Who K'zre, Lhiannon
What K'zre and Yasminath discover a weyrling pair practicing out of bounds after dark.
When Winter, 2725
Where Northeast Bowl, Fort Weyr

 

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Fort Weyr - Northeast Bowl
The northern end of the bowl can be an intimidating area, being that Fort is the largest weyr. The far north wall contains the gigantic opening to the hatching caverns, and to the west of that can be seen the sprawling ledges and carved staircases that mark the way to the administration complex and the training grounds where candidates and weyrlings can often be found. The west cliff wall towers up, dotted here and there by darker openings that mark individual weyrs before it tapers to a point at Tooth Crag.


The cold and the relative darkness of near-midnight in winter have a chance of providing decent enough cover for a weyrling pair who has very quietly left the barracks once most (or all) of their fellows are settled into sleep. Were it M'zal and Tsoth another pairing other than the one it is, their motives might be far more suspect. Lhiannon and Fjainoith, however, are perfectionists students in quite good standing (minus Fjainoith's occasional tardiness), and regularly go for walks together enough that this movement could simply be just that, a nocturnal stroll to quiet their minds again so that they can return to bed. They wander rather far for just such a walk, however, aiming for that nebulous area where the paths to the two barracks converge and begin turning back into the northern bowl at large. Stopping once they've selected a stretch of cliff wall that casts them into partial shadow should one or both moons be out, the dragon holds herself still while Hana unburdens her rather oversized backpack to produce an adequately-crafted set of riding straps. It takes time to get them looped over the right limbs and fastened securely with lots of assisted climbing up and around the glacial green; although the human half must find the motions harder so late at night after that expenditure of energy, she determinedly sets to her next task once that's accomplished. Taking a firm hold on what she can reach of the straps into which she'll one day have to trust her very existence, she makes what must be not a first, but a still early attempt to scale Fjainoith's foreleg and shoulder to swing up between two neckridges. It lacks finesse despite having apparently been previously rehearsed at some point (certainly she knows where to hold and where to put her feet at first); moments later there's an almost stumble, a scramble to recapture her footing and a softly hissed swear as Lhiannon arrests her motion, breathing hard. Trying again, she finally makes it awkwardly astride, lingering there to suspend that moment of being dragon and rider that's still undoubtedly terribly special before beginning her equally graceless dismount. Her frame isn't quite vibrating with adrenaline when she drops back to the ground, but her grip tightens on the leather as she begins a second, more careful ascent with a firmly set jaw. Uninterrupted, she may well manage to get in four more repetitions before pausing while settled above the ground, brow damp with exertion.

It may be a great mystery why K’zre, and Yasminath, are out so late. The green is buried in the snow, doing her best to look like a lump, her rider bundled up against the cold and trudging determinedly through the snow to meet her. Perhaps if one could peer beneath the jacket-and-scarf, the pants and boots, the outer layers and into what lies beneath — a set of scrubs — the answer would be solved. Work. That is what has K’zre up at such an hour. But the work clothes are hidden, and what is left is simply the form of the dragonrider, breath misting white in the cold, moving through the snow at a pace that suggests intention without being rushed. Yasminath, for her part, is attentive not to the approach of her rider, but rather the pair of weyrlings practicing their illicit activities under the cloak of night and shadow. It is her glowing eyes that might give her away, the rest of her concealed beneath the snow as she has been for hours, not at all bothered by the cold. But as K’zre approaches, she rises, shivering off that white blanket and stretching her wings out wide. There’s a whisper of curiosity, a question that isn’t quite asked, directed at the glacial-green, but it’s K’zre that will speak what is perhaps on both their minds. “What are you doing out here?” Is it loud enough to carry? Perhaps, though he does at least endeavor to keep from shouting.

Perhaps they were so intent on getting this practice time in away from the others that the Yasminath-sized snowbank with shiny eyes doesn't draw the attention it ordinarily might - or perhaps her presence was noted and cataloged under 'hardly a threat' to their exercises. Whichever the case may be, Lhiannon's grip on the neckridge in front of her still tightens reflexively as the much larger green rises in response to K'zre's approach. Fjainoith's head swings around to level a look at the other pair; for that whisper of curiosity, there's a silent rush of cold that matches the temperature outside tonight, underlaid with something stalwart: why should it be of concern? They are not, after all, engaged in wrongdoing. "Easy, " says her partner with her own note of warning aloud for the young green's too-quick defense, expression apologetic for Yasminath once she manages her fifth dismount, dropping back into the snow with a soft crunch. "Practicing ups-and-downs, " the harper says matter-of-factly in answer to K'zre with a little grimace offered almost in afterthought. As if this explains everything, "We're supposed to show our first attempts in class tomorrow, " really, they're just getting an eight to ten hour headstart on the practice that they'll soon enough be encouraged to undertake on a daily basis. It's quite probable, however, that practicing at this hour isn't quite what their instructors will have in mind when they officially release them to work on growing more sure-footed.

Aren’t they tho? Isn’t sneaking out after dark a form of wrongdoing? It is, technically speaking, breaking the rules. Yasminath, however, is not one to be fussed about such things. Probably because she does not remember such things. There’s no thought given to the idea that weyrlings ought to be in bed at this hour, or that Fjainoith and Lhiannon are doing anything that might raise an eyebrow. She is perfectly happy and simply curious about what this up-down business is all about, having long ago forgotten that she and K’zre engaged in a very similar activity under suspiciously similar circumstances. K’zre, however, has not forgotten. Neither the rules, nor his own breaking (bending?) of them. Dark as it is, bundled as he is, the tip of his head is visible enough even if the arch of an eyebrow is not. “Your first attempts?” he repeats, as though seeking clarity. And perhaps his perplexed tone can be explained with his next question, which is really more of a statement of fact. “How can you show them your first attempts tomorrow, when you are very clearly experiencing them now?” He is making an assumption that this is the first time she’s done this, of course. But the question still stands. A beat or two and he asks, “Are they letting weyrlings out after dark now?” And because it is K’zre, the question is an honest one, rather than a sarcastic one, coupled with another glance around as though there are more weyrlings lurking in the shadows which he had not yet spotted.

Judging by the way Lhiannon's expression turns guarded soon after her explanation, she's all too aware of the technicality they straddle. With two paws in the training grounds and two practically out, have they quite breached the rule of not going into the weyr proper as a pair after dark? Fjainoith sees no wrongdoing, not with their shared dignity in this all too brief mount-dismount up for inspection later in the day. Neither she nor her rider should be falling flat on her face, thank you very much, a sentiment punctuated by the sense and sound of a sudden shake of snow from overhead. "Because we won't. The one in class will be our seventh, " admits the weyrling with another sharp look for her dragon as she busies herself with unfastening their riding straps, tugging at various junctures in the way of someone who's probably still following a checklist in their head until checks and rechecks with use fully become second nature. "We snuck in our first a couple of evenings ago, but some, " beat, "others spend time studying well into the night. She didn't want any of them to see us." As for being out after dark, well. Wryly, "I didn't fancy trying this next to the middens, " which might be able to pass as an acceptable enough destination for a brief, paired sojourn after dark if there's a dragon in need.

The sense of snow falling down is met with glittering moonbeams, not enough to obscure or to blind, but simply to highlight. To shine. To cast that which is in shadows into the light, even if that light is a purely mental, purely unintentional, thing. Yasminath sees nothing wrong with any of this, happy to settle back into the snow and tip her head toward glacial-green and weyrling alike, a (mostly) silent observer who may not add her two-cents verbally but is definitely present. “I see,” comes from K’zre, the frown playing at his lips one of curiosity rather than disapproval. Because what does he have to disapprove of, when he, himself, is guilty of the very same thing? Even if that was many turns ago. Clearly it would be hypocritical of him to chastise Lhiannon for the same crime he’s guilty of committing. A snort from Yasminath, who finally offers up, « it’s not a crime to practice things, » with all the certainty of one who has heard this offered to her before, even if she’s not at all sure the situation is the same. She’s trying. « We practice things all the time! » Different things, but who’s gonna compare? “Yes, well. There are rules.” A statement of fact. Not an admonition. A shift of his weight, more to keep moving to keep warm than anything else, and he wonders, “Is there a reason you didn’t want to practice with the others?” He might as well have all the facts before deciding if he’s become complicit in a crime.

Unintentional it may be, but the light is enough to draw at least some of Fjainoith's attention from the humans' conversation; even she must admit that the effect is a pretty one when cast over snow that's sparkling and pristine and not walked over and marred by footprints like the snow in the bowl so often is. « But of course you do, » muses the younger green in a way that's both absent and markedly not. Practice, that is. « It is helpful, is it not. » No question, there. There are rules, and then there are "little" dragons who are filled with certainty that at least some of those are more like guidelines. "There are rules, " Hana agrees with another glance askance for the wintry form near her after stuffing their straps back into her now-bulging backpack. "Someone, " and blue eyes slide to the still-growing green again before lifting back to K'zre, "is determined for us not to embarrass ourselves tomorrow. I tried explaining that everyone is bound to be at least a little clumsy on their first shot, but — " « — she will exceed expectations, » sniffs Fjainoith to Yasminath as if she were sighing instead over an expected, but no less tedious stretch of dreary weather rolling in. The line of Lhiannon's jaw tightens subtly; perhaps there are multiple benefits to practicing alone.

The tilt of K’zre’s head remains, a curious sort of expression that may well be hidden beneath the dark and the wrap of his scarf. And whether Yasminath passed it along or Fjainoith was loud enough for him to hear, K’zre is quick to point out that, “expectations cannot be exceeded if the premise around them is false. It would be an illusion.” But even so, K’zre is not about to argue with green or weyrling. He’s just pointing out the facts as he sees them. “Most weyrlings are clumsy,” he agrees. “Yasminath was-“ and in a lot of ways is, “- very clumsy. But she has grown out of it.” And K’zre? Perhaps he was less clumsy, even if he did not take to dragonriding as readily as some. A bit more watching, a bit more curious study complete with frown and head-tilt. But in the end his contribution is simply, “Be careful. Rules are in place for a reason. Usually for safety.” But well. It is more advice than chastisement. “I would advise against attempting any further lessons by yourself. In the dark. Without the weyrlingmaster’s knowledge.” « Even if it is good to practice, » chimes in Yasminath, who is simply happy to have contributed a little bit, and far from worried about the pair actually getting hurt.

"It would, " Lhiannon agrees evenly of expectations, "if the premise were false. I have indeed been every bit as clumsy as she owns me to be, " never mind that she's been attempting to minimize that along the way. There's an almost skeptical look aimed at the two greens, perhaps as much in incredulity for his claim that lovely Yasminath has had her share of clumsy moments as much as for Fjainoith, who almost effortlessly, even at this age, manages to mostly broadcast grace in public (even with those limbs that keep growing with her). Dryly: "Believe me, I'd rather be sleeping right now. We'll have plenty of time in which to get our allowed practice in, I've no doubt." Arms folding, she returns his curious study with a thoughtful one of her own. She's probably well-aware of who he is, high-profile weyrmate and all, despite the lack of formal introduction — which she presently remedies with a casual enough offer of, "Lhiannon, but you probably already knew that." Fjainoith certainly seems to be making note of this inadvisable combination of conditions, but couches how she probably really feels about the advice in another little shake of snow-from-branches. It's not quite merry, but pleasant enough. Of course.

Poor Yasminath. Even as an adult, she is often quite clumsy on the ground. In the air she can appear graceful, but even that comes with hidden worries. Like making sure she’s looking where she is going. But thankfully, after eight turns, she’s managed to figure out how her body works well enough to avoid injury. “I didn’t. Well. Maybe I did,” muses K’zre, for knowing who Lhiannon is. “I knew you were a weyrling, and given that she is green-“ because there’s definitely no denying that Fjainoith is green “- and that the other green-riding weyrling is E’mi -“ who he has met before, “- process of elimination would make you Lhiannon and Fjainoith.” Which, really, is a long-winded way of saying ‘yes. I knew that already’. “I’m K’zre. Healer journeyman and rider to Yasminath.” Whom he already more or less introduced. That his weyrmate’s status might trickle down to people knowing who he is does not seem to have crossed his mind. “I would say that it is a pleasure to meet you but I am not sure that is entirely proper in this context,” he admits, frowning for the thought. “But I suppose I can say it was nice talking to you, even if you ought to be in bed.” Just a casual chastisement, even if he doesn’t really mean it that way.

There's a small, polite flash of smile for K'zre's long-winded logic from the current class's only woman weyrling, who regards him almost patiently through his own introduction and the (truthful!) aside of where they ought to be at this hour. "I know, " Lhiannon says simply for all of the above, bending to reshoulder her bag-of-straps, "although the circumstances do not render you less well met. Or Yasminath, " with a brief shift of pale eyes to the larger green. Next to her, Fjainoith casually yawns before taking half a step away toward the training grounds, and perhaps her partner's lift of eyebrows for Yasminath's might indicate a silent 'finally.' "It was nice talking to you, too, " and that's graciously (gratefully?) extended to include his dragon since hers has offered so little in the way of niceties. "Good night, K'zre, Yasminath." If there's a silent, heated exchange started between human- and dragon- weyrling on their walk back to the barracks, at least there's no indication given in either's body language of their present discord.


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