Fort Weyr - Blueberry Barrens
There are some places that seem to defy all conventional understanding: the blueberry barrens might be one such place. It's a vast field of blueberry bushes that pushes the forest back as far as the eye can see, broken only by the improbable existence of a hill in the middle of it all that bears a single, strange tree. The rest is a sea of lush green foliage and branches, of blue fruits and a narrow warren of paths that changes every couple of turns or so. The air is alive with the sights, sounds and smells of nature at its finest, from the bejeweled trundlebugs making their rounds and the sing-song calls of unseen avians to the sweet aroma of berries.
Mid-spring heralds the onset of harvesting season and, with it, the arrival of avians, wherries, and other wildlife. In fall, after the last of the berries has been harvested, the barrens are rife with wildfire-bright foliage, the blueberry bushes taking on a lurid red-yellow-orange coloration that lingers until the onset of winter. It is, in all, a place of restoration and renewal, where one might seek a snack and a place to relax; indeed, the gentle whispering of a creek can be heard from time to time, although finding it might be an adventure in and of itself.

Morning dawned, Candidates were groggy, and then Kimmila appeared from the woods. "Hazelon," she called after scanning the group. "I found something that might be of interest. Come with me?" She doesn't wait for an answer either, just turning and striding into the forests again.

Hazelon hasn't quite been sleeping well on this camping trip. Though time has given a bit of relief from the constant worry of something happening there is still an edge that comes from being in the woods itself. Thus, the quiet candidate has been even more quiet. When Kimmila calls he is already awake and dressed, just waiting for everyone else to wake up enough. Eyes shift upwards at the bluerider with a slight frown, but he's up willingly enough and following her. Bow and arrows are scooped up as he goes…. just in case.

Kimmila does make sure he brings his bow and his arrows, before she slips silently into the woods. Moving between the trees, she pauses to wait for him to catch up, adjusting the string on her bow. Drawing an arrow, she notches it and tests it, and then is satisfied with the feel of it. "I think there's a small group of wherries in this direction," she murmurs. "Thought we could take down one or two for a meal today, what do you think?"

Staying just a step behind her, Hazelon will nod when she makes her suggestion. "Do you know the wind direction?"

Kimmila glances up towards the tops of the trees, and then back to him with a little grin. "Do you?" A test or a tease? Hard to tell.

Too cautious is Hazelon by far to take her simple question as anything but a test. He pauses, and looks upwards. The wind shifts the top of the trees. He licks his finger and tests it one more time, before lowering that finger to point in the direction the wind is coming from. That way.

Kimmila nods. "Good. We'll check again when we get closer. Time is against us, let's get moving again." Onward! She moves nearly silently through the woods, her steps light, the underbrush seeming to shrink away from her steps so carefully are they placed. She /knows/ these woods and they know her.

Hazelon nods. Rather then stay next to the bluerider he allows his footfalls to step back behind her. His movements are almost as silent as hers, though that is more due to his smaller frame then any particular skill at moving without notice.

Kimmila leads the way through the trees, up a small rise and then dropping down a bit into a valley. Here she stops, crouching in the thicket, motioning for Hazelon to join her. "Ever hunted wherry?" she whispers, making sure they're downwind of the creatures. They peck about in a clearing, awake but calm, scratching at the ground as they feed.

Hazelon comes close, and shifts down to kneel beside the bluerider. A hand reaches out to gently shift some of the branches of the bush before him to look downwards at the small group before them. A slight nod to Kimmila. "It… has been a while" Translation, not since the camps.

Kimmila nods. "But you have," she murmurs. "You know they can turn vicious when injured, or turn on their own. So we've got to be careful." No duh. She peers at the wherries, five of them in the clearing. "I think," she murmurs, "I want that one." She points to a medium sized wherry with white feathers on its head. "You?"

"I know I would rather not get close when they are hurt." Quiet conviction in his voice, bespeaking perhaps a bit of experience learned the hard way. He slips his bow off of his shoulder, and tests the string to make sure it is still sound. "The white one?" Just to be sure.

Kimmila smirks a bit at that, nodding her agreement. "The one with white on his head," she murmurs, adjusting her bow in her grip. "Which one do you want?"

Hazelon points, his werry smaller than the one she had pointed out. "We shouldn't need more." Unless the others eat a lot more then he thinks, which is totally possible. "At the same time?" He puts the arrow to the bow, but doesn't pull back just yet.

Kimmila nods. "Right, don't want to kill more than we can use," she murmurs. "At the same time, yes. And be ready to fire another arrow in case they turn on us or turn on their bretheren, or…" Lots of reasons. "Have another arrow ready." She glances at him and nods, shifting her stance and peering through the brush, drawing the arrow back and breathing slow. She waits until he's set and murmurs, "One…two…"

One last nod for the bluerider's direction. The arrow is pulled back, and as soon as she gives the 'three', allows it to fly. It is true enough, but his arrows are light weight enough that the werry does not die right away. He has another arrow on the string to follow it soon after.

Kimmila lets loose her own arrow as well, catching the wherry in the eye. It flaps its wings and screams, dying swiftly as the point pierces the brain and it goes down. Kimmila swiftly draws another arrow and notches it, draws it. The other three wherries flare their wings and squawk in surprise, soaring for the branches above where they settle, and eye their fallen bretheren. Kimmila swears. "They want to eat them," she mutters.

"Would you turn down an easy meal?" It isn't really a question, and Hazelon, after allowing that second arrow to fly is hesitating. "We shouldn't go get them."

Kimmila snorts at his question, and then she nods in full agreement of his statement. "Nope." Because /she/ doesn't want to get attacked. "What do you think we should do?" The hunter bluerider looks questioningly at the Candidate, another arrow notched and ready

"Wait." Hazelon shrugs at the question. He doesn't move closer, but he figures it is safe enough to shift those branches again to get a better view. "Perhaps they'll not." Faint hope.

Kimmila shakes her head, the wherries already leaning forward and flapping their wings, squawking eagerly at the sight of a meal.

Hazelon, quietly, "You disagree."

The wherries swoop down towards the others, eying the surrounding forests. They're stupid but not /that/ stupid. With a muttered curse, Kimmila lets another arrow fly, clipping one in the leg. Not a moral injury.

Of course that is her answer. Hazelon doesn't fire right away, instead watching the woman fire. Will they flee from her shot? Or find a way to be agressive towards the pair? An arrow sits upon his bow, just waiting.

Of course it is! What else was she going to do, sweet talk them? When the one gets hit, it screams in pain and surges into the air. Startled, the others give up the chase as well, flying high above the trees and vanishing. Kimmila exhales a soft breath. "This is why I rarely hunt wherry without Varmiroth," she murmurs, flashing Hazelon a grin. "Nice shooting, by the way. Knew you were a good shot."

Hazelon allows the bow to go lax, and slips the arrow back into his quiver. Perhaps relaxing is not the best, but he has a feeling that the creatures won't be back before the pair back out their trophies. "I didn't want anyone to know." His answer comes out a bit shortly. "Too late now."

Kimmila shrugs. "If you'd rather," she says, standing up and stepping into the clearing, "I can say it was a lucky shot?" Scanning the skies, she moves towards her wherry, crouching to pull the arrow from its eye. Drawing her blue handled dagger, she slits its throat and pulls rope from her pack to loop around the feet.

Ghosting behind Kimmilia Hazelon almost copies her shrug exactly. "It is too late for that. Those who I kept it from know." He is more wary as he draws close, reaching out to nudge his werry with his foot to make sure it is incapacitated enough that it will not attack when he bends closer. The animal, not quite dead yet reacts violently and Hazelon stands back, allowing it to attempt to attack and wear itself out.

It's still early morning and Kimmila and Hazelon have hiked to a small clearing, within which are two dead (well, one dead and one almost dead) wherries. Looping the rope around the leg of hers, Kimmila hefts it with a grunt and drags it to a tree so she can string it up and let the blood drain. "Who were you keeping it from?" Other than her. She watches his wherry thrash. "Glad Kyzen isn't here," she mutters.

"He is a good kid." Hazelon commets on the mention of his son. The werry finally pauses in his thrashing, and Hazelon darts in to cut its throat cleanly. He stands and watches the animal die coolly, then reacches out to yank his arrows from the creature's side. As for her first question… "Everyone."

Cyrus has been wandering around aimlessly for the better part of the day. He'd always heard that camping was fun and exciting. Thus far its been a whole lot of wandering about, and bugs and stuff. He had heard a commotion over in this direction and since no one was at where they had been camping he decided to walk over. Soon enough he spots Kimm and Haze. Who appear to be hunting and chatting, "Hello." he calls over to the pair.

Kimmila smiles. "Thanks." She tosses him a length of rope for his wherry. Turning in surprise, she frowns at the sight of Cyrus. "Cyrus." And she looks behind him to make sure he has an escort, guard or rider.

The length of robe is caught. Kneeling Hazelon ties ti tightly around the limbs of the werry, and then heaves it up over a shoulder. Cyrus recieves only the briefest of glances, "Hey."

Cyrus does not have anyone with him. After having been assured last evening of 'unseen eyes' prowling about he felt both safe and more than a little bit paranoid. Besides. there was no one at the camp to tell him what to do so he went in search of sound, and found it. He salutes Kimm when he gets close enough, "You both look like you are keeping yourselves busy…things at the camp are dead."

To say Kimmila is startled is an understatement. Maybe she only heard the words 'things/camp/dead' because there's a sudden flash of fear in her eyes. "Who is dead?" And why is he so calm about it?!

Hazelon's reaction mirrors that of Kimmila. He almost drops that werry in his hands, but then practicality reasserts itself. They would have heard something if bad had happened at the camp. There were those there with ways to transmit messages swiftly. So he hefts the werry again, moving towards the tree.

Well…that was a reaction that he didn't expect. He won't be using that euphamism again, "It's a figure of speech." he explains, "It means that there is nothing going on at the camp. No one is injured or dead. There just isn't anyone there. Too quiet. I heard something going on over here and so I thought I'd come take a look and see who was doing what." he says as he stands there, not really knowing what else he could be doing at the moment, "I'm sorry if I disturbed you both."

Kimmila exhales heavily. "Shard it all, Cyrus. Aren't you supposed to be smart?" Forgive her biting tone as she calms her heart rate down. "You're lucky you found us. We're quite a ways away from the camp. But now you can help."

Well. That is overly harsh. Hazelon casts a glance at Kimmila, a frown creasing his lips. But it isn't his place to chide a rider, and so he keeps his lips firmly shut. Choosing another branch he begins the process of hauling the werry up so that it can join hers in bleeding out. He doesn't manage to do it without getting blood spots on his boots.

Cyrus doesn't take well to insults to his intelligence or to a great many other things all that well, "I am smart." he says with just a touch of edge in his voice, though probably not enough to cause too much of a to do. He also adds almost as if on a compulsive impulse he adds, "And I'm not crazy…the Hall had me tested." If that was supposed to be some kind of joke he certainly didn't tell it like one, "Oh good.." he says without all that much enthusiasm. He gets to help. Yay! "What do you need me to do?" he asks in the spirit of following orders.

Kimmila just rolls her eyes, beginning to pluck feathers from the wherry. She is silent for the moment, calming herself down so she doesn't snap at Cyrus. She just gestures to Hazelon. Help him.

Someone is being told to help him? Hazelon turns to look rather speculativly at Cyrus. "You ever done this before?"

And the two candidates most lacking in social graces are thrown together. Cyrus shifts his attention so he doesn't have to look at Kimm and focuses his attentino solely on Hazelon, "I'm afraid not. I don't usually hunt. At the hall dinners come pre-made. And at the weyrs they do as well." Pre-made is clearly less messy. Not that blood and guts bother him, human or otherwise, "What is it you need me to do exactly?"

Kimmila did that on purpose, as she silently works over *there* to prepare her own wherry.

Devious Kimmila. Hazelon casts a look at her when she foists the utterly unprepared man on him. Inwardly he sighs. "They got to be plucked. Be watchin," And he'll demonstrate how to begin the preparation of the werry, making his movements obvious. If the guy was smart, he would be able to follow suit.

Cyrus will have to repay the favor someday of taking Haze to the infirmary to work. For the moment he is more or less at the mercy of that devious and tricksy Kimm, and consequently Hazelon, "Fine." he says as he watches what he is doing. It seems simple enough.

Hazelon falls silent as he works, and moves to one side so that Cyrus can reach the animal. It isn't very big, and depending on how swiftly the other man works, they might be done quickly. Or Cyrus might mess up and Haze'll have to say something.

Cyrus takes the bird away from Haze and begins to pluck, and pluck, and pluck. Who knew that birds had so many feathers? Being that it is his first time doing this he clearly won't be doing it as fast as Hazelon would probably be doing it himself, or probably as fast as the young man would like, but he continues to work on regardless. He too feels the need to say little since the other candidate clearly is not a conversationalist.

Talk about understatements. Hazelon shoots a few glances over at Kimmila as Cryus works, waiting to see if the woman will break in. When she doesn't he shrugs slightly and turns back to the candidate. Those feathers come off, and he busies himself gathering them into a pile- waste not, want not, yes?

Cyrus is not so unobservant that he can't tell that Haze is looking for Kimm to intervene in some fashion. When she does not he just keeps working away at the pace that he was going. He figures if Haze wants to critique his performance he is free to do so himself.

Hazelon isn't much of a socail person, and this totally counts as a social activity. The silence weighs a bit heavy as he watches Cyrus finish his plucking. "You have a knife?" Finally. Words.

Cyrus shakes his head, "I have a scalpel in my medical bag…" he says in response to the question, "I don't general carry weapons. I'm a healer." he says in response. Yep. These two are reaching the heights of social interaction right now. He can't help but glance around. Where are Sairon and Therynn when you need them?

"Scalpel too small." Hazelon looks at his knive, then up to the man, then back down at it again. Flipping it offer he offers it to the ex-healer hilt first, and giggles it slightly. Go on, take it.

"I wouldn't use it on a dead bird anyway." Cyrus responds dryly. Yeah. No way he is doing that. It's for emergencies. He just blinks and stands there still for a moment as the youth offers him the knife. He doesn't see the harm so he reaches and takes it from Haze. Fear and tremble Pern, Cyrus has a knife! "So what exactly do you want me to do with this?" he asks.

The teen scratches his head, at teh question. How best to explain it? "Ain't never explained before." It's almost spoken like a filler, before Haze shrugs again and reaches out. "I'll be showin' you?"

Cyrus flips the knife around so that he can offer the hilt to the young man. Just because he isn't outdoorsey doesn't mean he is inept when it comes to passing around sharp objects, "Go ahead…" he says in response. He stands back a bit to watch the other candidate do whatever it is he is planning on doing. While doing so he pipes up, "So I heard you spent some time in a cell…" he says before glancing to see where Kimm is standing, not that it really matters since she knows this already, "Me too."

Kimmila is there, yes, and she's listening too as she works on her own larger wherry. But she doesn't comment on anything, letting the two Candidates talk.

If Cryus thought Hazelon was guarded before, it is nothing like the walls that come crashing down the moment the other candidate mentions the cell. His grip tightens on the knife, and his work slows for the breath before the other finishes out his sentance. Brows knit in confusion and he looks up at the other man.

Cyrus has, one by one, been feeling out the other candidates to find out who they are, and what exactly they want. Haze gets the same treatment. He doesn't say anything for a good long while before speaking up again, "I'm not judging you. Innocent people get thrown in cells all the time. I was only pointing out we have something in common is all." he says with a shrug.

Hazelon returns his attention to the werry before him, allowing the silence to stretch out. Only when it gets to that really uncomfortable level does he finally ask, "Why was you in a cell?"

Cyrus considers for a moment before answering. The kid asks an honest question so he will get an honest answer, "Someone hurt me. I called them on it. They didn't like it…so they had me arrested and thrown in a cell for awhile. How about you?" He knows the rumors of course, the weyr is full of them, but he'd rather hear it from teh source.

Kimmila tilts her head a bit, peeking back at the Candidates. "Who, Cyrus?"

Hazelon's glance towards Kimmilia might just be greatful. Just a bit. Her abrupt question keeps him from having to answer. If the man didn't know, there wasn't really a reason for Hazelon to be the one to inform him. So instead skinning the werry gets his attenion.

Cyrus glances back over his shoulder, so she speaks, "If its alright with you ma'am I'd rather not say." Cyrus may be honest, but neither is he ignorant. No good could come of telling the person's name. Not today. Not here, "It's something that I'd rather forget about." Not that he really can, "It's a time that is dead….there are somethings that are better left alone."

"That be true." Hazelon mutters under his breath, totally breaking pose order to say it.

Kimmila hmms. "This was in Xanadu though?" Convict Candidate? She'd like to know the backstory. He can either tell her…or Xanadu can.

Hazelon perks an ear up. He totally knows someone from Xanadu.

Cyrus nods his head slowly, "Yeah. It was." he says simply, not that he isn't telling her anything that he hasn't already told her.

Kimmila stares at him.

"Ain't no use diggin' in the past what be gone. Nothin good can be comin' from it." It's practically conversation from the quiet teen. Hazelon doesn't look up at Cyrus as he says this, instead going after a particularly tough bit of sinew that keeps the skin attached to the creature.

Cyrus is not easily made uncomfortable by silences or staring, "What?" he asks, "I told you the story not all that long ago when we were in the living cavern during the storm." he reminds her, before glancing back toward the teen. He might actually like this kid. Another candidate down, "What he said." he says looking back to Kimm.

Kimmila shakes her head. "You've never given me a name though."

Hazelon has given his opinions on this topic, and so now he'll just stay quiet about it. Knowing what little he does about the blue rider, he's sure she'll get her answers. She's persistant.

Cyrus nods his head to her, "That is correct. I have not." he affirms before glancing back toward Hazelon for some sort of moral support and finds that he isn't going to get a great deal of it from him. Great. He sighs in a very resigned manner, "Ma'am if you order me to tell you I will comply." She'll lose some of the goodwill that he had for her, but he doubts that would be terribly meaningful for her. He stands there stiffly.

Kimmila just shrugs and goes back to the wherry. She'll find out another way. She knows a rider in Xanadu fairly well.

"You know, she's gonna be findin' out one way or another." Hazelon's words are very very soft as he warns the other candidate. "She's like one of Wingleader Abigail's canines and ain't satisfied to be lettin' well enough alone." Realizing all the words that have fallen from his mouth Hazelon shuts his lips abruptly.

Did Hazelon just call Kimmila a bitch?

It seems that Kimm will not be issuing any such order. Excellent! Cyrus breathes a small sigh of relief. There seem to be certain shadows of the past that will never let him be. There's always a price. He just shrugs and goes back toward Hazelon, "Thanks for the support." he says honestly. Always good to have some kind of backup, "I know she will…." he says loud enough for Kimm to hear, "…they won't be honest about the story. And when she finds out she will hate me just like everyone else back there….well almost everyone. Some things you can't outrun. You can only stand and try to survive." Cyrus apparently does not have a great deal of faith in humanity.

"Ain't supportin' no one." Hazelon's answer is blunt. The skin finally falls off the werry and into his hands. The blood is eyed distastefully, but it comes with the work. "Be takin' this." The knife is offered up to the healer again. So long as they have work to do, Hazelon will focus on it. "Needs cleaned."

Cyrus gives his head a little shake, "Felt like support all the same. I'll take it the positive way." he responds before taking the knife. Yeah. Blood. Doesn't bother him in the least. Just blood after all, "In what way?" he asks the young man, "How does one clean it?"

and then the game crashed and there are missing poses….

Cyrus chuckles and shakes his head, "I thought you meant that you wanted me to clean the bird. I can clean a knife easily enough." he says to the young man. Yeah. He is smart…sometimes.

"Bird's clean. Time to be gettin' back?" His voice rises again, as he shoots a glance over towards Kimmila. "We got ours done."

Kimmila has hers finished as well, not having to stop and talk to someone else while she does it. "Yup." Hefting the wherry from the branch she shoulders it, and it'll only be a little bit of blood on her tunic. "Cyrus, you'll have to protect us if anything wants these tasty wherries we're carting back."

Cyrus holds onto the knife and glances over to Kimm as she once again speaks up, "So what sort of things are likely to try to do something like that?" he asks. Never having done this before there are gaps in his knowledge. Large gaps. Huge gaps.

Gaps someone could throw a hippo through. Hazelon unties the werry from it's branch and redoes the knots so he can heave it over his shoulder with a bit of a grunt. It's heavy. "Other werries. People. Canines what've gone feral." From above the trio pops a bronze firelizard who circles the burden Hazelon is holding. "Firelizards."

Kimmila snorts with a smirk, letting Hazelon answer that question as she starts to head back towards the camp, leading the way. Cyrus is protecting them. Danger, danger.

Walking forward with that burden on the back Hazelon cuts as quick a path as he can back towards the main camp. He isn't about to truth their safety to Cyrus… who know what might happen if the healer actually had to defend them?

Things might go horribly, horribly wrong. Kimmila agrees silently with this unspoken thought as she leads the way back to the camp, finally hitting a wider trail bordered on both sides by brush and thick strands of trees.

The victorious hunting party returns! Or something along those lines. Amethyst spots the approaching group from where she's been milling about on the edge of the camp, and, led by her young brown firelizard, she heads out to meet them. "Success?" A big, tooth-flashing grin looks from Kimmila to Hazelon, then to the others. "Can I help with anything?"

Hazelon shys abruptly when Amethyst breaks out from the camp. Too jumpy by half is the teen. "Aye." Well, if she wants to help, Hazelon hesitates only for a moment before slinging the werry off his shoulder and offering it out to the woman . Here.

Kimmila laughs at Amethyst's question. "No, we utterly failed." Which is why they're carrying two large-ish wherries back to camp, already bled, plucked and skinned. "You can get the fire going again if it's not already? We should cook this now…" Wherry for breakfast! "Or you can carry that." She gives Hazelon an odd look. Really, dude? "You can get the fire started again then."

The wherry slung at her is blinked at; Amethyst clearly didn't expect to be asked to help that much! "Well, I can try to help carry that," she says, not sounding too certain. "Though I'm pretty ace at setting up fires," she says to Kimmila, perhaps hoping the bluerider will assign her to that, rather than to carrying the wherry! "Was it a good hunt? Beyond the fact that you're coming back empty-handed, of course." She winks at Kimmila, playfully echoing her sarcastic tone.

Really. He's used up his store of conversation for the day apparently on Cyrus. And fire is more fun anyway…. but Amethyst seems to want it. A shrug of his shoulders as he takes back that burden again. He'll walk right past Amethyst to the edge of the fire and work silently to begin actually butchering the werry into pieces small enough to be cooked.

Kimmila smirks at Amethyst, tipping her head towards the fire. "It was awful, all we got were these two delicious wherries, enough to feed everyone in camp for the day. Just awful." She sets her wherry down on a flat rock and sets about butchering it as well, keeping the meat on the bone so it will roast nicely over the fire. "Think we'll need a few fires…"

"That's absolutely terrible," Amethyst snorts, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "Here I was, thinking how delicious fire-roasted wherry would be, and… well, it looks like I might actually have my cravings satisfied. How awful!" She lets Hazelon on by, winking at him as he passes, then slipping around to what embers remain of the earlier fire to start stoking it. "Hunting's not a skill I ever picked up," the Smith-turned-Candidate says to both Kim and Hazelon. "So it's always impressive when people bring their catch back. Especially if I get to share it." With a bright smile and a chuckle, she crouches to start building up the remains of the fire.

The jokes fly right overHazelon's head. As does the wink when it is tossed at him. Face impassive he keeps his head down and carves at the werry. Between the two of them there is going to be a very impressive pile of meat to-be-cooked soon.

Kimmila glances between the two Candidates and chuckles. "You ever butcher wherry, Amethyst? I'm sure Hazelon could show you how." There she goes again, tossing him into social situations. You're welcome.

"You know, that's another thing I've never tried… though I suppose it might be worth learning, in case - well, weyrlings have to butcher meat, don't they?" Amethyst gets one fire going, merry little flames crackling away as they eat through the kindling she's supplied, and which is being used to light the next firepit. "And I suppose there's no way of telling whether it's a skill we'll need until we need it, so I may as well give it a shot. If you'll take the time to teach me, Haze?"

Kimmila is mean. This is payback for trying to teach Kyzen how to shoot isn't it? Hazelon's brows knit, but he'll move over so that Amethyst can see how he carves at the meat. This time though, he doesn't try to hand over the knife. Amethyst can find his own.

Kimmila chuckles. "The first few days of meals are provided for you, because if you impress, you'll be too stunned to do much else. But after that, yes, you'll learn very good butchering skills. No waste. Here, Amethyst, you can borrow this blade." She wears several on her belt and she hands over one that is perfect for butchering. "You craft a lot of blades as a Smith?"

Amethyst smiles at Hazelon - though will he look up to see it? "Thanks," she murmurs, settling down on her knees close enough to be able to watch him. The knife offered by Kimmila is accepted with a quiet nod of thanks, though she shakes her head in reply to the question asked. "No ma'am. Hardly any, actually. I know the theory of it, and I did one or two in my early apprentice turns, but it's not something I typically have to do in my speciality. My work's more delicate and requires less full-on forging than blade-working demands. I take it you're quite a fan of them, though? Given your collection?" The ones on the bluerider's belt are nodded at.

Nope, Hazelon totally misses that smile. His eyes are focused on making it obvious what he is doing with his own slender knife. A few more cuts for him and then he's mutely handing over a segment of carcass to the other candidate. Here. Cut this.

Kimmila glances down at her blades, and she smiles a little bit. Fond, but also with an edge to it. "They're useful," is her simple, cryptic reply. Then she turns back to the wherry, letting the Candidates do their thing while she sets to cooking the meat, unless someone else steps up to do that part.

Useful is good, and Amethyst leaves it at that as she nods an agreement to Kimmila. Then there's a hunk of dead wherry set in front of her, and she frowns down at it with her knife in one hand, and a confused look on her face. "How exactly do I cut it, Hazelon? This piece is a little different to the one you're working on…" She chews on her bottom lip as she waits for his direction, eying the meat from several angles.

"You cut it." Hazelon is…. probably not a very good teacher, as his own education was so spotty. He glances upwards when he realizes that the other candidate isn't starting to cut at the meat in front of him. A twist of his lips then finally he's reacing out to trace a line upon the chunk of meat. "Here. Be leavin' plenty've bone."

"You mean… I have to cut through the bone, or…" Amethyst's lip-chewing turns to a full-on bite when she frowns down at the blade of her borrowed knife, and then at the meat. "I thought perhaps I'd just be, you know, carving the meat from the bone." Now she's confused, and hesitant in case she ruins the meat. "Could this piece be fore stewing, perhaps? Or skewering, even. I'm sure we could find some sticks thin enough to be skewers…2

Hazelon frowns again at her confusion. "Gotta leave it on the bone, else it'll be dryin' out cookin' over the open flame." Leaning over he fishes an examaple of a cut from the pile he has already made to show the smith apprentice.

Amethyst looks at the example, figuring out how to apply the same to her own piece. "Right. Ok." She changes her grip on the knife, preparing to make her first cut. "I've never actually done much cooking, let alone camp-cooking. How do you know so much, Hazelon?" The first cut is made, and she pauses to look at it, considering its placement before she makes another, slightly more sure cut.

Hazelon is silent at that question. He carves at the meat for a bit. "I had to be learnin' it. Grew up holdless." That is the closest to the truth isn't it?

"Oh." Amethyst looks intrigued by that snippet of information, and she looks from the meat she's working slowly through to look at Hazelon. "I didn't know. I thought… well, I thought you were from the Weyr, though I suppose I've never really asked, have I? What was it like? Growing up holdless?"

"I ain't one to be talkin' 'bout it much." Which is probably an understatement. Hazelon sighs and applies the knife to the meat with probably a little bit more force then is absolutly necessary. "Ain't somethin' I'm lookin' at rememberin' more often then I got to be."

"Ah. Well, that's… that's fair enough. I'm not one to force someone to share what they don't want to." Amethyst smiles up at Hazelon, an assurance that she won't pry any further. She settles into silence to finish cutting her meat, showing the near-finished product to Hazelon. "Is this alright? I didn't destroy it, did I?"

"Going to be goin' into the stomach. Be good enough." Finally Hazelon rises from where he is sitting. Someone else is coming over to actually cook the food, so Hazelon turns the knife mutely over to them. "I'm gonna be seein' if I can be findin' more wood."

With that seal of approval for her work, Amethyst sets the piece she's butchered aside, and stands up as Hazelon does. "More wood would be a good idea. I ought to build up the fires again - start another one, too." With the amount of wherry brought back, another one will be required! "Holler if you need any of us to come help, won't you?" She winks at the younger candidate, waiting for him to leave before she sets about doingher own work.