Fort Weyr - Galleries
The galleries are carved right out of the rock face, the rows and rows of benches rising high up into the air on a slight slant. Stone and wood benches that used to be known for offering little in the way of comfort, are now padded with cushions in Fort Weyr's colors. Placed along the railing at regular intervals are antique looking baskets filled with cheery fabric flowers. The curving walls sport tapestries in warm vibrant colors that seem to add a dash of color to the otherwise dreary stone. Where the galleries curve slightly at the ends, affording those attending hatchings or clutchings a decent view of the sands, shaded laterns offer warm lighting along the rows of benches.


This scene takes place several IC hours prior to Fire!

There are some hours that are just plain unsociable, and this is one of them. Too early to be morning, too late to be night, it's that sort of time when there are few people around… which makes it perfect for nightowls (or really early risers) to get in some good, quiet thinking time. Thys is doing as much, pacing barefoot and quietly along the lower tier of the galleries, close enough to Rhenesath's little brood to make out her little clutch of eggs in the gloom, but not near enough to disturb the sleeping gold - not her fellows on the Sands. It's quite crowded out there!

The Weyrleader is one of those really early risers. It wasn't unusual for him and Velokraeth to be gone before dawn even crept on the horizon to do sweeps and patrols. Once a Guard, always a Guard? That or Th'ero is extremely protective (or territorial… depending on who you ask) of the region. Only now he can't, thanks to his still mending broken leg but that doesn't put a stop to old habits. He could have stayed in his weyr and likely driven Kimmila mad with his restless tossing and turning so rather than deal with a grumpy, sleep deprived weyrmate, he quietly got up, dressed and began to wander, slowly, outside. Winter's chill brings him to warmth and with the hatching sands and galleries being closest, it's where Th'ero ends up. Careful to keep his footsteps "quiet", there's still a discernible thump of both his cast bearing leg and the crutches he uses. For a moment he considers the stairs and then passes that option up and is about to step into the lower tiers when he spies another there. "Thys?" he greets quietly.

In the dark and the silence, it's easy to pick up on tiny noises that wouldn't otherwise belong, and Thys whips her head around to blink at Th'ero. "Weyrleader? What on Pern are you doing up?" She's only dressed in sleeping clothes covered in a thin dressing gown, and she fastens the latter across herself as she trots quietly to join him, dropping down a level as he goes. "Would you like me to help you up? To sit down, maybe?" Her voice is only a whisper, so that only he can hear. "What are you doing up at this time, sir?"

"You already asked that," Th'ero attempts a little bit of humour to brush off the otherwise awkwardness of him arriving out of the blue and at such an early hour. Seeing that she's only in sleeping clothes, the Weyrleader keeps his eyes modestly turned towards the sands or keeps them pointedly at eye level, more out of respect than him being a prude (which he isn't). "I'm alright, thank you. I can manage," If he's slow enough about it and well… he's stubborn and prideful. Just as Kimmila! The bluerider has likely had to keep him in line for days now. "And I'm up because I usually am up at this time. Patrols. Only…" He can't and his grimace says as much. "I'd ask the same of you? Can't sleep…?"

"Did I?" Thys frowns, running her fingers through her dark hair as she tries to backtrack over what little conversation they've had already. "Faranth, sorry. My mind's just… not quite here." She waits for the Weyrleader, patiently keeping pace with him. And she's not overly bothered about being underdressed; her outfit's modest enough, even if it's not typically something she'd wear outside of her weyr. "I can't sleep, no. I've just got this feeling… this twitchy sort of feeling. I can't put my thumb on it, either, and it's been slowly driving me crazy over the past few days. I just can't work it out, sir."

Th'ero would dismissively wave his hand if he could but he requires that they stay firmly gripped to his crutches until he can sit. Which he does, the moment he finds the best available seat in which to do so. He's got better with moving about and so the whole thing goes smoothly, even if a bit stiffly and Thys doesn't have the awkward situation of trying to lift the Weyrleader up if he falls. "At this time of the morning, I don't doubt it. Not many choose to be up this early," he murmurs and then frowns as he regards her curiously. "Anxious?" He knows that feeling far too well. "A lot has happened of late. Anxiety and even stress, small amounts, can play strangely on the mind. Fort's had it's fair share of tough times," No kidding. "… and I'm sure you've heard of H'let over in Half Moon Bay?" The late H'let.

Thys nods, wrapping her arms tightly around herself for a moment as she winces. "H'let. Yes. It's awful. Poor Kadesh." She shakes her head regretfully, then sighs, sinking into a seat near to Th'ero and twisting side-on in it so she's facing him. "Is there something we should do for her? Send condolences? Is that common? I'm not sure of the etiquette involved in such situations." Thys drums her fingers against her thigh, then sighs tiredly. "I've no clue what we'd do if that were you, sir. It's… it's unbearable to even think about. Bad enough you're injured, but at least you're here." Again she shakes her head, this time looking out to where Rhenesath's form is, so close to the galleries. "Sir. I don't know if you remember what I told you quite adamantly the other day?"

Th'ero's expression turns downcast and grim as well as he glances sidelong to her. "We could send our condolences, if Nyalle hasn't already done so. Has V'ric returned to Half Moon Bay?" he asks curiously, knowing that the brownrider is from the Weyr and wouldn't be surprised at all if he'd gone back for a short time, if at all possible. "Etiquette at this point is… well, there's nothing wrong with condolences but anything more and I am unsure of what oversteps boundaries. You'd be best speaking to the Weyrwoman of such nuances," Th'ero explains and early morning or not he's fond of Big Words. At her sighing, his expression changes to one of gentle reassurance. "Don't fret about that. I've no plans on dying anytime soon and, as you can already tell, I'm a very hard and stubborn man to kill." One has tried once already, twice if one really thinks about it. It's a bit of morbid humour but it's better than none? His brows knit, "… you mean of our talk concerning C'rus?" he asks.

"No sir, that's Loxiath, just behind Rhenesath," Thys points, though it's not exactly easy to make out the brown given the lack of light and the fact that Rhenesath's bigger frame is pretty much hiding him. "V'ric stayed. I didn't even think to ask him if he would go - I didn't even say sorry to him, I don't think. I'm really not sure. I can't remember properly." She leans forward, huffing out in frustration as she knots her fingers into her hair. "It's not C'rus, sir, though I've not seen him since and I suppose, really, I ought to go seek him out, but… the other thing I told you. That I was sure I wasn't. I'm not so sure any more." She looks side-on at the Weyrleader, teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip. "But please, you can't say anything… I’ve already said too much. Would you excuse me, please? I think Rhenesath needs me." The gold looks to be sleeping, curled protectively around her clutch, but Thys gives Th’ero a quick curtsey-like dip before trotting away, onto the sanctuary of the Sands.