Training Grounds

A broad and sheltered swoop of bowl lies bare for the talons and tread of countless weyrlings that-will-be, encased by stone scoured and scarred by those-that-were. Dirt lies as neatly as dirt can lie, swept and raked daily, at the mouth of the caverns that must indubitably be the weyrling barracks. Devoid of decoration, the place stands strangely absent of pressence when empty, the everpresent wind of Southern giving strange acoustics to those under the shelter of the towering bowl-wall.

It is the seventy-sixth day of Spring and 94 degrees. It is sunny and bright. The skies are clear.

It is not sunny or bright at this cusp of day-end, in fact Rukbat's set over the Weyr caldera some time ago. The air still has its usual stickiness and A'kehm rubs some fingers against his palms that feel like they've already sweated. « Formation practice, » the grasses of Ahiardhath's steppe mindscape combed by cooling winds. « In the dark. You rely more on communication and other senses that way. Assemble in the grounds outside, Beta formation. » There's no way A'kehm is instructing all umpteen weyrlings, just a manageable twenty-five or so, enough to compose a fighting wing. The designation is a random one left for Ahiardhath to generate. The assistant weyrlingmaster is mounted in the position of wingleader, enough to give him a taste of privilege. He's watching over his shoulder as the group assemble. A thumb twitches to an insistent beat inside his head.

Formation practice: it's not just for those destined for fighting wings! And while queens technically do fly in their own wing, it's a different animal entirely. Still, it's a good practice to get into for general teamwork and that appeals deeply to the small gold. Theidith answers that mental call with a flourish of jungle growth, vines and flowers springing up in those grasses by way of greeting. « We shall be there, Noble One. » And it's not long before the gold ambles out to join the others trickling to the grounds, straps in place, while Ulrika lopes alongside her. Salutes are offered as appropriate, the former guard's expression one of utter seriousness. While the gold can't really bounce on her feet, there is a slight flex of wings and a wriggle of tail that hints at the energy that's just barely contained within her.

From the Weyrling barracks entrance, a summoned pair reluctantly slink out. The dim light allows for even Wryath's bright gold to be subdued in the shadows, her straps already on. At her side, Ryott ambles along, not looking too pressed for time, exiting a few moments after Ulrika and Theidith. There's a grudging salute for A'kehm and his bronze before they move to take take up a position behind the werylingmaster, letting others slip in front of her as she drags her feet a bit, once she's happy with her spot, she hops up onto Wrayth's foreleg, inspects her straps real quick and then climbs aboard to begin the painstaking task of remembering which strap goes where, something the gold weyrling hasn't quite gotten the hang of yet and so it takes her some time. This one snaps here, then that one goes over the leg,

Behind Ryott and Wrayth ambles a bronzeling pair. Straps in place, Kazuth's soon in place followed by Do'rn who snaps a salute to A'kehm. Kazuth stands, waiting as Do'rn goes over the straps once more to make sure that everything is as they should be.

"The spacial sense of your dragons," A'kehm's actual shout is a clarion call full with the vocal briars of the Ice Field. Those V's and R's are especially sharp. "Is better than ours. They can thank flight for that." And possibly Kitty Ping. "Formations are all about know not only where you are but where you are in relation to everyone else. Flying Thread requires you to maintain your position in the wing while identifying falling clumps, follow orders, avoiding ash and debris, recognizing pain in yourselves and your dragons, and staying airborne. If you're wetting your uniforms at least know your dragons are smarter than you and can— come here," instructing Ahiardhath to swing his head to the side. A'kehm points to the convex shape of the bronze's eye, facets a phenominal green. "See a lot more than you can. But you also have to help process it all. And to help with that is F'zall and I. As you walk the ground formation through the bowl, we'll be tossing some of these at you," a green fruit is held up roughly the size of an orange. "Don't eat them, they're for demonstrational purposes only and are underripe. They will give you watery bowels for at least three days. We'll be tossing them at you, and you can toss them at each other while maintaining your spot. Mount up." An arm at his shoulder joint flares up.

And no chucking, Ryott.

"Understood, Sir." The Istan blonde salutes again, then mounts up - there's nothing fancy about it, though. Ulrika's a creature of efficiency at her core, and she's been practicing plenty. Once settled and rigged in properly, she cuts a look to some of the other weyrling pairs readily within range; Ryott and Do'rn, both, are nodded to in acknowledgement, before her regard shifts forward again. Once situated, she'll wait for the eventual command to move; until then, though? Theidith will be rooted to the spot, her tail still twitching and moving with an increase of energy. Her head swings a little, mirroring Ulrika's own glancing, but mostly to make sure that everyone is in position and doing well.

Already tucked between Wrayth's neckridges, Ryott finishes clipping herself in and strapping herself down finally confident she's well secured to her queen's neck and no amount of shennanigans from her unpredictable lifemate will dislodge her….surely. "Yeah, sure," Ryott mumbles at A'kehm's instructions, passing the information on to Wrayth, especially about the fruits not being edible. The gold's obsession with apples is more than enough to deal with at present. « Fine…Are you sure they'll miss us if we go to the beach instead? Just walking around with you on my back is boring. » Gee, thanks. « Not what I meant and you know it. C'mon, it's dark enough, no one will see. » Yeah, I'm not getting extra chores just cause you're bored. Suck it up. With a loud exhalation from the larger of the gold dragonets, she seems to resign herself to her boring fate, the market of her mind all closed up for business, tents with flaps drawn, lanterns extinguished, even with the red glow that pulses through it, it's an eerily abandoned place. Finally, the teen weyrwoman-in-training calls a clipped, "Ready." to no one in particular.

"Sir," is all Do'rn says as he mounts up. Nothing fancy, simply taking the most efficient means of settling himself between two neck ridges. From there Do'rn fastens the riding straps. A nod is returned to Ulrika when he notices the goldling glance at him with a nod. Be still, Kazuth, Do'orn silently urges of his bronze as the bronze's muscles bunch in preperation to move, I mean it, Kaz. Keep still until we are given command to move. Kazuth gives a soft snort, but the young dragon does as he's told. There is a part of the bronze that senses the importance of listening here.

A'kehm's position in the front makes him both leader and prime assailant. But the three crates of fruit tethered behind him is in an awkward spot to be throwing, so he very carefully manipulates his seating to draw a knee and leg fully around to make him face backward. With a fondle of his short, scrappy beard, he allows Ahiardhath to start walking at a pace the growing dragons can handle. Picking up one of the fruit, A'kehm tosses the first one to Ulrika and F'zall, out of formation on the sidelines with Risreth, is angling for the greenrider in front of Do'rn. "Stay sharp!"

She wants to move faster, she does, but Ulrika's expression hardens again whatever it is that Theidith shares. The blonde briefly reaches to press knuckles to the side of her gold's neck, then settles back, shifting slightly when the diminutive gold starts ambling along in time with the much larger bronze's set pace. When the green fruit is lobbed her way, Theidith tilts her head a little to watch its course, which very nearly throws Ulrika off of her fruit-catching game. It'll take some adjusting to use the gold's inputs to make sense of just where that fruit is in the air! Still, the Istan reaches out, fingers tapping the fruit and, with more luck than skill, she manages to properly swat it into a position where she can catch it. She twists a little in her seat and, while Theidith continues to move forward (or so she hopes), she aims to toss the fruit at one of the nearest pairs to her.

When they start moving with the rest of the formation, Ryott fights the urge to slump down in her seat, shoulders curved inwards, instead throwing them back and keep her back straight. She watches, through her own senses and Wrayth's, as the fruits start getting lobbed around. Thankfully she doesn't have one aimed at her, and that will suit her just fine, instead letting her mind drift a little thinking, imagining that they weren't just walking around the training grounds, but high in the sky, wind rushing around them. The thought curls the corners of Ryott's lips just a little bit as she gets lost in her daydreams for the moment. Probably not a smart move, but we'll see how it plays out for her.

The rider of the green barely managed to catch the tossed fruit, then turned to toss it on. Do'rn kept his eyes on those around him, while also paying attention to the information Kazuth sent his way. The green fruit that is tossed their way is caught, but only just then Do'rn's tossing it on towards the blue to his left. A silent correction for their positioning is given to the bronze, « Watch it, » Kazuth gives to the green ahead.

It's also a fine line for A'kehm and F'zall to not flood the weyrlings with more fruit than they can readily distribute even as some of it's missed and ocassionally falling to the ground. At least a little citrus smell is better than dung. "Oooe, right to the face." A'kehm says to himself, observing someone getting lobbed in the forehead. "This is why rocks, though more common, were our number two choice." As true dark begins to blossom, Weyrfolk light some braziers evenly scattered about the bowl, the flames fed with slower burning green wood. Lookout Ryott, stay on your proverbial toes! A brownrider behind is aiming for the goldrider. And Ahiardhath is making the sharpest left turn they're able to maneuver, his prowling gait now hugging the Weyr wall.

Another fruit is caught, courtesy of another weyrling pair, only to be passed along - Ulrika aims much further back, though, twisting around to angle her throw for a greenrider pair that's a good dragonlength behind. It's a good throw, but the catch is flubbed, and the poor green ends up with fruit bouncing off of her shoulder. The blonde winces briefly, but quickly steels her expression again. She faces forward again, just in time for Theidith to declare, « Incoming! » a split second before a fruit hits her weyrling rider's shoulder. The impact is solid, the fruit thrown harder than the brownrider (probably) intended. There's a grimace where the fruit splits and oozes on her shirt, but there's nothing to be done for it. Good, but a little sooner next time, aye? « I shall do better! » The split fruit is tossed to the ground; better than throwing it at someone and getting that citrus juice in their face, after all!

Watching the misforture of the others is definitely distracting Ryott and Wrayth both from the tedium of the task at hand. Wrayth sees the incoming fruit lobbed at them from that brownrider first and transfers an image of it coming towards them to her weyrling rider. Turning just in time, the teen puts her hands up to shield her face and manages to catch it after a moment of panic where it bounces from hand to hand, slipping from fumbling fingers. Finally with a firm grip on the offending projectile, Ryott considers who she should throw it to. When her gaze lands on the other goldling, her smirk momentarily deepens as she watches the ex-guard miss and she doesn't hesitate to toss her fruit in Ulrika's direction.

« Incoming! » Kazuth says as a green fruit sails towards Do'rn and the bronze. Do'rn, much as he'd like to say otherwise, missed the incoming fruit. Thanks for that, is Do'rn's sarcastic, and silent reply to his bond. There's a snicker from somewhere to his right, but it's ignored. At least the fruit hadn't been more than a sting.

F'zall is almost out of fruit and the bluerider, temporarily grounded by a scoring, is thoroughly enjoying this volunteer service. "Not a bad bunch of eggs!" In time he motions to A'kehm he's empty, crate flipped upside down with a hand gesture to go with it. A'kehm, still with one crate left to go, holds further chucking and sends a sliver of thought to Ahiardhath. "Frest formation!" The AWLM barks, a favorite of some Weyrleader somewhere long dead named F'rest. This one's shaped like an X with the two leading legs a dragon or two shorter than the hind spots. A'kehm sends his last pitch to Do'rn and its coming up rather high.

There's a rolling of that shoulder to test it - and the accompanying wince suggests that the brownrider definitely wasn't playing nice about it. Fortunately, this time, Theidith's a little more on the ball - or fruit? - and is quicker to relay the incoming throw from Ryott. Ulrika abandons her right arm for now out of necessity and reaches to catch the fruit with her left hand instead. It's not a pretty catch, but it is caught and held up briefly to check for any splits in the skin of it. Satisfied, she sucks her teeth and briefly looks as if she'll throw it to another pair, but the formation shifts and she adjusts accordingly, with Theidith attentively taking up her place in this new formation without question or hesitation. With the confusion, Ulrika aims to toss the fruit right back to Ryott, adjusting (or doing her best to adjust) for where the other goldling will end up.

Ryott tries not to look too dissapointed when Ulrika manages to catch the fruit tossed her way, for one, she doesn't really have the time to because A'kehm calls out the formation changed. She prods Wrayth into making the change, but the gold is being stubborn and she drags her feet as it were while shuffling out of the others' way. It's a sloppy transition indeed, with the teen mentally poking and prodding her queen with very little success. So absorbed is she in trying to persuade Wrayth to move quicker, that they both completely misse that fruit being lobbed back at her and it hits her square in theback of her head, sending her falling foward on Wrayth's neck, bracing herself on her palms. The knock is hard enough to send Wrayth to shaking her head at the shared impact. With a grit of her teeth, Ryott sits back up straight and gingerly rubs at the back of her head while looking around for who might have thrown that. In the meantime the rose-masked gold finally manages to find a spot in the new formation.

Kazuth and Do'rn move into the new formation, and the fruit is only just caught. This is lobbed at the green that had been in front of them. Do'rn is observing the progress of the others all the while keeping aware of the fruit that's being tossed around.

Ahiardhath's leading brings them back to the front of the barracks, the dust of his advent spread equally among those behind him. "Finally some sense knocked into you, hnn?" Kehm did smile when Ryott took one to her noggin because it was more than a little deserved. "Now you're loose to do whatever. I'm thirsty. Thanks, F'zall." Lifting a big hand to the healing bluerider. Carefully balancing one still full crate for tomorrow's session, the bronzerider unclasps several straps so he can dismount and land on the balls of his feet. The crate is pressed to his torso as he rummages through the fruit for any ripe ones.

The Istan tests her shoulder again, but her expression - this time - remains neutral. Theidith whuffs a bit, head tipped to a side with concern. But, then, Wrayth looks as if she's having a bit of distress and she glances that way to confirm what might have happened. Ulrika chances another fruit catch with her right hand, experimentally; the fruit is caught, but she's quick to shift if to her other hand, while her jaw tightens. So, it's good timing, then, that they're eventually brought collectively around to the barracks again. It spares her the indignity of Theidith reaching out (unnecessarily, to Ulrika's mind) to the elder bronze. The unripe fruit is considered, then tossed, left-handed, to a spot that seems to be collecting more of their kind. There is a glance to A'kehm for his words to Ryott, but she says nothing; instead, there's a salute, and then she carefully dismounts, relying a bit more heavily on her legs and left arm than she'd like. Down, off, and then unstrapping; with muttered reassurances offered to her lifemate. Really. She will go to the Infirmary. When she's done.

Do'rn catches one last fruit, and then the lot of weyrlings are being brought round to the front of the barracks and dismissed. Do'rn salutes before he unfastens himself from the riding straps to dismount. Once that's done, Do'rn starts to remove the riding straps from Kazuth. With that task done, the weyrling pair slip into the barracks one to sleep the other to collect clean clothing before heading off for a bath.

There is plenty of biting her tongue going on as Ryott continues to rub at the sore spot on the back of her head, especially when A'kehm makes his comment. It's a good thing it's dark, because the icy fury on the goldling's face is a frightful thing indeed. When they are fianlly dismissed, the teen rubs Wrayth's neck thoughfully. Beach? she asks, wanting to be anywhere that isn't the crowded weyrling barracks right then. « YES! » And with that, Wrayth slinks her body into a full 180 and happily bounds off towards the shore, Ryott's brooding intensifying as soon as she is away from people.

A'kehm didn't find any fruit in the crate worth having the runs for three days and he sets the crate absently on the ground for later moving. Six or seven weyrlings, the die-hards, continue practicing formations and they move off to seek more space. Ulrika's uneven exchange of weight catches his eye when she's taking the straps off Theidith and Ahiardhath hums a single note sequence. A'kehm, not going to call the weyrling out on it, thumps his hand against his dragon's foreleg. He thinks about having at least an indirect check-up with Ryott but like with Ulrika, thinks the women can handle themselves. As Do'rn retreats into the barracks, A'kehm picks up the crate and follows the drag mark from one of the dragonet's tails.