Weyrling Barracks -- Starmount(#47RAHJLa)
A massive cavern, larger by far than anywhere save the Hatching Grounds, the weyrling barracks are still filled to near-overflowing with the forms of dragonets, many almost full grown, as well as their stone couches lined against all the walls, worn into the floors by years of dragon bodies. Cots stand next to each occupied couch for the dragonet's rider. A huge oil bin at the back of the cavern is filled to the brim and often occupied with numerous firelizards splashing, chittering, and generally making nuisances of themselves. Another bin next to it is kept full of meat chunks for the smaller dragonets, those not old enough to hunt herdbeasts or wherries themselves.
 At any time of the day or night weyrlings can be found chatting and laughing among themselves, the dragonets joining in the conversations by their riders as proxy. Tables strewn with food and hides indicate just how hard these young people work.

G'rett mumbles something incomprehensible (except one might make out that it seems to rhyme) as he rolls over on his cot, one hand fumbling blindly for his glasses. He seems to have gotten the hang of sleeping through, or at least between, Gurgith's constant mind-chatter by now, and he looks reasonably awake by the time he puts on his glasses and blinks at the other occupants of the barracks. "'Lo," he greets, smiling a little. Gurgith, for his part, swings his blue head around, eyes opening and whirling lazily.

Deinha is scratching Sebayeth's neckridges in a not-so-idle fashion. With something along the lines of a frown gracing her lips, the girl looks quite focused on her current task. Sebayeth, on the other hand, is entirely un-focused, simply leaning forward and enjoying the touches, first lids half-dropped. <<Ahh...That's it. Right there...>> comes the faint thought.

Myca sits quietly, curled up with Eilanth on their shared couch. The green sleeps peacefully while her 'mate knits on a sweater, done in the colors of a Starmountian bluerider. "Good morning," she greets G'rett, looking up briefly and smiling.

Cor is settled comfortably on the edge of the couch she shares with Khanueth, little leather book in hand (and you thought she'd lost it, didn't you?), sketching... who else? Khanueth, who's sitting, stretching his wings out for comparison. <<There, is that right?>> "Perfect, just hold that pose for me, would you, Khanueth?"

O'kano lounges upon his cot, limbs flung in every which-way; it's morning, after all, and the lordling's well-known inclination is to lie abed for as long as possible. Jharzeth, too, reclines in his own couch, head resting on forelegs. But he's oiled, dark-hued hide glistening -- the content bronze, it seems, got his way in the wee hours of dawn.

Deinha remains oblivious to the talk about her as she works her way towards Sebayeth's wings, murmuring something along the lines of: "There isn't time to oil you just now, so this'll have to do." And Sebayeth oontinues simply lolling in the attention. "Oh, good." The girl promptly heaves a sigh of something akin to frustration, and takes a step back from lifemate long enough to scratch rather furiously at her own shoulder. "It's spreading, thank you very much," comes the short statement, followed by a, "No, darling, I know you can't really help it. No, see, it's fine...I just need to make it stop itching, for both of us."

S'ara walks in from the north bowl.>
Drekyn walks in from the north bowl.>
R'ken walks in from the north bowl.>
Nasmyth walks in from the north bowl.>

<< Gurgith has itchings, needs scritchings! >> With a patient grin, and a nodin reply to Myca, G'rett gets off of his cot, and fetches back an oil-soaked rag, starting to rub the soothing ointment into his blue's hide, just at the back of his neck. "There you go," he mutters to the contented dragon.

<*Jharzeth*> Sebayeth lulls in a wash of saffron serenity. <<MMmmm. That does help things out...>> Detachment subsides, greetings becoming focused in a splash of citrus. <<Morning!>> A statement, a greeting, a celebration of yellow and gold and hints of orange. *Her* greeting. to her neighboring dragons.

Pakath sticks up his head, chuffing impatiently. Waiting, waiting. Always waiting. << It's about time. >> "Shut up, Kitten." He turns his head, and purrs to himself, as S'ara crosses her arms, and stands near the doorway, one eyebrow raised. Waiting.

Cor looks up from her sketching at Khanueth. "Thanks, Khanueth, you can put your wings down now." Khanueth brings his wings down and folds them against his back.

Funny. R'ken seems torn between staying -behind- Drekyn, or poking at the idea of making the whole thing a nice, big joke. Yes, for the record, he's dressed, uh, differently. Very differently. Poor, poor weyrlings. "Attention, weyrlings! Lesson time." And you didn't want them to look at you, Ken? Stupid.

O'kano stirs, propping himself up on an elbow; he starts. "They're here?" He queries outloud, directing his question to the lazily observant Jharzeth. Moving into a sitting position, he allows his feet to dangle over the edge of his cot, and he peers towards the newest arrivals. "Oh."

R’ken
 Sun-bleached hair - having once been some shades darker, but now lighter along the top though remaining dark brown near the roots - is cropped short, usually brushed back in some form of neatness. This hair resides - predictably enough - above a face, admittedly leaning somewhat towards the attractive; sharp edges, high cheekbones, somewhat gaunt cheeks, a slightly too-narrow nose, and thin lips that're most often found quirked into an absently amiable grin, occasionally revealing white teeth. Add to this quietly intelligent, heavy-lidded eyes - almond shaped and distinctly azure, with a ring of darker blue about the pupils - and the swarthy skin. Occasionally, it must be admitted, he forgets himself and a day or two's growth is visable at his chin, but no more then that. Last but not least, he's of average height and slightly better then average build, having grown lean as a rider. At a guess, 'Ken's likely somewhere in his mid-twenties.
 ... You see, that's the comment his current outfit is likely to garner. Either that or a point, scream, and hurried fleeing. R'ken, as anyone knows, is a brownrider -- and a quite masculine one at that, really. But the dress - or the lack of one - that he's wearing might throw all of those thoughts to the wind. It's worse 'cause it's green, and anyone who's seen a proddy Milla might recognize this. Triangles of dark green cloth are in the usual places, packed with a roll or two of socks. Of course, beneath is the miniskirt of the same color that doesn't cover much of anything, and reveals more'n anyone wanted to see of hairy legs. Quite ridiculously but thankfully, one might add, under that is a pair of boxer shorts -- done in... paisley. -Silk-? Silk paisely? Er. Over this is quite the fetching light green jacket; while the gauzy thing does have long sleeves and drifts down over thighs, wouldn't keep a blind man from seeing through it in a dark room. At least he has the usual, sturdy boots, instead of pumps. This really is more than a little traumatizing.

Cor looks up at the yell and looks straight at R'ken, naturally, as she hops down off the side of the couch where she's perched. Khanueth also begins to move out of his couch.

Drekyn isn't helping R'ken at all, nope - she steps to one side with her back to the wall and leans against it to wait for the weyrlings to get ready, where she's of absolutely no use as a hiding spot to anybody. "Now, now," she says, to R'ken. "Don't be shy - I /told/ you you'd look nice, didn't I? Look - their eyes are fair popping out of their heads." And this is certainly true of a few of the closer weyrlings, who seem torn between laughing out loud and just hiding underneath their cots.

Deinha finally soothes the current itching into something tolerable, judging by the pleased smile that at last comes to rest on the girl's face. Turning around, she at last takes notes of pairs other than herself and Sebayeth, "Morning, Assistant Weyrlingmast... Ahh..." The girl tilts her head back to Sebayeth momentarily, then looks again to ... not the AWLMS in general, but to R'ken. Call it confusion that keeps her from finishing the greeting.

S'ara steps back to the wall herself, letting R'ken take the reigns. Oh so amusing.

After a long cool look at R'ken, Myca politely stifles her snickering and merely inquires, "Erm, are we really supposed to see... all that --" a wave at R'ken's frame, "-- as junior weyrlings?" Eilanth comes awake slowly, and Myca seizes that excuse to look elsewhere for the moment.

G'rett rather obediently, but with a tinge of reluctance, G'rett turns his attention to the riders. Much to Gurgith's dismay, of course, when he stops rubbing the oil into the back of his neck. << But what about Gurgith's itchings and scritchings? >> the roly-poly blue complains in his squeaky mindvoice, for the world at large to hear. G'rett, however, just stares at R'ken for a long moment, then, blinking and shaking his head, polishes his glasses furiously as if they're the cause of the, err, apparation.

Cor starts laughing. "R'ken, you look... quite lovely!" she calls. He told her to call him R'ken after the fifteenth Assistant Weyrlingmaster or so. She's already dressed, but she starts pulling on furs for the outside weather.

"Right, then," Drekyn snaps, narrowing her eyes at Cor's outburst. "Stop that laughing - if I hear just /one/ more weyrling laughing, you're all running laps outside, and I can assure you, you'll be provided with skimpier outfits than /that/." So there.

"What." Puo, poor holdbred Puo, just stares. The horrified--traumatized--weyrling hurriedly looks elsewhere, proclaiming in a not-so-quiet tone, "I /told/ everyone that people are Weyrs did this. They never believed me. And now..now../ugh!/" Disgraceful. Addressing Jharzeth, he primly instructs, "Look at your feet."

"Uh. Yes, as long as you don't have the urge to, y'know -- well." R'ken pauses, draws in a breath, glares narrowly at Drekyn -- then tugs his skirt down again. Not that it does much good. "Well, I don't think you will, anyway." Who wants to pounce a man in a -dress-? "And you both," he notes to both blueriders, "are exceedingly helpful. -Your- fault, Drekky. But yeah, what she said, you'll be running laps. In -Drekky's- outfit." He isn't making much sense is he? Pause. -Then- he claps his hands. "Up and at 'em, lings. I'm sure you're all tired of cutting meat for your -fabulous- lifemates, aren't you?" Well, he did say he was going to -try- for Ch'ristopher.

Cor tries to swallow her laughter, and gets the hiccups, and she's still having a hard time not laughing, so it turns into a coughing fit with hiccups in between.

Deinha blushes at the threat, quickly making clear that "I didn't laugh!" And a glance travels to the traumatized and likewise Holdbred O'kano. "Oh, at least he's covered." Sparing another glance for R'ken, she amends, "Kind of." And this new subject *is* pounced upon, though Deinha still seems content not to look fully his way again -- at least, not more than covertly. "Am I ever! No offense, Sebayeth, but that's just not how I like to see the food..."

Myca slips her parka on, still refraining from laughing. "Oh, O'kano, don't be so... HOLD-BRED," she snipes at the bronzer. "Let go of your hidebound opinions and open your mind up beyond the tightly circumscribed world you knew. You just might have more fun." Eilanth peers at her lifemate and then makes a neayh'ing sort of expression at Jharzeth before sliding off her couch. "Oh, hunting lessons?" exclaims Myca, her tone eager. "Eilanth, you're going to have alot of fun with this."

S'ara isn't laughing. Oh no, dear me. She's standing against the wall, eyeing the Weyrlings. Laughter is a very bad, bad thing. "Myca, don't snipe. We're trying for a nice, relaxed atmosphere in here."

G'rett blinks as he puts back on his glasses, frowning distraughtly as he notices little change. Freckled cheeks pinking slightly, he just shakes his head and finds his coat and things, to the tune of Gurgith's cheery but scolding mindvoice still complaining about his itchy hide. At the mention of hunting, he half-grins, looking at his Gurgith. "Y'mean I'm going to have to tell him to go /catch/ his own?"

Drekyn sure isn't after that relaxed atmosphere - she's enjoying this too much, for all that she's carefully deadpan when she says, "R'ken, don't fuss over the skirt - it wouldn't hitch up like that if you'd worn the stockings, too." Not that there's much of an 'up' to hitch to.

Myca indicates R'ken with a quick gesture and turns a wondering gaze on S'ara. However, the weyrling wisely don't make any -verbal- comment in response to S'ara's scolding aside from a muttered, "I'm sorry, but he -is- being holderish."

Cor turns to Khanueth with a grin. "Oh, wonderful!" is her comment, between hiccups. "You get to hunt!" <<Is that good?>> "It's terrific. You get to make your own food choices. On the hoof, so to speak." <<Oh, I guess that is good.>> "It's wonderful." <<If you say so.>>

<*Jharzeth*> Sebayeth thrills, in sapphire silkenness. <<We're learning something on food today?>> Dainty little herdbeasts trot along the thoughts, disappearing one by one into a neat black void. And following is the pleased coppery whirl of <<How to catch the most? Or to make it the quickest? Or to find the best-tasting beast?>> And a teasing tendril of lemon dips and recedes coyly <<How to beat the others to the best one?>> to her neighboring dragons.

S'ara sticks her chin in the air, "Yes, but it isn't your place, Weyrling." My, she's being her usual, not so very nice to weyrlings self. Odd that this brownrider was once so...different. << Catching food is good. Blooding food is better. >> Pakath's gaze falls towards the weyrling greens. Oh, and Sebayeth. Drool. "Pakath!"

<*Jharzeth*> Eilanth rumbles in amusement. << We will catch the most >> she assures the gold, the 'we' seeming to include herself in Sebayeth's class. to her neighboring dragons.

O'kano attempts for the better part, not to listen to various comments regarding R'ken's outfit; instead, he focuses on what's a bit cleaner. "Hear that? You can go hunt. Like you've been wanting," the weyrling informs Jharzeth, who twitches and shifts with anticipation. Stiffening, Puo glowers over towards Myca, snapping right back. "People--normal people--don't go around in things like that. I'm not hidebound--I'm normal. And I don't want to see things like..like this. At least people in Boll know what's proper attire!"

Sebayeth is unaware of any gazes, appreciative or no. Her attention is much more on this intriguing new lesson. <<Are they teaching us, or shall we try alone?>>

"Oh, yes." R'ken manages a -- somewhat pink-cheeked beam. Him? Even -remotely- red? "Instead of cutting, you get to watch them kill for themselves, while gorging on nice, warm, even more recently living flesh." << Not 'til they're older, >> notes Nasmyth with some amusement to Pakath. "And yes, Myca, be nice. I -am- a scary sight." He knows this. Drekyn is simply shot a -look-, before he wonders, "And who's hung-- /O'kano/, I'll have you running laps in the nude, so all the male greenriders can slaver after you," he threatens. "And for those who wish, you can put on straps once we're outside, since we'll be heading down to the feeing grounds."

And Nasmyth goes on to add of Sebayeth, << We will direct. You will hunt. From the ground, though, >> he adds somewhat regretfully. << Still no flying, but soon. >>

<*Jharzeth*> Jharzeth's excitement flares in messy stains of crimson, highlighting a rather drear landscape of ebon and ivory. << I will catch the best! >> comes his proclaimation: a challenge, of sorts. to his neighboring dragons.

"If you're normal," Drekyn drawls, giving P'uke a level glance, "then why are you so horrified at the majority of the things that go on around you? After all, if this sort of thing happens all the time, /it's/ normal too. If you were really normal, you'd be dancing on the tables right now." There's a scary thought. Even Drekyn's eyes glaze as she tries to imagine this. But R'ken in a dress she can handle, apparently, for she just smiles brightly in return for R'ken's -look-. "You're just upset because I didn't have any shoes that would fit," she says sweetly.

Cor holds her breath for a few moments until she turns an attractive shade of purple. <<Blooding food?>> Her breath explodes outward and she coughs again, but no hiccups. <<Sorry.>> "It's okay, but you don't have to worry about blooding food for a while yet, Khanueth." <<You're sure?>> "Positive." She turns to P'uke. "There's nothing wrong with him wearing that dress! Sure, it makes him a bit pale-looking. I think he might do better in red. But there's nothing -wrong- with him wearing a dress!" Better him than her.

G'rett looks just a little green as he hears R'ken's rather graphic description, but Gurgith seems to like the talk of munchings and crunchings. "But they're quicker than you are! I don't know how you're going to catch one..." He looks hopeful, "But I imagine you'll manage. It is food you're going after, after all..." This new green hue clashes with his pink cheeks.

Deinha blanches a bit at R'ken's sudden description. And glances curiously in O'kano's direction after R'ken speaks, then offers, "Please don't do that, R'ken. Think of the rest of us." Oops.

<*Jharzeth*> Sebayeth flutters goldenrod echoes to the challenge <<We'll see in time.>> to her neighboring dragons.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth soothes a quick touch of pink-knit yellow <<If you do, will you share the trick?>> Humbly, almost, the thought recedes just as quickly, leaving but a faint, lemony trail of curiosity. to Jharzeth

O'kano pales, noticable even upon his bronzed countenance. "You wouldn't." Flatly, he states that--but there's a tinge of apprehension that edges his tone. After all, if R'ken goes around wearing outfits like this, then who knows what else he might do. "Oh, I'm perfectly normal," he assures Drekyn next. "Everyone in the Weyrs isn't. That's all." Next, a glare is directed towards Deinha. "Thanks," he sarcastically calls.

Myca looks vaguely amused at the reactions of her fellow weyrlings and she blithely assures them, "Oh, it's fun. There's nothing like watching dragons feed, though one -does- feel sorry for the beasts sometimes." Eilanth objects, << I would much rather have the food brought -to- me...>>

Deinha blushes at O'kano's words -- word, rather -- for reasons of her own. Embarassment at lack of manners, or something else. Perhaps she's still just contemplating this idea of R'ken's. Either way, the girl quickly turns to look decidedly elsewhere, gaze snapping now to a focus on S'ara. That should be safe enough.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Jharzeth sweeps fire-orange thoughts in a cadence of nearly tangible luminence and thrill. << Of course >> he assures, noble. << It's only fair. >> to Sebayeth

"So grab your raincoats, Weyrlings," Drekyn says cheerfully, "and follow the /stunning/ R'ken here out, yes? And," she adds, voice dropping abruptly to a growl, "if I hear /one/ word out of any of you, you'll be cleaning the feeding grounds when your lifemates are done. There," she continues, brightly once more. "No objections? Good."

"-Red-?" Watch R'ken fluster, cough, and otherwise splutter. But then, he draws himself up and tells Cor levelly, "I'd look -much- better in a long, brown dress -- the clingy sort." Now there's a mental image. "And while I would've just -loved- heels, I doubt I could've balanced on 'em." No, he doesn't manage to sound even remotely regretful. "Watch me, Puke." The brownrider then offers up his nicest smile. << He would, >> adds Nasmyth gravely. "And I hate to inform you, me boy-o, but you're part of those 'everyone in the weyrs'." And with belated cheer to Deinha, "And I'm sorry, lass, but what's to one is to everyone -- in most circumstances." Military, and all that. But -then- he turns and makes for the door. And simple does -not- wriggle.
 

Weyrling Field -- Starmount
Probably ten or twenty dragonlengths wide and almost twice as long, this large field is very flat, very smooth with years of use, and in places -- very scorched. There are spots on the walls where the dirt has been blackened from firestone practice, and others smoother than normal from the scratching of itchy-hided young dragons. Weyrlings work here, the pairs teaching each other about themselves and practicing techniques they'll need in Fall. A large cavern opens at the far end of the pocket of space, the barracks themselves. The airspace over this field is kept clear for the wobbly young fliers.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth flares back in complementing yellow-shaded warmth <<No, but it's very nice. And I am pleased. The others might not share the same sense of 'fairness.'>> A rose tremble, suddenly, and the faint underthought of <<Time to see!>> to Jharzeth

Deinha edges toward O'kano, hissing, "Don't you think about upsetting that man. I don't want to run around naked anymore than you do. And there are some people here I really don't care to see as such, either." Glancing distractedly back towards some of the others, she adds a softer, "...Sorry about before. It didn't come out right, what I was trying to say."

O'kano glances irritably at Deinha, uneasy frown set in place. He's silent, though, biting back nastier remarks directed at her and everyone in general when Jharzeth apparently instills his forceful manners with a quiet rumble. "Hmph."

S'ara places one hand on Pakath, waiting thoughtfuly for the rest of the weyrlings to appear. "Are we ready? I hope you're not -too- cold, R'ken. It's chilly today." Not surprising. "Oh, be nice the lot of you, won't you?" S'ara scowls, adding, "You're stuck with us, and with each other. Learn to be nice to all of your fellow weyrlings."

R'ken is a -man-! Deinha called him a -man-! At least someone believes yet. He moves about to the far (and shielding) side of Nasmyth to mount up, repeating, "Straps on, weyrlings, and mount up. You'll have to take them off when we get down there, though, since blood and leather usually doesn't mix, and some of them get messy-." He's taking inordinate delight in tormenting them, but ah well. "And to be honest, S'ara, I'm -fridgid-, but can't do much of that."

Deinha has already moved on to other thoughts, other places. "Of course we should be nice. Why wouldn't we be, on purpose?" Ah, sweet innocence. "Oh dear..." That's in response to *something* or another said by R'ken, no doubt.
Sebayeth cants her head a moment as her straps are secured, wings given a gentle shake as she adjusts to this new feeling.

S'ara smiles sweetly, "I figured as much. Relax, you'll survive. If you move fast enough, the wind'll miss you." Oh, so nice. She pats Pakath again, strapping him up with a firm hand, and then waits for him to lower himself.
S'ara smiles, climbing easily up onto Pekath's forelimb as the brown lowers himself in readiness, from there swinging up into his highest 'ridges where she perches calmly.

R'ken leaps up and catches hold of the riding straps then hauls himself up to his place bewteen two of Nasmyth's neckridges, lightly caressing brown hide as he settles in.

Cor puts Khanueth's straps on, checking them carefully. <<Are you sure hunting is good?>> "Positive, you get to do something fun, and I don't have to chop up meat anymore. Two good things for the price of one."
Cor leaps up and grabs hold of Khanueth's crimson flying straps to haul herself up between his granite-flecked neckridges.

Myca busies herself outfitting Eilanth, keeping her comments to herself, aside from a sidelong glance at the cranky S'ara. Eilanth's still small, as dragons go, so it's a quick business.

Deinha just makes sure she's not looking as R'ken mounts, that's all.
Deinha leaps up and grabs hold of Sebayeth's flying straps to haul herself up between her neckridges.

Myca leaps up and grabs hold of Eilanth's flying straps to haul herself up between her neckridges.

Jharzeth(#3923Vaeps)
Angular, jutting neckridges erupt from a glassy, sinuous neck with each finely chiseled ridge holding the same obsidian hue of broad back and sides. Metallic sparks of pale verdancy and copper scatter across his hide, lending the bronze a hazy aura, despite the solid reality of toned musculature and pliable hide.
You leap up and grab hold of Jharzeth's flying straps and haul yourself up between his neckridges.

Away from Jharzeth, Nasmyth offers to Khanueth, << Hunting is -good-. You'll enjoy it. >> Then, with head up to act as a sort of wind-break, he sets on his way.

Away from Jharzeth, Drekyn blinks up at R'ken for a moment or two, and looks uncertain, but shrugs. "Why not?" she says, with a half-smile. "Darn blue's gone ahead of me again." << /I/ am waiting for the weyrlings in the feeding grounds. >> "And no doubt you had a snack yourself, hmm?" << Well... >> "Honestly, it's a wonder you can get off the ground." << I am /not/ fat. >> "Pudgy."

Away from Jharzeth, Khanueth is getting resigned to hunting, he just doesn't like change. <<Well, if you say so.>> He somehow just doesn't sound convinced.
[Starmount] Dei like 'em cold, Deinha never buckled, ho hum. Oops.

Away from Jharzeth, Pakath purrs softly, << You'll like it, Khanueth. I promise. Eventually, anyway. >> He shuffles, waiting slowly. Boring. So very boring.

Away from Jharzeth, Eilanth looks rather intrigued and interested with the idea of this new game and follows along with the rest of the pack. She's gotten more graceful at walking on land, but she's still a cautious walker, keeping her balance with many a flick of her tail.

Away from Jharzeth, Sebayeth is pleased at the idea, herself, and seems content to keep a low-level series of comments running <<Isn't it such a shame we can't find a way to hide well? They wouldn't see us. And then we'd feast!>> Amusement at this idea leaves the young gold nearly stepping into another pair, but Deinha warns, "Stop, love, unless you really want to cause a mess now, rather than later?"

Away from Jharzeth, Jharzeth lumbers along, steps choppy and irregular--he fairly bounces with barely contained eagerness. "Stop that," P'uke snaps from his place, wedged between the final pair of neckridges. "Do you want me to throw up my breakfast all over you?" And live up to the name Drekyn's graced him with? Indeed, O'kano looks fairly queasy, no doubt at the combined factors of R'ken's unorthodox apparel, the jerky ride, and the images of hunting Jharzeth's putting in his mind. << Blood! >>

Away from Jharzeth, Khanueth relents. <<Well, it does sound fun>> he admits. Especially with all the examples Cor's bombarding him with from her own experience.

Away from Jharzeth, Drekyn reaches up and grabs Nasmyth's flightstraps, hauling herself up behind the brown's rider with the assistance of R'ken and a helpful foreleg.

Away from Jharzeth, On Sebayeth's upper neckridges, Deinha is looking a bit distracted still, but perhaps that's just her method of trying not to focus on the blood-thoughts lurking about, thanks to certain AWLMs.

South Bowl River -- Starmount
The river is swift here, though not so swift as the rapids you can see to the east, spraying water vehemently as they explode over the jagged rocks. In this area it is mostly peaceful, the rushing sound of the water a constant susseration of lulling noise in the background and soft grass, nurtured by the water, is thick and luxuriant, a fine carpet of verdant greenery on which to lie. Many areas along the bank sport firelizards of various colors, sunning themselves cheerfully, most of them banded with the Starmount colors of black, purple, and silver. A little to the south is the bridge crossing from one side of the river to the other, sturdy stones shimmering a little with the moisture.
 
Obvious exits:
Feeding Ground

Away from Jharzeth, On Eilanth's upper neckridges, Myca has a little half-smile playing on her face as she rides along, but she too stays quiet for the most part, directing the ocassional comment to Eilanth in a tone too soft to carry further than the duo.

Away from Jharzeth, Pakath struggles to keep to the lead of the group, but S'ara's not particularly interested. "Where's Zat?" she calls towards Nasmyth's general area, "I'm much confused."

Away from Jharzeth, Nasmyth advances - gait perhaps a bit more smooth, now that he's carrying a lady, for all that Drekyn doesn't fill the usual images - and settles some distance back from the pen, eyeing its contents musingly. "All right, down, and straps off," R'ken instructs, then gallently offers the arm for Drekyn to dismount. "And if anyone actually thinks they'll sick up, stand -away- from the general group." There is some vague compassion when he admits, "It -has- happened before. And Zat's down here." << He went ahead for a snack, >> Nasmyth explains wistfully. "Uh-uh. You just ate about two days ago." << True. >> Mustn't overeat, or he'll be pudgy. Can't lose his form, you know.

Away from Jharzeth, Sebayeth gives a warm croon as her straps are removed, and proceeds to shift her weight in a great shivering of yellow-gold, rosy-gold, and purely metallic gold. Only then does the young queen tilt her head to the side, contented whirling of green-blue eyes signaling pleasure at this new freedom.

You pat Jharzeth affectionately, then unbuckle and swing down from his neckridges with a good grip on the straps.

From her place in Pakath's upper 'ridges, S'ara ahs, chuckling, and dismounts carefuly.

Zatmenith is curled up just inside the gate of the feeding grounds, watching the weyrlings assemble with some amount of interest. His eyes are still flecked with the same red that dots his muzzle - and, if one looks farther, they might see a lonely wherry out in the middle of the grounds. A dead one.

S'ara scrambles down Pakath's side with almost a touch of grace, barely using his straps as she makes the last jump, landing firmly on the ground below, while stopping to offer Pakath a gentle rub.

Deinha glances toward R'ken, albeit tentatively, at the instructions. Frowning a moment, she eventually gives a faint, decisive nod, and heads just a little bit away from the others. Just in case, after all.

Drekyn pauses for a bit then steps down to the helpfully offered foreleg, and Nasmyth in turn lowers her to the ground.

R'ken leans down to give a fond slap to Nasmyth's neck, and the brown lowers a shoulder so that his lifemate can slide down his side with ease, resting a hand on a riding strap 'til he reaches the ground.

Cor never gets sick to her stomach without having caught something so she just pats Khanueth's side fondly and waits.

Myca swings down and begins the business of stripping Eilanth's straps. "You're going to like this, I said," she says in the tone of voice a mother uses encouraging a reluctant child, grunting as she reaches for a buckle. "Trust me, sweetheart. No more waiting for me to feed you, you can go please yourself." Straps get coiled neatly and set aside, and then the weyrling's joining the main group, standing next to R'ken. "How'd she talk you into that?" she asks sotto voce, gesturing at the dress with a quick flick of her thumb.

Deinha busies herself with figuring out where to put the straps as she waits for this whole thing to get finished. "I shouldn't be warned of anything, should I?" comes the soft question, while Sebayeth noses around the others.

S'ara steadily removes Pakath's straps, neatly rolling them and setting them down in a spot that Pakath has so nicely cleared of snow. The brownrider straightens, watching the weyrlings, and moves over to give instructions to one or two. Head bobbing acceptance, she strides towards Drekyn and R'ken, waiting to begin.

Drekyn gives R'ken a warning look, overhearing Myca's question - she's /good/ at overhearing things. Comes with practice. Not, of course, that you could ever call her an eavesdropper. Not her fault if people speak so loudly all the time. "Watch out for splashing, if you get too close," Drekyn offers to Deinha. "Especially when they're young - clumsy kills, and that. Later on you can teach them table manners." Zatmenith sighs mournfully, running the tip of his tongue over his jaws. << I have never liked 'table manners'. She likes herdbeast, too, so why should she mind if she gets some on her? >>

Although O'kano certainly doesn't look all too well, he inches towards the main group anyways, straps flung over his shoulder and trailing on the ground. "Don't enjoy yourself too much," he sarcastically directs towards Jharzeth, who simply ignores the weyrling's comment. Puo sighs.

Khanueth turns to Cor, who's coiling his straps and placing them out of the way. <<Why wouldn't you want herdbeast on you? I know you like it.>> "Well, for one thing, blood and guts tend to ruin clothes, though I'm not sure anyone would notice on these."

R'ken turns to give -Drekyn- a look at Myca's question, only to catch her own and grin cheekily. "A bet, Myca. A bet I expected to win, but as luck would have it, didn't. And, had I not kept up my side of the bargain, Myth would have never let me forget it." The brown bobs his head certainly - this is true - then suggests to Pakath, << Perhaps you would care to drive the food towards the young ones, if they wish the help? Mine -- is cold. >> He does move, to set foreleg to either side of his rider and dip chin. Brown's a warm brown, y'see. "Who cares to try for first kill? And once you do make a kill," he adds, Myth echoeing his words for the dragons -- just incase -- "take it off to the side, so you won't get in the way of your clutchmates."

Deinha perches on a relatively clear spot, watching the others now. "It's bad enough that there are to *be* blood and guts momentarily; must we speak of it, too? It's not polite." So she says, though softly. And then she plays with the rose-dyed straps which have found a place in her lap for the time being.

Pakath stretches oh so diligently, preening gently. << I shall do that. It is interesting, to watch them run. >> He lifts his wings, taking off gently, and glides towards the pen, his preditorial instincts taking over.

<< I'm hungry! >> trills Eilanth, moving forward at R'ken's question. Myca just chuckles and offers Nasmyth a companionable scritch as he enfolds R'ken. "I see. Bets can be very... interesting."

Sebayeth rumbles a softly eager response at that, then angles her neck to watch the departing Pakath. <<Food getting? The chase comes...>> Pure pleasure.
Cor grins, but gives Deinha a reasonably sympathetic look. "Sorry, I was just explaining to Khanueth. He asked why. You know him, he's always asking why."

Deinha smiles over at Cor, only a bit weakly, and nods understanding. "Sebayeth's like that." <<Questions are good.>> "And I am, too. I just don't like this particular subject much." The girl shrugs, then looks up to the sky, briefly.

In the feeding grounds, Pakath glides towards the beasts in question, jaws wide and snapping brightly. The poor animals run in terror, but all in the same direction for some silly reason, and Pakath looks much satisfied by this. << All ready! Who goes first? >>

Drekyn relaxes marginally - good answer, 'Ken - and turns to adress Deinha. "Blood and guts are a fact of life. Hah, they practically /are/ life; it'd do all of you a world of good to get used to them. Besides, you've all seen wherries chopped up into little bits before. Now you'll see them chopped up into /big/ bits, or sliced, or shredded, or however else your dragon decides to eat." << Swallowed, >> comes Zatmenith's contented answer. "Now, Zat, you /know/ the bones stick in your throat.

Deinha looks immediately back to the sky, regardless. Hush, hush, hush. "Hush....Er...oops." Louder, "Of course!" Note that she's still looking straight up. That has to hurt one's neck after a while....

Khanueth rumbles, too. All this talk of food has made him <<Hungry.>> "Yes, Khanueth, that's why we're having you hunt, so you won't be hungry anymore." She grins at Drekyn. "Not too many people who haven't spent much time in slaughterhouses are that used to such things."

R'ken assures helpfully, "You'll get used to it. It might take a little while, but there's rarely a person who takes the actual kill well. I know I didn't." Ooh, yes, did he mention sicking up? Nasmyth's head swivels to regard Eilanth with a blink or two, before he nods. << You may go first. From the -ground-, >> he adds stermly. << And choose one and -get- that one. Driving them all willy-nilly is no good. >>

Jharzeth is eager to begin, and quickly lets all know, chiming in with an insistant: << Me! >> He slinks closer, or as close to slinking as a big bronze body can possibly do, and eyes Pakath intently. << Me me me. >>

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth hints a smoky blue your way <<Will you try it now? Mine seems to prefer I wait a moment.>> Amusement at that, in softer yellow, before the deep umber shade returns, urging <<Here it comes...>> Herdbeasts, brown and blurry, scamper across in a vaguely surreal fashion, sharpening here and there at random. to Jharzeth

Eilanth trills prettily at Nasmyth by way of thanks and then moves eagerly into the feeding grounds. << Of course on the ground. There's no water here. >> she blithely confirms.

In the feeding grounds, Pakath pushes forward on his wingsails, sending the pack launching in Eilanth's general direction. << Stupid things! >> He announces, to all and no one at all, blithely turning around a little to make it just slightly more difficult. << Just try and grab one, Eilanth. >> Pretty green.

Drekyn actually took hers rather well, bloodthirsty bluerider that she is, but she's not about to mention that /now/. P'uking at your dragon's first kill seems almost like a badge of honor, in present company. "If you have trouble catching," she calls to the weyrlings, Zatmenith's echo just a few beats behind, "try moving slowly and deliberately. A lot of beasts are too stupid to run away from something that isn't moving very quickly, even if that 'something' is as big as a dragon." << Or has as many teeth. >>

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Jharzeth sharpens smoke into clear-cut realities of cerulean; smatterings of red join the fray, scattered every which-way with haphazard delight. Blood red. << I want to--but /she/ is. >> Distain cuts through, although a guilty edge quickly sweeps it away into the chaotic swirls of /color/. << Mine too. I want. Now. He--he doesn't. >> to Sebayeth

Cor nods. "There isn't much dumber than a herdbeast, unless it's a wherry," is her comment. "And I sometimes think they're having a continual stupid contest." <<Slow and deliberate>>

In the feeding grounds, This business of actually having to catch her food has the green a bit puzzled and the stampeeding pack takes her aback for a few moments. She watches the beasts and doesn't even try chasing them at the start. Instead she manuevers into the middle of the grounds and watches them circle around her on their rampage. Then as Myca's shifting nervously and some are looking impatient, she makes a mighty (to her) jump and tries grabbing a beast. She manages to knock it over, but before she can dispatch it, it rights itself and runs away.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth tilts blood red into flowing rivulets, almost playfully. <<Isn't that odd?>> And a careless wash of green flickers over thoughts of Eilanth <<She is not very successful; we will learn from her mistakes.>> Spiced-berry pleasure at that, though without malice. << Watch >> And she recedes, gently, with one last brush of maroon-streaked brown, just barely gilded in her own ever-present warmth. to Jharzeth

S'ara leans against a fence post, eyeing Pakath and Eilanth with a short bob of her head. "Be easy Pakath, sweets. Nice and easy." The brown chuffs, but alters his flight path, and leads the milling animals back towards Eilanth. << Just reach out! Easy! >>

Khanueth watches Eilanth hunt, staring intently. He's going to be out there, soon. "Yes, very soon," Cor mutters, her own eyes intent.

Sebayeth looks towards the feeding grounds with some great amount of interest, even as Deinha keeps her eyes focused upward. <<Interesting technique, but it wasn't dazed enough...>> Deinha's gaze shifts a little farther away.

In the feeding grounds, There's a gleam in Eilanth's eyes and a determined look on her muzzle. This seems to have become a challenge now and she darts her head out to bite at a passing beast, and misses. She growls low in her chest and waits for the milling group to come near again and this time she manages to bowl a beast over with a hard knock of her head and then she's there to tear out its throat, a triumphant bugle filling the air. << MINE >> Mindful of the order to clear off to one side, she engulfs the beast with her mouth and stomps over to one corner to feast.

In the feeding grounds, << Very good, Eilanth >> states Pakath approvingly. << Very good. Who is next? >>

R'ken does eventually pad away from Nasmyth, keeping up the constant marching to try and get -warm-. It doesn't do terribly much good. << Well caught, Eilanth. Yes, going for the throats is the easiest thing, >> he adds for the rest of them. << While it -is- fun to play, sometimes, your lifemates may not care for it this early on. >> "Yes, who next?" Ken demands. "I should actually get a list of names, and draw them," he admits as an aside to Drekyn and S'ara. "It'd probably be easier." << Sebayeth, was it you who spoke after Eilanth? >> Or is he just being male and giving the females first go? Well.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Jharzeth agrees with bemused strains--stains--of cerise. <<We will do better,>> he states simply, matter-of-factly. <<And it will be good.>> But he watches, fading away with dwindling hints of vermilion. to Sebayeth

Jharzeth nearly pounces on Nasmyth's train of thought, although it's more of a mental explosion than any sort of physical movement. << Me! I said it first.>>

Sebayeth emits a bright little trumpet as well, but a rumble of hunger follows quickly enough. <<Good pick>> is her only comment, though, until addressed by Nasmyth. A surprised tint to voice indicates that <<No, I had not. Jharzeth hungered, though...>> A fading thought, giving one the chance to eat. If he hurries.

Khanueth listens. <<The throats.>>

Nasmyth cants his head, then, as R'ken smirks back at him. Though a smirk from that -outfit- really doesn't do terribly well. << Jharzeth, then. Hunt quickly. Remember, off to the side once you make the kill, >> he reminds.

Deinha heaves a sigh of relief, over in her little section. Sebayeth merely gives a draconic shrug, gold hues shimmering faintly, and waits, tail flicking back and forth.

Jharzeth's elation becomes audible as he voices a throaty trumpet, stomping on over to the feeding grounds. Puo, left behind on the outskirts of the group of weyrlings and assistant weyrlingmasters, winces.

In the feeding grounds, Jharzeth is happy. Oh yes. He sets off at a reasonably good clip, regretfully remarking, <<Too bad we can't fly.>> All the more blood and guts and /mess/. Neverless, he eyes those beasties hungrily, and stampedes down on them, clearly enjoying the bawls of terror which are the result. But there's just too many to choose from, and he spins from pursuit of one dappled herdbeast to stomp after another before chasing down another, scattering the gathered herd in the process. He plays.

Nasmyth watches for a few moments, then breaks in with a stern, << Choose one, snap it, then off to the side to eat. Your clutchmates would like to do the same. >> Then, a touch more gently, << You will have time for picking and choosing later, even playing, when there are not so many waiting. >>

Sebayeth watches, as before, with such keen level of interest that she may as well be taking notes.

In the feeding grounds, Jharzeth may not be too happy with the instructions, but he obeys after a dismaying rumble, selecting a poor, terrified herdbeast to hunt down. And hunt down he does, merciless in his loping chase. It ends with bunched muscles propelling him towards his target which is left without the time to change course or put on a burst of speed. The beast's efforts are in vain, and the bronze lands heavily upon its back, which snaps with an audible crunching of bone. And there's blood, oh yes--and Jharzeth delights in it with a nearly innate sense of a hunter's victory. << This is Right. >> he tells all, and especially his poor white-faced lifemate. Hunt finished, he undaintily carries off the gushing carcass, sans a mess of bloody muck left right in the middle of the grounds.

Deinha winces, face turning from sky to her lap as she folds her arms and rests her head across her wrists, across her lap. "Go away...." is the scarcely audible murmur, and Sebayeth croons encouragingly at her lifemate before looking back to the grounds. <<Good mess. Nice crunchies.>> Deinha moans.

Cor shakes her head. "Don't be as messy as his, Khanueth, if you please. Neatness counts." <<With who?>> "With me."

O'kano, pale, gulps. "Gross," he mutters with disgust, turning his gaze away from the scene in the pens where Jharzeth greedily, joyfully devours his kill. "Gross. No! Don't you dare share it with me. /Ew/." A pause, then Puo fiercely tells his confused lifemate, muttering under his breath, "No, I don't understand. And yes, ripping and tearing /is/ nasty and gross--can't you just eat nicely? Cleanly? That's the way real Lords and all do it. Not like you." Jharzeth just snorts from within the pens, and O'kano blanches again. <<I'm the best.>>

Nasmyth agrees with a brief rumble towards the fields, mantling wings and dipping head to nip at R'ken's hair. "Stopit," is the brownrider's grumble as he moves away. "Puo, are you going to be all right?" Look, maybe the dress made him nicer! Or something. He seems actually concerned of the bronzeling's well-being. "Just grit your teeth and bare it. If you can not be ill at me in a dress, that should be nothing." Right. He makes his rounds of a few of the other weyrlings, pausing to pat Deinha's shoulder on his way. No, he hasn't forgotten what he's wearing, but -- << Now, Sebayeth? Remember, quick kill, if you can. >>

Deinha will agree with O'kano this time. As soon as she dares lift her head and speak, at any rate.

Sebayeth rumbles a pleased <<Oh, yes.>> And Deinha gives a faint, "Mmmm" in response to the pat -- knowing better than to look up for more reason than one. <<I try now. Food.>> And so the gold makes her way to the feeding grounds.

"I keep /telling/ you," mutters Drekyn to R'ken, out of the corner of her mouth, "you do /not/ look bad. Pretty good, in fact, for a guy in a dress." That'll boost his confidence, ayup. "I still think the boots were a mistake."

Nasmyth rises smoothly and pads towards the fencing, snapping blissfully at a few beasts who've clumped near. << Head to her, >> he sing-songs at the less-than-understanding herd animals. << The quicker, the less the rest of you have to run. >> R'ken, a bit sheepish, scrubs at his arms - to try and rub heat back into them - before returning to Drekyn. "Yeah. But y'know, a lot of folks don't go for guys in dresses, and certainly not something as revealing as this. I'll be lucky if any lass looks at me for a few turns." Then, decidedly hushed, he notes, "Remind me to never make a 'bet' with you again." Yes, he does seem to come out on the losing end quite a lot.

In the feeding grounds, Sebayeth pauses there, surveying the meat...err, creatures. As she watches, waiting, one plumpish beast stumbles in its panic. <<There.>> A gathering of haunches sends ripples of light along her hide, and then she lopes forward on over-large feet, using those to her advantage as she makes chase after the one just as it begins to run anew. Stride, stride, gather, jump: *thump* And Sebayeth has knocked the rather defenseless critter down, talon just catching in the beast's throat. <<Oooh... It ... burbled!>> is her description of the rather nasty splurt of blood.

"Pity," Drekyn murmurs, and she can't - quite - resist a little smirk. "There's a lovely red outfit, got a fuzzy shawl you'd quite like. Gloves, too." But she relents, partially because she really /isn't/ evil incarnate (just evil incarnate's apprentice), but mostly because of Sebayeth's beast. "Hey, there!" she calls, raising her voice. "That's the best part - next time, try not to break skin except with your teeth, hmm? Then you'll be able to catch it all."

Cor's nostrils flare and her nose wrinkles as the beast's throat is slit. "Oh, that's just lovely."

O'kano grumbles, "I /am/ sick at you in a dress." He says it quietly, though, in the hopes that Drekyn doesn't overhear--she's famed for her punishments. And he doesn't like the idea of running around in the weyrling grounds with nothing on.

Drekyn isn't paying much attention to P'uke, fortunately, or else there might be yet another 'mess' out there on the sands. She does, however, glance suspiciously at him when her ears manage to convince her brain that he said something. "Don't make me come over there, P'uke," she says, on the grounds that he must have said /something/ nasty. He's P'uke. "We still need people to clean up the fields when this is all over."

In the feeding grounds, Sebayeth doesn't seem to mind missing part of it, as she's still giving excited comments over the blood flow, even as she drags her beast off to the sides somewhere. <<That wasn't so hard, though. Next time I'll bite.>>

Deinha isn't taking this too well, though at least she hasn't lost her own meal yet. Instead, she merely buries her head further into her arms, eyes shut tight beneath. If anyone were standing close enough, they'd hear the quiet mantra: "It's not me. I'm not there. Not on me. Not there..." Shudder. Continue the quiet talk.

O'kano tries his hand at an innocent smile, although the queasiness associated with Jharzeth's kill and the general mess doesn't do his expression much good. Although it doubtfully detracts from his normal facial features; with or without the desire to vomit, his smiles, when not genuine--as they rarely are--aren't too pleasant. "I'm not doing anything. Really."

"You're being ill," says Drekyn flatly. "Anyone can see that. /Doing/ is one thing - saying's another." She sidles closer to R'ken, and mutters out of the corner of her mouth - quietly enough that, with any luck, no-one else will hear - "What, exactly, /did/ he say?"

Cor rolls her eyes at P'uke's lies and looks around. Who's next? <<Me or Amentith.>>

Nasmyth bobs his head along with agreement, slanting Drekyn a brief look. << You should go hunting some time, in place of Zatmenith. You would make a good dragon. >> R'ken, ever helpful, suggests, "I bet he -should- have to help clean up the fields. He probably made some insult to my -fab- dress -- though I'm not sure what he said, to be honest." Oh, that's just struck his pride so hard. But he does keep eyes on Deinha - soft spot as he has for females in distress. "Are you going to be all right?" Myth pads back, stretching out briefly to whuffle at the lass. "Khanueth?" << Amentith? >> "Look, just 'cause you insist on being the gentleman..." A puff. << Khanueth. >>

In the feeding grounds, Sebayeth tilts her head up from heardbeast, muzzle tipped in a glistening red not at all her own. Confusion gives the young dragon need to pause her feasting and voice a question <<Meat is good? No need for illness?>> Concern and alarm just beginning to work their way into her eyes, despite hunger, she waits a terse moment in confusion.

Jharzeth> Sebayeth tilts her head up from heardbeast, muzzle tipped in a glistening red not at all her own. Confusion gives the young dragon need to pause her feasting and voice a question <<Meat is good? No need for illness?>> Concern and alarm just beginning to work their way into her eyes, despite hunger, she waits a terse moment in confusion.

O'kano protests weakly, "I'm not ill." Really. But with Jharzeth gleefully lets him in on another 'glory' of hunting, he pales again. "/Hush/! I don't want to hear."

Khanueth can be gentlemanly, too. <<Amentith can go first, if she likes>> he says gallantly. Yes, he's been taking gentleman lessons from Cor.

"I'm not sure quite how to take that, Nasmyth," Drekyn admits, peering at the dragon. Zatmenith, admittedly, isn't exactly the picture of the perfect hunter - he's curled up, tail over his eyes, and quite deeply asleep even through the hunting sounds going on all around him. To R'ken, "Sounds good to me. P'uke," she snaps, "I don't like your attitude." That's true enough, at least. "You and L'azy can clean the field today." L'azy looks up from dozing against Sloth's side with a guilty start. "Who, me? I didn't do anything!" "Exactly."

Caught midflutter. Well, caught unawares, as Amentith's been admiring herself, peeking back over her shoulder at her reddish stripes which had only been freshly oiled. With a disdainful sniff at her clutchsisters, the green cranes her neck about to regard Khanueth with a faint air of admiration. << You are kind then. >> she snorts softly, sticking her muzzle up in the air. << We will go first, then. >> With a bound to her feet, the green slinks towards the feeding grounds in what she assumes is her regal walk.

Deinha looks up, finally, one finger reaching faintly toward 'Myth. "In a moment. Maybe." And suddenly, the girl's expression clears a bit. "She's just sending that .. nasty ..Ugh!" Her face wrinkles, nose scrunching, at the apparently bloody sendings. And then Deinha mutters, quickly, "No, no, the meat's fine. I just like mine cooked, and not all ... fresh like that..." This apparently in response to her lifemate, though the girl *might* simply be rambling. She's still looking rather unhappily pale.

"But...but...that's not fair!" O'kano glowers, forgetting his discomfort, and plants hands upon hips defiantly. "No. I didn't do anything. And besides -- I'm sick. How can you expect me to clean /that/--" he gestures towards the grounds before standing akimbo again "--when I'm liable to throw up what I ate earlier? I won't do it."

"Sure you will," Drekyn says mildly. "I know this, because it's better than the alternatives. How'd you like to have Jhar's leftovers for a sevenday or two? It's still cleaning the grounds," she adds, with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "In a way."

In the feeding grounds, Amentith moves forward, stalking a hapless herdbeast like a feline might stalk an unwary tunnelsnake. Naturlally, she's ready to hunt, it's her nature to act superior to her clutchsibs, green though she might be. And if they can hunt well, then so can she. But it's not to be as the sunset-green lunges forwards, alerting her prey at the last moment. Woosh, there goes the young dragon with the herdbeast heading in the other direction.

In the feeding grounds, Sebayeth waits long enough for her own satisfaction, then digs in. Still, she seems to be keeping some small bit of attention on the others' hunting. <<Keep trying>> is the faint thought, echoed by what's meant to be an encouraging <<The blood's hot, fresh like this>>

Nasmyth pauses doubtfully, glances to Ken, back to Drekyn, then suggests, << Take it as a compliment. >> It's safer that way. "Dragons," mutters Ken wryly to Deinha. "Perfect creatures, all-loving -- to the point that they think you should share -everything-. Unfortunately." He simply winces at O'kano, not -quite- stifling a snicker, before imploring coldly of Drekyn (because he -is- cold, not with the frosty tone), "Can I head in now? Please, Drekky? I'm -coold-. I've done my part."

O'kano looks sick. "Gross. Ew. No way." Jharzeth quickly corrects him: <<Not gross. Good. Right. Tasty.>> "Whatever." <<Why can't we have leftovers?>> "/No/." The weyrling tries again. "I didn't do anything--say anything--to deserve this. I think I should head to the Healers. Right now."

"And I think you should /stay put/," Drekyn snaps, at P'uke. At R'ken's question, she actually looks a bit disappointed. "We-ell..." She glances around at the feeding grounds. The lovely, /messy/ feeding grounds. "I suppose," she says reluctantly. She does, however, reach up to brush the material on R'ken's shoulder. P'uke bags are by the door. "You ought to try it again sometime, though. Horizon broadening, an' that." It's probably the 'and that' she's more interested in. Poor, lonely Drek in her poor, lonely weyr. Sniff. And now, back to P'uke. "You said /something/, and knowing you, I truly doubt if it was nice. And you're /not/ going to the Healer's, because if I had a mark for every weyrling that wanted to go to the healers to get out of chores, I'd have enough to carpet the Weyr. If you don't do your duties," she adds sweetly, "your graduation can be postponed. Even more time to enjoy doing chores."

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth spirals liqui-red stickiness your way, fascinated. Mind presence almost viscuous in itself, she oozes the sanguine tones briefly, then brightens to a more coppery <<Good eating? Your meal was frightened.>> A hint of reproval, washed quickly away by something else. Curiosity. <<Was playing enjoyable?>> to Jharzeth

Cor watches Amentith hunt, sending admiration Khanueth's way and ignoring P'uke and Drekyn for the moment. "Very gallant of you, Khanueth. I'm proud of you."
In the feeding grounds, Amentith is not to be out done! Oh no. Digging in, the green gallantly tears off after the fleeing herdbeast. << Run all you want, beast. >> comes her running commentary. << In the end, we will have you. >>

Jharzeth> Amentith is not to be out done! Oh no. Digging in, the green gallantly tears off after the fleeing herdbeast. << Run all you want, beast. >> comes her running commentary. << In the end, we will have you. >>

"Yeah, maybe, but I make no promises." R'ken -does- though cover the hand with his own - definantly need those P'uke bags - and leans down to whisper something (quite teasingly) prior to making his hurried exit. "Keep an eye, Myth. Weyrlings, don't send Drekyn into a conniption..." That's his job, after all.

Cor snaps out of her interest in Amentith's hunt long enough to send R'ken an innocent look. "Who us?"

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Jharzeth seeps sticky, sappy, steaming scarlet, tinged with the pure emotion of joy. <<Very good.>> Primal happiness sweeps away the gory hues, and darkens to a more solid, burnished mahogany. <<Fright is good. Comes with play. And play--just as good as the eating.>> But he has manners and a general congeniality, and follows up with his own question. <<How was yours?>> to Sebayeth

Drekyn smirks, and whispers her own reply, even if she has to stand on tip-toe to do it. Ah, the joys of being short. "Now, now, don't tease them," she calls towards Amentith. "That's just cruel."

"No, no -- you don't get it," Puo insists. "I'm /sick/. This is gross. I can't handle it. I need to see a healer. Now." But he eventually subsides, and resorts to a woe-is-me facial expression. "You just don't like me," he mumbles. Mutters. "So that's why I've got to stay when I'm going to pass out or something."

<*Jharzeth*> Sebayeth ripples amusement at Amentith's chase, though not in a harsh way. <<Dominate, Amentith! You are bigger. You are better.>> Her paler hues of encouragement are undertoned by the rush of browns, reds, bloody, muddy shades of fresh meat. to her neighboring dragons.

In the feeding grounds, Amentith is brought up short by the sound of the Assistant Weyrlingmaster's voice, letting out a snort of annoyance as her prey slips a little. A pause, and the green springs, but woe betide her for the green midjudges her leap, hopping right over the herdbeast to land nearly smack-dab on her nose.

Kaeralla groans softly. "Why, she's so eager to show everyone up. And just look at her." A shake of the Weyrling's head. "C'mon darling, you xan do it."

<*Jharzeth*> Amentith gives a brief flare of golden-red snapping across the dark green-tinged blacks of her mindvoice. A rustle of wings. << I will dominate. >> she growls, more gold-red streaks-signs of her anger- flaring forth. to her neighboring dragons.

<*Jharzeth*> Jharzeth radiates crimsoned approval, and he echoes: <<Dominate!>> Oh yes. <<Kill 'em good.>> to his neighboring dragons.

"Exactly, P'uke," Drekyn says brightly. "Now, if you tried harder to be likeable, or even tried at all, you wouldn't get picked out for these chores anymore, hmm? Something to think about, certainly."

O'kano mopes, heels dragging and the like. "But that's not at all fair," he insists petulantly -- don't expect a personality change anytime soon.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Sebayeth answers in a rush of warmth, just under overwhelming. <<Goooood. But I did miss some of the eating.>> Disappointment is flushed out by an eager <<Playing might be fun, maybe. The blood splurted>> A flourish of red echoes the word, then wipes away neatly. <<Mine doesn't like that, though.>> to Jharzeth

"'Course it's not," Drekyn replies cheerfully. "Never has been. /You/ can always become an assistant weyrlingmaster if you don't like it." Now /there/'s something to wish on the future classes.

<*Jharzeth*> Privately, Jharzeth basks in that warmth, adding his own, tainted with his distinctive ruddy coloring. <<There's always next time,>> he consoles. <<And it will be good.>> Spurt! to Sebayeth

<*Jharzeth*> Amentith projects << @emit Whoa boy, it's a lot of streaks of golden-red as Amentith's anger flares brief, hot and high. << I will dominate, and I will kill! >> she snarls. << But I won't be able to concentrate with side chatter. >> >> to her neighboring dragons.