Fort Weyr - Center Bowl
The wide center of the bowl is often bustling with activity as riders come and go. Off westward can be seen the entrances for the candidate barracks and the guest weyr, while to the east is a large opening that leads into the dragon infirmary. The bowl stretches off both to the north and to the south, where the sheer stone walls rise steeply to the sky.

It may be autumn still but winter is clearly anxious to get started. Though it is midday, the air is crisp and chilled, breezing goosebumps over naked flesh and causing those who run to and fro in the bowl to nestle deeper into their jackets. From the gray skies above, the large shape can be seen circling, resolving into the form of a rather handsome bronze as the dragons descends ever closer to landing. Now over 30 meters in length — impressive for being only three quarters of a Turn in age yet — Sharuth gracefully settles to the ground, folding his expansive wings neatly against his sides and lowering to allow his rider to depart. Sliding down the bronze's side, So'l — dressed warmly in a thick riding jacket, gloves, and boots — moves to unfasten a warmly-bundled parcel from Sharuth's left side satchel. Carefully tucking it into the crook of his right arm, the bronzer affectionately pats the dragon before eyeing the Infirmary. Business there, perhaps?

Nyalle is stepping out of the living caverns, her dark silky hair blowing in the breezes where it's come loose from the half runnertail she fashioned it into this morning. She is dressed modestly in a long dress with long sleeves, a light jacket over that to ward off the chilly wind. She lifts her head to watch the bronze glide down, admiring him until the rider dismounts. Respectfully, the junior weyrwoman dips her head and offers him a polite but reserved smile. Almost shy. "Wingrider," she greets, waiting for a salute before she'll return it. "Your dragon is not yet fully grown?" From her perch on the rim above, Kayeth pushes into the sky to circle downwards, letting the sun gleam off her red-gold hide. Landing a length away from the young bronze she greets him with a rumble before turning her head to preen one of her wings, nuzzling the shimmering sails as she poses there, causing Nyalle's cheeks to flush slightly. Kayeth's thoughts open to the bronze, a shore with warm breezes tickling sea grasses. « Hello. »

The voice comes as a surprise. Wingrider? Did she mean him? « You /are/ a wingrider now, remember, » Sharuth helpfully reminded. So'l had gotten so used to being called 'Weyrling' that the new title seemed strange; it was an adjustment, for sure. Turning to face Nyalle properly, he realizes he doesn't recognize the woman and wonders if he should. "Hello there," So'l offers back, smiling warmly as he removes his goggles and pockets them. It's not until Kayeth lands that the bronzerider suddenly understands and is quick to offer the required salute. "Goldrider," he breathes, his breath puffing out in faintly visible cloud. "I'd heard you'd come to join us," So'l nods, moving the parcel to his left arm and reaching out with the right. "Welcome to Fort Weyr. I'm So'l," he offers politely. "Thunderbird Wing." Ah yes, a Search and Rescue rider. "And this is Sharuth," he gestures to the bronze. "Not yet fully grown but mature all the same," he smirks. Sharuth stands tall and does his best to look noble and mighty as he's introduced. However, his thoughts aren't entirely on the female rider before him. Rather he's taken definitive interest in the beautiful gold that's come to rest nearby and watches keenly as she poses with her wing. Two can play that game, of course. And it's a game he'll happily play. As if stretching nonchalantly, Sharuth extends his wings out to their fullest and stands at his tallest. « Greetings, your Elegance, » he offers in reply. « I am Sharuth. »

Nyalle smiles warmly, reaching out to take his hand. But rather than shake it, she holds her hand palm down, fingers curled into his grip. Feminine. Proper. "Well met, So'l. I'm Nyalle, and this is Kayeth," she greets. "Thunderbird. That is…search and rescue, correct?" she asks, peering thoughtfully at the bronze and smiling. "He is a fine beast, if I might be so bold." Kayeth nuzzles her wing back and swings her head around to peer at the bronze, rumbling softly and watching him move. « Greetings, Sharuth. I am called Kayeth, » she replies, moving forward to prowl, circling around him while keeping her eyes on the bronze. « Your wing span is impressive, » she remarks, extending her own in reply. Hers is bigger. Ha.

That…was unexpected. So'l recovers from the gesture's sparked surprise by nodding briskly and saying, "Well met, Nyalle. And Kayeth," he bows his head politely to the nearby gold before replying to Nyalle's question. "That is correct. I'm new to the wing, though. Only recently graduated from weyrlinghood," which — sigh — she can probably surmise on her own given Sharuth's not-yet-fully-grown size. When Nyalle mentions that Sharuth is 'fine,' the bronzerider grins full out. "Thank you. By the time he's done growing, I suspect he'll be the largest bronze in the weyr! Not that size is everything, of course," he nods. "Kayeth is quite the beauty, if you don't mind /me/ saying so. Sharuth certainly agrees," So'l chuckles. "How are finding Fort Weyr so far?" he asks curiously, hoping her experience has been a positive one. Sharuth, meanwhile, stiffens with pride as Kayeth compliments his wing span. « It is a pleasure to become acquainted. Others have passed on your image but you are even more appreciable in person, » he replies, his thoughts like rustling leaves falling in the breeze. When her wings unfurl, he admires them openly. « You no doubt fly fast and far with those, » Sharuth notes warmly.

Nyalle smiles kindly and nods. "Well, we all have to start somewhere." Then she beams, ever so pleased at the compliment to her lifemate. "Thank you," she says with quiet pride. "The largest in the weyr? Goodness," she says, eying him with new focus. "I've found Fort to be very polite," she says properly. "It is a fine weyr and well run." Whether that's the truth or not…impossible to tell. She plays 'polite' so well. Kayeth continues to move around the bronze, a short distance out of his reach. « Have they? » she asks, amused wind ripping waves in the sea of her mind. She toys with those leaves, making them dance. « I can, » is her simple answer. « Where do you like to obeserve the weyr? »

"I am glad to hear that," So'l nods, his manner genuine. "I've lived here for almost a full Turn now and have never been happier. Not that I've lived in many places, mind you," he smirks. Where Nyalle is proper and oh so polite, So'l seems uncomplicated and open in comparison. "I really can't speak for other weyrs," he admits, "but I've never heard anyone speak poorly of the leadership here. They've always been fair and supportive, at least in my experience." So'l notices that little bit of shining pride in Kayeth and can empathize with it. Sharuth — nearby — allows the gold to circle all she likes. He remains still, allowing her to take in his form if that's her intent. « They have, » the bronze replies. Amused, is she? She clearly knows the beauty and respect at her command, that much is sure. When asked about his favorite place to observe, some advice from the great Velokraeth comes to mind and it is with honeyed forest sap that he replies, « From my ledge. I can see everything from there. » As she makes those leaves shake and twirl, the scent of pine — so odd near a sea — filters into the link. « And it is a large ledge; big enough for /two/ to watch from, » Sharuth notes slyly, innuendo in his tone.

Nyalle inclines her head, tucking hair behind her ear. "I am pleased to hear it," she murmurs, not offering any information on High Reaches' leadership. Nope. None at all. "And how are you liking Thunderbird?" Kayeth pauses in her circling, head lifted and neck arched to peer at the bronze. « And where is your ledge? » she asks, tickling breezes mingling pine and ocean. « Large enough for two now, but what if you truly do become the largest bronze in the weyr? What then? »

« Then you may observe the weyr while I observe you, » Sharuth croons back softly. Images of his ledge flit through the link, accompanied by a visualization so precise she could *between* there if she wished. Mentally rolling his eyes, So'l decides it is probably time to send Sharuth homeward. He does have business to attend with the dragon healers, after all, though Sharuth is clearly not in need of healing. His bundle is more firmly secured as the bronzerider smiles back to Nyalle. "I have been able to help people. Forest fires, feline attacks…it is good work, and I enjoy it. Though I won't lie," he smirks, "I do miss fixing up the tables in Shenanigans sometimes. Former Woodcrafter," he smiles in explanation. "I'm afraid I must be on my way," So'l notes with a hint of regret. "I do hope to get to know you better in the months to come, Nyalle." Sharuth looks towards his rider for a moment — acknowledging the command to fly back to his ledge — before turning back to Kayeth. « It was a delight, Elegant Kayeth. »

Kayeth laughs, her tail flicking the air behind her. « Perhaps, » she drawls slowly, voice rich and layered, « but a bronze that does not observe his weyr tends to be out of touch with what is most important. » She does admire the visualization though, pleased with its precise nature. "It is good to help people," Nyalle agrees softly, with a gentle smile pulling at her lips. "Oh, please," she adds swiftly, "don't let me keep you. It was a pleasure. Clear skies, Wingrider So'l." « It was indeed, Sharuth. »

"Clear skies," So'l offers back, smiling brightly. And with that, he salutes once more before heading towards the Infirmary, that mysterious package of his clearly having something to do with it all. Sharuth bows his head to Kayeth, agreement rumbling through the link. « There is wisdom in what you say, your Elegance. » And with a warm brush of passing thought, the bronze defers before spreading his great wings — not as great as the gold's — and springs forward and into flight, positively sprinting home…as if to show he might be a capable chaser.