Damnable Mutton (Hunting - Take 1)

'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 - Training Complex

The remnants of a historic collapse are apparent here, as the slope face of the bowl has a predominant downward curvature. It's likely long ago, that a cavern larger than any Fort currently has was where the training complex currently is. A probable cave in triggered a fissure on the bowl wall which lead to a great chunk of it dislodging, thus creating the rounded slope.
Yet, many centuries later, all that remains to give evidence is the pocket made into the bowl wall. It seems that the inhabitants of Fort Weyr have made best of the created space. Rock on the ground proper has long since cleared, but pebbles and loose shale are constantly underfoot. Still, the sprig of some green leafed vegetation isn't too out of the ordinary in these parts, as long as it doesn't get trampled by the comings and goings.
It's clear that this area has been designated for the training of young minds, whether human or dragon. Surrounded by rock on all side, it's like a personal weyr bowl for the youngsters to minimize distraction and danger. The candidate barracks have been built across from the Weyrling barracks, so that one group can educate the next. Finally, placed in the center of the two entrances of the opposing barracks, near the rock face, is a statue with a memorial plaque.


This mostly clear afternoon is unseasonably warm, despite the snow that is visible on the ground. It's only patches though, the most recent snowfall having melted and been mushed into mud. So it's pretty slick, slippery, and wet out here. Which is perfect for what Kimmila has planned. Still knotless, the bluerider stands in another section of the training grounds, far away from the obstacle course. Varmiroth isn't immediately noticable, unless one were to look up, because the blue is perched on a ledge over the grounds. And the reason for that might be apparent, since behind Kimmila in a little makeshift pen are…sheep. Baaaaahing and white and soft. Well, not soft. They've been shorn. Don't want to waste good wool?

So they've been shooed out of class and pointed in Kimmila's direction, which is a bit of a walk, looks like. Dremkoth is flowing over the ground, pattering here and there, all happy to seek out new adventures in DISCOVERY and providing a monologue of his perception as he goes. His night breezes swirl, starlit with bright enthusiasm despite the darkness bourn with them, « Ooooh LOOK! Something new this way has passed. » He's tracking hoof-prints in the mud, left by the sheep when they were driven through to those pens. Since he's going in the right direction, D'ani just allows him to meander, following with hands thrust in his jacket pockets. The sound of the creature's bleating reaches the little bronze and his head jerks up. What’s this? He snakes closer, eyes taking on a predatory gleam as he's reeled in by instinct to pace the perimeter fence with throaty growls and tail-lashing. He’s very, very focused but of course, not a clue as to why. Or what he'll be doing here. D'ani draws up, giving Kimmila a salute. "Afternoon, Ma'am."

As may come to be no surprise at all, Kouzevelth has found herself a spot outside that she likes and can't be persuaded to move from it. Inri isn't going to try to do something silly like attempt to physically readjust her: the battle of strength doesn't even come close, and neither does the battle of wit. The dragon is winning in both cases. So instead, she follows after D'ani and Dremkoth, catching up to them and Kimmila without much of an apparent mind for her lifemate. (She's keeping close track of her, but does Kouzevelth know that? No.) It's enough to get the weyrling dragon up and trailing after her, offering a mental wave of disappointment that her rider would do such a thing as to walk off without her when she was looking at something.

Abigail is rather happy that the afternoon has warmed up, the morning was too cold for her, especially when a pair of young dragons just /had/ to go out and play in the snow. There are a few new things now, one being mud which Niumdreoth is checking out a rather squishy area of ground. He presses his forepaws into the mud, tail slowly lashing while he warbles out, his claws wiggle down into it. « What is it? Not snow, but mushy and soft. » The hoof-prints that have Dremkoth so interested in are missed for now it seems, the brown is more eager in getting dirty. "Go on, that'a way Niumdreoth." Abbey is working on getting the young dragon moving, which after a few moments seems to work and soon the pair follow along the path closer towards where Kimmila and the pen happen to be. A nod is soon seen along with a salute. "Hello." Niumdreoth watches Dremkoth over at the pen, his head tilting to the side as if he was listening to the sheep before he trots over to sniffs out, now he seems interested.

Kimmila winces at D'ani, waving off the salute with her casted arm. Her excuse being, of course, that she doesn't want to smack herself in the face. Not that anyone's questioned her about it. "Please," she says, and she genuinely looks pleading (almost), "Save the ma'am's for my mother. I'm Kimmila. Or just Kimm." (Which is different from Kim, HONEST). "I really hold no rank over you guys other than just a regular rider, so." Shrug. "So," she says when the dragons and riders have approached close enough. "Hunting. Time to start that predator prey relationship, which Dremkoth seems to have figured out already… While your dragons can't fly to hunt yet, doesn't mean they can't have a little fun and get some exercise at the same time…"

Turning a glance over his shoulder and noting that the gold is now on her way over, D'ani quirks Inri a knowing smirk for her tactics in reverse psychology. He says nothing about that aloud, however. No sense tipping off the young queen. He's spent the morning with Abigail, Inri and the others, so there's nothing further than a chinlift to them both as they join him. There is, however, a slow smile tugging at his mouth for the bluerider's plaint. "Kimmila," he drawls, making it sound almost cheeky because… it feels totally cheeky to call her that after the lecture about respecting everyone they all got from the AWLMs. He listens closely to her next words, shifting a glance at the pacing bronze of his. "All I'm getting from him is that he is feeling very interested in them, M- Kimm." But he's got a gleam of excitement in his brown eyes as he watches Dremkoth pace.

"I'm not sure how well she understands the concept of 'fun,' yet, but we're working on it," says Inri, watching Kouzevelth watch the sheep. She's inched her way as close to the pen as the others are going to let her get, and has settled back on her haunches, eyes tracking their movement. « Strong scent, » she identifies, and provides no other feedback whatsoever. "Maybe she's not associating them with eating. I don't suppose they smell the same alive as dead."

Abigail is rather use to showing others respect no matter if they have rank or not, which is most likely has a lot to do with her guard training. She listens in on what seems to be the task for them today and curiously watches the young dragons around the pen where the sheep are. Niumdreoth lowers his head, a slight snort escaping him and he pushes his head slightly against the fence. It seems the brown hasn't figured out just yet what the sheep are going to be used for. « Are we going to play with them? » This is questioned to his clutch mates and his person, while his eyes a swirl a few different colors. "He thinks there for playing with." Abbey says softly, a bit amused at the idea of them trying to play with the sheep. Which makes her feel just a slight bit bad for the sheep, though that won't last for long.

Kimmila shrugs, "Depends on your definition of play, I guess," she replies to Abigail, tossing D'ani a smirk for his cheeky tone. "Excellent. They all *should* be, even if they're not quite sure what they're good for yet. Now c'mon over here," she directs, as Varmiroth glides down from above to settle himself behind his rider. "I'm going to let the sheep go and let's see what your dragons do. If they catch the sheep, more power to them, though I doubt they will. They're wicked fast and this ground is very slippery. Still, they'll get to chase them around a bit and start to get an inkling of the thrill of the hunt. You all need to stand by me though, so Varmiroth can keep us safe if any dragonets start skidding our way." Bowling for riders?

D'ani hasn't worked out in the barn by the feeding grounds all this time without an idea of what to expect, but this will be VERY different from watching other dragons snare a meal, little does he know. He splash-slogs on over to where Kimmila is standing, keeping a mental rein on Dremkoth, who when he notes Niumdreoth headbutting the fence, reaches a fore-talon to snag at the wires and pulls, twanging the wire. His nostrils are flared, and he's taking great snorts of the scent eddying his way, exhaling puffs of steamy air while a-quiver with excitement. His query is meant for the sheep, but of course it is broadcast to all the dragons, as the sound of crickets and peepers under an evening sky that implores, « Cooooome and play, don't huddle waaaay over there! » WHUFFLE! « What ARE you afraid of anyway? » Might it be those sharp teeth they're seeing that he's unconsciously flashing when he licks his chops?

Kouzevelth likes Dremkoth's plan; watching the bronze for a second, she thoughtfully joins in at the fence-pulling with a single talon. Yank-yank-tug-twang; maybe that hurts, because she pulls her forepaw back, making a soft hissing noise at the fence. A thunderclap of amusement chimes in with Dremkoth's questioning, lightning striking the mental ground before the sheep cage. She's also not helping with the teeth-showing; her maw is halfway open. Inri winces, though it's more at the mental storm than anything else. "Ow," she sighs, "is that ever going to /not/ hurt my head — oh, man, she's absolutely going to fall all over herself and hit someone with that tail. I'm sure of it, and sorry in advance," she continues, as she backs away from the dragonets to stand closer to the bluerider.

Abigail nods as she hears Kimmila, she doesn't real call what they are about to do actual play. Though now she is wondering if sheep have heart attacks, well this is one way to find out. When it comes to dragons hunting she hasn't actually seen it play out, right after the hunt sure but not the actual hunting part. She moves on over towards where Kimmila and Varmiroth, her pale gaze stays upon Niumdreoth. The brown is getting a bit more worked up thanks to Kouzevelth and Dremkoth with their tugging and pulling upon the fence. Niumdreoth goes so far to bite down against the fence and give it a good tug towards him, though he stops at the taste and sputters slightly, which only shows off more sharp teeth to the penned up sheep. "Don't bite the /fence/." This escapes Abbey as she watches a slight shake of her head seen.

In comes the Weyrleader once more on a routine visit to the training complex. Perhaps he had expected to find M'icha among the weyrlings, so when he spies Varmiroth instead, with Kimmila and a group of said weyrlings huddled close, Th'ero wanders closer simply out of curiosity. What plan has been cooked up this time? Velokraeth comes in to land on one of those upper ledges, settling himself comfortably before swiveling his oversized head downwards to eye those sheep with keen interest. « Oh good /taste/! » the bronze rumbles in a mellow tone that flows as smooth and sweetly as the golden wines of his mind. White today, not red and honeyed rather spiced. « Mutton is it? » Fancy. Th'ero glances up to his lifemate for a moment and then only shakes his head. "Afternoon, Kimmila, Weyrlings." he greets in a murmured voice. There's a nod given to Varmiroth as well as the Weyrleader comes to stand nearby to the group, eyes once more shifting to the young dragons and the bleating sheep. "Another of your ideas?" he asks, and as his gaze fixates on the bluerider, it's obvious to whom it's directed too.

Varmiroth rumbles softly, his own eyes spinning with a predator's instinct, though muted as he watches the sheep and the young dragons. « The fence is not food, » he says, amused. « Just wait a moment. » And Kimmila, who was originally going to go open the gate, decides that she'd better not. So it's Varmiroth who steps forward briefly to carefully (and quite deftly) hook a talon beneath the simple rope latch and lift it, before he moves the gate open. « Back up, » he tells the young dragons, as he shoos the sheep out of the pen with a soft puff of air. And the sheep bolt, squealing, across the pen, darting around dragon legs and tails and bodies, and then they're running pell-mell across the training ground. Varmiroth returns to his place near the riders, ready to use his bulky body to gently fend off any skidding or sliding dragonets, should they come too close. When Th'ero approaches, Kimmila flashes him a grin. "Yes." That's all the explanation he needs, right?

D'ani greets Th'ero with, "Hello Weyrleader," while he is absently rubbing his wrist and inner elbow in an almost mimic of Dremkoth, who has released the wire with his claw and is licking his arm in distracted fashion. "Didn't feel so great, did it?" his lifemate chuckles and gets an impatient tail twitch and a cool breath of answered pique, « It was a necessary experiment. » Wait he does, unsure what is expected of them, but backs up, his whirling yellow-amongst-green eyes never leaving those sheep. That gate opens and the bolting, bleating, wide-eyed flurry of sheep flooding out across the grounds takes him unprepared. « COME BAAAACK! » pleads the bronze, even while instinct grips him and he does what comes natural. He leaps after them, feet scrabbling, slipping in the mud so that his pursuit is a skitter-sliiiiiide, tail-flail, wing-flapping mess as he joyously plunges and careens around in the wake of quick-darting sheep who have the advantage of him.

Inri doesn't actually speak to Th'ero, but she does salute; it's respectful, rather than her usual lazy toss-off, though half of her focus is still on Kouzevelth. The gold's eyes shift momentarily to Velokraeth, repeating, « Mutton, » as she does not know this word either, and mentally indicating /sheep/. « ? » Is that right, dad? Varmiroth's correction does stop her in her tracks as far as trying to eat the fence, but once the sheep are out of the pen, gold is off as swiftly as bronze. For about a second. She has long limbs everywhere and ungainly wings and a whiplash tail and is really, really /not/ graceful — Kouzevelth runs, Kouzevelth pounces, Kouzevelth falls flat on her face and ends up doing a somersault before landing in a heap of limbs. Inri lets out a whoop of a laugh before covering her face, rambling, "I'm sorry. That shouldn't — I shouldn't laugh — she's fine —"

Abigail glances up slightly at another voice catches her attention, a slight smile and nod is seen as she catches sight of Th'ero. "Afternoon, Sir." Her attention is sent back to Niumdreoth, whom she wishes wouldn't be so interested in eating the fence. The brown shifts, backing up as told while wiggling about on his paws once Varmiroth is over to open the pen. « We play now, with the mutton? » It seems he still sees this as a game, though he picked up on the new word. So once the pen is open, and the sheep take off in all directions Niumdreoth lifts his head and blinks. An unsure warble escapes him and he bounds forward, tail lashing about and wings flutter at his sides. « WAIT, who's /IT/? » This is projected to all while he tries to figure out which sheep to chase. His paws hit into the slick patch of mud, sending it flying in all directions while he is sent sliding across the wet ground as if he were on ice.

Somewhat, it answers at least part of his questions for her. But then Varmiroth is unhooking that pen and away the squealing, terrified sheep go and the chaos commences. Th'ero can only stare in blank incredulousness, likely missing the entire point of it all. "Amuse me," he drawls, likely having to pitch his voice a bit over the sound of squealing, bleating sheep. "And explain what exactly is the point? They're a bit young to be hunting their first kills… though this isn't the case, is it?" But he is missing the concept, it seems. Go figure the Weyrleader would! "Afternoon, D'ani, Abigail." he greets, perhaps noting the gesture but making no comment on it. "Dremkoth is looking well. They all are," As they all go after the sheep. Poor, poor sheep. The salute is returned with a nod to Inri and a vague smile before Th'ero's attention is drifting back to the chaos unfolding. There's a wince for Kouzevelth's tumble, followed by a sidelong look given to her rider for the laughter. But then Niumdreoth is sliding across the ground next and it takes all the Weyrleader's strength not to facepalm right that moment there. He does give Kimmila a questioning look. You /sure/ this is a good idea? « That is correct. Mutton. Sheep. Same thing. Rather delicious, though I suppose one would satisfy you lot just fine. Nothing but a snack when you're as grown as I. » Velokraeth replies first to Kouzevelth but then extends his mind to all the weyrling dragons and Varmiroth as well, mirth in his mental tone. « The sheep are, of course! » he says in a chuckling voice to Niumdreoth. « Oh dear. Do mind your footing!» The pale bronze finishes with, once more addressing all and voice rolling with amusement now.

Kimmila is laughing, shaking her head with green eyes bright. "Yes. You should laugh," she snickers between her own breathless laughter. "Yes you should." Because this is HILARIOUS. Is it possible the bluerider orchestrated this entire thing purely for her own amusement? Well…probably not /purely/. The sheep try to run together as a flock, but the sheer terror of their predicament has them breaking off in pairs or singles. Over by Varmiroth, Kimmila grins crookedly at her weyrmate. "The chase," she says, "is often times more important than the kill. Plus it's exercise. And natural! I've never understood why they take so long to taste fresh meat." Behind them all, Varmiroth shifts, wings moving a bit against his spine until his rider reaches back to rest light fingertips against his hide. Then the blue stills, but rumbles softly. « Very delicious, » he says, the nightscape of his mind speckled with stars that flare with red, like droplets of blood spurting from a cut vein. Beautiful, and satisfying. "He'll take one down for them in the end, so they can taste it," Kimmila elaborates, saying this loud enough so they can all hear. "It's just like training hunting canines. You have to teach the chase /and/ the satisfaction."

Dremkoth skid-scrabble-SLIIIIIDES, backpedaling to try and avoid running smack into the sprawled Kouzevelth but his momentum makes it impossible to stop. He manages to avert a sure collision at the last moment by leaping over her, his landing causing his hind legs to slip out from underneath him. Tail, wings and foreclaws flail, all the while he's intent on those fleeing sheep. « Niumdreoth, go to the left, I'll take the right! We'll chase one to Kouzevelth. SHE can catch it. » Those glittering red drop stars of Varmiroth’s serve to further excite him and he lets out what might be intended for a roar but comes out sounding more like a squeal. Scabble-flail-slide-flapflapflap. D'ani is quite unprepared for the shared mindlink, even more intense at the moment. He's totally caught up, heart racing, cheeks flushed, hands forming claws and he's… twitching? He's totally twitching, folks. Don't laugh! He may just tackle a sheep if it comes near enough.

That plan might actually work, if Dremkoth and Niumdreoth can do their parts; Kouzevelth flails around until she rights herself, and sits proud and tall on her haunches waiting for the 'mutton' to start getting wrangled in her direction. She splays her wings out all big and scary-like, paws slightly up in the air ready to catch. « Do that, » she agrees, mixing her rainfall with Dremkoth's stars. Inri is managing disconnect, partially because Kouzevelth's holding still and so there's not as much for her to get dragged down by, and so she might be giggling at D'ani a little.

Abigail eyes widen as she watches Niumdreoth go sliding across the muddy ground, which makes a faint groan escape her. "Yes that is one way to teach canines." She's taught a good many canines in the past, just not over mud. Niumdreoth finally gets his footing, talons grip at the muddy ground which makes him stop quickly and he does a faceplant for his troubles. It takes a moment for the brown to push himself up, covered in mud, though this doesn't stop him while two sheep go running by. Niumdreoth catches the idea from Dremkoth. « Right! » The plan sounds like it might work, and he does go /left/. With talons gripping at the ground just enough to make sure he doesn't go sliding again. He is quick to keep the sheep moving that the two managed cut away from the rest of the flock. Niumdreoth's own mind is throwing up images of a thick forest that go along with that dark sky with the red stars, a slight rush of wind that has a faint sound almost howlish for a split moment before it is gone. Nium isn't seeing this as a game for the moment, which is enough to make Abbey gasp softly.

"The meat that is butchered is fresh," Th'ero points out, not wholly defensively but simply stating fact. He continues to give Kimmila a long look, even as he steps closer to her side. "But I agree. At least this is exercise. Does M'icha know of this?" But even as he speaks that question, his tone betrays his true thoughts. Likely the Weyrleader already has an inkling suspicion that the Weyrlingmaster has no doubt approved this, whole heartedly. Th'ero though seems to hold some reservations. None of which he voices of course, since his attention is caught again as Dremkoth goes scrabbling and flailing and D'ani unfortunately has not quite learned the benefits of shields. Perhaps a lesson in the future for all? And Weyrleader isn't laughing, though /maybe/ he's smiling. Maybe. Could just be a nervous twitch. And his coughs aren't hidden chuckles either.

Kimmila reaches over to give Th'ero a little nudge. "Laugh," she mutters, grinning crookedly at him. Watching the dragons slide around has her laughing, that's for sure. « A plan is good, » Varmiroth encourages them. « Try to keep your feet, » he adds. Helpfully! "I know it is," Kimmila says, "but it's different. And yes, he said it was fine." There's a wider grin from the bluerider, rather pleased with the new Weyrlingmaster it seems. "What's the problem?" she asks, her voice low enough that the Weyrlings can't hear. Her eyes watch their reactions though, focusing for a moment on D'ani. "D'ani," she calls, quiet but firm. "Come back."

Noooo, of course they aren't Th'ero! D'ani is oblivious of giggles from Inyri though, so intense is the shared experience that's gripping him. Kimmila's voice recalls him though, and the link, while still there, is not compelling him to go draconic any more. He blinks at her owlishly, then a sheepish, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he remembers- Dremkoth! What has his lifemate gotten himself into? The little bronze is veering in a sloppy, weaving fashion to the right, jaws agape to suck fresh air into his over-excited, pumping lungs rather than to latch onto a sheep. Together the pair manages to herd not one, but TWO of them right at Kouzevelth while they thunder-splash after them. She might just get trampled by all of them at this rate. But, no, the terrified sheep part at the last moment and dodge to either side of her. Dremkoth skids to a halt, sides heaving, as he flops down, heedless of the mud, which actually serves to help cool overheated hide. He's exhausted his limited strength. The sheep have bested him. The pitch back of night is illuminated by comets, ethereal streaks of ghostly, silvery white that arc to all of them when his mind gasps a frustrated, « This is so MUTTON!!! » He's undoubtedly misusing the word.

Abigail has some shields up and she doesn't even realize that she was putting them in place. Niumdreoth doesn't let up, his talons give him just enough grip on the ground that he doesn't go sliding across the muddy ground for the moment. His getting closer and closer, just a bit more Then another sheep is on the scene and Niumdreoth tilts his head to eye it, where did that one come from? His attention was so focused on the one he didn't see another joining the mix. When his gaze is finally back upon the one he was chasing is when he catches sight of Kouzevelth there in the middle. Nium's eyes widen, the sheep disappear and the brown is left having to skid to a stop, which sends more mud flying towards his siblings so he doesn't run into the gold. Instead he slides right past Kouzevelth and thunks slightly into a pile of snow that is mostly slush and covering a nice icky puddle of mud. « Fast mutton! Tricky mutton! »

Th'ero's grunt to Kimmila's nudge is almost inaudible, but he shoots her a look that is both serious and joking in the "leave off" sort of sense. He is laughing! Just on the inside. Velokraeth makes up for it though, his mind reaching out not with words but an intoxicating ripple and bubbling of crystal clear white wine, crisp and cool but echoing the laughter that he could never voice. The pale bronze does try though, in his odd chuffing way. "I suppose there is no issue," Th'ero murmurs low for Kimmila to overhear. "Only that I worry of injuries. But I suppose that is bound to happen regardless." Leave it to the Weyrleader to be the spoil sport. He really can be a stick in the mud and perhaps the bluerider was right in trying to nudge some humor into him. Give it time, give it time. "Though they are managing well." If flailing and skidding everywhere is "well". D'ani is given a sidelong look as Kimmila calls him back and once he does seem to return to his own mind, Th'ero nods and his relief is shown by way of oblique comment. "Perhaps I'll discuss with M'icha on some more mind strength exercises. Unless you had ideas?" Now he's musing, at least as his gaze lingers on his weyrmate once more. « Not quite the way the word works. » Velokraeth can be heard to correct the young and now exhausted bronze. « Try: This is so damnably frustrating. » THAT earns the pale bronze a pointed and narrowed look from his rider. Don't teach the kids to swear! « What? It's the truth of it. » he drawls with a mental shrug. « Though I supposed Niumdreoth has the better of it. They are fast and tricky, which is why they aren't much worth the effort as a snack. » The Weyrleader only grimaces and shakes his head for his bronze's remarks, giving both Abigail and her brown a lingering look as mud is sent everywhere and brings on another faint wince. Bath time, it looks like?

Kimmila gives D'ani her best reassuring smile, though it's crooked just the same. As the chase slows and the sheep mill about in a skittish huddle, Varmiroth rouses from his repose and, stepping back, kicks into the air. The small blue soars over the little flock and selects one, swooping down to grab for it. Exhausted though it is, it darts to the side and Varmiroth has to swerve to catch it, but catch it he does, his talons gripping its head and twisting, killing it in a moment. Dropping the body, the blue alights a short distance away with an inviting croon. « Come taste, » he calls, watching the dragonets keenly to make sure they share and don't squabble. And then he lifts his head, his voice lightening with a teasing lilt as he calls up to Velokraeth. « Brother? Care for some damnable mutton? » Kimmila laughs at that, shaking her head and pushing hair out of her eyes, glancing at Th'ero. "Strength to block? I wouldn't teach that this early…not while the bond is so fresh. I'd imagine the dragons would panic, this early. But we could do more visualization or blindfolded exercise. More trust exercises. I remember once having to write down what Varmiroth's mind was like. It was nearly impossible, but the act of trying helped me explore him more."

Dremkoth agrees with Niumdreoth, wryly chuffing his resigned acceptance that the sheep are indeed fast and tricksy. The prone bronze cants his head to peer at Velokraeth unmistakable admiration for the so fluent more mature bronze. « Ohhhh, so mutton are damnably frustrating! » He's caught on in the end… somewhat. And yet, laced in there is the thought that they are also FUN to chase! His head tilts almost over his back to watch Varmiroth's glide overhead, tracking him as he so deftly catches the sheep and dispatches it. The invitation to come taste has him staggering from his mud-wallow and joining the others at the kill. To this point he's only had previously-butchered meat gone cold. So after an uncertain moment of just where to taste, when he bites the limp neck of the creature and hot blood fills his mouth, though D'ani gags over there at the unexpected sensation, Dremkoth is completely sated. After the snack, of course there will be scrubbing off of mud and blood, shards of bone and bits of meat from his hide. Life is good for Dremkoth. D'ani… will reserve his judgment.

« Damnable mutton!! » Niumdreoth latches onto the new word while slowly righting himself, wings droopy and covered in mud much like the rest of him. The young brown watches as Varmiroth swoops in to go after the sheep. His eyes swirl with colors, maw opened in awe at the sight. « Is that how we're supposed to play with damnable mutton? » Once back on his paws Niumdreoth gives himself a shake and trods slowly closer towards where the others are around the sheep. The sudden scent of blood is enough to get his full attention and he zeros in on a spot before chomping down upon the shoulder of the kill and gives his head a shake. Abigail is left coughing for a few moments at the images and thoughts that cross over to her. Oh yes a bath will be on the list of things to do for sure now. "He is going to be talking about damnable mutton all night now." She murmurs out softly, seemingly amused.

« Suppose we should put the sorry creatures out of their misery. » Velokraeth intones with what seems genuine seriousness and yet his mind is still awash in such a light winey taste and color and the implied sense of sarcasm and humor (though drier now, rather than sweet) lingers on in an ever present undercurrent. With an almost idle laziness, the pale bronze swoops down from his ledge and immediately puts an end to the other sheep. Neat, precise, though he does have to swerve as well to pick off the ones that escape his initial killing strike. « There. Plenty for all now! » he says with a hint of smugness. Dinner time! Th'ero only shakes his head again, though perhaps to hide the smile that does quirk at the corners of his mouth. "No, you are right, Kimmila. I should have more faith in M'icha's decisions as well as the exercises he sees fit to authorize." he murmurs towards the bluerider. "Though the writing exercise may be… different." Velokraeth only rumbles his approval to Dremkoth catching on so swiftly, both to the new word and to tasting a fresh kill. Niumdreoth is of course included into the praise, once the brown joins in. « Indeed. It is one way. » the pale bronze muses once more. Th'ero remains silent for a moment, watching both and all weyrlings adjust to the sensation and input before chuckling dryly at Abigail's statement. "My apologies for that. Velokraeth is never one to sway his ah… mental tongue I suppose you can say." And to judge by his tone, he's going to have to have a little "talk" with his lifemate over what he should be imparting on young, impressionable minds.

Varmiroth watches Velokraeth kill the other four sheep, rumbling with approval before he hops over to nibble on one himself. « Plenty, » he agrees, moving back so another can eat his fill. "Well," Kimmila says with a smile, "looks like it's bath time for you all, so I'll see you later." That's the end of the "lesson" apparently, as Kimm has never been good at closure or goodbyes. Reaching out to put her hand on Th'ero's arm, she gives him a little tug and hauls him off towards…somewhere else, leaving the weyrlings to their meal and then their cleaning up.

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