of roleplay on Threadfall MUSH, logged by Z'vind.
All references to the world and characters of Pern based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyrightę 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern« is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with permission.
** Kealath swoops out from his ledge into a dizzying upward climb, wings
stretched over the dwindling Weyr below. He, however, does not neglect to croon
Miyath-wards before angling into forward motion again.
Conclusive perfection is depicted in every mottled nuance of this divinely crafted brown dragon, his form a complete depiction of the verdancy of a newly born world. Raw earth drifts in darkened crevices across the landscape of his back, broad and deep with the bluish shadows of networking subterranean caves tinged only faintly with the stubbornly clinging fingers of finely dusted emerald lichen. Curving wingbones arch with finely honed precision to support the chaotic imagery of his nearly translucent wingsails, themselves animated to depict the fiery flow of amber-touched lava across the mahogany of virgin soil, rich tresses of curling bubbles that erupt into splattered droplets of illuminated gold. Trickles of these more livid hues creep along the sinuous line of his belly, slowly hardening into duskier hues of obsidian that flicker with mirror-like polish over the warm cinnamon of his heavily muscled hindquarters, a powerful compliment to the chaotic vortex of creation. Thick fronds of burnt sienna billow along his extremities, swirling as if caught on the first breeze of existence to envelop the elegant spade of his tail, the fierce curve of his talons, and the gentle slope of his muzzle in the warmth of a newborn embrace. The crest of the surf clings to his forelimbs, paling the jungle of silvery cedar where waves might lap against a seaward forest, the soft azure dappled with milky brown shadows of a thick canopy's web of overhanging branches.
Kealath is approximately 8 Turns, 2 months, 18 days, measuring 35 metres in length, with a wingspan of 52.5 metres.
** Miyath offers her own warble of greeting, as her wings cup the wind and she rises upward ever so slightly. Her head cants to the side, before the dragon and her rider decide to descend toward the ground and its sandy ground.
Dark drops of green arc across this dragon's wings, sails and body. Littering the expanse of her mainsails are tan drops of soft golden glittering, dappling her sails as if sun shone permanently on the. Fade softer drops of green can be seen slithering along her wingspars, gleaming sullenly beneath the shadowed pockets of creaming jade. Her brassy voice can be heard escaping her sharp-toothed maw, though a special croon is reserved for her rider. Grayed feathery tendrils can be seen drifting lazily from her headknobs to her thin, fine boned muzzle. The small swirls can also be seen drifting silkily down her neck, mingling with the harsher shades of emerald green. She looks about herself, slyly wise as her whirling eyes take in everything.
A pair of well oiled straps sits across this dragon's hide, the leather straps shining with a newness about them. The wide bands criss-crossing Miyath's hide are thick and look to be rather heavy, with soft padding here and there so they don't rub the green's hide.
Miyath is 16 Turns, 6 months, 2 days old and is is 24 meters long with a wingspan of 38.31 meters.
You wing down to a landing on the grassy plain of the feeding grounds, scattering a few of the herdbeasts on the way.
Feeding Grounds - Ista Weyr(#63RJ$)
Enclosed by a high, multi-barred wooden fence, this is a massive meadow that houses all manner of short-haired herdbeasts. Wherries run at leisure through the grassy environs, their shrill calls echoing with high-pitched reverberation off the walls of the bowl. Herdbeasts add a lower, bellowing note to the cacophony of sounds, their deeper calls rising and falling at random across the green plain.
Built so that Northwestern edge is rimmed by the waterfall's pool, there is always a small cluster of animals milling about there, drinking from the clear water or nibbling at the fresher grasses that grow nearby. Shade comes from the bowl walls, for there are no trees to dot this expanse of land. Smaller pens have been sectioned off for the Weyr's runners, each of these pens with access to the stables and the pool alike. The stables stands in the southwestern most corner, a fence to keep the animals away from it and a wide doorway leading within.
Stables Bowl Waterfall Pool
** Arallia slips deftly down to the bent foreleg of Miyath, the Green lowering to a crouch and watching with gentle eyes as the she hops to the ground.
** Miyath is quicky to dart down toward the grounds, only giving her a rider a few seconds before she quickly lifts in the air once more and sailing towards the already frightened beasts. Arallia just sighs loudly, as she pulls herself over the fence. "Faranth, she acts like she never eats." Already the sound of snapping bones can be heard as Miyath finds a plump 'beast for her meal of the day.
** Kealath skims over the fence, scattering a pair of stray herdbeasts. With a definitive bugle that could have been laughter, he backwings lightly, thumping onto sandy ground. A moment later, a tiny figure can be glimpsed leaping off the brown's broad neck.
Taking a hold of umber straps, you launch yourself off supple crevices and slide down -- to the ground and whatever lurks beyond.
Arallia just glanced your way.
Given even less time to clear out, Z'vind has to trudge out of the enclosure by himself. Laughter lies awry on his face, twisted into an inverted smile. "Good eating today?" he comments to Arallia in passing, boots settling into a jog.
Not exactly a tall woman, Arallia is in fact quite average in height, weight and looks. Though her figure tends to lean toward the lanky rider type, she does have a few curves here and there. Her shorn brown locks have been arranged around a pair of small wooden combs, the wood of the combs undyed and their original grainy brown color. The combs help keep her slightly curly hair out of her eyes, though occasionally a wisp or two still falls to bother her forehead and brows. Her eyes are a shade or two lighter than her sun-streaked brown hair, with slanted brown brows which are often times pinched together in thought. Ara's hands are heavily callused from Turns of working with her lifemate, and fighting thread. Arallia looks to be in her late early to mid-ranged thirtes.
Currently this green rider wears light-weight clothes for the Istan heat. Her shirt is a light linen top that has been dyed a soft baby blue with the sleeves just ending past her shoulders. Her pants which are also a light linen fabric, have been dyed a dark black, with black boots finishing off her outfit of choice. Lastly should the rider be wearing some sort of short-sleeved top, one might notice the thread scar that twins around her lower left arm.
A knot of Istan colors proclaims her to be a rider at the Weyr, and who's lifemate is green as well.
Arallia is 33 Turns, 0 months, 4 days old.
Stubby, short but stubbornly black hair sprouts scalp-close from generally clean-shaven features, boyishly tanned with a frail line of stubble to demarcate chin from cheek. His face is highly angular, jaw etched with sly lines of woe or laughter. Grey eyes and clipped chin straggle casually together with the rest of this youth's sturdy, slightly lanky form, long legs claiming a wide stride as an obscure slur marks his baritone.
Earthy riding leathers fit closely to Zar's tanned skin, oiling and long usage giving them a fine sheen. A jet, tooled jacket smartens up the ensemble, matching the darker brown of long leather pants that tuck effortlessly into knee-high boots. In errant contradiction, his tunic's tails spill out, not quite concealing the belt that snakes in cocky imitation of the Istan knot he sports higher up: saffron on sable on a single thread of chaste brown.
He is 22 Turns, 6 months, 0 days old.
Arallia turns to watch her lifemate eat, a faintly disapproving expression on her face as she hooks a foot on the bottom-most rung of the fence that keeps the beasts penned in. She can't help but watch the brown dragon skim low either, since the other dragon seemingly followed her all the way here. Though it's not unusual to see dragons here day in and day out. When she spots the rider so far in the fields, she offers a raised hand in greeting and a faint smile as well, calling greetings to him when he's close enough to hear, "Duties. Aye so it seems. Miyath seemed to think she would starve if she didn't get to the pens in an instance." There's a good natured tone to her voice, Arallia not really made at her lifemate, just put out for a second, "I'm Arallia and that glutton out there is Miyath." A slightly muffled bugle comes from the green as she answers some unspoken thought from her rider. She is not a glutton.
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath tears into his latest feast with gusto, but defers from attacking the entrails just yet. The river of his thoughts winds, wends, meandering over to yours for a feathered brush of greeting.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath is equally eating her herdbeast with delight, and the green dragon acknowledges the greeting, offering her own as well, << The beasts here are good. My rider says they look fatter than the ones we had at Telgar. >> Her thoughts are more like petals upon the breeze, flashes of various pastel pinks, blues and greens flitting nervously to and fro as she speaks to the brown.
"And my duties to you, m'lady," Z'vind calls out in his turn, putting palm to forehead in a brief, smirking gesture as he treads near, nearer. "Perhaps she was hungry. Our beasts seem to be more sluggish in the mornings. More entertaining, Kealath says."
Arallia looks faintly amused, though whether at his words, or the mocking salute, it's hard to say, "Arallia please, or Ara if anything. I'd rather not be termed a ma'am just yet, if you don't mind." Leaning forward, Arallia leans her elbows and arms against the upper rung of the fence as she inquires, "And what shall I call you, rider? Unless you'd like to remain nameless?" There's still that faint trace of amusement in her voice as she turns her attention toward Z'vind.
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath is of crisper material than yours: darker, less florid fire glows through his words -- << Telgar? I have not gone to Telgar, nor tried their food. >> He juxtaposes the current image, with a bound and bleeding 'beast before him, and the Other, more mysterious one of Telgar and its animals. << What do they look like there? >>
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath offers an image of a herdbeast to look at, but instead of the plump things of Ista she offers an almost skeletal view of the 'beast. << Our winters are hard. They are very skinny when it is over. >> Though if her rider were asked, she'd surely say Miyath was exaggerating just a tad, but dragons will be dragons.
Z'vind murmurs, "Ara, Ara. Fine, then you're an Ara. I knew an Ara once, in the old place." He circles the perimeter of the fence for a meter or so subsequent to stopping near the greenrider's chosen post. "I might be nameless, for all you know." Or care; he pauses completely, the enigmatic scowl never wavering.
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath extends a steel-clad talon to toy with the skeletal creature. << It -is- skinny. I think it will break. >> The talon twangs mentally, and like a bowstring, the mirrored image does snap into neat fragments. Draconic laughter muffles itself in the physical carcass before him.
Arallia raises an arm to allow her chin a resting place upon the palm of her hand, as she watches the enigmatic Z'vind, "Ah. Well nameless rider, perhaps I should simply start calling you Kealath's rider. At least when I say rider, I won't have forty odd heads turning in my direction." But curiosity gets the better of Arallia and she can't help but ask, "And what may I ask is the old place? If you don't mind humoring my curiosity." Such odd riders, Arallia has found so far in this Weyr. Two seem to be a couple, yet they fight like wherries, and now she has a nameless rider to contend with.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath snorts softly as the image so shatters as such, << They were very frail. My rider would say wind would blow it away. Though I never saw that happen. >> The beast that Miyath has her muzzle entrenched upon shakes a little as the green dragon playfully blows a large puff of air from her maw. She too finds humor in this topic as her own throat fills with the chortling sound of draconic laughter.
Z'vind yields the smile to Ara and contends for a neutral expression instead. "You might do that. But, just so you know, the name's Zar. Z'vind. I used to visit Igen a lot when we were younger, I suppose it might have been there when I met the other Ara." The brownrider slants a hand to rub his nose, thoughtfully. "Where have -you- two sailed from?"
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath offers entrails when he finds some. And a heart, too, feebly singing its final vibrato to a nosy dragon. << Want some of these? >> He'd throw in meat, too, if he hadn't already consumed the best of the haunch.
Arallia shakes her head as she replies to the brownrider, "Not Igen, that's for sure. Telgar Weyr actually." She straightens once more and simply goes for the same relaxed pose of boot and arms on the rungs of the fence, "The healers decided I needed a change of pace from Telgar's winters so gave me two choices. Igen or Ista, and since Miyath seems to love the Istan beaches we chose here." A smile graces her features as well, now that she knows his name, "And well met to you, Z'vind. I'm pleased to see your mother had decided to give you a name instead of 'hey you'."
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath pulls her muzzle out from her beast's stomach cavity and delicately, as much as a dragon can be delicate, takes the proffered food, << Yes, please. >> The sound of chomping can be heard as Miyath, being the glutton she is, quickly makes sure work of the food. Not to look rude however, she does offer a bit of meat back to the brown dragon, << You are not so bad as Carianth says you are. >> You encompasses a vast mental picture of all brown dragons here at Ista most of their forms blurry since Miyath has only met a small number of the dragons so far.
Z'vind eyes the new-Istan again, grey eyes sliding bright appraisal over brown eyes and hair. He slips quickly, then, tilting a booted foot against that rung she's balancing on as well, gaze dropped to roam the ground. Slowly, he continues, "Well met indeed, Ara. My parents surely gave me a name. 'Hey you' would not have worked out for either one of us; your forty pairs of eyes would be looking." Pause, for the second time. "You--came here--for the beaches?"
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath glides vast -- impossibly vast -- brown wings over the whole congregation: gold, brown, green and blue, with bronzes tingling at the periphery of vision. << Here you are, that's everyone. But none are as clever as I am. >> He sweeps any notion of 'bad' away in Between's darkness, then downs a young buck, young enough for one paw to flick away. << There's another. >>
Kealath rears to his full height and leaps at a huddling herd, culling out the fitter beasts from which to pick the next choice delicacy. The dragons hunt today.
Arallia can't help but tilt her head to the side, as she says, "Aye we did, why? Is there a problem with picking a weyr for something as simple as beaches? Igen, while having sand is very dry, and both Miyath and I decided we wanted some place a little more hospitable." A very faint smirk reaches her lips as she speaks, "And so here we are. What would you have done, sir Z'vind? If you were in my boots?" There's a slight pause as she considers her actions silently, but then after that tiny pause the greenrider shrugs and says, "I see nothing wrong with Ista so far. Except the time it takes to get used to the heat. Even when Telgar was fully into summer it was never so clammy as Ista."
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath takes it all in, of course, even as she finishes the last few bites of her herdbeast. Rising to her haunches, the green surveys the remaining congregation of beasts, at the remark of another the green can't help but ask, << Another? For me? >> Her tones brighten to nearly vibrant tones as she considers the possibility of a second meal.
Z'vind comments, in answer to one of Arallia's questions: "So you wanted wet. And like it so far, it seems. I've gotten used to it, too, after all these turns. Igen's a hothouse, not for plants nor people. You made a good choice." To underscore the sincerity that's entered his tone since the last statement, he returns the eyes to meet hers. "I haven't considered such a thing. Since it doesn't lie within consideration, I have not speculated on it." You'd think he wasn't talking about the Igen/Ista matter at all.
Arallia shakes her head ever so slightly at this confusing brownrider, "Well, so far I like it and Miyath is in love with wallowing in the sand at the beaches." Ara can't help but look to her lifemate with a fond smile, though she does ask as she shifts a little more weight to her other foot, "I take it then you lived at Igen?" She turns her brown gaze back to Z'vind, "What brought you to Ista? Or were you searched by an Istan dragon and then impressed here? And you never know if you'll need to consider where to go one of these days. I never expected to have to move to Ista because of a simple threadscore."
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath huffs, warm breath rising from the tropics to surround the equatorial region. << Are three beasts too much for you? >> In the backdrop, another quarrel briefly dips into view, and he shifts disturbed attentions back to you. Paternally: << --You should take enough to fill your stomach. >>
Ista Weyr Bowl> Y'nis waves over the fence at the riders and continues on towards the living caverns.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath is a rather indecisive green as she seems to wobble back and forth on whether her stomach can stand another beast. Finally though her vibrant tones dip downward as she sends, << I think my stomach is full. I do not want to become so heavy I cannot fly today. I wish to swim too! The waters here are very warm. >>
Z'vind hides behind a cough. "Ahh, of course. Sand. Beaches." He smiles, somewhat stiff behind the uncovering arm. "I moved here turns ago. To see how things are on this isle, you know how it is. Get a job, earn your keep. Unfortunately, Kealath found me before I could do anything substantial in that direction." He shrugs a shoulder, rotating it casually backwards and forwards. Head turns to survey the dragons. Then he says, "Ha. Kealath caught another one."
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath sounds a triumphant note amidst swimmingly slow speech. << Yes, you will fly high, won't you? A race would be nice, without fragile beasts to weigh you down. But I can take more -- one more won't hurt. >> Pleased, he does as he says, a pot boiling over with good humour.
Arallia smiles at that, "Isn't that always the way? You decide what craft, or position that would fit you perfectly and then you find a snout of a dragon pressed up against you and their riding asking you to stand. I myself was headed towards Weaverhall when I was searched and found by Miyath." Turning her attention toward the dragons the rider says, "Aye, so he has. He's a fine looking brown. How long have you two been paired?" Asks Arallia as she watches Miyath who seems to be settling back to nose at the carcass she took down previously.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath snorts loudly, even as she noses the carcass near her, << I shall win! I am small and faster than you! >> She offers an image of a firelizard sized Miyath zipping dragonlengths past an image of a gold sized lumbering brown dragon. Amusement causes her own tones to take on a more fluttering aspect, as if someone shook a great flowered tree to cause a shower of petals to fall to the earth.
Z'vind agrees, "Aye, it is. Always, these exasperating creatures. Weaverhall, you say? Do you still practice the craft? Good with your hands, or something?" The lad doesn't quite understand Weaver dynamics, not entirely. "Paired for ten turns, I think. /He/ doesn't keep track of time."
Arallia looks amused, as the elder rider says, "When /do/ they pay attention to time? Miyath often times still thinks she just came out of her shell three turns back even though it's been nearly seventeen turns since she shelled." There's a snort of amusement from Arallia, as she glances toward her lifemate once more, "And yes, as a matter of fact, I still do practice a bit of embroidery now and again. Usually to barter with someone else for something I want." Ara looks back to Z'vind, the greenrider curious, "And what skills do you hide, Z'vind? Mayhap a bit of wine making? We had one rider back at Telgar who should have been a Vinter."
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath douses the petals with flame-touched light. His own sunny presence looms, gilding all flowers gold, even your tree's. << You are wrong, green lady! I can fly faster than golds. >> Heat ripples, splashing invitation. The smirk returns. << We shall fly to Telgar, and you will not be so swift then! >>
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath bugles, sharply, her tones not wilting under the looming presence like so many other flowers would, << I am swift! My rider tells me so, she says I am quick! Faster than every dragon out there. >> Her head cants to the side as she settles one rapidly whirling eye on the brown, << You would surely lose if we raced! >> She even goes so far as to mantle slightly, her wings unfurling from her body with a loud and distinct snap.
Z'vind grins at that injunction, showing even, bland teeth. "She likes the number three? I do better, and not ask his opinion at all. This way I don't run the trouble of believing his ideas." The idea of embroidery makes him pale slightly and wave it away. "My skills are too many to be counted. None of Mastery, though." The wariness wavers, too, in his glance to the feasting dragons. So much for skills.
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath, poor weak Kealath, responds by bridling, tearing a hefty chunk of meat from his victim's last bone and brandishing it in foolishly visible teeth. His will overleaps his body, emerging in a challenge wholely mental in nature: << Let us try! Then I will show you how I can fly! >>
Arallia raises a brow, clearly curious as she says, "There is nothing wrong with being a jack of all trades. So what's your favorite skill then?" At Miyath's wing snapping her rider can't help but give the dragon a quizzical look, even as Miyath continues to mantle - though there's nothing angry or truly aggressive about it. Simply boastful, very boastful. "And yes it seems she does like the number three, but if it keeps her happy I'll gladly humor her into thinking she's three turns at timse."
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath continues to mantle at the brow dragon, not impressed by the show of teeth and meat, << You fly slow! Like a ..> A picture of a slow moving VTOL conjures in her mind, even as she lets out a sharp bugle and like the crafty green /female/ dragon she is she vaults upward. Her wings cupping the winds to help her raise upward swiftly. Very swiftly. << I lead! >>
Boastful is an excellent word in this case. Z'vind rolls his eyes at the dragons' antics, snapping his fingers at the air. "It's those shardin' wings. Keeps them off the ground and in the air, and always wanting exercise too. Yes, a three-turns dragon. You'd probably think her adorable at that age. Babies, the lot of them." In the meantime, Kealath is uncoiling in yonder feeding grounds, rustling his wings like an irate thundercloud.
Arallia looks surprised at Miyath's adrupt liftoff into the air, "My, something is obviously tempting her this day." Though she has already made sure her lifemate was not angry or anything, simply..challenged, it seems. "And aye, they may seem like littles all of their life, but they're littles who help us fight thread so I think they deserve a break now and then and good herdbeasts as well." She cants a grin toward Z'vind, "I believe, Miyath thinks she shall win this little race of theirs. She was never good with challenges..well until she forgot about them. Then well, the challenge is obviously off."
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath envisions a Vtol speeding upwards, a straight and true arrow. << I will win. >> He gets to chewing his mouthful belatedly, chops working, neck vibrating with the effort -- it's quickly turned to watch the green, and an indignant trumpeting sears the air.
Kealath runs (not lumbers, he never lumbers) forward a few huge steps, then pumps his wings, sending the brown dragon powering into the air. Up and away!
Z'vind leans over the fence, mouth opened to yell, right after Ara finishes her explanation. The ensuing inner argument claims him and coerces the 'rider into silence, jaw working dimly as corded arms cross. "As I was saying," Zar grins, mouth taut, "Big littles all their life. You're right there. But there are some dragons who listen to their riders sometimes. Unlike these."
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath trumpets triumphantly as she rises swiftly into the air, angling her body towards the star stones, << I lead! I lead! >> Indeed she sounds much like a three turn dragon now as her voice rises in pitch, the green dragon sounding quite giddy.
Arallia's grin turns slightly lopsided at Z'vind's words, "Why should we not let them have a little fun? They'll not hurt anyone, as long as they don't decide to barrel race into the Weyr's wall or something of that sort." A hand frees itself to shield the rider's face as she cants her head back to watch the green dragon who's form is dwindling rapidly. "Bet you a mark Miyath wins." Arallia can't help but grin at that, as her dragon's attitude is rather infectious at the moment.
Kealath rises in her wake, then tilts into a rising thermal, tail lashing the clouds of his passage. He tails from above, playfully whisking a breeze from wing to wing.
Miyath arcs her body upward, as she rises towards the Star Stones. Her forearms are outstretched, as her talons reach outward as if to grab the wind and use it to propel her faster through the currents. Her wings beat a rapid staccato as she uses sheer strength to try and gain dragonlengths away from the brown. Her echoing and brassy bugle can be heard as she rises upward, the sounds taking on a mocking tone to themselves.
Z'vind is playing the righteous minstrel, so won't return the grin this time. He does wink, though, head slanted in mock seriousness. "It annoys me when he doesn't listen. But, no, they'll not crash anywhere. I hope." And then he turns his head up to watch the dragons too, and gets lost in that stance. "Bet you /two/ marks. Look - he's so much bigger than her - what's her name again?" The last dice session was good, it seems.
Arallia pauses in her watching to consider the raise in stakes, "Two marks it is, and size doesn't matter. You've been paired how many turns? Surely you realize that by now." Teases the greenrider, as her hand covers her face again from the glare of Rukbat's rays, "She's already has a good lead on him, and her name's Miyath. She is rather quick and quick witted when it comes to flying, if I do say so myself. We were one of the best wing on tail turners in air during 'fall." Pride is evident in her voice as she watchers her lifemate fly.
From above, Kealath toots his bass merrily as he shadows her, a light-edged patch of darkness skating the sky's rink. Wingbeats echoing the female's bugles in a cheery vein, he knives in -- nearer -- snout tossed back to touch the Stones in thought, if not in reality.
All unknowing, Z'vind shakes his head, still raised to eye the vanishing shadows. "It does, it does, size matters at times, when the winds are right. But I'll not defend Kealath if he doesn't fill his 'sails when he should have. Miyath? She's a good flier. I'd welcome you as a wingmate any day." He watches yet, arms unhooked by now and swinging loosely at his sides. "Have you been here long enough to be assigned?"
From above, Miyath turns her neck ever so slightly to gauge the distance between the two dragons and her bugles take on a distinctly sour note. She really thought she had a few more 'lengths on him then what there really is. Still though the green would preen if she could as the Star Stones slowly draws closer to her outstretched talons. With another sassy trumpet, the grin tucks her wings a touch closer to her body choosing to clip her wings a tad and add more speed to her small body, once she's leveled high enough to dive at the stones themselves.
Arallia makes a small noise in the back of her throat, as her head dips down having decided not to strain her eyes to watch the race, "I've been assigned to the Queen's wing for the moment, until the Weyrleader decides where to place me. I hear there's another new transfer as well, a Y'nis? I met him yesterday in fact, as well as your Weyrsecond - Shiae." She cants a curious look at Z'vind, perhaps she can weasle out a bit of gossip from the brown rider, "They seem awfully chummy at times." Though chummy is putting it /extremely/ politely, if Arallia truly considers it.
Ah, but Kealath can put on a burst of speed too! Tucking in his bulk, he sets his path towards her, putting a tuneful croon to song. A tease, no more, not enough to arouse fear, and he's angled away again, losing distance but gaining that prideful music in his symphony. As the 'Stones draw near, he arches around too, more cumbrously than Miyath does, casting warm shadows on her smart form.
Z'vind uncricks his neck from the awkward position. "So I heard," says he, "But nothing about any relations between the two. They can be with each other if they want. Do you have any objections?" He looks curious, merely, and a mite detached. The hooded gaze watches from within.
The green can't help but chortle in gleefulness, as the ridge is right before her and with one last push from her wings she lands - albeit heavily. She should have really bled off most of her speed, but instead she simply skids across the stone face leaving quite a few gouge marks alongside other dragon claw markings that have no doubt pitted the stone for Turns now. As soon as she's stopped her forward motion, the green dragon cants her head this way and that - noting that she is the first one here.
Not for long, Miyath. Kealath, having tucked his head in and his wings to his sides, has dropped down from above much like a reversed Vtol. He even circles, once, before backwinging to a landing alongside the green dragon. Under the shade of his wings, he ducks a long look to her, eyes racing a doubtful blue.
Arallia looks amused at the question, "No, I don't think I mind at all. They seem fit for each other, she is rather tightly wound, where Y'nis seems quite layed back. I've seen that combination work quite well before, as long as they realize they actually like each other and stop the head butting." Idly she crosses her arms, as she casts a glance upward now and again. A second after Miyath lands however the greenrider falls silent, her eyes growing distant as Miyath all but shouts her triumphant to her rider. When Arallia is free however of the torrent of happy thoughts, she turns a coy look toward Z'vind. "It seems you owe me two marks now."
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath snakes a lava's path around and over you, simmering with undamped ashes. << Did you like winning, Miyath? I allowed you to land first, on this nice ground where you look very pretty. >>
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath bleats, a rather undignified sound coming from a dragon, but she does that none the less as she preens herself. << I am faster. >> Her eyes whirl rather quickly, showing her happiness and excitement, << You should believe my rider. She is very wise. >> Another snort rises quickly in Miyath's mind as the tendrils of her mind sharpen to jeweled tones, << You did not let me! I won! That is how it should be. >>
You say "Do I see an expert here? Been in many relationships yourself?" He, on the other hand, does not see the victory, having had but a glimpse of the vista above from the recalcitrant dragon. "Do I, then? Kealath's not telling me anything."
Arallia laughs, as she waves aside the expert comment, "Hardly an expert, but you can usually spot the ones who like each other." Her head is used to shield her eyes a moment as she once more glances up to the sky, not that she can see the two dragons, "Aye, Miyath landed first, at least that is what she says and while she may be finicky at times she has never lied. Misunderstood absolutely but never lied." Another triumphant grin on Arallia's face, as her dragon's mood is once more catchy, "If you have a firelizard handy you can simply send them to my weyr. It looks like we're sharing the same bowl space for our Weyrs."
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath lets the warmth steep, seep through his being's klah-dark core. << I showed you where to go, and you landed well. I am proud of you, and I taught you. I am cleverer than you in flying, am I not? I would not want such a nice dragon as you to land after me. >> --Handsome as he is.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath snorts once more, egotistical is more like it, << You have taught me nothing! I learned all from my rider. >> Her mind's eye shimmers a picture of her rider with wings teaching her to fly as a youngling. Not that is true, but none the less, the green dragon slaps her tail against the ground, << You are just hurt that you did not land first. >>
Z'vind nods, "I noticed." You bet he did. "Hmm. I said two marks, and I will produce the two marks. No one can say we don't keep our word, now. In fact, I have some right here--" Stuffing his hands into his pockets, the brownrider pulls out three mark pieces, two of which he offers with a gallant bow. He adds, too: "You're very welcome."
Arallia accepts the marks with that same grin, and continues to grin even as she tucks the two pieces into a belt pouch, "Why thank you, sir. It's a pleasure doing business with you. Perhaps a sevenday from now they could do a rematch?" She quirks a brow upward, clearly teasing, since she realizes that Miyath will have by then forgotten her win. Relinquishing her place on the wooden fence, the greenrider absently dusts off bits of wood and splinters that have stuck themselves to her arms and pants.
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath puts his wing to shade yours from the noon daylight. << I showed you the way to do it right. And I am /not/ hurt. I fly well all the time, I would not need to be first. >> Puzzled, he tries once again: << Don't you think you suit this high place better than I do? You can see so much up here. I wanted you to have the view. >>
Z'vind speaks, regardless. "Pleasure. But in a sevenday, Kealath would win. He tells me that he ate too much just now." He leans back against the fence absently, heedless of splinters.
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath snorts, still sounding rather displeased at the browns seeming antics, but she does relent and take a gander outward. << The view is nice up here. >> Remarks the green dragon, her tones lessening their sharp jeweled tones, and moving back to the soft shades of roses, blues and soft purples. The wing that so shades her is given a faint snort, half thankful and half derisive.
Arallia makes a small mming noise, before she points out, "Miyath ate just as much for a dragon her size as well..I think he's just sore that he didn't win." She winks at that, even as she cants a look at the sky a slight frown on her lips, "But if you'll excuse me? I was told to check with the healers about this time. I fear they want to poke and prod me a bit to make sure I'm quite healthy." There's a roll of her eyes at the healer remarks, "Personally if I can manage to climb to Miyath's neck, I'm healthy as a runner."
Dragon> Miyath senses that Kealath is a Nice(tm) dragon! Bubbling with pleased odours and volcanic heat, he laps thoughts -- and tail -- in your circumference, not quite touching. A promise rises to the fore, gushing into short utterance. << I will get a shell for you when next we visit the sea. >>
Dragon> Kealath senses that Miyath can't help but seem quite interested, << A shell? It shall be pretty, yes? >> Her tones nearly fall over themselves as she envisions a pale pink shell, and then a blue shell, and well just a bunch of them in the end.
Z'vind keeps a straight face as he says, "Poke and prod, I see. Well, enjoy the treatment." He'll just stick here and, ah, wait for drills. Yes.
A wintry noontime approaches, the temperatures reaching toward the mid-60s.
Arallia has disconnected.