==== November 16th, 2013
==== G'deon, Nylanth, Cerise, Jiamoth, D'cen, Raxsonath, Yules, Desmeth, T'ral, Esanth
==== Weyrling dragons try their wings for the first time.

Who G'deon, Nylanth, Cerise, Jiamoth, D'cen, Raxsonath, Yules, Desmeth, T'ral, Esanth
What Weyrling dragons try their wings for the first time.
When There are 0 turns, 8 months and 15 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr

Gid08.png cerise16.jpg daycen1.jpg Yulena7.jpg t-ral_sheepish.jpg


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 forty-fifth day of Autumn and 84 degrees. It is sunny and bright. In the distance clouds gather on the horizon.

-- On Pern --
It is afternoon.
There are 0 turns, 8 months and 15 days until the 12th pass.
It is the forty-fifth day of Autumn and 84 degrees. It is sunny and bright. In the distance clouds gather on the horizon.

The various aromas of the lunch hours is fading from the bowl, wafting away in the autumn sunlight. Said sunlight is briefly blocked as a large, dark bronze comes spiraling from above, sending his show across the stoney ground. With a small amount of back-winging, Nylanth touches down, settles on all fours, then lowers himself until G'deon has safely dismounted. The rider looks expectantly toward the barracks, while Nylanth has already begun moving to the southernmost end of the training grounds.

It's that time, isn't it? Another lesson! This one's seen far more enthusiasm than others past, however, and therefore less in the way of tardiness from attendees. Some early riders or ambitious sorts (some would say butt-kissers) have even staked out an early presence on the training grounds. And, of course, Cerise is among these numbers. Jiamoth is sprawled belly down in the dirt, wings splayed out to either side of her to showcase their immensity- they're one of two parts of her that seem to have grown at all, the other part being her belly. When Nylanth's shadow courses by overhead she's quick to scramble to her feet, dislodging the greenling who'd been stretched along the dragonet's back munching on a redfruit. Cerise squeaks, loses the fruit, and grabs for her partner's ridges to steady herself, swinging about to clamp thighs against neck as a proper rider would.

D'cen winds up wandering out from the barracks somewhat behind Raxsonath. Mosty because the bronze is so very eager to be off the ground that he all but races himself off tehe ground in his haste to be outside. "Slow down buddy. They'll make you wait till last if you don't show some patience, eh?" The starcrafter's familiar exasperated drawl can be heard from some space behind the already imposing haunches of his lifemate. "Stretch your wings. Show off a little." Or, in other words, do warm up excersises. But he's playing to his dragon's weakness. See how Rax preeeeeeeeens while he flexes his wings.

Whatever Yules and Desmeth were doing inside the Weyrling Barracks, it is forgotten for the moment: dragon and Weyrling are quick to emerge, mostly at Desmeth's insistence. Yules is grousing a little as she shields her eyes from the sun, "Please try to not step in anything, I just finished oiling … well, of course I'd oil you again." and there's a rare, fond tone in the end of that comment. Desmeth responds by opening his wings, stretching them a little, showing Yules (well, everyone) how the sun reflects off them. Yules starts laughing, only slowly managing to calm down as they approach G'deon. Coming to a full stop, Yules salutes. Desmeth, fortunately, does not.

« He's here! On yer feet! » T'ral's eyes spring open and he puts a hand to his forehead. "Whoa…easy, pal." A cat nap after lunch - sleep when you can, eh? T'ral uncoils from a seated position, propped as he'd been against Esanth's chest. He pulls a tuck on his shirt, checks pants, boots, straps, Esanth gets a quick once-over as the stocky dragonet surges to his feet, buffeting T'ral with his excitement. T'ral grins, Watch it! He sobers, stomach clenching - he's been looking forward to and dreading this lesson for months.

G'deon removes a flat cap from his riding jacket's inside pocket and fits it snuggly on his head while waiting for the last of today's lesson attendees to assemble. When it's clear the group is all here, he returns the various salutes with one of his own, then gestures with a wide arm movement. "Dragons, with Nylanth! The rest of you, over here with me." He waits another beat to see how the first command is going, then gestures again. "Don't be shy. Don't be nervous. Just make sure you and your lifemates have a good connection today. If not, let me know now, or face the consequences later, it's up to you." Whatever that means.

Briefly, briefly, Jiamoth is distracted by all of those flexing males. Less piqued than bemused, she tilts her head one way, pauses, tilts it the other way, and then burbles private amusement to Cerise. She is rather more distracted by the prospect of what's to come and hastens to dismount when G'deon calls his instructions. "Pay attention now," she chides the young green, receiving a nosebump in return. Then they're off to their respective corners, Jiamoth trundling directly towards Nylanth and Cerise angling herself towards the bronzerider, sidelined only by the need to raise a hand to Yules in greeting.

Raxsonath? Shy? Helllllllllll no! As soon as the word is given he swaggers his fine self right on over to Nylanth; his tail whipping about excitedly. D'cen, on the other hand, is wary of anything that ends with 'or face the consequences later', and takes another long look at his lifemate. He stands there for an extra few seconds, making sure that he's got firm control over the still young bronze, and then jogs over towards G'deon as directed. "Afternoon, sir." He says, by way of greeting after the salutes were all exchanged. And to everyone else he gives a resigned sort of grin. Sorry in advance if Rax tries to trample anyone!

Desmeth isn't entirely thrilled to be told to go be by the large Nylanth, but he whuffles gently at Yules before setting out, his tail slowly brushing against her arm as he walks off. Yules, watching to make sure Desmeth is doing as he is told to, turns back to approach G'deon without running into anyone, giving Cerise a little grin in hello. For a moment, the taller woman eyes G'deon, trying to discern 'consequences' but shakes those thoughts from her head, nodding to D'cen and other fellow Weyrlings, watching to see if any are not as quick.

Esanth bugles and gives himself a shake, rustling from snout to tail, looking fixedly at T'ral. T'ral blinks… That's… a new color. He grins, thumping Esanth on the chest, ducking a half-extended wing as Esanth scrambles off to sit at Nlyanth's feet, next to Jiamoth, of course. If he can fit. Of course he can fit. A flicker of worry crosses T'ral's brow watching the blue before he trots over to the knot of weyrlings around G'deon. He nods to folks in his crew wondering if anyone else is worried how this will go. 'Course, he's spent more time with the dragonhealers than all the rest of them combined. Folk said swimming and flying were close and Esanth was a brilliant swimmer. He could totally do this. He'd be great. T'ral shakes his head and focuses on G'deon.

Nylanth's greeting to the young dragons is quiet, focused, intent. He starts off with the usual stretches, compelling the younger dragons to do the same. G'deon seems quite content to let Nyls do his thing, so he turns to the weyrlings. "Today is a simple affair, but you have got to stay in control. They're not to get more than their own height off the ground. Just using their wings. Getting a feel for it. The real flying will come over the next few days, as you and your lifemates are ready." He stops to fix the lot of them with a cool, blue-eyed stare, then turns toward the dragons. "Nyls will demonstrate," he explains, while the older bronze readies himself. "A small, running start," thought the bronze only takes a single step, "a leap," though he really just lifts his feet from the ground, "and a glide north toward the pens." Nylanth's wide wingspan blocks the lightly very briefly as he's overhead, though otherwise the group is well out of the way. "Then they come to a land, and they wait there. Now, whenever your mates are ready. One at a time." And away they go.

"Even the short ones?" Cerise might be slightly disappointed by the no greater than their own height rule; it leads to quiet comments like that one. But flying is flying, or so she tells herself- Jiamoth certainly shows no signs of disappointment, both while she's mimicking Nylanth through the stretching exercises and then as she arranges herself in preparation for that running leap and glide. Those huge wings have to come in handy some time, and today's her day. She crouches, rearend wriggling more than her tail does, and then sets off at a lope before lunging at the air. Velvet 'sails catch the air for the first time and push against it, bearing her up, and then snapping out in stiff cinnamon-clasped array to bear her down several yards distant. They shortest of flights! But one that brings a trill of triumph, all the same.

D'cen and Raxsonath are both -rapt- with attention as Nylanth demonstrates what's to be done today. "Yessir." The human part of the pairing acknowledges, despite a general sort of disappointed whuffle from the bronze. He, Dayce, doesn't say another word though. Because his eyes are narrowed in concentration to keep his lifemate in line while he goes through those stretches. And without hesitation he lopes along the ground with surprising grace for how -antsy- he is before leaping up and spreading sails to catch the air current 'just so' and glide a short distance in the direction of the pens. One he lands, he even strikes a pose, and does a victory saunter before getting out of the way. Smug.

Annnnnd stretch and two and three… Desmeth is quite happy to follow Nylanth's example, checking over his shoulder that Yules is watching. She is, though she's nodding along with G'deon, muttering the instructions to herself: "Stay in control. Not too high. Feeling." She's got that down pat, and Desmeth watches Nylanth's example, head tipped to one side. He's totally got this. Waiting for his turn, Desmeth shakes his wings and tail out a little. Yules gives Cerise a distractedly comforting glance, and after Jiamoth's success, says, "Looking good." Soon, it's Desmeth's turn: he starts off at a fast lope, but Yules hisses between her teeth and he slows fractionally before making his leap. A snap of wings reaching out to catch breeze and Desmeth is aloft, gliding after Raxsonath's example, slowly coming down to land a bit more heavily than Rax; even so, Desmeth is bugling with delight as he dances aside.

Esanth is focused on Nylanth and stretches and… Jiamoth. He stretches showily, nearly preening and comes close to a faceplant a time or two. Esanth. Seriously? The thrumming roars, « When else!? » (I learned it from watching you!) T'ral squints, focusing, Focus on the flying hey, Esanth? Esanth's thrumming dips in intensity and rises again. His eyes whirl in appreciation for Jiamoth's graceful hop and glide and he croons. A creaking a bugle at Raxsonath's triumphant touchdown. An excited bray for Desmeth's debonair debut. He shuffles up, crouches, shimmying stocky hind quarters, talons biting into the turf. The thrumming rises, roaring in T'ral's mind, the mindspace stretches - elongating strangely. T'ral puts a hand to his forehead as Esanth springs forward - contact on the front right foot, front left, back right, back left… crouch, spring… … …Esanth hangs for a long moment before wings snap out, scuffed slate-y sails catching his weight at the top of the arc and bearing him forward and down. For a miracle, he lands in good order. T'ral's shoulders slump in relief. Esanth stands on his hind quarters and belows, jostling the other dragonets. And another bellow for good measure.

With each weyrling dragon that joins him, Nylanth has a quiet, private word of praise. G'deon also seems fairly pleased, telling Cerise, "Excellent job with those wings of hers, nice and low to the ground." D'cen gets a comment of, "Like he was born to it, eh?" To Yules, he smiles, pointing slightly. "Already can't wait to do more, I'll bet." Then when Esanth finishes his short glide, G'deon grins over at T'ral. "Excellent job keeping him on task. Now, send them back where they were, please not toward us, then we'll call this lesson done for the day. It might seem easy, but those are new muscles your mates are using. Don't want to overdo it. Tomorrow will be twice as long, and after that, some real flying. Overdo it, though, and you could permanently cripple your dragons," he can't help but warn, voice dropping to a low rumble. "Now… Jiamoth," Gid finishes, gesturing for the dragons to start their return.

"They all are, aye?" Cerise asides to Yules, before snapping to attention with G'deon's praise. Well, then! If he's pleased, she'll be pleased as well, shoving any burgeoning anxiety off into a mental box. "Thank you, sir, she's…ah, no, Jia. Still low. You'll be flying circles 'round them soon enough," she goes on to call out to the green, who's in the process of goodnaturedly using her wing-talon to poke at brown, bronze and blue hides where they come into range. Summoned to task once more, her head pops up and happily whirling eyes fix on the distant bronzerider, her warble of obedience barely audible. This time, she doesn't crouch before loping forward and there are two wingbeats before she throws her wings out stiffly to wibblewobble unsteadily towards the ground several yards off to the side from the other pair. Her trilling of pleasure isn't held until the rough running landing, either, but rather streams from her throat as she glides.

« We're awesome! Aren't we? Look at us go . We'll be up there flaming Thread in no time guys. Let's do this!! » Raxsonath just needs pompoms and he'll be all set. As it is, he hoots and trumpets for each and every dragon that rises and lands. And when it's his turn again, he gives his rump a confident wiggle of excitement. Saunter, saunter, lope, lope - lift! He does indeed seem born to it, making D'cen smile and nod in agreement with G'deon. "If only I could manage to be half as smooth." he quips. And he's not even kidding. The talons of his lifemate skim the dirt before curling in as he lands. « Did you SEE my wings. They were magnificent, weren't they? » Yes, now that the nerves have been dispensed with he is all kinds of chatty.

Yules snorts agreeably at G'deon's comment, only saying, "It's going to be work to hold him back." Not that work was anything Yules shied away from, of course. Across the way, Desmeth's bugling turns squeaky when he gets prodded by a green wing talon and he looks down at Jiamoth, snorting in amusement. He does watch her, and then Raxsonath, move out to take their second flight, and sets up for his own. This time, his lope is evenly paced, the leap is perfect, though his wings spread a little early, sending him slightly higher than ordered. Relax, guys, he's got this; gliding down to the appropriate height, Desmeth maintains altitude until coming in for a better landing than before. He's still all cheerful hoots and bugles, but Yules eyes her brown from afar as his wings are slower to fold onto his back than before.

T'ral's relief is nearly palpable. He blinks, surprised at G'deon's knowledge of keeping Esanth on task and looks between the bronzerider and bronze dragon, embarrassed that he'd had to keep Esanth focused, but proud that they'd managed. He nods and breathes out one last sigh of relief. Esanth makes his approach, head high, cocked confidently. So born for this. More relaxed, T'ral lets himself enjoy the flight, with only a little pressure Keep focused. Watching the dragonet… all that awkwardness makes sense, the quick snap of limbs, so uncomfortable and trip-making on the ground, power the little blue into a strong leap - Esanth's got ups! - those twitchy groin-seeking wings open with a sharp snap, glide, flutter, twitch-correcting, furl… he lands, legs moving quickly the momentum of gliding bleeds off in short-bumpy, bone-rattling steps. "Uh. Is there a way to practice landing before… we, have to really do it?" That looks painful. And he might want children at some point.

As the last dragonet reaches the end point, G'deon claps his hands together twice, and gives the weyrlings a wide grin. "Well done, all of you. And… no, T'ral. The only practice is the real thing. But it does get better, and luckily a lot of their practice will be done with you still on the ground. Worry not." He spreads his hands wide and smiles at the others again. "Thank you, all, again, well done. That will be all for the day. Make sure they stretch and rest! And make sure they do not try again without an older dragon here to supervise. Otherwise, we will do this again tomorrow. Dismissed." Then, for Gid's part, he just waits. Nylanth is making his slow, deliberate way back toward the group, so careful with every step.

Dismissed, Cerise's hand snaps up to her temple in a crisp salute- and then she's taking off at a run to Jiamoth's side. The green is shrugging her soft, rounded shoulders and looking back at her own wings. Their exchange is a silent one but it doesn't take a mindreader to know that the pair is doing a wellness check of every area affected by this first attempt at flight. It's a suspicion borne out when Cerise reaches the green's side and lays hands on her, simultaneously rubbing her down and looking for hot spots.

Just like Cerise, D'cen proffers G'deon with a smart salute before heading over to Raxsonath to check over every inch of him. Especially the undersides of the wing joints where he seems to have so much trouble. Whatever quiet communication they're sharing ends up in a nod from the former starcrafter and he's heading into the barracks to get some of that oil the dragonets are forever eing rubbed down with while the bronze stretches his wings out and croons inquiringly at clutchmates.

T'ral winces and nods at G'deon's response to the doom of his future children. At the dismissal he straightens to attention and snaps a sharp salute before hurrying off to Esanth. Not even a pace away, he freezes. "A clarification, Sir. Does that mean we can fly before tomorrow, if supervised? Esanth's already asking." Whatever G'deon's reply he trots off to Esanth, met half-way by a loud bugle and a headbutt. He throws arms around the blue's neck and spends a quiet moment before going through the post-flight check. Muscles, rubbed, prodded, tested. Joints bent, felt. Together the two go through the cool-down stretches. Esanth keeps up a nearly constant series of grinding blats, unusual vocalizations for the blue. He's still excited. Shivering. We have plenty more ahead of us. We can go for a swim. Esanth snorts, rising onto hindquarters and fanning his wings. Mighty flying dragon. « Swimming is… well, I rather like swimming. That sounds good. »

G'deon watches the weyrlings go to their dragons, then looks up when Nylanth is within easy distance. They are probably in the middle of a silent conversation when T'ral asks his question. G'deon smiles quickly but shakes his head. "No. That is all the flying for today. Starting tomorrow, there can be longer glides, more often. But today was just a taste. The real work starts tomorrow." Then, with the last weyrling dismissed, Gid raises a hand to rest it against Nylanth's dark hide before both of them turn toward the main bowl.

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