'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.

~~*~~ Fort Weyr - Weyrling Barracks ~~*~~

The rounded ceiling of this set of barracks is high enough to accomodate growing dragons. Lining the walls lengthwise are sets of stone couches and cots for their riders. At one end of the room are cabinets holding supplies for bathing and oiling young dragons, as well as the weyrling manuals. Against the opposite wall is a table with scraps of leather and leather-working tools. Tacked up on the wall is a diagram of riding straps.

It's early morning around the weyr, and while some people are getting a few more hours of sleep while it is still dark certain young dragons are wide awake. One of them is Niumdreoth who is at the moment poking and nuzzling against Abigail to try and get her up and going it seems. «Upupupupup!!» Isn't it great to have an alarm clock where there is no way of during it off? A faint groan escapes Abigail while she shifts slowly and tries to push the pressing brown's muzzle away. "Niumdreoth I just fell asleep." The dragon doesn't seem to care about this though. «Can we go play in the snow?» Well of course that is what he wants to go, he has such a love for the white cold flakey stuff now. "Can't we sleep a bit more?" The once guard says with a slight whine. Niumdreoth warbles and soon shoves Abigail right out of her cot. She peers up from the ground eyeing the dragon that is looking down at her, he is totally grinning. «Your up!!»

Much like Abigail, Harmony is blissfully enjoying a later-than-normal start to her day as well. The only problem is that she seems to have lost her dragonet. Crosenturath, being the curious little thing he is, has wandered far across the barracks, sniff-sniff-sniffing his way with his rump up in the air. The thick, banded tail is held, curled, nearly to his back, the tip twitching with excitement. Abigail’s awakening draws enough attention that Harmony rolls over and pushes tangled blond hair out of her eyes, blinking owlishly. “Is that you?” What? She was sleeping! “Where’s Scrat?” Finally, cluing in possibly that disaster is looming!

Niumdreoth leans over and gives Abigail a nice slobbery wet lick across her cheek. "Ye did not just do that" This said while the girl is scrambling up onto her feet before her dear playful brown tries to tackle her. She's still in night clothing, long sleeved t-shirt, and pants, socks too, well it is cooler now. "Hey Harmony, sorry if we woke ye up." Abbey offers with a soft tired tone. At the questions she looks around slowly lifting her head and it takes her a few moments to catch sight of the blue. "His on the other side of the barracks." Niumdreoth bounces down from his couch, wings stretch and flap a few times before he is trotting on over towards where Crosenturah is. «Crosenturah! Let's go play in the snow. They are both up!» The brown croons out to his blue brother, his eyes a swirl of eager excitement at the moment.

Sniff… sniff, sniff, sniff, SNIFF-SNIFF. Crosenturath is on the search for /something/. “Oh cr—“ Expletive cut off, Harmony is bounding off her couch for the blue like a shot. Meanwhile, Crosenturath has finally found what his nose – this snout is /pressed/ to the ground – has been telling him is there. Skinny little front legs wiggle skinny, knobby little fingers into one of the stones of the weyrlingbarracks that happens to be loos. Tug-tug? “No, no, no, not that, Scrat!” The nickname, so penned moments after Impression, has stuck. Crosenturath doesn’t seem to mind at all, this name. Tug-tug-tug! Frosty hint of tundra touch upon Niumdreoth’s mind, an exciting panting barrage of noises echoed both in mind link and in vocal voice, « eeeeee-hehehheh-eeeehehehe—eeeheeeaaagggheee! » Such small little fingers of his wee little hand have worked their way deeper between the loose stones and the others. TUG! When Harmony gets there and gives a sharp yank of that fat, banded tail, a very audible, “URK-grrrk!” comes from the blue’s throat. Then: « Snow-snow-snow? » To Niumdreoth.

Abigail scratches at the side of her head a moment, her curly hair looking a right mess at the moment with her just waking up. A yawn escapes her as she sits back down upon on her cot watching the two dragons and Harmony running after the blue that is digging? "What is he doing Harmony?" Niumdreoth offers back images of a northern forest, thick evergreen trees, a beautiful dark star light sky, and some faint colors dance off in the distance throughout the sky. Abbey takes in a soft breath. "He does sort of look like a treerat" This is mumbled softly, mostly to herself as she recalls a certain comment from the hatching day. Niumdreoth lowers his head, a forepaw scrapes and digs out at the spot that his dear brother is working on, up until the snow idea is offered up again. «Yes! Let's go play in the snow. The white cold stuff outside.» The brown bounces a few times, his tail swaying about and knocks over a drying rack that had someone's clothing on it. «Just don't breath in the snow, it's /cold/ in your nose.» Seems Nium remembered that at least.

Once more, the sniffing stance is resumed, short but sharp claws making a clickety-clack sound on the stone floor. “He’s digging at the wall. At this rate, the entire thing will collapse on top of us. Oh great,” Harmony grumps, quick to grab a thick jacket and shove her feet into her boots, watching her blue make his bounding way out of the barracks and into the glossy white outside. “He’s just gone outside. I’m /never/ going to get breakfast.” Baby dragon fang-teeth make the tracks that his long, thin snout follow as he sniffs his way – sneezing; didn’t listen to his brown brother – outside. « Eeee-eerrr-urk-ggrrr-hehhehhehhehheh—!! » A quivering, chattering, excited almost-strange-dragon-giggle sound comes from the blue when he hits /deep/ snow. And dives, spread eagle, into it. His fat, banded tail waves Niumdreoth forward. Yep, RIGHT HERE BROTHER. Her jacket’s tugged on over her pink-and-white pajamas, blond hair still tousled, and motions after Abigail. “C’mon. Yours is following mine.” And this girl is /surely/ not going to be the /only/ one dragged into the snowy morning.

"I'd really hope it doesn't collapse on us. That doesn't sound like a good way to start the day." Abigail offers with a tired tone. "Ye are way too eager at the moment for just wanting to play in the snow." Is grumbled out at the thoughts coming from her bouncy brown. "It is too early for this." Though there is no stopping the idea now that it has been planted into the blue's head. Niumdreoth bounds after his dear brother's wagging tail. «Told you not to breath it in.» Is offered to Crosenturath while the brown bounces past him and dives into his own thick mound of snow, sending it flying in all directions, happy warbles and croons escaping him. Pictures are sent to the dragons about, and his lifemate, a beautiful night sky, flashy blue, pink and green lights slowly dancing across it. "So it seems Ya I'm coming Harmony." Abbey offers while she slowly stands herself up, boots are pulled on as she hops a few steps; jacket picked up and tugged on as she slowly follows after the three.

In a moment of forethought, Harmony manages to snag a mug of hot klah – sadly, black – and shuffles out into the snow after the dragonets. She brings the mug to her lips, standing primly just outside the entrance where the snow has been mostly cleared off, the tongues of her unlaced boots bouncing free. “Ugh. Just look at that. And I’m gonna have to clean him,” she whines to Abigail, shuffling closer to her clutchmate. Maybe to get some of that warmth. Crosenturath is unconcerned for not listening to his brown brother, immediately rooting around in the snow drifts to find that ONE THING that catches his eye. His icy hide actually blends so naturally well in this environment, especially when he spreads his wings to show off that turquoise, frozen ocean look. « Eeeee-HEHEHEHEHE-EEEEEE-eeeeeee. » That comes just before his thin-snouted head pops up, those protruding baby fangs glistening while bulging eyes give such a startled expression. « Rock! » Encouragement, thy name is Crosenturath!

Abigail didn't remember to get anything warm to drink, she is busy trying to find her gloves which she finds one full glove and then /half/ of another which she stares at a few moments. It dawns on her what happened to the rest of the glove, and that would be her dear dragon's fault! "Well, I'll have to do the same with Niumdreoth." She offers softly, still trying to wake up while she sticks her hands into the pockets of her jacket and peers out at the bouncing young dragons. "I'll be glad to help ye though." This is offered with a glance towards the other girl, along with a faint smile seen. Niumdreoth is busy making a 'snowdragon' in the mound of snow that he is wiggling about in, pausing at the 'rock' and tilts his head to look upside down like at Crosenturath. «Rock?…» A faint rumble escapes the brown while he wiggles about and rests upon his haunches in a half sprawled position. «Where??» He remembers the rock from the other night that he was trying to find.

Harmony may have gotten her warm drink, but forgot her gloves. So reddened fingers are pressed to the ceramic sides of her heated mug. “Thanks—“ this comes before a yawn escapes, one beryl-shaded eye squeezing shut while the new bluerider gets her own bearings. A slanted look to Abigail, almost sly in her consideration, has the self-indulged girl not at /all/ turning down help. “He wiggles so much I can’t hardly keep him still.” Crosenturath needs no further encouragement than that of Niumdreoth’s interest. Quick as lightning, the little odd-shaped blue is back to raising those back jelly haunches and with rapid-fire movement, those front legs are whipping snow back between his thicker back legs. Snow sprays out like Scrat’s his own little snow blower, and incidentally /right/ in the direction of the two weyrlings. Chittering, chattering, grunts, and whistles are all vocalized while he does this. Until, a strangely-shaped rock is exposed; really, it is the leftovers of one of autumn’s acorns. Quivering, the tundra expands in icy drifts, a vast sea of ice upon which the golden (presumably his new find) acorn arises. In glittering, delicious, desirable glory; rising to the pinnacle of his mindvoice’s innerscape. « Hrrrrrr-heeee-mrrt! » Niumdreoth is just expected to understand this!

Abigail slowly takes a hand out from a pocket and lifts it to scratch at her neck a few times, tussled curls are pushed back from her face while she listens to Harmony. "Somehow I can believe that." Crosenturath doesn't even seem to sit still in his sleep from what the girl can tell by watching him the last few nights. "I think Niumdreoth just enjoys the attention, so just sprawls out expecting it." Yes the brown does enjoy getting petted, or rubbed, or anything else that includes someone paying attention to him. Niumdreoth creeps closer to his dear blue brother, head tilting while he watches as the snow starts to go flying. « Is it a blue rock?? » Well that is the color that was needed for that all important list that his person kept talking about. At the sight of the acorn getting found Nium pulls his head back, a soft croon escaping him and he inches a bit closer to sniffsniff at the thing. « That no look like rock. » Abigail is about to speak and is smacked with a pile of snow, and then another, before she is able to back up and out of range of snowy attack. "He has rather good aim for the snow flinging though." This is grumbled out to Harmony while Abbey works on shaking the snow off. It is early morning, actually still dark out to some degree and a pair of young dragon managed to pull their riders out to go 'play' in the snow. A grand way to get the day started after all!

That piercing shriek? Yep. Totally coming from Harmony. “CROS-CRAT!!” The blue’s name garbles to his nickname when the snow lands on her (and Abbey), soaking her hair and her thin pajamas. “I could just – ARGH!” In her ire, the girl’s klah spills which just adds fuel to her fire. “Stop that, and come back here. Play time is OVER.” She tosses the klah into the frozen bushes and turns on Abigail, fire in her grey-green eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says, tone curt. “And now, we’re all wet.” Enter that oh-so-familiar whine. Crosenturath is not paying attention at all, his single-minded focus on that one little find. One little hand scoops it up and clutches it, surprisingly his thoughts gathering to formulate words clipped in lofty accent. As if, speaking from Scratlantis, « It is not a rock, after all. It is /my/, » emphasis here, « lovely, lovely nut. » At least, it is proven that the blue has the capacity to speak more than the random noises he makes. But he wouldn’t be Crosenturath if he didn’t had in a quick, giggling little, « Heh-heh-heh-heh! » to his find.

Niumdreoth lifts his head at that piercing shriek; he blinks a few moments while looking at the two girls. « When did they play in the snow? » The brown totally missed something. Though at the explanation from Crosenturath gets a slight croon escaping the brown. « Why for you want a nut? What are you to do with it? » Nium is confused very much over the idea of what the nut could possible do, or mean for his dear brother. As for Crosenturath making actual conversation Niumdreoth knew he could, they are brothers after all! "It's alright Harmony, nothing a change of clothes can't fix." Abigail offers while brushing off some more snow that is still clinging to her. Though now she is quivering thanks to getting wet from the snow bath. "Come on Niumdreoth, enough of this for now. Back inside so Harmony and I can get warm again." Niumdreoth pouts, wings shuffle about and he bumps his snout into Crosenturath before trotting on back into the barracks with Abbey following after him.

Crosenturath’s attention span is short-lived, so explanations never come! However, finding a partner in crime (or an inadvertent partner) makes the blue chitter in happiness. “Yeah, let’s get warmed.” Drenched, still in her pajamas, a now empty klah mug, and freezing cold does not a happy Harmony make. In fact, she is anything BUT the lyrical sound of her name as she stomps her way back into the barracks. “If you don’t come,” the girl’s high-pitched sopranic bellow competes with her lifemate’s ability to make noise, “You’re SO NOT EATING.” And with that, she trudges into the barracks. Scrambling on all for feet, tiny little claws making a scratching sound, the blue chases after Harmony, banded, plump tail waiving. (He’s totally got his acorn still too, by the by.) At some point, the girl will get bowled over, clung too, and otherwise told how awesome she is. At some point, too, her and Abigail will likely manage to get warm… if they don’t end up right back outside again!