====December 22, 2013
====A'lory, Trek
====Trek and A'lory run into each other in a sand-blasted bowl and briefly conduct some wing business.

Who A'lory, Trek
What Trek and A'lory run into each other in a sand-blasted bowl and briefly conduct some wing business.
When Summer, 4 months and 27 days until the 12th Pass
Where Central Bowl, Igen Weyr

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Central Bowl

Cradled, childlike, in an easterly mountainous embrace, the steppes of the central bowl nestle cozily between lake and weyr. The latticework of dusty adobe paths spider out from the southerly Weyr Road, the wagon-ruts of which curve lazily to the northeastern bazaar, the adobe sprawl of the New Weyr reflected in the lake that dominates a large portion of outdoor Igen. A small footpath, just as abused, ambles away from the shores, travelling over rock and hill to the northern dragonet complex and branching itself due west to end at the entrance of the blessedly cool inner caverns. One cracked path, faint with disuse, leads southeast to the crumbling ruins of Igen-that-was. All around, the dizzying heights of the caldera's sharp-sloped sides are pocked here and there with ledges, the weyrs' draconic occupants needing no path to guide their way.

It is the sixty-third day of Summer and 85 degrees. The small dark cloud has grown rapidly over night, covering the blue sky. It blows a furious rush of hot, stirring wind. In a moment, the daylight is gone as visibility plummets. The clouds of burning sand mercilessly flog all living things as the air itself turns against you. Every living thing chokes on sand and dust before escaping inside.

Sand, endless sand: even it seeks to strip the Weyr of its most valued resource. And still, there are those who brave it anyway, preferring relentless sand and wind to the bedeviling dreams of blood and death that haunt the mind. A'lory slowly traverses the Bowl, dragon at his side, both miserable in the storm. Duty before comfort; he's moving toward the Dragonhealer Yard to check the injured yet again that night.

Meanwhile, Trek is moving away from the dragonhealer yard, her dark blue lifemate stalking slowly beside her. The dragon takes the brunt of the wind, shielding his rider, but even so, Trek is bundled up in desert gear from top to toes, her gloved hand holding a bit of fabric over her face. Now and then she moves it just long enough to see where she's going, but she must be relying heavily on Kanyith's own lidded eyes. She's about to clamber up to the blue's shoulders when she suddenly spots A'lory and Eisheth. Not bothering to call to them, the blue pair moves to intersect. Not that it wouldn't have been inevitable. "Was just thinking about you!" Trek says when she's close enough. Which is to say… a couple meters. Kanyith hunkers down, wings held tightly as he turns his head away from the wind, near his rider.

Wait, what? A'lory stops short, reaching out a hand as if to stop a collision. Sight hindered, he relies on Eisheth's better-equipped senses for help. "Ah, Trek," There is warmth in his voice — warmth and relief. Helpfully, his lanky bronze huddles close, attempting to shield as much as he may, offering Kanyith a soft snort of greeting. "Just the one I was seeking." Perhaps Trek's thoughts called him up.

Trek does have that sort of magnetism. Right? Right. She positions herself so she can hold the fabric of her hood just so, shielding her eyes while keeping her mouth and nose covered. "Crappy place to meet up, so I'll keep it brief. Do you and Eisheth have any interest in trying our little experimental wing?" Or not so little at this point. Unless you're looking at all those blues and greens. "Just thought maybe with Whirlwind and… stuff." She pulls the fabric up suddenly as an eddy of wind and sand courses by, while she leans against Kanyith's dark hide. Even the dragons can't stay out too long in this.

A'lory would say she does; otherwise, A'lory would be in the Yard already. And then there's that — a question, all unlooked for, that might solve many problems for him. "I see no reason not to," He accepts, easily. "Eisheth would enjoy it — as will I." Especially that part about not being in the limelight. "I would enjoy working to prove such as yours are as capable as larger beasts when allowed full control." An arm is drawn up, scarf following, to block that pesky sand.

Trek has to wait another few seconds for the gust of wind to die back down to a dull roar before she can give A'lory and his bronze another look. "It'll be changing some things," she says, voice still raised above the wind, "but drop by for our drills tomorrow morning. I'll have copies of our formations ready for you." A pause. "Not that you haven't already seen them, I suppose." Pre-Jivayath's choosing. Another moment to duck behind her hood. "I'll put in the hidework tonight." She extends a gloved hand toward the other rider, and while her smile can't be seen, it's probably there in her bloodshot, darkly circled eyes. As if to say, "Hey, something went right today!"

A'lory takes that hand with a gentle smile of his own, also unseen. "As little as possible. This is your show; I'm following your lead." Except, they gotta get out of the sand. "I look forward to flying with you." As he looks forward to being in the walls, trying to help those injured — and escaping the damned nightmares for another hour.

After the handshake, Trek adds a quick salute, then she and Kanyith move out of the way, both so the bronze pair can get by, and so she can get up to Kanyith's shoulders. Within seconds, she's clipped in, and the blue struggles upward through the wind, expertly angling his narrow body toward the weyrs over the bazaar before both rider and dragon disappear through one of the many cavelike openings, hidden by a handy flap of heavy hide.

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