Dinner Time
Who: Rilkie, Ephara
What: Ancaith gets hungry, and Rilke meets Ephara.
When: Day 11, month 5, Turn 13, of the Interval. It is a spring morning.
Where: Southern Bowl, Telgar Weyr
Note: Ephara's prank was since retconned, but it sure was fun while it lasted.
Southern Bowl
Towering above, the bowl wall rises in a curving three-pointed arc as it shelters this southernmost point of Telgar Weyr's great caldera. Sloping down to the north to a slight degree, the floor of the bowl has been channeled so that runoff might drain down to the lake beyond. There are several strategically placed evergreens that serve to baffle the biting mountain winds away from the southern entrance into the Living Caverns. Drifts of snow and the heavy tracks of large dragon feet and bellies cross the expanse of the bowl. Rocks and crags are hung with the purest white. Northward, the center of the bowl spreads hugely, leading to the feeding pens, hatching grounds, weyrling barracks, the Telgar Weyr lake. The ground-level weyrs of the queenriders dot the mountain to the northwest. The murmur of voices and the clatter of pots and chairs drifts from the Living Cavern, where the evening meal is being served. (+view available)
The morning is clear and the sun shines brightly. A light wind blows and the spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
Mid-morning, and the bowl is bustling with activity, of people (and dragons!) going about their day. Among them, a bulky brown dragon lumbers through the bowl, his lifemate walking along beside him, talking her half of a conversation animatedly. "Really now? Music-making herdbeasts? Are you /sure/ Suraveth wasn't pulling your leg? Sounds like the thing she might make up." The brown snorts indignantly, and those passing close enough to Rilkie might notice an exaggerated rolling of her eyes.
Ephara is leaning against the beast pens with one ankle crossed over the other, hip propped idly against the strong beams. Her chin is propped against her fist, her other arm rested against the top beam. A cloud of dust lingers above the pen and the sound of chiming can just be heard over the constant rhythm of hooves pounding. A few herdbeast linger on the outskirts, their heads drooping and their bodies panting, completely exhausted. A few beastcrafters have endeavored to sneak up on those herdbeast and remove the bells and bright green ribbons tied around their tails before the animals can spook and flee again.
"See, I told you! No musical--" They round the bowl towards the pens, and the Wingleader's ears catch the faint 'ding-ding! ding-ding!' of a bell that has yet to be removed. She stops dead in her tracks. "Well, shells!" Ancaith just looks very smug, turning an amusedly swirling eye down towards his rider-- and then towards Ephara, whom he's noticed leaning against the pens. Rilkie laughs and walks towards the girl. "So is this your handiwork? Ancaith, here, says it is. Apparently these musical beasts have been the topic of all the dragons' conversation."
Ephara shrugs, "Nah, weren't me." she drawls to the rider, ruffling her short unruly hair into even worse patterns of confusion. She motions to the herdbeasts, "They was like that when I got up this mornin'. Good show, watching them go all flappy like that." she lifts her hand from her chin to make circles with her finger next to her temple. "Every'un been buzzin' about it or somesuch." The girl manages a perfectly straight face somehow as one of the steers comes barreling out of the herd, whipping his tail and bucking madly. "See? Crazy flappers!"
Ancaith snorts, looking rather upset at his apparently mistaken intelligence. "Well, that's what you get," Rilkie says, "When your information comes from So-And-So who told So-And-So." She laughs, turning back to Ephara. "Good show, hm? Maybe we should stay and watch, though I think he was keen on actually eating at some point." A grin as she watches some of that flapping' about, and then she remembers her manners. "Oh! I'm sorry, we haven't met, have we? I'm Rilkie, and this one here is Ancaith." Another little snort from the brown, but he lowers his head closer to the ground in friendly greeting.
Ephara smiles cheerfully, "Well met there Rilkie and Ancaith, I'm Ephara, lately come to Telgar Weyr to stay with my aunt, but before that I hailed from Siltrock near Bitra." She holds up two fingers and snaps htem off her forehead in a salute. "Well, your Ancaith there is welcome to try. Just follow the jinglin's big feller!" she winks at the brown and then hoists herself up to sit on the rail. "How long you been a rider for?"
Ancaith gives an apologetic look to the two girls-- mostly for the newcomer's benefit-- before making a little hop over the fence and then launching himself upwards with the intent of catching a meal-- a jingly one, of course. "He says you might want to look away, if you're squeamish," Rilkie advises. Then she does some quick calculations. "How long have I been a rider? Oh-- I suppose over three Turns, now? Hm. I've lost track, a bit. Kind of seems like I always have been." She grins. "So, how're you liking Weyr life so far?"
Ephara shakes her head, "Nope, not squeamerish in the least! I can handle a li'l blood and guts and gore!" She throws her hands up and nearly rocks backwards off the fence. Regaining herself, she grins impishly, pulling a cap with a bill in the front out of the pocket of her vest and pulling it down at an angle over one eye. "Three Turns, huh? So you haven't been too long out of weyrlinghood." She rubs her chin, looking at the young woman. "It's alright so far. I can't wait for another Threadfall to see some real action!" She swings her fist exhuberantly. "See me some dragons up in the air with their formations and the flamin's! Haaaarrrhh!" She breaths out harshly, waggling her fingers in front of her mouth to indicate breathing fire.
Rilkie wrinkles her nose. "It sounds a whole lot more exciting when you put it that way," she says, trying to hide a little shudder at the thought of what the next Threadfall means for /her/. From above, Ancaith hones in on his meal, choosing a slightly more sinewy herdbeast over one that might be better eating for the fact he's still got a bell tied on him. A split second, and the bulky brown has pulled the carcass to one side to devour contentedly. He pushes at the bell with his paw, and the ringing sound returns Rilkie's light mood once more. "Just be careful. Don't get yourself hurt or killed on account of trying to catch sight of something exciting."
Ephara waves a hand, "I'll be fine, groundcrews always follow the trailing edge anyways, you can still see the dragons, but there ain't no sinister Threadies creepin' down the back of your neck!" she shudders. "We had a bit of an accident when the Thread started to Fall all the sudden with the porcines. Couldn't get some of 'em in. The Thread was still eatin' 'em when we came out to burn their burrows."
"So you've seen what happens." Rilkie grimaces. "Never been badly scored myself, but it's bound to happen eventually. Not looking forward to it." She sighs heavily, glancing back out towards where her dragon finishes the first course of his meal, looking rather pleased with himself and lapping at the blood that's pooled around his paws. "You're the brave sort, aren't you?" Rilkie asks. "Eager to see Thread, definitely not afraid of being near a dragon. I've met girls new to the Weyr who're afraid of getting too close, magnificent as they are."
Ephara snorts, "Whan, them old patsies?" She shakes her head, "Every'un knows dragons can't hurt people. Well, not for real. Some of 'em like to be scary but they don't attack peoples just because." She shrugs, "And sure I'm brave. What's there to be scared of? You get hurt, you fall down. Shards, maybe you die! But hey, everyone dies, and everyone hurts. The thing about pain is you never really remember it. You remember it hurt, but the longer it's been, the less you remember what it felt like or how bad it was and more just that it did hurt. So what's there to fear from pain?" she hitches her mouth to the side, forming a dimple at the corner. "Dying would kinda suck since you aren't livin' no more.. but things happen and we all gotta go Between some day."
Rilkie can't help but smile at this outlook on life. "True. All of it. Looking at things that way makes everything a whole lot more bearable, doesn't it? But I don't think it's the pain, I'm really afraid of-- it's more of what could happen to the people I care about." She shrugs. "But then, worrying about it doesn't solve anything if it actually does happen." Ancaith launches himself into the air once more, done searching out the ringing beasts and swooping down quickly on his second course, the first tasty-looking one he spies in the herd.
Ephara grins and hops down off the fence, tipping the brim of her cap at Rilkie, "Well, you can't change what wills it. I'll be seeing you, Rilkie. I has to go see what my aunt's about before she finds me and tans my hide." She winks to the rider and saunters off, breaking into a lewd song about a man and an ovine as she disappears across the bowl.
What: Ancaith gets hungry, and Rilke meets Ephara.
When: Day 11, month 5, Turn 13, of the Interval. It is a spring morning.
Where: Southern Bowl, Telgar Weyr
Note: Ephara's prank was since retconned, but it sure was fun while it lasted.
Southern Bowl
Towering above, the bowl wall rises in a curving three-pointed arc as it shelters this southernmost point of Telgar Weyr's great caldera. Sloping down to the north to a slight degree, the floor of the bowl has been channeled so that runoff might drain down to the lake beyond. There are several strategically placed evergreens that serve to baffle the biting mountain winds away from the southern entrance into the Living Caverns. Drifts of snow and the heavy tracks of large dragon feet and bellies cross the expanse of the bowl. Rocks and crags are hung with the purest white. Northward, the center of the bowl spreads hugely, leading to the feeding pens, hatching grounds, weyrling barracks, the Telgar Weyr lake. The ground-level weyrs of the queenriders dot the mountain to the northwest. The murmur of voices and the clatter of pots and chairs drifts from the Living Cavern, where the evening meal is being served. (+view available)
The morning is clear and the sun shines brightly. A light wind blows and the spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
Mid-morning, and the bowl is bustling with activity, of people (and dragons!) going about their day. Among them, a bulky brown dragon lumbers through the bowl, his lifemate walking along beside him, talking her half of a conversation animatedly. "Really now? Music-making herdbeasts? Are you /sure/ Suraveth wasn't pulling your leg? Sounds like the thing she might make up." The brown snorts indignantly, and those passing close enough to Rilkie might notice an exaggerated rolling of her eyes.
Ephara is leaning against the beast pens with one ankle crossed over the other, hip propped idly against the strong beams. Her chin is propped against her fist, her other arm rested against the top beam. A cloud of dust lingers above the pen and the sound of chiming can just be heard over the constant rhythm of hooves pounding. A few herdbeast linger on the outskirts, their heads drooping and their bodies panting, completely exhausted. A few beastcrafters have endeavored to sneak up on those herdbeast and remove the bells and bright green ribbons tied around their tails before the animals can spook and flee again.
"See, I told you! No musical--" They round the bowl towards the pens, and the Wingleader's ears catch the faint 'ding-ding! ding-ding!' of a bell that has yet to be removed. She stops dead in her tracks. "Well, shells!" Ancaith just looks very smug, turning an amusedly swirling eye down towards his rider-- and then towards Ephara, whom he's noticed leaning against the pens. Rilkie laughs and walks towards the girl. "So is this your handiwork? Ancaith, here, says it is. Apparently these musical beasts have been the topic of all the dragons' conversation."
Ephara shrugs, "Nah, weren't me." she drawls to the rider, ruffling her short unruly hair into even worse patterns of confusion. She motions to the herdbeasts, "They was like that when I got up this mornin'. Good show, watching them go all flappy like that." she lifts her hand from her chin to make circles with her finger next to her temple. "Every'un been buzzin' about it or somesuch." The girl manages a perfectly straight face somehow as one of the steers comes barreling out of the herd, whipping his tail and bucking madly. "See? Crazy flappers!"
Ancaith snorts, looking rather upset at his apparently mistaken intelligence. "Well, that's what you get," Rilkie says, "When your information comes from So-And-So who told So-And-So." She laughs, turning back to Ephara. "Good show, hm? Maybe we should stay and watch, though I think he was keen on actually eating at some point." A grin as she watches some of that flapping' about, and then she remembers her manners. "Oh! I'm sorry, we haven't met, have we? I'm Rilkie, and this one here is Ancaith." Another little snort from the brown, but he lowers his head closer to the ground in friendly greeting.
Ephara smiles cheerfully, "Well met there Rilkie and Ancaith, I'm Ephara, lately come to Telgar Weyr to stay with my aunt, but before that I hailed from Siltrock near Bitra." She holds up two fingers and snaps htem off her forehead in a salute. "Well, your Ancaith there is welcome to try. Just follow the jinglin's big feller!" she winks at the brown and then hoists herself up to sit on the rail. "How long you been a rider for?"
Ancaith gives an apologetic look to the two girls-- mostly for the newcomer's benefit-- before making a little hop over the fence and then launching himself upwards with the intent of catching a meal-- a jingly one, of course. "He says you might want to look away, if you're squeamish," Rilkie advises. Then she does some quick calculations. "How long have I been a rider? Oh-- I suppose over three Turns, now? Hm. I've lost track, a bit. Kind of seems like I always have been." She grins. "So, how're you liking Weyr life so far?"
Ephara shakes her head, "Nope, not squeamerish in the least! I can handle a li'l blood and guts and gore!" She throws her hands up and nearly rocks backwards off the fence. Regaining herself, she grins impishly, pulling a cap with a bill in the front out of the pocket of her vest and pulling it down at an angle over one eye. "Three Turns, huh? So you haven't been too long out of weyrlinghood." She rubs her chin, looking at the young woman. "It's alright so far. I can't wait for another Threadfall to see some real action!" She swings her fist exhuberantly. "See me some dragons up in the air with their formations and the flamin's! Haaaarrrhh!" She breaths out harshly, waggling her fingers in front of her mouth to indicate breathing fire.
Rilkie wrinkles her nose. "It sounds a whole lot more exciting when you put it that way," she says, trying to hide a little shudder at the thought of what the next Threadfall means for /her/. From above, Ancaith hones in on his meal, choosing a slightly more sinewy herdbeast over one that might be better eating for the fact he's still got a bell tied on him. A split second, and the bulky brown has pulled the carcass to one side to devour contentedly. He pushes at the bell with his paw, and the ringing sound returns Rilkie's light mood once more. "Just be careful. Don't get yourself hurt or killed on account of trying to catch sight of something exciting."
Ephara waves a hand, "I'll be fine, groundcrews always follow the trailing edge anyways, you can still see the dragons, but there ain't no sinister Threadies creepin' down the back of your neck!" she shudders. "We had a bit of an accident when the Thread started to Fall all the sudden with the porcines. Couldn't get some of 'em in. The Thread was still eatin' 'em when we came out to burn their burrows."
"So you've seen what happens." Rilkie grimaces. "Never been badly scored myself, but it's bound to happen eventually. Not looking forward to it." She sighs heavily, glancing back out towards where her dragon finishes the first course of his meal, looking rather pleased with himself and lapping at the blood that's pooled around his paws. "You're the brave sort, aren't you?" Rilkie asks. "Eager to see Thread, definitely not afraid of being near a dragon. I've met girls new to the Weyr who're afraid of getting too close, magnificent as they are."
Ephara snorts, "Whan, them old patsies?" She shakes her head, "Every'un knows dragons can't hurt people. Well, not for real. Some of 'em like to be scary but they don't attack peoples just because." She shrugs, "And sure I'm brave. What's there to be scared of? You get hurt, you fall down. Shards, maybe you die! But hey, everyone dies, and everyone hurts. The thing about pain is you never really remember it. You remember it hurt, but the longer it's been, the less you remember what it felt like or how bad it was and more just that it did hurt. So what's there to fear from pain?" she hitches her mouth to the side, forming a dimple at the corner. "Dying would kinda suck since you aren't livin' no more.. but things happen and we all gotta go Between some day."
Rilkie can't help but smile at this outlook on life. "True. All of it. Looking at things that way makes everything a whole lot more bearable, doesn't it? But I don't think it's the pain, I'm really afraid of-- it's more of what could happen to the people I care about." She shrugs. "But then, worrying about it doesn't solve anything if it actually does happen." Ancaith launches himself into the air once more, done searching out the ringing beasts and swooping down quickly on his second course, the first tasty-looking one he spies in the herd.
Ephara grins and hops down off the fence, tipping the brim of her cap at Rilkie, "Well, you can't change what wills it. I'll be seeing you, Rilkie. I has to go see what my aunt's about before she finds me and tans my hide." She winks to the rider and saunters off, breaking into a lewd song about a man and an ovine as she disappears across the bowl.