Conversations by the Pool

[tarra]

(OOC>Open to anyone.)


S'kor spread the long streaks of oil in long swaths across the glowing stretch of bronze neck, taking as much pleasure in the task as his crooning lifemate felt. Morreliath was in rare mood, shoulders and neck lowered for the soothing brushes of damp oil, half-shut eyes whirling a contented blue. The big bronze was fully on his belly, forelegs before him and hindlegs covered by wingsails that lay curled along his sides. His tail twitched, lightly, as he rotated his entire upper body to catch the brush.

More there please, S'kormine. It feels so good...

Chuckling softly, the boy complied with a generous dose of the oil over the outstretched neck. Small droplets began to streak downward, flowing onto the lower neck and onto the broad shoulders in dribblets. Morreliath crooned again, eyes closing, and half-turned his head to bump his rider lazily. With a quiet smile, S'kor pushed back the muzzle playfully, leaving a big damp patch of oil on the bronze's nose. The dragonet rumbled gently, and bumped him again. His rider made a face as he stroked out slowly with a mock punch which the bronze avoided easily.

Hey, I can't work with you knocking me around.

The bronze rumbled amusement, his tail curling over, But it's fun.

Not when I can't get the oil onto you, S'kor bent to run the brush throroughly over the neck spines, catching every corner and ignoring the tail now twitching over his toes, Would you prefer to let me work or shall I simply quit and start pummeling you instead?

You couldn't pummel me. I'll flatten you first.

S'kor laughed, Would you, really?

No, Morreliath admitted, as he straightened and shook his neck lightly, causing oil to flow freely down it and saving his rider from having to spare more dips into the oil bucket, But you wouldn't beat me either.

True, S'kor started on the shoulders, silently admiring the dance of light on the light olive-like bronze, accentuated by the shiny oil. Beautiful. He was no artist, but he knew that even had he been the best artist in all Pern, he could never have painted anything as wildly elegant as that which he now painted.

Thank you.

The boy startled, and cast an annoyed glance at his dragnet's eyes, whirling in amusement, I wasn't talking to you!

Nonetheless, the compliment is accepted, the bronze drew back his head into an arch, settling more onto his hindquarters. His wings pulled back and relaxed into a pile of shimmering bronze around his hindlegs. He looked the very picture of regality, Mine, you deserve better than that girl.

What... S'kor's hand jerked as he comprehended, ...girl. You mean Tira?

Nikeath's rider.

That's not for you to judge, his composure regained, the boy started on the neck spines across his dragonet's back. Morreliath turned to look at him, his arched neck catching the light and gleaming with oil.

She treated you badly at the Hatching.

She was tense, so was I. It wasn't a good time.

Nikeath herself isn't a dragon who knows respect.

Oh, quit it, S'kor slapped a large splatter of oil onto his wingjoints and began working it downwards, You've only met them once, love. Let them be for now. You might like them later.

Morreliath snorted softly through his nostrils, I doubt it. Remember, she tried to hurt you.

The boy sighed, busy with spreading oil through a particularly tricky patch of wing, We've been through this before, love. Lets let it rest for now, alright? I've got to have my attention to get this bit right. And besides, no one is right all the time.

As you wish, S'kormine, the bronze turned to look out over the bathing pool once more, his whirling eyes alert and curious of any and every activity about them, Though I think that, this time, I'm right.

[Neeuqtar]

"Skreeeeeee!!" The scream of a hunting bird sliced through the air as a bolt of cream-and-blue hit another creature in the sky--though weather bird or firelizard was impossible to say. A flurry of down poofed away from the shape, marking the kill as a bird, as Rage landed on a nearby rock, mantling and hissing. The pale form of the falconer swung over the stone, dressed oddly, as usual. A very thin, dark grey cotton shirt shielded the unnaturally pale arms from the fury of the sun, while a front-laced corset kept the fabric tight to her waist, the loose fabric flaring out over pants of a heavy fabric, dangling leather strips bearing D-rings of metal clinking together, some tied to large pockets sewn to the pants, others hanging free.

Ruby eyes surrounded by silver lashes, white ferns around a pool red as blood, betrayed the cause of her pale skin. The albino girl Tira didn't seem to react to the sight of S'kor and Morreliath, though they certainly knew each other. After the Hatching... well, he probably hated her anyhow. Instead, the girl commanded the lizardhawk to release, which Rage did with a hiss, hopping onto the leather gauntlet on Tira's left arm. The young woman clicked at the bird before picking up the dead creature--a brightly colored creature, one of the songbirds which made such sweet meals. She hooked the creature onto one of the leather strips, where it hung next to two other such birds.

Tira fed Rage a bit of meat from her beltpouch as Nikeath snaked into view, the dragoness liquid motion. Oh look Tramine, a bronze beast. How droll, Nikeath said, her voice dry and certainly not curbed to prevent Morreliath from hearing. I don't suppose we could just ignore it and walk away? the green asked with a sigh. Tira almost laughed, her lips twitching faintly. Now, what happened to my fire-and-thunder? the weyrling teased, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a hood for Rage.

"I think that's enough hunting for today," she informed the lizardhawk, pulling the hood over her head, so that Rage's beak poked through the hole in the front. The big raptor almost immediately went quiescent, and Tira moved to the shadow of a tree, helping the now-blinded hawk onto a branch, where she sat peacefully. "S'kor, Morreliath," she said by way of greeting, inclining her head to the duo, an unreadable (if a tad wicked, for Tira could not help but laugh at the bronzes for their pride) expression on her face. "I must say I did not expect to see you here."

Nikeath moved to curl around Tiramnet as the green weyrling squatted 'twain tree and stone, pulling out her beltknife, a very sharp and fine one. Indeed not, Nikeath purred as well, eyes sharp and gleaming brightly green with flashes of yellow. Perhaps there will not be any more... accidents, she added, as Tira unhooked the three dead birds and tossed them onto the stone, taking one of the older two and slicing it up the belly, letting the viscera slide out. Tiny's green neck snaked out of her bodice, the eyes alight with red hunger.

"Not in there, you don't," Tira informed the green fire-lizard with a laugh. Tiny trilled, then gaped, clearly begging. With a wry twist of her lips, Tiramnet speared the liver of the bird and proffered it to Tiny who grabbed it and devoured it in two bites, then vanished back down between the girl's breasts to lick her paws clean. The rest, Tira flicked over her shoulder, where Nikeath caught it with a snap of her gray-green jaws, and a growl-purr of pleasure.

"Songbirds make for good eating, and I must say there is nothing like a trained lizardhawk to catch a few birds... or flitters, if you prefer such a meat." She shrugged, then went back to her work. Nikeath already gleamed with a fresh oiling from that morning; the birds would be her afternoon meal. Tira was used to taking care of herself, despite the constant source of food in the Weyr. Once you'd lived alone in the mountains, with naught but the company of an eyas bird, for months... well, habits died hard. And the Dining Caverns rarely served songbirds...

[tarra]

The bronze dragonet jerked his head up at the scream of a lizardhawk, eyes whirling with curiosity. S'kor was heavily involved in painting down the wingjoints of his lifemate, catching all the hard-to-reach corners, and hardly noticed. He was familiar with the hunting cry of the native hawks, so much so in fact that it was as normal to him to hear them as to hear the soft songs of the small wherries that haunted the Weyr crevices (and were preyed upon by the hawks). Through the haze of his concetration, the boy felt Morreliath's tug on his mind, and absently opened himself to it.

Mine, it was a superb strike! And a kill too. Well-caught.

The dragonet's thoughts trailed off into a silence that felt like puzzlement. Caught by the sudden quiet, S'kor raised his head, still bent over at his task, and blinked as his pale brown eyes met the ruby-red of the girl retrieving her lizardhawk. It was almost a second more before he recognized her, and then a hot flush ran down his throat as he stood upright, letting the brush slip back into the bucket at his feet. How ironic, that the very person he was just thinking of should appear at the moment he thought of her, as if his very mind had somehow summoned her from nowhere. He shook the wayward train of thoughts aside, and reached for his dragonet's mind. A steady stream of puzzlement met his touch.

S'kormine, Nikeath is being sarcastic...but, what are they doing with that hawk-wherry?

S'kor realized, with a hint of relief, that his bronze dragonet was momentarily too curious about the lizardhawk to consider resuming his rivalry with Nikeath.

It's a form of beastcrafting, he smiled for Tira as she settled her hawk into its hood, a sign that he acknowledged her presence, Trainers use the avians to hunt for them.

Morreliath considered the pair with whirling eyes, wide open, Interesting.

"S'kor, Morreliath. I must say I did not expect to see you here."

S'kor inclined his head at her greeting, ignoring the mental scoff that his lifemate huffed into his mind. He remembered, only too well, the circumstances of their meeting at the Hatching. The memory held more regret than bitterness for him, even if his Morreliath saw things differently. He pulled up the laden oil brush and started again on the arch of the bronze dragonet's wings, the motion pulling Rukbat's rays over his rough brown tunic and simple black leggings.

"Tiramnet and Nikeath, my duty to you both. I had not expected you here too," a light nod to each as he addressed them, oil stains apparent on both his tunic and his hands, "That was a good kill."

He continued with Morreliath's wingsails with smooth, easy diligience, even as Tira walked into the shade of a nearby tree to divide her spoils. The bronze dragonet observed her, still curious as she gutted the wherry and began feeding it to Nikeath and Tiny respectively. And gradually, S'kor let himself see them through his lifemate's eyes as well. It was like a mist that drifted over his view of bronze wingsail and oil brush, distracting yet entirely engrossing. Morreliath snorted again softly at the openness of Nikeath's thoughts.

You could walk away of course, as you say you would, the bronze's tone was aloof as ever, though today it was coloured with flashpoint hints of amusement ad curiosity, Why you still remain here is beyond my comprehension. Accidents can always occur, after all.

A pause, and then the bronze could not resist himself, How does that avian taste like?

S'kor, finishing with the wing, chuckled at his dragonet's comment. Morreliath was going to be a strong one, that much he could see already. But he was still young, and there were aspects of youthfulness that had much appeal for the former Beastcrafter, especially in young dragons. He made a final stroke to end the tip of his bronze's spur, and raised his head as Tira spoke.

"Songbirds make for good eating, and I must say there is nothing like a trained lizardhawk to catch a few birds... or flitters, if you prefer such a meat."

The boy nodded, haze-brown eyes lifting to meet pale features and eyes like flame. He had heard some things about Tira since the Hatching, and understood the rationale for the long sleeves and pants. Not that he felt them unbefitting, odd though they were for a day like this - rather, the flare of her pants in any hints of wind matched the flare of her nature, unpredictable and sharp. In his opinion, at least. He leaned down, picked up the bucket, and stepped around the bronze dragonet's wings, heading for the other wing as he replied.

"I've never eaten such a meat before," an honest remark, "And I've never hunted with a lizardhawk either. Though I'll take both your words for them. You handle those avians better than I've seen some Beastcrafters handle runners. "

He halted and leaned to set the bucket down again, straightening with the loaded brush ready. But S'kor only let oil drip on the shoulder-arch of Morreliath's wingjoint. His eyes, quiet and wistful, were still on the lizardhawk and the girl who held it. It took all his courage to ask.

"Could you...teach me how to handle one of those? One day, when you have time, that is."

[Neeuqtar]

"Rage is my finest hawk," Tiramnet informed S'kor as she skinned the first bird, the delicate hide peeling off with hardly any work, the feathers maintained in their patterns. The head she removed and placed in the skin, then folded it in half over the bloody skull. The naked meat she slipped into a leather bag, then started on the second corpse without any alacrity. Nikeath's tail flicked, much like a feline's, as she watched the proceedings. The viscera was hardly more than a snack, but...

Songbirds are... oh, sweeter and more delicate in flavoring than the wherries they slaughter for us, Nikeath answered Morreliath with a happy sigh of contentment. The large green certainly wasn't a match for size with the bronze, but she was by no means small--at least as large as her brown brothers. The green stretched as Tira gutted the bird. You can have a taste, she offered, speaking quickly, in a moment of friendship. Her rider raised one nigh-invisible brow, before cutting out the viscera and tossing the tiny gobbet to Morreliath, just as she would have tossed it to Nikeath.

Being nice, are we? she asked, amused. No! Nikeath protested. He's stupid and ugly, and I don't like him at all![/color] the green protested. Tira rolled her eyes mentally and sighed softly, listening to S'kor speak with half her mind. Well, I'm glad you're not being mean to him. It's always useful to maintain ties... for later conquest. Exactly, Tramine, Nikeath purred back, jaws parting in a draconic smile. The green was learning the meaning of "diplomacy" just as quickly as she had learned what "justice" tasted of...

"I intend to make hawking a true Craft," Tiramnet replied, slowly, feeling out the compliment. "Sky is Turns old now--she is the first I trained. While hawking is done in Beastcrafting, it is a little-known facet." She shrugged, teasing the skin off of the second bird, her thin knife paring away flesh from skin. It was a task the girl had performed many times over. "I don't hold any position in the Crafthall, but I am the best at what I do," the girl finished without any sort of inflection. She was not falsely humble or falsely prideful--she was the best hawker. Most people didn't even care.

S'kor's request took her by surprise though. Crimson eyes wide with surprise, the weyrling stared at him for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response. What... how... Nikeath, what on Pern am I supposed to say?! The dragon purred her laugh at her Tramine. Little as I want to see that bronze creature... he would be your apprentice. Tira's lips curled into a smile, and she laughed, once. I hadn't thought of it that way. What would I do without you? Stupid things, obviously, the green replied, tail flicking into the dust. Yes indeed...

"I... If you are willing to put the effort into training a raptor, I would be pleased to teach you how," she replied finally, bending back to her work and finishing skinning the second bird. "I only have three hawks--one a nighthawk--but my fos--ah, my cousin, keeps the Beastcraft mews. They have several more, if not as well trained as my own. Though," she added with a sly, slow smile, "I am sure you will want to train your own?"

[tarra]

You are being generous, the bronze dragonet inclined his head towards the proffered piece on the ground, his speech widening to include S'kor and both Nikeath and Tira, I appreciate your offer.

He took the piece and shook it once before snapping it fully into his jaws, chewing once or twice and then swallowing to get a feel for the flavour. His eyes were whirling a less intense blue as his curiosity slowly faded, and he turned to the green again, It is indeed as you say, an interesting flavour. Yours is full of surprises, but she is accomplished in her way.

S'kor, busy with working on his dragonet's wingjoint and nodding at Tira's words, raised a brow. Morreliath felt his surprise, and reached for his mind, with a sending that was privy to his lifemate.

She is being kind for a reason, if you havn't already noticed, the bronze's tone was dry, But then...I can be kind too.

S'kor, who had indeed not observed anything in Tira and Nikeath except a good mood after a successful hunt, was non-plussed. He gave no sign of it, however: even in the few days since Morreliath hatched, he had already come to trust his lifemate's sense of discretion. But he could agree with what Tira was saying about making falconry a true Craft of its own, still, and continued to do so with small nods as he worked oil up and down the line of his dragonet's wing bones.

"I wish you success in what you would do, then," he said, feeling once more that she was brave to do what she wanted to do, and would likely succeed in her time.

Tira's surprise at his request was not unexpected, and for a moment he wished too, staring back at the wide-open ruby eyes, that he could just be Tsarkor the simple Beastcrafter boy and enjoy the moment with the girl he felt so much for, without having to keep thinking about what underlay her very word and action. The request, at least, was an honest one: he had wanted to ask even before the Hatching, ever since he first saw her working her hawks.

If you had been merely a simple Beastcrafter at heart, I wouldn't have chosen you, Morreliath's voice broke in on his thoughts again, still dry but now tinged with irritation as well, You are S'kor now, not Tsarkor, and more than just a holder boy. Believe that and start behaving like it.

S'kor tore his eyes from Tira's, and bent to start working again to hide the smile that his lifemate's words had bent his lips into. He leaned forward to spread oil generously over the dragonet's wingsails, feeling Tira's struggle to craft an answer in the silence that had fallen between them.

Maybe, love, his thoughts were for his dragonet only, But as you say, you chose me for what I am: it's not all that far from what I've become with you now, beside me.

Morreliath sent back a mental snort, his eyes never leaving Tira and Nikeath, his head as ever held regal and balanced over gracefully crossed foretalons. S'kor raised his head from the oiling as she replied.

"I... If you are willing to put the effort into training a raptor, I would be pleased to teach you how."

He nodded, "I would."

"I only have three hawks--one a nighthawk--but my fos--ah, my cousin, keeps the Beastcraft mews. They have several more, if not as well trained as my own. Though," she added with a sly, slow smile, "I am sure you will want to train your own?"

S'kor smiled, quiet and gentle graveness to match the crook of her smile, "I didn't know it was your...cousin who kept the Beastcraft mews: I might know him, though I've always work more with the herdbeast and runner divisions."

He paused to consider her offer, head tilted thoughtfully, hazy-brown eyes watching her as he spoke, "I should think...yes, of course. Though acquiring one properly will have to wait: the weyrling class comes first."

Morreliath crooned his approval, and S'kor leaned forward to scratch his headknobs, "Perhaps we can just start with the basics first, the theory and equipment, if you don't mind demonstrating with your hawks. I'll probably need to catch one to continue, right? I've heard they don't breed so well in captivity."

Just rumours of course, flying around the Beastcrafters, but S'kor knew enough to hold his own in most facets of the craft. Morreliath touched his mind again, lightly.

Mine, beware of the favour you are asking. She will call for it in time.

I know. Which is why it won't be going too deeply. Just demonstrations first, and maybe a bit of learning about care of hawks, he bent back to his work, determined to finish soon, I don't want to become anyone's apprentice. I'm already "apprenticed" to the Weyr, you might say, and the dragoncraft remains my priority.

You are learning fast, the dragonet's tone carried a healthy undercurrent of approval. The boy agreed without nodding, and looked up at Tira again as he placed the finishing strokes to the bronze wing.

"I'll like to just watch you first, if that's alright? Our schedules are still heavy enough these days, and I'll put no more pressure on you than to simply observe."