==== February 6th, 2014
==== K'vvan, T'ral
==== Arroyo's Wingsecond is suspicious of a Southern rider he finds in his 'Healing Yard.

Who K'vvan, T'ral
What Arroyo's Wingsecond is suspicious of a Southern rider he finds in his 'Healing Yard.
When There are 0 turns, 0 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr

kvvan4.jpg t-ral_intent.jpg


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.

Cold wind skirls through the courtyard, spinning sand into spiral patterns, piling it up in corners. A bluerider, from Southern by his knots and patches, is standing over a table of uprooted, weedy looking plants. He's arranging and re-arranging them while a stocky, blue dragon not far away looks on. "Probably," the man says to no one. So likely, to the dragon. "I don't know. Ask around." More to the dragon. He looks up from the table, brow furrowed and then goes to crack open one of the doors, voice muffled as he speaks to someone within. "…urse, Sir," he says, closing the door and tramping back to the table and staring at it again. He rubs the palm of one hand with the thumb of another, breaking the steady gaze at the table to peer at his hand.

K'vvan is not at all happy to be in the dragon healer yard (wait, is K'vv ever happy to be anywhere?) and the scowl on his face shows it. As do the loudly stomping boots as he moves into the area. Flapping around his neck is a scarf that looks, actually, rather good on him as it flutters in the breeze. Back to angry. "You. Healer. When is R'cos getting back on full duty?"

T'ral looks up at the voice, an angry demand and the snap of command. His eyebrows go up and he looks over his shoulder at whomever this rider, this, Oh. Wingsecond. might be looking at. There's no one else. "Ah, this is not my duty station, Sir, but I'll find out." He salutes and heads for the door he'd just stuck his head through.

"Wait just a sharding minute. If this isn't your duty station what the hell are you doing here?" K'vvan strides towards the taller man and reaches out a hand to grasp T'ral's shoulder if he doesn't disallow it. "Do I know you?"

T'ral halts at the barked command and is half spun around to answer when the Wingsecond claps a hand on his shoulder. The bluerider draws up, "Training with Igen's dragonhealers, Sir." He glances at the greenrider, studying him a moment before his eyes snap back forward, "Ah, no, Sir. I don't believe we've met. T'ral, blue Esanth's."

K'vvan eyes the man from top to bottom, suspicion all over his dark green eyes. Finally his hand is allowed to fall back to his side and he backs up a step from the rider. The knot is given a brief glance, then back to those blue eyes of his. "Where's the Igen healers that you're suppose to be training with then?"

"At work, Sir. Indoors. I just returned from a foraging trip and am sorting the findings." T'ral feels a sense of unease radiating off of the man in front of him. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. Most rankers would have let him off the formal hook by now. He glances at the Wingsecond again. "I can find out about R'cos, if you need, Sir. It won't take but a moment."

"No." K'vvan's decision is abrupt, even as is his sudden movement forward to a door at the far end of the area. "Southern doesn't f*king need to know our business."

"Of course, Sir." Doubt flickers across his face. When the greenrider moves away he returns to the sorting of the weedy plants. There something special about cold wind, it finds all the gaps in even well-insulated flight leathers. T'ral zips the front of his flight jacket further up and balls and relaxes his hands. He looks up at the blue dragon, "Colder than last time, eh, pal?" The weather? Or their reception?

K'vvan disappears into that doorway and allows it to slam shut behind him in the cool breezes- even he's not a dick enough to allow cold into where sick/injured people are staying. A few minutes later raised voices are heard and K'vvan is slamming his way back out of the door. This time the southern blue rider doesn't even get acknowledgement as the grumpy wingsecond pauses in the middle to look upwards at a green dot circling above.

T'ral's eyes flick up at the Wingsecond's reemergence and upward craning of neck. Oh. He sees his shadow… Six more months of Winter. Who is this guy? T'ral pauses to ask Esanth. The bluerider's eyes cut over to his dragon as he smells a fistful of a spiny plant, then touches some of it's welling sap to his to his tongue. Nose wrinkling he nods and puts that spiny fistful to one side.

The starscape of Esanth's mind is glittering, the red star dominating the slowly wheeling drift of scattered diamonds. A bright warmth in the Vastness flickers and is a cargobay stuffed with barrels of numbweed, phials of fellis, bales of herbs. The air is cool and still, heavy with pungent herbs and stinging medicinal smells. A thrumming, felt through the soles of the feet accompanies his query, « Afternoon, Miss. Mine enquires as to the identity of your'n. I'm Esanth, out of Southern. »

K'vvan is completly ignoring the Southern rider as he stands with hands upon hips. Above him the green twirls in the air one last time before gracefully diving downwards careful with her wings to stir up no more than the faintest breath of sand as she touches down. Curiously she examines the silvery-blue.

Nadeeth twines a gentle ribbon, dark hued but still firmly green between the scattered stars of the scape, though they very pointedly avoid the large red specter sitting there in the middle. « K'vvan. Arroyo. » The green very briefly replies. The ribbons flutter just slightly, « I am Nadeeth. »

T'ral looks uncertainly at the greenrider, then at the green who lands deftly in the 'yard. Thanks, pal. This is his then? He sorts and sorts. Piles of herbs go into two baskets which are labled, tagged and set to the side. And out comes another basket. « Yup. Nadeeth to K'vvan. Arroyo Wing. » More, different weedy looking plants. Sorting begins anew.

The stars flicker once and then freeze at their brightest, hard points of light in the 'scape. Then they beging to turn slowly, drawing Nadeeth's ribbons across, Cat's Cradle in the stars. « My thanks, Miss Nadeeth. »

With the bluerider not attempting any contact K'vvan allows himself to ignore the Southern rider. Upwards the wingsecond swings onto his small green's back. Let's go. You can flirt a'wing. Nadeeth's return thought is just a brush of silk.

Nadeeth plays calmly with those stars allowing her ribbons to be twisted playfully between the stars. Slowly they lighten in hue, their dark embroidered edges shrinking to the smallest fringe. A question follows among the playfulness, underwriting the growing complexity of their strands, « Healer? »

Esanth trundles to his feet, wings unfurling, a draconic doff of his hat to the departing lady. He utters a grinding blat at her and T'ral looks up, between the two dragons. He straightens and salutes the Arroyo Wingsecond, "Fair skies, Sir." The common farewell has taken on a darker connotation in the last sevens as they all feel The Approach. It seems frivolous to T'ral and he regrets issuing the farewell.

The wheeling stars pick up speed, the patterns woven becoming more complex, denser and the space around the Red Star more a focal point. Thrumming deepens, « Yes'm. A trainee. »

As Nadeeth's physical bulk moves upwards, so do her ribbons, rolling backwards from the star streaked skies. « Needed. Useful. » There is all sorts of approval over those lengths of pure silk.

Upon Nadeeth's back, K'vvan is strapping himself in, perhaps settling in for a longer flight than just back to their ledge. T'ral's voice brings his eyes back to focus on the bluerider working in the yard. "For now. Fair skies, Southern." Nadeeth quietly inserts the bluerider's name, but K'vvan doesn't bother to use it. Up. With that directive Nadeeth pushes herself up from the ground and spirals upwards with strong wingbeats.

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