==== November 9, 2013
==== Prymelia, D'tri, Nathanael, Yules, Arianne
==== In a rather unfortunate string of events, D'tri is forced to face (aka run away from) a fear.

Who Prymelia, D'tri, Nathanael, Yules, Arianne
What In a rather unfortunate string of events, D’tri is forced to face (aka run away from) a fear.
When There are 0 turns, 9 months and 6 days until the 12th pass
Where Weyr Entrance, Southern Weyr

Prym%207.png dimitri05.jpg ari_9.png Yulena5.bmp teennathanael.jpg


weyr_entrance.jpg

Weyr Entrance
Weyr Entrance
No standard weyr-arch for Southern: rather, an open-air bridge gracefully curves into the exterior of the bowlwall, the concave swoop of the weyrbowl itself nestled against the far high-rise of the rivercliffs. A pocket of white marble is delineated in gorgeous architecture at the termination of the bridge; stone buildings rise in a vivid vein against the rough-hewn darkness of the cliffs it settles against. The classic arcs only possible by ancient stonecutters show through, Southern's ageless beauty to be admired by all who trespass her walls.
It is the twenty-fourth day of Autumn and 63 degrees. The day is dreary and overcast. A warm autumn rain is falling down in soft drizzles.
To the northwest, you see a green dragon and one runner.
To the west, you see nine runners.
On the perch is Pi.
You see Cold Steel, Cold Fire, and Cold Steel's Foal here.
Nathanael and D'tri are here.
Obvious exits:
Swinging Door Lower Bowl Stairs to Upper Bowl Stables Road


Down by the ocean, down by the sea, a group of SeaCraft apprentices is singing (badly of course) a sea ditty. They sing as they pile cast off wood from all over the weyr, much of it showing signs of paint or other varnish which renders it useless for cook or warming fires indoors. The pile is modest, but growing as more seacrafters add to it. In the mix, Nathanael, looking still too short for his knot, piles wood upon it. Other weyr denizens, just awakening from slumber move about on their way to their own tasks at paces which might be more akin to sleepwalking then brisk.

It's amazing how much one's sleep schedule changes when their life does. D'tri's has been, similar to his life, all over the place. He doesn't look like he's been awake for long, eyes still puffy with sleep, shirt all askew and gait laaaanguid and ungainly. Bleh. He's just wandering by with a bottle to his lips, raised high - a clear bottle, making it all too clear that the liquid inside is most likely just plain water. Though… he's downing it as though he rather wishes it were something else. Glug. Glug. When it's finally lowered, it's done so with a swipe of his wrist past his mouth, leaving the bottle hanging from two fingers as he slows to a halt, eyebrows lowering in a twitch at the pile of wood. "'S going on?" To absolutely no one in particular.

The clop of hooves and rattle of wheels moving over rock heralds the arrival of a trader’s wagon painted a muted shade of light plum with white accented trim. Carefully negotiating through those coming and going with the occasional weary call of, ‘Coming through. Make way,” the travel-weary young woman driving it is paler than usual and looks not to have slept in a seven. The mud staining bright garb that is also splattered across the sturdy runner’s undercarriage and chest, tells its own story, as does the broken wheel lashed to the back of her wagon. The growing pile of wood though, that becomes a bit of a problem when it becomes clear she’s not going to be able to pass by until it’s cleared. Drawing to a halt, Prymelia utters a curse worthy of sailor’s ears and jumps down to find the person responsible though she does manage to do it with a certain amount of weary humor attached. “Did someone not pay their docking fees?”

Nathanael just happens to be the only individual within hearing distance when the weyrling and trader appear around the workings of the seacrafters. He glances around for the journeyman that was supervising only to find said journeyman MIA. Nathanael scratches his head, trying to decide which person looks more important and needs an answer. Skyblue eyes shift between the pair, then finally settle on Prymelia. "Ma'am, w're jus' takin' care of some of 'e ol' wood what's been clogin' up 'e way. Most 've it ain't any good no more, so we was pilin' it 'ere till we was told what was gonna be dun with 't." He smiles brightly upwards at her.

Screw important. D'tri's got style. As evidenced by his plucking a free hand groggily at his shirt to fix the collar from hanging over one shoulder, only to pull it right over the other. Not that he seems to mind the lack of answer to his question, since he's soon enough staring a bleary stare up at Prymelia. For the swear, or… possibly something else. "… The beach!" He finally manages, pointing the bottle at her at having recalled the memory. "You- were at the beach." Seeming pleased with having remembered a thing, he cracks a grin and takes another healthy swig of boring water.

Tired she might be and desperate to get herself situated and Soot taken care of so that she may indulge in a long, hot bath. But who can resist such a charming explanation, especially when delivered with that bright smile. Mel looks almost disappointed by the reply given, a small landing vessel being taken apart would have provided much better gossip. Nevermind. Glancing at the growing pile of wood, she wrinkles her nose. “Any idea how much longer this is going to…” The sentence cuts off when D’tri speaks, hazel gaze narrowing and then widening with her recognition. “The refugee.” She exclaims, pretty mouth twitching about a smirk. “I see you managed to find some clothes?”

Nathanael opens his mouth to reply to Prymelia's half formed question but shuts it again swiftly when she turns her attention to the, peer, yup, weyrling, again. He shuffles from foot to foot, not quite sure if he should leave and get back to work, or perhaps stay and answer more questions. A glance around finds that yes, the journeyman is still quite MIA, and that the pile is getting even bigger.

Show stealer, thy name is D'tri. And he seems all too happy to be it, despite the fact that his grin seems to lose just some of its enthusiasm upon the word 'refugee' being spoken. "Can't walk around half naked all the time, gotta leave something for the imagination." This last word spoken with a slight raise of his eyebrows, like there's anything to be imagined. But then he quickly turns to Nathanael, offering the bottle forward almost without thought. "How long is it going to take? And what're you going to use it for?" He perks up, anticipatory amusement clear on his face, "How's about another platform of death for the next goldrider, eh?"

D’tri might be the larger than life sort of personality, even when he’s dog tired but it’s the quiet ones that have always pulled Prymelia’s attention. Thus it is that when Nathanael falls to silence, she offers him a teasingly disappointed look. “And here I thought maybe the Headman was arranging a celebration for my return.” Le sigh. As for D’tri and imagination, hazel eyes put a deliberately slow and assessing look over the weyrling from head to toe and perhaps lingering a little in between just for added flavor. “I’m sure the ladies will appreciate your working hard to retain some of the mystery,” she tells him.

SHOCK writes itself across Nathanael's face at the weyrling's platform-of-death comment. "'e would'no be involved in nothing what 'ight 'urt 'e riders!" Besides, rumor has it that the senior weyrwoman is a bit scary. Nathanael scratches his head again at the question though, thinking it trough. "'ell, e've got well, mayhap any time now. If'n 'e can find Journeyman Korac. " Yup, no journeyman makes himself present, even as Nathanael cranes his head around. "'ell, 'e suppose 'e could start withou' him, if'n 'e needed to."

D'tri stands silent for a moment, as though Nathanael's shock was exactly what he'd expected to see writ across the younger male's face. If he notices Prymelia's scan at all, he doesn't show it, instead looking to her runner first, and then her wagon. "If I'd'a waited for people to show up before I started something," he gives a shake of his bottle o' water, as if in an attempt to let the sploshing tell him half's still left, while he looks Prymelia's wagon over, "I'd still be… actually I probably still don't do that, most of the time." He looks back to Nathanael again, arms spreading as his grin widens. "And look where I am now!" Groggy, wayward and a general mess-looking, drinking water like it were booze. A champ, this'n.

Inward path stalled by a growing pile of wood the seacrafters are pulling together, an unlikely trio is gathered near the Weyr’s entrance, the weather for once, playing nice. Prymelia catches most of what Nathanael is telling them while some of it is a complete mystery. But she gets the gist of it. “Need a hand with….” One her mentioned appendages lifts and waves uncertainly in the air, unsure of what the seacrafters may have in mind for the wooden obstruction. “I can get Soot out of the traces. He’s pretty good at hauling stuff.” Says she of the animal currently attached to a wagon. Duh. And as for D’tri, his comments earn him a lopsided smirk. “Stuck with a dragon that runs away with your clothing.” She quips as if he were waiting for her to finish his thought.

One more time Nathanael scratches his head, then shrugs. "Suppose 'e could, tho' 'e dun have to. Guess that's what us 'pprentices 're f'r." Again Nathanael smiles. He bounces once, twice, thrice on the balls of his feet, biting a lip. "Tho' 'e proly dun wannta be 'round 'ere if'n we do fin…" Nathanael is hailed from across the pile by a long limbed senior apprentice. "'cuse me ma'am, 'll b' right back." Off he scampers, actually climbing the pile of wood to go confer with the apprentice who called out his name.

"Hey, rustbucket found 'em again eventually." D'tri mentions of said clothes-stealing dragon, "Doesn't have the patience." He watches Nathanael climb off and away, with a breathy chuckle and another rub at his eyes. "Sleeping, though. 'S a challenge." Without pause, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, adding without pause but with added curiosity to his tone, "Why've you got a wagon?"

What Prymelia would give to be able to leech some of that energy bouncing through Nathanael. Aaaah, the joys of youth. Not that she’s old. Just really worn out by seven days on the road and then she and her adopted brother having to change a wheel broken when it became stuck in a particularly muddy patch just before dawn broke. A quick smile acknowledges the young teen’s words, hazel eyes following his scramble over the pile before attention returns to D’tri. “Rustbucket?” Eyebrows lift in weary amusement. “That’s what you call him?” Beat. “Why’s sleeping a challe…” Sentence cut off. Again. Tired mind skipping from one topic to the next like a drunk vtol. “Because…I’m a trader?” The unspoken ‘Duuuh?’ sifting into her tone minus the acerbic cut others might use.

Nathanael scrambles back over the pile of wood, back towards the pair awaiting ANSWERS. "'ell, looks 'ike 'e journeyman what was watchin 's gonna let us finish up w'out 'im." Nathanael proclaims happily as he takes the last few bouncing steps towards the pair. "'e sure 'e wanna keep 'ur runner 'ere? I dun know nothin' 'bout 'em."

As Nathanael talks, another wave of apprentices arrive, dropping another pile of wood, effectivly blocking off the only exit back to the weyr.

Unspoken duh's mean nothing to D'tri. He looks skeptical at best, giving the wagon a good peering before he looks back to Prymelia. "Hmh. You struck me as a… something… more… of around here what is going to happen with the pile?" Two sentences smushed into one, as his attention snaps suddenly from Prymelia to Nathanael. Then to both the wagon and piles of wood blocking their way each… then to a wall behind him. His grin, though suddenly wider, has ceased to reach his eyes and is now plastered across his face like a dead thing. One more word is breathed out, again to no one in particular, "… Tits."

If Prymelia weren’t so tired, her brain would probably supply suggestion of what it is the seacrafters are planning. But as it stands she merely blinks and looks somewhat confused and then a touch concerned. “I uh…I can see if I can get him to back up a bit.” Which she duly does, turning to move back to where Soot is patiently waiting, his head drooping from capable shoulders. A few gentle words are spoken to the beast and then she’s tapping at his chest, giving the command to back up a few steps. Unfortunately, a smaller cart laden with fresh produce from an outlying farm has pulled in behind them, a frantic shout from its driver bringing proceedings to an abrupt halt. The only thing for it now, is to angle the sturdy black runner and her wagon sideways, effectively blocking the whole road. “Something more?” Yes, Prymelia caught that comment from D’tri and hazel eyes narrow at the perceived slight. That he’s currently looking much like a wherry caught in a dragon’s sights, goes right over her head.

D'tri's sudden shift in attention catches Nathanael off guard momentarily. "e're gonna burn 't 'course!" He gives him a look which suggests that perhaps D'tri isn't completely there. "What're tits?" Focused attention Nathanael has on D'tri, this is an IMPORTANT QUESTION. Behind him, the senior apprentice is playing little heed to the gathering on the other side of the pile as he takes charge of the situation. Several younger apprentices are set along the large pile's edge as they apply stone to flint (or whatever Pern uses to start fires..) and begins the process of lighting the wood on fire. Sparks fly inexpertly and the somewhat wet wood doesn't quite seem to want to catch right away. Only one apprentice manages to get a small flame going, and nurses it along to try to get some of the larger pieces to burn.

Oh, the words D'tri might've had for Nathanael at any other given moment. Words in the shape of descriptions, synonyms, mockery— oh no, nope. None of that. In fact, not very many words are leaving D'tri, at the moment, lifting his bottle of water very slowly from dangling between fingers to grabbing it by the neck. "I, uh." Sort of a word. He gestures very loosely toward a wall behind him, and starts backing away toward it. He's just going to be right over there. Grin slowly but certainly waning.

What’re tits? Oh Prymelia is SO not touching that one! Nuh uh. D’tri can explain if he wants to. She’ll just stay right where she is BLOCKING the road while keeping a firm eye on the proceedings and preparing to soothe a fretful runner once it gets hint of flames. Standing at Soot’s head, a hand laid lightly against his neck, she eyes the way the weyrling starts to back away.

Who is this be-hatted individual in a Weyrling uniform, humping along a sack of tubers? It's a Yules, huffing and puffing as she thumps along. As she gets close to the crowd, Yules slows and then walks the last few steps to join the crowd. "What's going on?" she asks, dumping the tubers at her feet. Hopefully people like mashed after this expedition.

"y' kay?" Nathanael headtilts at D'tri, and moves forward. He turns to look backwards at the apprentices who are trying to light the pile of wood on fire. The senior apprentice helps the juniors to build up the flames. Slowly the larger pieces of wood catch fire despite their dampness. Tall the fire may not be, but it is spread out enough to block the way completely from the weyr, enclosing their four off from the weyr.

"They're making a fire." D'tri replies (it works as a reply to either Yules OR Nathanael, really), an attempt at casual rendered entirely ineffective due to a slightly higher tone of voice and the way he's clutching the neck of his bottle a little tightly now. His eyebrows, as always a mind of their own, slant sort of sadly in and upward. Both his attention and eyes dart from the fire, to Nathanael, to Prymelia, and finally to Yules. "Yulesie—" He starts, but his backward wander causes him to nearly trip over a stray rock, and he goes stumbling before his back hits a wall. "Dragon versus wagon. Which one do you think would win."

The new arrival is met with a quick and politely fashioned smile, the weyrling uniform she wears garnering a closer flash of attention. About to helpfully supply answer, D'tri beats her to it. Tightening her grip on Soot's bridle as he starts roll his eyes and jink his head up and down - Fire bad! - Prymelia eyes the anxious looking bronze weyrling warily. Dragon versus wagon? What the? Worriedly she starts casting about. While his dragon may not yet be full grown, she's fairly certain she would have noticed his hulking bronze presence by now. "What's your problem?" She blurts, frowning at D'tri.

Yules is obviously a new-comer onto the scene because her first question is, "Why in Faranth's name are they making a fire?" As the wood starts to catch, Yules examines the situation and huhs. A quick aside to Prymelia, Yules mentions, "He's probably distracting himself from the fire." She looks at Soot's reaction and wonders, "Why don't you unharness him and get him out of here? Runners and fire? About as good together as Thread and anything organic.” Then, Yules wonders a couple of other things, "Are there controls? Like water buckets and so on? And does the Headman know about this?" Not to dampen the party, so to speak, but Yules is merely wondering. And then, "Should we be standing here?" Though roasted tubers are always a nice snack.

Nathanel switches his gaze between Yules, D'tri and the growing fire. "'ey Ma'am Yules!" Nathanael says with every bit of his typical cheer. Fear? What is that? "Wood ain't good for nothin' else, 'cuz 's been treated. 'n 'COURSE we got i' under control, jus' couldno' do i' on 'e beach 'cuz i's too…." Again Nathanael's attention is caught as the senior apprentice calls out, something about poking the fire on the otherside. With an appologetic look Nathanael turns to do just that, grabbing a big burning stick and poking at others. Sparks dance upwards from the flames each time he jabs.

Oh, good times. More sparks. There are certain times in life where one has to stop beating around the bush, and just be blunt. "I don't like fire." Blunt, a little quiet over the beginning crackling of fire, but as an answer, it'll do. He keeps his attention trained on the bottle in his hand before deciding that this wall he's up against is just not good enough. The colour's drained from his face, and he takes a DEEP breath before starting on a very deliberately slow walk toward the wagons, eyes on the ground. Just for once, he's not looking to draw attention to himself. Not even a little.

"I have no idea," Prymelia goes on to reply through gritted when Soot begins to tremble from head to toe, the very real problem of her situation finally starting to sink through her weary mind. "I've just gotten back in. The seacrafters are the ones in charge…" What Nathanael said. Either way, she's starting to become as nervous as her runner though probably less so than D'tri. "I can't," that's given to the question of getting her runner away before he does himself or another damage. "There's a cart backed up behind us." But even as she says it, deft fingers are working to loosen traces and free the snorting runner. Gaze darting about for how she might manage to thread Soot through the gathered mess of transportation backed up behind them, it lands on D'tri, his blunt reply only just reaching her ears through the rising crackle of flames and suddenly it sinks in. Compassion helps to steady nerves. "Hey you." She never did get D'tri's name the last time they met. "Can you ride?" Quick and sharp the question.

Watching D'tri move towards the wagons, Yules purses her lips a little. "Good idea," she tells Prymelia, even if she has half an idea of what the trader's plans are. "So… It's the Seacrafters who started this fire, to clear out old, treated wood, but because it can't be moved to the beach, they're doing it at the entrance to the Weyr? And," then Yules peers … vaguely in the direction of the road, "Backing up wagons?" Just so she has this straight, right? Then to D'tri, who is by now hopefully within mutter distance, Yules says something urgently.

You overhear Yules mutter, "… okay. … … … We're … … … calm." to D'tri.

"'e meant t' b' done sooner," Nathanael says this over his shoulder as he jabs at the fire again, forcing the flames to catch on another piece. The flames lick up higher now, taller then Nathanael stands anyway. It's difficult to see the apprentices on the other side of the flames, but it's easy to hear them laughing and joking as they make sure the fire stays contained. Nathanael, apparently having not heard D'tri, holds up his stick-o-flames and turns towards them, though he does stay away from the upset creature.

Seemingly far too busy with taking steady breaths, D'tri hardly even appear to notice Yules' muttered comment, the only acknowledgement of it a halfhearted chuckle that appears to leave him without consent. "Dimitri," He answers Prymelia distractedly then, straightening slightly in an attempt to recompose himself. Can he ride? "Not— well. Think I might just up and—" He point toward the wagons, before suddenly there is a Nathanael swiveling around with more fire. So close, this time, too! Lucky D'tri. Who, as the bottle is dropped by his side and shatters with a splash of water, stumbles back and this time does trip, landing flat on his back. "Ffffffhhhh-" He breathes, smacking both hands over his face, "… hahaaHAAaaa. Calm. So calm. So CALM."

Chorzeczoyth starts a low rumble across terrain, a sense of things gone wrong, things of incomprehensible measure and consequence. Ashes sweep heavily through an impossibly brightened sky, covering whatever it can find in a panicked flurry.

Prymelia leaves Nathanael to answer Yules’ questions, he probably being the best one to do so. She meanwhile has her attention divided between freed-but-spooked-Soot and flat-on-his-back-Dimitri…Wait. That’s not a rider’s name? Just how badly freaked out is he? With one hand still tightly wrapped about the cheek strap of her runner’s bridle, she stretches out a hand toward the bronze weyrling. “C’mon. Give me your hand and I’ll get you out of here.” Somehow. She’s not sure how but it probably has something to do with swinging up onto Soot’s broad back and letting the beast find his own way out.

Caelth likes the way the ash covers everything; bright is bad. Panicked weyrling dragons, however, are not. « ? » Spill it, kid.

Bag of tubers forgotten for the moment, Yules is currently running two conversations, intermittently that she doesn't notice Nathanael's turning around with the stick until she sees D'tri's reaction. "Nathanael, point that stick elsewhere," she tells the apprentice, her voice slightly strained as well. After a moment, Yules' face screws up into a sheer attempt to control three different things in her head at once: her tone, her dragon, and her own fe… worry. "D'tri. Get up. Move to the trader." And just in case, "Do you need my help standing?" No derision, just a fact.

Cignalusath is an immediately comforting presence, a cozily warm fire on a chilly day. « Chorzeczoyth, what has happened? » Calming, soothing is his mind.
Jiamoth introduces the brightness so disliked by Caelth, in a flurry of confused brocades and shattering crystal. « Are you all right? What has happened? » she echoes on the heels of Cignalusath's inquiry.

Oh, wait. It finally occurs to Nathanael that the man isn't just acting normal, but is actually afraid of the fire. It's a novel concept for Nathanael, who in his youthlike way is afraid of very little. He tosses the stick back onto the fire that is rapidly burning, eating up the stained wood swiftly enough. "Ain't 'e a dragonman? Dun dragons burn stuff?"

Raxsonath is metaphorically peering from over Jiamoth's -also- metaphorical shoulder. « Adventure gone wrong? Escapades? » He's hopeful is just that, and not real trouble.
Desmeth is caught somewhere between his own impression of the situation, and what his rider is telling him. It leads to an unfortunate mix of white wine and whiskey in his tone, « Fire? Controlled? » Water intended to soothe just makes the flavour worse, and Desmeth is not nearly as eloquent as usual. « Worry. Yules is worried. » That word trails slightly, like there's just a faint tickle of doubt there, a cough like from inhaling whiskey the wrong way.
Xenokkarath lifts his head and the hot, dry desert wind is added to the fray. «What is the matter with Yules?» He asks, knowing the cook endears her to him.

"I'm fine! Fine as a- fine as a pair of…" D'tri starts, but trails off (unfortunately for Nathanael, who might've actually learned something if he hadn't). He finally removes his hands from his face, forcing a big grin on his face as he refuses to take any help but instead curls up into his side, rolls onto his knees, then jumps up to move straight past Prymelia and back toward the wagon he was going for in the first place. Breathing a little faster now, expression stuck on half-madness. "Fine! See? FINE." As he… apparently attempts to demonstrate by somewhat shakily jumping up a wheel and beginning to clamber up the side of the wagon, and making headway with it quite successfully. Who'da thought having learned to climb things like a freakin' monkey would, these days, still pay off.

Chorzeczoyth spreads both bright light and hungry ashes out yet further to those it might reach, an echo of the cracking of boulders, dry in otherwise laregely empty landscape. « I have to stay. » Louder, still, « I have to stay why do I have to stay? I don't want to stay. »

Arianne looks like one very unhappy rider, aboard an even more unhappy dragon, as she and Caelth dip down from the skies and land nearby with nearly enough force to make the not-so-nearby wagon tremble. The weyrlings can't ::between:: yet so they couldn't have been too far - fortunately, the quick flyover of the bowl kind of helped narrow things down. Blocked road out of the weyr with FIRE being a clue. "Hey, -hey-, what in Faranth's first egg is going on here? Yules? D'tri? Are you hurt?" Her eyes dart around, trying to find sight of the two babyriders in question.

Caelth reinforces the suggestion that the weyrling dragons stay right where they are. « Yes. Stay. We will … handle this. » It's meant to sound menacing. Just, not towards the weyrling riders or dragonets.

The higher the flames reach to the sky and the more thick noxious smoke that comes roiling off the burning pile, so the edgier and more unhappy, Soot becomes. Soot. Ha! Get it? Moving on. Gratitude is flashed Yules’ way for the unflappable manner in which she addresses first the littlest seacrafter and then the panicked bronzer. But when D’tri gets up and not only moves straight passed her but starts to clamber up her – Hey waittaminute!! Under any other circumstances, there would be things said. But this here situation is unusual and she has about three seconds to swing up onto her runner’s back before he simply takes off without her. “Mind the…” glowbasket.” Too late. Its knocked off its hook and goes bouncing away down the road. And then there’s a fardling great big dragon landing and…Soot freaks the hell out! With a screech of anger the sturdy runner throws himself up on his back legs and BOLTS with Prymelia only just managing to grab a hold of his yoke and hang on for dear life as jinks and dives this way and that until they’re clear of the crowd. Her precious wagon left behind, hopefully not to be made into matchsticks by a dragon or burned to a cinder.

Trying hard to make sure she's heard over the various other noises, "Yeah, except that fire's in another shardin' direction!" D'tri's scramble away, up and over the wagon has her looking over just to make sure he doesn't stumble and knock himself out and then she's backing away too, waving her hand at smoke that likely hasn't reached her yet, but there's no sense in not being proactive. Arianne and Caelth's arrival is timed perfectly with Soot and the trader's disappearing act but at least that's one less thing to worry about. Or two. "We're fi… okay!" she calls back to Arianne, "Just… blocked on this side." To Nathanael, Yules says, "You may want to back away from that." It's just a suggestion at this point.

Oh dear. This has gotten out of hand. Even as Yules suggests that he back away from the fire, Nathanael shakes his head. Instead, he jumps upwards, trying to be seen from over the flames. "Vntare! W'd better put 'er out!" The taller apprentice waves backwards and calls out to his crew of apprentices. Together, they pick up the buckets they'd placed aside as a safety measure and carefully begin dousing the flames. Nathanael does the same on his side and the flames quickly die down under the onslaught from the apprentices.

Desmeth rallies with the comforting flavours of a hot mug of klah: spiced, not plain, « They're okay. Can we come see? » Desmeth is not a dragon to not see things for himself, even though, « Mine says no, but please? »
Caelth sends a skittering of frost and shadow, like a line in the sand. « Yours has said no, and you must learn to obey them. » he relays, with finality. He does however, project a glimpse of smoldering ash for them. See? No longer exciting.
Jiamoth peeky-tendrils at Chorzeczoyth, more from curiosity than concern; Desmeth she understands to be reasonable, their sibling less so. Will he listen?
Xenokkarath rumbles and tries to pay attention to the current situation. But hot winds of worry and frustration mount within him as his rider loses her cool. The air prickles with the heat of lightning barely contained in a stormy desert sky. He is torn betwixt and between, his emotions winding through his mental chatter.

D'tri's climb over the wagon is one of very little grace, but not a movement's wasted. Grab onto that, swing a leg onto there, a steady grip and muscle memory acquired years ago is all that's required to bring D'tri onto the roof of the wagon - at the cost of some scrapes of dirt against its side and a glow basket. "'M fine!" He finally shouts back, maybe a little too loud, tone a strange mix of victory and residual scared-shitlessness. "Just- just a li'l fire. Just a— HKKh!" Unfortunately it takes a little more than muscle memory to stay atop a wagon, and shaky legs have him lose his balance to topple backwards and off of it again. At least it's away from the dying fire.

Arianne is keeping calm to keep Caelth under control of course - he's the dragon whose eyes are swirling a mix of orange and red of building anger as the fire is slowly doused. "What happened?" Her words are crisp and clear and even gentle in comparison to the dark look she's giving the spot that was once on fire. The question is pretty much meant for whoever will answer at this point, too. "And why has it taken this long to put out the fire?" When she steps up beside Yules, it's to obviously check and ensure the woman is not injured in any way. Annnnnnd, then D'tri takes a dive off the wagon and she runs oer to help him up. "Reassure your lifemates. And now that there is no more danger, allow them to come out here. They need to be with you or they'll panic more."

Chorzeczoyth busily attempts several things at once. The flicking of black feathers against red leaves, talons loosening and tightening around branches. Sparse greenery spreading, retracting. The light keeps getting brighter but the rumble… slowly fades. Everything is quiet. Until… paint is violently licked off of metal by a passing gust, white-barked trees creak at a deathly sparseness that spreads forcibly throughout. There's your answer. Chorzeczoyth will not listen. Is anyone surprised?
Caelth sends out tendrils of black, implacable in their questing as they seek out the wayward bronze. « You will STAY, until your lifemate tells you it is safe to approach. » he hisses.

Oh NOW they start putting out the fire. Yules huffs slightly, but turns to where D'tri has nose-dived and starts with, "I was out exercising with a sack of tubers and saw this on my lap…" A chin is jutted roughly in the direction of the once-flames, where a sack of tubers lies, abandoned and squished, "Though I guess they won't be edible now." Le sigh. Priorities get reorganized and the younger brownrider continues, "From what I understand, the Seacrafters needed to burn some wood but couldn't take it to the beach, so they did the burn here instead." Yules knows about food and dragons, not about Seacrafting, but she eyes the other Seacrafting apprentices dubiously. "And D'tri was scared." Once Arianne gives the all-clear, Yules concentrates a moment and a loud hooting noise can be heard from the direction of the Upper Bowl.

Just like that, calming spiced klah is dumped out and the mug is filled with exciting new flavours of rum. Desmeth announces, « I go! »

Caelth momentarily looks as if he's just gotten a dragon enema. What the fuck is -that- noise? Did that just come from a dragon?? His maw swivels, only to sight… a baby brown. Sigh. he can't be mad at the babies.

While the others talk Nathanael is busy putting out the flames with the rest of the sea crafters. Soot files from the doused flames and flecks over all of the apprentices. Soon enough the flames are out, but things are still too hot for the apprentices to begin pushing the pile out of the way. Nathanael looks upwards at the dragon rider, apology written all over his face. "Sorry ma'am, 'e did'no think any'un'd b' 'ere 't this time."

After being helped up, and with absolutely zero apology, a slightly frayed-at-the-edges looking D'tri backs hastily away from the wagon. He doesn't look to be in the mood for any more words until he turns around to walk, slightly wobbly, and hears two things steadily approach. First is a wild dash of HOPS, leaps on springy, bronze dragonlegs. Second is an utterly unimpressive but oh so ambitious call of 'wak-wak-wak-KRRAAWHH'. Go go Team Least Majestic Sounding.

Arianne isn't privy to what the seacraft has worked out with the Weyr on appropriate places to burn scrap wood or the like. So she simply nods gravely and makes mental note to bring the idea to someone's attention that it may not be the bestest idea ever. "I'll leave this to you to take care of then, thank you." Nathanael is eyed and addressed there. And when the dragonets have been given leave by their lifemates to approach - that's when Caelth will stop blocking the area and take deliberate steps backwards. Now, his presence is merely a hovering protective fortress. "You should both check in with the healers if you have any problems breathing because of being close to the smoke." she cautions. Because… that's how she rolls, really. "I'll escort you back to the barracks when you're ready. Should I bring you both anything from the living caverns after you settle in? I think Desmeth and Chorzeczoyth will be reluctant to allow you out of their sight for awhile now."

"'m real sorry if'n 'e scared 'e both." Nathanael says, rather distressed as the two dragons appear. The wood still smokes slightly as apprentices appear with fresh water to douse the heat from the woods to make it easier to dispose of. He shifts from foot to foot with a huge frown on his face, no hint of his earlier curiosity or energy evident.

Desmeth is bounding along, wings slightly askew in his excitement and NEED to BE with Yules RIGHT NOW. He is the source of that strange hooting noise and he just barely avoids bowling over crowds of people. Yules nods at Arianne absentmindedly, intent on focusing on her smaller brown. The little hoots continue as Yules wraps one arm around Desmeth, and his tail around her waist. Try getting away now. "I'll do so," she tells Arianne, and then looks over at D'tri, "He was closer to the fire, though, and for longer." Nathanael's apology gets Yules looking over at the apprentice, almost surprised to see him. Oh hai.

The moment young bronze Chorzeczoyth reaches D'tri is the moment the latter's shirt is snatched up into the former's jaws. As gently as he can manage, which means a mouth full of the side of the Weyrling's shirt, but no holes in anything but that. "Whoah, whoah! I'm—" He turns to Arianne to answer her, only to be turned right back around by the bronze, sharply yanking him away from the entrance as he backs toward where he came from. "I'm fine!" Chorzeczoyth does not appear to entirely agree, giving agitated twitches of his half-outstretched wings and a throaty, muffled 'krrrhkrwhrr' noise. Which just draws a laugh from the stumbling D'tri, even if it's riddled with nerves on edge. "We're going, we're going."

"They'll be alright; we'll make sure of it." Arianne promises, to Nathanael. She can't quite offer further reassurance than that, though she does clasp her hands in front of her quietly and stand there waiting for the weyrlings to be ready to go. Once they are, she'll dutifully escort them all the way back and make sure to fill in one of the weyrlingstaff before she goes running off to take care of other duties.

Desmeth ignores his brother's weird noises in favour of making his own, now mixed with little clicks and chirrs. Yules turns to look down at Desmeth again, "Yes, I do sme… yes, we'll get a bath. I'll get very clean and…" For a moment, these two are lost in eachother before Yules grouses, "Alright, I get your point." And then they're turning to make their way back to the barracks. Hoot.

Left behind are the seacrafter apprentices, Nathanael at their centre, looking as guilty and put-upon as possible. Journeyman-in-charge appears his eyes sweeping across the weyr entrance at the apprentices, the half-burned wood, the smoke, and the yelling of the trapped cart. "What in blazing shards are you apprentices doing!" He roars to the group, and Nathanel slinks towards him, attempting to explain.

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