====October 25, 2013
====G'deon, H'ai
====A happy family reunion.

Who G'deon, H'ai
What A happy family reunion.
When Winter, 10 months and 21 days until the 12th Pass
Where Dragonhealer Yard, Igen Weyr

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Dragonhealer Yard

Painfully elegant, a stubborn brand of cleanliness is retained in the gentle colors of faded murals and various curtains hung from the rusted metal poles meant to shelter injured dragons on spacious couches lining the permanently soot-stained limestone walls. Of a dusty no-color somewhere between brown and gold, the floor extends onward, fading beneath ragged cabinets built to withstand anything from lashing draconic tails to various medicinal spills.


Sunset hasn't quite reached Igen's desert shores, but its close enough. However, H'ai isn't lurking about the Dragonhealer yard for his health, but rather for the health of his blue: Rhavinaeth's leg has suffered the injustice of having been scratched. Nothing serious, but the bluerider is conscientious enough to attend his dragon with the dragonhealers. Given that it's a relatively minor wound, the young man's been left to cool his heels while a young brown is getting attention. "I told you, flying would be a bad idea. That green is way too small for you," H'ai's statement is a touch sardonic as he leans nonchalantly against Rhavinaeth's side.

For much of the afternoon and evening, a certain aging rider and older, dark bronze have been spotted around the Igen area, both Hold and Weyr. The two have an aura of "visitor" about them, though mostly due to the grey-haired rider looking about him with open interest and curiosity. When they near the dragonhealing area, both rider and dragon seem to perk up slightly. "Ohhh, I like this," G'deon can be heard to say in his rumbling mellow voice, though slightly higher as his enthusiasm peeks. "So much attention to detail! Exquisite." The bronze gives a low, quiet hum that sounds distinctly of agreement, though what are murals and curtains to a dragon? He can appreciate the cleanliness, at least.

"Shush, they'll get to us when they get to us. It's your fault that you tried to take on that crazy brown," H'ai mutters, giving Rhavinaeth a look. However, it's the jolt of a familiar voice that pulls the bluerider out of the fog of his own troubles to lean out and peer around his blue's back haunch. "Granpa?" He clears his throat, expression carrying a hint of the little child he used to be. "Grandfather," he finally says with all the maturity of his twenty-two turns. Ahem.

While not an unfamiliar term for G'deon, when he tries to match it to a familiar voice and face, he fails. Wrinkled forehead wrinkles a little further as he turns toward H'ai in a searching sort of way. It is Nylanth, however, who connects the dots for him, going by Gid's sudden look to the bronze, then back to H'ai. And the blue. "Shai?" the old man asks quietly, uncertain, though he begins taking a few steps in the young man's direction. Once he's close enough to see his eyes, though, certainty shine through in a beaming, familiar smile. "Or something else?" G'deon asks, now taking in the appearance of Rhavinaeth, wound and all. "Lover's quarrel?" he asks a moment later, amusement evident.

"The greens here are feisty," H'ai starts off with, though he moves to give his grandfather a hug, tight one. Manly, too. "H'ai now. Just before the comet, about eight months before it? I got Searched and Impressed at Benden. I didn't tell anyone…" Regret laces the words, but it's tossed aside for a brighter look as the boy looks over G'deon. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." Turning to the blue that stands so proudly, the head dipping a little, "Rhavinaeth. He's a beauty, isn't he?" Though the question is rhetorical, some search for approval lies in the sediment beneath.

While his grandson does not explain why he didn't tell anyone, there is a genuine light of understanding in G'deon's eyes, a look of knowing. He grip's H'ai's shoulders tightly for a moment longer before letting go. "Oh, I can imagine," he says, smiling once more, regarding just how glad. "I was so torn. Family ahead. Family behind." He doesn't need to explain that struggle… right? When H'ai introduces Rhavinaeth, both G'deon and Nylanth turn their full attention to the blue. "Excellent lines," G'deon states, while Nylanth adds his own quiet approval. "Healthy shade, aside from that scrape." G'deon glances toward where the brown is still being attended, then motions toward Rhavinaeth's leg. "May I?"

Nylanth has both simplified and become more complex as the Turns have honed him. Scents take on a life of their own as he shares with Rhavinaeth those particular to his own homeland, now gone so many Turns, yet alive within him. Colors, however, have dimmed slightly. Or more accurately, they have blended into primaries, and shades of white, and black. « You are strong? » he asks in a deep voice. « You are good for one another? »

"Had to be my own man," H'ai mutters, even though G'deon didn't ask for an explanation, but he's grandfather and somethings you just don't leave left unsaid. The implication tangled up in this is the being his own man outside of being Il'ad's son and Sh'z's twin. "Of course. I trust him more with you than with — " The blue rider's lips press together, shying a glance towards the dragon healer that's working with the brown. Not that the healer is obviously unskilled, but that some skepticism is held. "It's … different here." The shadows are pushed aside for a happier look directed to his grandfather. Rhavinaeth preens a little at the elder bronze's perusal, warbling a musical trilling response before stretching out this leg where the scratch — obviously made from a talon — can be viewed. "Needless to say," the bluerider quips, "I didn't win."

"Once upon a time, I had to leave my home and Weyr to find my own way, too," G'deon shares, reaching out to rest a hand on H'ai's shoulder again. "And I, too, found my lifemate away from that home." Once H'ai gives his assent, G'deon excited moves toward Rhavinaeth, hands pressed together. "Hello, Rhavinaeth," he says genially, reaching out to rest the same hand from earlier on the blue's shoulder, instead. That done, he leans down to take a look at that leg. "It is indeed," the bronzerider agrees a moment later, voice low and quiet, either with caution or distraction. "Though, with some obvious anatomical difference, you and I seem to have something of an upper hand." This is immediately followed by a quiet hum, which H'ai may or may not recognize as the tune to one of the bawdier songs common to Oldtime High Reaches' cotholds. "Not so obvious," he interrupts his song to state, giving his grandson an amused little smirk. "Nyls there has come out of very successful flights looking a sharding lot worse. When was the flight?" The mentioned bronze has settled to a lounging position a few paces away, though his attention is still focused on the blue.

"I follow in your footsteps," H'ai comments, a warmth to his tone that suggests he's glad to be finding this connection with the older bronzerider. Rhavinaeth whuffles a gentle response to G'deon's greeting, the eyes whirling a serene blue though the scratch is deep enough to cause pain, but not so deep as to need stitches. "A few candlemarks ago," while distracted by that song - earning a quiet laugh - the bluerider isn't distracted when prompted for information on the flight. Or Incident, as it were. "We had to…" he waves a hand, "… swim it off." His eyes stray from his blue and grandfather to the very familiar bronze dragon. "We do have some of the upper hand." Contemplative, though, he adds: "The dragons — shards, the people here are strange."

"It is a strange land," G'deon agrees, leaning again to inspect the cut before straightening to look toward the other dragonhealer. More distracted now, he continues, "They needed us, and yet now we are here, half of them treat us like drudges. Or worse, like the scum the drudges clean." He turns to glance at H'ai, amusement fading quickly… until he smiles again. "But, I have a feeling all that will change very soon. Because they do need us." Plus, he's always been an optimist. "I need hot water to clean this, but I think you and Rhavinaeth will do just fine with fresh numbweed. Twice a day for the first three, then once a day until it closes."

"I'm waiting for that day, Grandfather," H'ai's intensity strengthens with this thought, a burning in brown eyes that can't be anything other than fervent. "They will need us. Our dragons are bigger and have more stamina. Rhavinaeth will be able to fly a whole Fall, just wait." Realizing that he's showing a little too much, H'ai runs his fingers through his hair and settles down, letting his hand to fall and rub the back of his neck. "Okay. That chick over there," he gestures vaguely in the direction of the brown, "has hot water, but it's surprisingly backwater here. Like this whole world went backwards. They pile their offal up in their side streets." Disease-nation. "Twice a day for three, then once a day until it's sealed. Gotcha."

"He very well could!" G'deon replies, giving Rhavinaeth another study, from tip to tail. "He's about as big as a brown, isn't he," follows, not really a question but an observation. "But," Gid cautions a moment later, turning a more sober look on his grandson, "don't push it. A tired dragon is a dead one. We have multiple wings and flights for a reason." He gently pats the blue on the side a couple times. He follows H'ai's direction toward the brown, then frowns. "Igen… does seem to have its overabundance of… issues," the bronzerider comments hesitantly. Carefully. Then he gives H'ai a quick smile. "Well, your boy here is not going to die, though you should try to stay out of Between until the wound closes. But find some good water, boil it for about ten minutes, then get to cleaning. And remember about the numbweed," he finishes, pointing at H'ai's head.

"I would never push him." H'ai grew up with stories of Thread from G'deon, sanitized versions when he was little; less sanitized as he got older. "If you were Weyrleader, Grandfather, this weyr wouldn't be in the shape its in." Despite the relative seriousness of the topic, the tone is teasing as humor fills the bluerider's expression. "Igen is a cesspool, and I don't know why Sh'z wants to stay here, but here I am." He doesn't leave his twin; his twin is family, however frustrating that might be. "I'll do exactly as you say. I won't forget the numbweed." A quirky grin tugs on his lips, "I would never not listen to you."

It takes a while for Rhavinaeth to respond, not because of a lack of respect but because of the distraction of pain that tugs at the edges of his senses. The ocean's waves ebb and flow, the slow susurration of sound lyrical in nature. Golden notes dance along the sea foam laden waves. This first touch is spared the thundering response of the ocean's depths, married to the lilting tune of light greetings. « We are strong. Mine will learn to be stronger and better. » A tickling of sea spray touches the link before the ocean ebbs away, distracted again by the examination.

G'deon pulls a face, then replies with a laugh, "Faranth forbid. I must sadly disagree, however." G'deon takes a few steps back to get a last, lingering look at his grandson's young blue, then returns to Nylanth's side so he can rummage in a small leather satchel attached to the dragon's straps. He takes out a small bottle that smells like extremely cheap vodka when opened. Pouring a small amount into his palm, he then uses it to disinfect his hands. Gotta use what works, right? "If you must stay here, do come visit Nylanth and me at Southern, will you? And… and your father, of course." He still stumbles over that bit. Can he really be blamed?

Especially here, where disease and germs must be rampant given how dirty that bazaar is. "Still, that's how interesting the leadership is here." H'ai's eyebrows raise, giving his grandfather a look that carries an unspoken explanation. "Of course, I'll visit." He, too, looks a little uncomfortable, frowning as brown eyes drop to the ground. "Dad thinks…" That Szarabhayanath will return, but that doesn't get stated either. These torn thoughts are easily read on the young man's face, however. The eternal uncertainty before he lifts tortured eyes to G'deon. "You'll take care of him?" Plea? Rote question? It is all of the above.

"That is part of my hope," G'deon replies on the heels of H'ai's question, his own expression deeply troubled, and not a little sad. "It is, at least in part, why Nylanth and I decided to come forward after all. Lanti did not need us. She still had Dedanseth. Ista. Everything else." A shadowed frown appears as he returns the small bottle to the satchel. "But Iliad…" He trails off, then shakes his head. Not the time or place, perhaps. "We can be there for him." He makes a flat-handed cutting sort of gesture, then forces a smile back to his expression. "Enough of that for now. I haven't had a chance to celebrate you on your Impression yet, Sh… H'ai, I mean. I do believe a drink may be in order?" Gid asks, a hopeful sort of cant to his eyes and the tilt of his head. "Though after Rhavinaeth's been cleaned and numbed. Nylanth tells me he is in pain."

"I snuck a bottle of Dad's best peach brandy," H'ai says with a conspiratorial waggle of his eyes. "I'll go fetch some hot water and numbweed, that healer's been on that brown for far too long. I'm telling you, this place is — well." He has thoughts on Igen, but now's not the time for those. As hot water and numbweed are fetched, however, H'ai begins the process of filling G'deon in on what's been happening, how he jumped forward, and the details of Igen's plight. Even of the bizarre way in which the latest shenanigans seemed to have been carried out. Once Rhavinaeth is taken care of, the promised peach brandy is fetched as the talk continues through the night — or however long G'deon visits for. All in all, grandfather and grandson re-connect in the best way possible.

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