==== December 11th, 2013
==== Kultir, Amoxena, S'yn, T'ral
==== T'ral tags along as Kultir brings in his traps in preparation for his big trip. Amoxena stalks. S'yn drops in.

Who Kultir, Amoxena, S'yn, T'ral
What T'ral tags along as Kultir brings in his traps in preparation for his big trip. Amoxena stalks. S'yn drops in.
When There are 0 turns, 6 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr

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Upper Black Rock River
As the ocean flows inland, the Black Rock River is formed; a jade jewel further enhanced by the towering cliffs that serve as the gateway into the deeper river wilds. Hints of grey stone peek from beneath a covering of verdant greenery as lichen, moss, vinery, and small, clinging plants weave together to become a covering for the the stone beneath. Here, the waterway narrows, forming the first of the winding river as it snakes its way deeper into the heart of Southern, carrying the occasional vessel of trade goods.
It is the thirtieth day of Winter and 77 degrees. It is partly cloudy, but still warm and bright. Clouds have started to drift across the sky again. The jungles are almost dry.


Kultir creeps slowly through the jungle underbrush about half a dragonlength from the bank of the river, his eyes scanning the ground around him for tale-tell marks to point out to his tracking partner. The pack on his back is limp right now, the afternoon being the earliest he could get away from the Weyr but he knows it will fill rather quickly as he pulls his traps. Spotting something in a bare spot, he crouches and presses the leaves sheltering that spot away so the young man trailing him can see what he's found. "There, mustelid tracks," he says in a very low voice so as not to disturb the surrounding wildlife. "See how the front and back feet look the same? Four bulbed pad with five toe pads? The front is the smaller set." He glances back at the bluerider, amber eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Amoxena is a bit further out than she typically forages, having abandoned the easier grounds as word of monetary gain from healer-friendly plants has spread to any tom, dick, and jane who can blunder into the first mile of the jungle and pick every sprig and snatch every swell of moss on the off chance they get it right. Though she may be young, she's more skilled, or at the very least, more ambitious than the average collector. Ducking under moisture-slicked leaves and stepping with the soft tread of experience, the brat bends down to inspect a few leaves and the delicate pink blossoms attached. As she hooks a finger under the petals and lifts the bloom, her attention is suddenly avidly directed at the sound of Kultir's voice and she freezes, looking around for the second just mentioned.

It's been a bit of a trek to get out here, good to stretch his legs. Something, with all the sweeps and drills, that T'ral hasn't gotten to do in a while. He does some of his best thinking on long outings (usually runs). Padding along in companionable silence with Kultir, looking where the tracker points, seeing the jungle from within, below… it's good. T'ral has been wearing hats lately. NO REASON. He pads forward, not as light on his feet as the larger man, but not a total loss. Well, at least they're not actually stalking anything. He pulls the cap off of his head as he crouches, running a hand through hair that looks like a the barber got well and truly drunk half-way through. One side is passable, the other… a wreck. An exuberant wreck. He peers intently at the tracks, not seeing what Kultir is pointing out until… wait. OH. Wow. "You spotted that? You've got sharper eyes than I do." He peers closely, committing the shape to memory. Thus absorbed, he doesn't see or sense Amoxena.

Chuckling softly at his partner's comment, Kultir shrugs. "Took Turns of practice, T'ral." he says, standing once more and checking the trees nearby for any of his marks of nearby traps. "At least they are running again. Wish I didn't have to pull my traps this season but I can't leave them untended for a sevenday." With a slight gesture, he beckons to the rider as he begins his creeping walk down the bank. After a few more yards, he catches sight of one of his blazes and nods, scanning the area for disturbance that would indicate something robbed his trap. Sighing with relief he edges forward and reaches under the scrub to find the stake that holds the snare in place. With a deft yank, the stake comes free as the young man pulls the length of line into his hands. At the end is a two foot long, rather slender, silky pelted weasel-type creature. "Hah! This one might be the one that made those tracks we just saw." Deft fingers unwind the cord from around the stiff neck as he crouches in the undergrowth. Setting the carcass aside, he unclips his pack from his vest and slings it off to tuck the trap into the pouch on the front of the pack.

Amoxena is merely happy her quarry has no reaction to sound because—wow. I mean, like, wow. The brat stares, just stares at T'ral. There's a lot to take in: the rider's hair alone is a solid minute of slack-jawed disbelief. The noise the bluerider makes is enough to make birds flee and bugs to zoom away. Amoxena half expects her flower to take off. Seeing as T'ral is clearly going to bring the big felines down on them, Mox is more than tempted to take off in the completely opposite direction, buuuuuut… that Kultir kid, she's seen him around, and her attempts at tracking have failed. Miserably. Mostly she relies on her firelizard to grab something passable and sticks to the vegetation. Creeping closer, flower now plucked, Amoxena watches the young man pull up his kill and she maneuvers herself closer (taking advantage of ol' yelly face over there) to sneak far closer than she might otherwise have gotten in silence. Must. Observe. Trap.

"MMmmm," T'ral contributes sagely. Harper. El-o-quent. He follows Kultir as quietly as he's able. "Say…" he murmurs, "Is there some trick to…" he pushes aside a frond, steps on a dry husk of something and lets go the frond -SWISH- ducking as the blades sweep past his face. "…ah… being quiet?" T'ral moves to the critter, crouching, running fingers through its hide. Wow. SOFT. He thumbs a little paw open, marvelling at the cleverness of the digits. "Why can't you check them more?" His voice is low, modulated. He's making an effort.

Kultir grins at the bluerider and shrugs. "Practice. This is a little thick to learn in but you pick a spot and you work really hard on not letting things move when you go past them. When you can brush past fronds without using your hands, it's better," he says softly. He gives the young man time to examine the carcass while he crouches on his heels and relaxes a little. "Watching where you walk, learning to move with the terrain, flexibility. Like I said, it takes Turns of practice." Reaching out to retrieve the mustelid, he tucks it into the pack and slings it back onto his shoulders. "I'm going to be out of the Weyr for a sevenday. I run these lines every couple days so the pelts don't get ruined by weather or robbers looking for an easy meal." He beckons again and moves forward on light feet, still not listening for other humans though his ears are sharp for any four footed intruders.

T'ral nods, not exactly sure what 'pick a spot' means, but making an attempt to move like Kultir does. The balance is hard and it's not much of an improvement what with the flaring or pinwheeling arms. "Could I -whoa-" he wobbles, "Check 'em for you?" He's got a good sense of direction.

Kultir glances back at the bluerider and chuckles at the pinwheeling arms but when the other manages to keep his balance, he doesn't offer to help. "You've got too much to do with your dragon and learning drills and stuff to bother with running my traps," he says with a slight shrug. "Thanks for offering though. Besides, I've got some set in tricky spots and I wouldn't want you breaking your neck trying to get to them." Those are further up the ravine and he'll have to leave his friend behind while he climbs out to retrieve them anyway. Another blaze is seen and a careful search made of the underbrush to pull up another snare. Sighing softly, he pulls this line in and shrugs when he finds it empty. "Can't get full ones all the time." He grins back at the other young man and continues on his way.

"Yeah. I'm busier than a one-armed weaver," he totters and keeps his balance managing not to totally crash into everything. "But I can help out. Just take the tricky ones down. I can get the easy ones." He looks around, everything's gone quiet. Well, quiet-ish. T'ral's neck prickles. Or… maybe he can stay at the weyr and do safe things like live-flaming drills.

Grinning at his friend, Kultir shakes his head slightly. "It's fine, really, T'ral," he says, stepping carefully through the heavy underbrush with just the slightest of sounds. "If this hunting trip goes the way I hope it will, I'll have too many hides to work to worry about a dozen or so pelts from the lines." He frowns slightly as he considers the two lines he's got running now and glances at the bluerider speculatively. "I guess if you really wanted to, I could show you the easier line I've got running though. You could run those if you had the time. It's along the lake coast, lot easier terrain." A double blaze ahead has him crouching through the underbrush to scan the area once more, eyes sharp to catch possible movement. "This mark …" He rests his finger against the tree trunk where his 'K' mark can be seen in the bark though it's doubled. "It shows I've got two snares here because there is a burrow nearby."

"If you think I can help, I'm happy to." At Kultir's crouch, T'ral quiets and crouches near, looking at the mark the tracker is indicating. "Does anyone keep track of which marks are which?" Totally a Harper Archivist question. His eyebrows go up and he looks around, trying to figure where Kultir is looking.

Kultir nods slightly as his eyes search the undergrowth just to the uphill side of their current position and slowly points to a small opening in the hillside covered with fronds so that it looks like a dark hole within the shadows of the undergrowth. "There's the burrow," he says before turning to point toward the riverside of their position. "My snares are down there. Wait here and I'll be back in a moment." He slips away silently, no sound of his passage betraying his presence though there are small rustlings from the uphill side of the path. After several heartbeats, he returns with two snares and two carcasses of slightly smaller beasts than the last one. "This is a good spot, when all the others are empty … these are usually full." He unwraps the cords and stuffs the two beasts into the pack and slips it back onto his shoulders. "I don't think anyone keeps track of them. Not like there's a lot of people setting snares around here. Me, maybe one or two others. I don't intrude on their lines, they don't intrude on mine so we're pretty happy with the arrangement." Standing once more, he leads the bluerider on up the river and into the slightly less dense scrub but rockier terrain. "Watch your step … some of this is loose and you don't want to go tumbling into the river."

T'ral crouches and waits, counting heartbeats and the direction of the rustling. He purses his lips, wonder if I could get up to that. "How many more snares are there?" He calculates… at the rate they're going, at some point, Kultir will need to give him stuff to carry, right? Or… probably the lines weren't so long that Kultir couldn't reasonably run them by himself. But T'ral's not out here for the scenery - lovely as it is. He's also not here to tumble in the river, so when Kultir warns him about the trail he keeps a sharp eye on the path.

Kultir ponders the question as he works his way across a short expanse of scree that slips downslope from beneath his soft soled boots. He keeps one hand on the uphill side as he does his best to leave a more stable path for the bluerider behind him. He doesn't answer till he reaches the 'safe' area of the larger stones and boulders though. "Umm, this line should have another four snares on it. Not too many for one person to carry so you won't have to worry about getting any bugs or blood on you." He grins back at the younger man, winking teasingly. "This is the shortest line but it's the most dangerous. See that rock face up there?" He points ahead of them at a seemingly sheer rock face that runs up to the top of the plateau. "I've got three that are set up there. When we get to the last one on the path, I'll leave you and the pack there so I can go get them and bring them back to where you are. Okay?"

T'ral follows Kultir's lead, hand on the slope, careful to step where Kultir steps. His hand are sweaty by the time they get to the safe area. It's one thing to fly adragonback with your 'mate who'd never let you fall even if the straps failed, and quite another to trust only to your own balance and strength. T'ral is glad to be doing this now, after months of training. And still, nervewracking. Once safe, Kultir explains the plans. Bugs and blood. T'ral glowers, a little put out. "Tell me how I'm helping, here," his gesture takes in the whole run of the line. He peers up the slope, brow furrowed, "Why the devil are mustelids up there?"

Kultir laughs softly as his friend reaches the safe area and claps him lightly on the arm without disturbing the man's balance. "You're keeping me company?" he asks with a shrug. "Actually, I don't run this line without someone to watch my back when I'm on that face. Someone that can run back for help if … Faranth forbid … I should slip and need help getting out of trouble." He shrugs, it hasn't happened yet but he's not going to take the chance that it might the one time he comes up here alone. "I have no idea why they'd be there but I've seen them going in and out a few of the holes in that face. They might be a different species since they are more greyish brown than blackish brown."

"Company. You've always struck me as a solitary sort." T'ral squints, grunting. Then Kultir explains. "Ah. So the best I can hope for today is to be totally superflous." He shakes his head, grinning. "Great." Wait. Grin falters. "You're gonna climb that?" He peers up the rock face, looking for a path or a trail, ladder, rope something. Uh. Sure. Eyes go vague as T'ral reaches out to Esanth… If there was trouble, help would be moments away. He blinks, clarity returning, "Ready."

Kultir laughs and shakes his head at T'ral, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Generally I do prefer to be out here alone, but I'm not stupid. And you've never done much jungle traipsing, I wasn't going to saddle you with a heavy pack on uncertain terrain, T'ral," he says, the fondness for the man in his voice. "I enjoy your company too much to risk you and Esanth on stupidity. Though I suppose I could have taken you to run my avian snares … How would you like to learn to walk the tree-road?" His chuckle is teasing since that activity takes a lot longer to master than just walking on rough and rocky hillsides. As they move on toward the cliff face, he slings the pack off his back and crouches down on a fairly large, flat boulder that is sunk into the hillside. "Yeah, gonna climb it. Done it dozens of times. It looks more dangerous than it is though." Rummaging in the pack he pulls out a pair of fingerless gloves with roughened leather palms and a small bag that he affixes to one of the clips on his vest. "I won't be long, just wait here. You'll know if you need to call for help." With that, he's off at an easy jogtrot over the rough terrain though there are no loose rocks to endanger his balance.

T'ral squints and relents. FINE. SAFETY. RESPONSIBILITY. He cocks his head, "I rather like the sound of 'walk the tree-road'" He cocks his head, "Has a nice ring to it." He levels intent eyes on Kultir, scrubbing a hand through disaster haircut, "But, given that herdbeast-eating-thistle grin on your face, I'll pass." Kultir finishes his preparation and T'ral nods, sketching a salute while he watches, waits, listens - alert. Esanth stands by.

Kultir glances back at his friend as he reaches the face and then turns his attention to the work ahead. He moves across the cliff face easily, working his way above where his snares are set to the very furthest one that positions him almost directly over the center of the river below. Keeping track of where he places his hands and feet, he edges his way down to the first snare and works the stake loose from the crevice it is wedged in before he clenches a fist into a crevice to keep himself in place as he reels in the line to retrieve the carcass he can feel at the end of his line. Leaving the carcass dangling from the snare, he clips it into one of the hooks on his vest before moving on to the next. It doesn't take long for him to gather the three on the face itself before he's back on the hillside a bit below where T'ral sits waiting for him to pull in the last snare. Grinning, he trots back to the bluerider, his catch bouncing against his hip as he moves. "There we go," he says, dropping down to stuff the carcasses into the pack after untangling the cords from the necks of each one. "And if you really want to learn to walk the tree road, I'd be willing to teach you, T'ral." for all the intense concentration his climb required, the younger man is not at all out of breath though his face is streaked with sweat.

It's uncertain work watching his friend scale the face, but Kultir's clearly done this a lot and, though, still watchful, T'ral relaxes. A little. He raises his eyebrows appreciatively at the catch, "Who knew?" Apparently, Kultir. He watches Kultir at work, wondering what would possess creature to stick its neck into a snare. "As nuts as Prymelia went for those feathers, I'll take you up on that. If laying snares is part of it too." He puts thumbs under the straps of his empty pack, "I'd say my company is fair trade for such an exchange." Esanth stands down.

Kultir grins up at his friend as he stands and shoulders his pack once more, clipping the hooks onto his vest to keep it from sliding around and throwing off his balance. "Sure, so long as you have the time to do it," he says. "I don't want to take time away from what you should be doing in drills and such." It helps that he's got a rider weyrmate, so he understands the necessity of the drills they do. Gesturing back down the path they had taken to arrive at where they are, he moves past the bluerider to lead the way back down the hillside.

"I wouldn't give it time I don't have," T'ral allows. But he's interested. T'ral's always interested in learning new things. Too many things. And everything takes time. And there's precious little enough of that. He falls in behind Kultir, trying to move deliberately and easily like the tracker.

Kultir nods as they make their way downwards on that tricky, rocky slope till they manage to get back into the jungle overgrowth where they are no longer in danger of tumbling down into the river. "Well, we can make plans to do that sometime after I get back from my hunting trip," he says, glancing back to the older man. The pace he sets is much calmer and less creeping and crouching since he's pretty sure nothing could have gotten between them and their path back to the Weyr.

Oh sure. THAT'S when the felines strike. When you're 'pretty sure' everything is safe. T'ral traipses along behind Kultir, "Where and when is this trip?" A different question strikes, "And are you fostering the twins already then?" It seemed like they'd been born only a little while ago… but it was months now. Time flies when you're preparing to fight Thread.

Kultir's head turns slowly as he keeps watch around them as they move on back toward the Weyr at that easy pace. When they are near the edge of the lake, the young man crouches as he holds a hand out to stop the bluerider and waving him into a crouch as well. Unclipping his pack silently, he eases it off his shoulders to flump lightly onto the ground as his eyes remain fixed on a tree several paces ahead of them. "Wait here." he whispers as he turns to check T'ral to be sure the man is in a secure spot and nods. Moving silently in a crouch, he moves up on the tree he was watching. His gaze turns to the surrounding area and scans closely for any possible danger. His hand lifts to trace over the fresh claw marks before bending to examine the ground around the base of the tree for tracks. Frowning as he looks back up in the tree before turning to gaze at the surrounding trees before returning to the bluerider's side. "Looks like we had a feline come in behind us but it's gone now. We should be okay getting back now that we're this close to the lake."

T'ral stops and crouches when bidden. He waits quietly for whatever Kultir is checking. At the report his eyes go wide, looking around at the foliage, "What. I'm calling Esanth," T'ral holds up a forestalling hand, a warning flash in his eyes, "That close. We weren't gone that long. I don't have your experience, but I'm not risking you or me on 'should.'" And by 'me' he means 'Esanth.' His eyes flicker with the summons. "Could you tell which way it went when it moved off?"

Kultir glares at the warning look in the bluerider's eyes before he can control himself once more. "I can't tell exactly but the only direction it could really go is away from where we are headed," he says, his tone low as his eyes turn back toward the treetops. "And what's Esanth going to do? He's not big enough to carry us out of here and we're not that far out of the safe zone anyway." He moves on down the overgrown path toward the lake, knowing that even if the young dragon comes he won't be able to land where they are right now so they may as well get to where he can.

Esanth isn't big, but he's agile -quick and flashy- and great flier. He backwings, twisting to drop neatly near T'ral and Kultir, back to them so the backblast of his landing doesn't blow overthem. Because he IS little, he doesn't need all that much room but even as as the blue drops neat and hard to the jungle floor vegetation shivers, shakes, rustles. Everything goes quiet. Esanth trundles, turnining in place, with crashing and tearing and hopefully any lingering felines that were in the area would think better of getting anywhere near. The dragon's eyes are blue, but sparks of yellow swirl quickly. "Well, at least I'm quieter than that." T'ral rolls his eyes.

Kultir sighs softly as the blue lands and shakes his head slightly at the rider's comment. "Yes … you are quieter than that," he says with a rueful laugh. Moving closer to the blue, he frowns back at the older man and shrugs in acquiescence. "I guess we get to go out the easy way."

"I was thinking more the alive way." T'ral walks up to Esanth, "Hey, pal, easy. Just being cautious," He starts checking over Esanth's straps and calls over his shoulder to Kultir, "You want the front or the back?" Esanth's head slews to examine Kultir, nostrils dilating as he smells the carcasses. He rumbles at the tracker.

A large shadow falls over the ground, a glance above revealing a dazzling copper form that is sparse and agile in a way that belies the bronze's size as the beast practically dances through the currents like they own them. A whirling eye spies the carbon dragon landing and rumbles a greeting to the smaller clutchmate and banks smoothly, turning low to sweep in over the river and move in low toward a landing, the young Iaxryth demonstrating prowess in the air that he lacked on the ground. S'yn is perched on the bright withers and scanning the landscape around them keenly, ensuring that the dragon's massive wingspan doesn't scrape the sides of the narrowing cliff-face as he glides in to finally land with minimal fuss and noise, back to the assembled, though the breeze rustles gustily before as the massive wings sweep up loose vegetation to whirlwind briefly before settling. "Show off," the young rider snorts, glancing back to grin at Kultir and T'ral and offers a wave.

Kultir laughs and shakes his head at T'ral's comment. "You don't trust me to get you back to the Weyr alive?" he asks with mock-indignation. "I'll have you know, I've not lost a single partner I've brought on this run … I certainly wouldn't start with you." When the blue slews around to look at him he stops in his tracks and frowns slightly not quite sure what the blue means by that rumble. As the coppery bronze wings into view, Kul looks up and smiles as he recognizes Iaxryth and S'yn. He waves once the bronze is down and then shrugs at T'ral. "Back's where I usually sit with Kalea." Despite his choice, he's still not sure about approaching the blue with his catch strapped to his back.

T'ral whistles low at Iaxryth's low glide and smooth landing. He gives Esanth a hey-you-taking-notes? look. He raises a hand to wave at S'yn. "Next time, don't say 'should.'" Very attuned to word choice, the former Harper. He nods at Kultir's choice of seating arrangement, glad because he couldn't see around the big lug had he chosen otherwise. Not that he strictly needed to see. But. The straps looked good. No damage, no unusual wear. Esanth had managed to keep them intact another day. Victory. "Uh, no, definitely not snacks," T'ral directs towards Esanth, thunking the sturdy blue on the chest. Esanth snorts and nudges Kultir, eyes a happy-blue green. Nothin' dire here. Though maybe he does sniff a little more at the pack.

Straps come off and the young S'yn rolls off the lithe shoulders of his bond to slide down the foreleg and land in a half crouch on the verdant ground before straightening and sashaying lightly toward the pair, curiosity quirking his eyebrows toward his hairline. "Looks like you two have been busy," he observes dryly as thumbs hook under his belt and he leans against Iaxryth's hindquarters, a glance going to Esanth, then back to T'ral, Kultir and their catch. "Did you guys need a hand getting some of that back to the Weyr?" It's a question and an offer all at once. "I'm pretty sure Iaxryth won't try to eat it." A wry expression brightens his amber eyes. "Though, I can't promise he won't want to take it apart." Esanth's antics earn a low chuckle. "Looks like there might be a little competition for that honor, though." The bronze gets a thump from the Senior Weyrling as the dragon turns to glance at Kultir and the man's eyes go briefly hazy, though there is a small laugh from the teen. "No hard feelings either way, just happened to be nearby stretching our wings." A graceful out? Maybe.

Kultir frowns at T'ral and then dubiously at the blue dragon, standing perfectly still so as not to provoke anything. "He thinks I'm a snack?" he asks softly as the pack on his back gets sniffed more. "Oh … the carcasses. Well, after I skin them if he thinks they'll be good to eat." All he wants of the little beasts is the pelts, after all. He generally takes them down to the Seacrafters to be used for bait. He glances between the two riders and chuckles softly. "After I skin them, he can take them apart if he likes though it might smell pretty bad since they have scent glands."

T'ral looks at Kultir like he's grown another head. Esanth shifts and draws his head back into a self-assured countercurve, head canted cockily. "You know they never eat people, right?" He looks up at Esanth, "And I mean never. Apex predator, but we're not on the menu." Have dragons hurt people? Yes. But always in response to some threat to their riders.

A low rumble rolls from Iaxryth's throat, resulting in another thump from his rider that is accompanied by an eye roll. "Iaxryth isn't hungry, he just wants to know how they work." S'yn snorts softly at his dragon's messy proclivities. Kultir's rather ignorant query has the young bronzerider's eyebrow raising before the teen's head shakes dismissively of his own thoughts, knowing that surely his best friend knows better than that! T'ral gets a wry grin for his rather adamant explanation before the youth pushes away from the bright haunches of his bond to meander toward the pair, still forced to look up despite having put on a couple more inches. "I always wondered about that. I suppose it's because they bond to humans and see them as… sort of part of the pack? Like canines?"

"Well, of course, T'ral," Kultir says with a soft laugh. "Which is why I was a little taken aback that he was sniffing at me. But you never know when a dragon might take a dislike to a person. I wouldn't want to offend him or anything, you know?" A slight blush colors his cheeks beneath his dark tan and glances away, shrugging the pack a bit higher on his shoulders and shuffles his feet in embarrassment.

"He doesn't have thumbs, what's he supposed to do? Hold out a wing?" T'ral laughs and grins at his friend. "I forget, you've not been around him much. He's gentle as a lamb. Unless you're a lamb." Esanth snorts and extends a leg for T'ral to climb. The bluerider clambers up. "I dunno, S'yn. That sounds as good a reason as any." He scratches at his head, hair all jacked up (daggum that Nika), back to Kultir, "You wanna carry that pack or strap it like cargo?"

S'yn chuckles softly, arms folding across his lean chest loosely. "Iaxryth sniffs plenty of things. Apparently it's educational," the teen notes with a little smirk of tolerant amusement. T'ral's explanation of Esanth's gentleness and the addendum earns a little snerk from the bronze Weyrling and the young man actually takes a long look at the blue rider, gaze going to Kultir at the question and then abruptly back to the former Harper with a double blink. "Flaming shards of Faranth's shell, what happened to your hair man?" Clearly the haircut is finally getting some due notice despite having to headcrane a bit to see it, and the younger man's features scrunch ever so slightly in an attempt to remain polite and not laugh at poor T'ral's misfortune.

Kultir shrugs slightly at the bluerider and eyes the blue and then the bigger bronze and chews his lower lip. "I can carry it, I'm used to it no matter what I'm doing," he says. When S'yn comments about T'ral's hair, he can't stop the snicker that escapes. He hadn't planned on saying anything but now the feline is out of the bag and grins at the older man. His own hair is still about shoulder length and doesn't look like there has been a razor or shears near it in a few moons at least. Climbing up the blue's straps, he settles behind the rider and glances down at the younger bronzerider.

"Figured," he replies to Kultir and extends an arm to help the tracker swing up. He straps in and runs his hands through his hair again, eyes rolling upward as if he could see it. "It's all the new thing, S'yn. You should really keep up." He shakes his head, inhaling deeply and sighing out a long breath, "Nika and Arianne having a bit of sport at my expense. I went to them for some training." He looks up and down the open area, feeling the wind and making some sort of assessment of the situation. Esanth's head turns as T'ral's does. He swivels in his seat and checks Kultir's straps, before Kultir can glower at him for second-guessing his know-how, "I know you know how these work. Just doing my job." He pulls on his flight helmet, hiding the wretched haircut. He sketches a salute at S'yn and Iaxryth. Esanth bellows at his clutchmate, the grinding challenge shivering through his thick hide. In a few tooth-rattling steps, Esanth is aloft and beating for the skies at a steep angle, taking advantage of the warm air rising of the jungle at this hour to gain height quickly. When they level off, inbound to the Weyr, T'ral twists around, pitching his voice to carry over the wind, "Thanks for taking me along."

"Clearly I should," S'yn rejoins with mirth, though he does feel some sympathy for the poor ex-Harper's plight. "Well, at least it's just hair. Grows back, yeah?" Unless it's eyebrows, then you might have a problem. Following the cue from his fellow Weyrling the young rider moves for Iaxryth's foreleg and pulls himself up the large dragon's side, quickly vaulting into place and securing his own straps. The salute is returned lightly, Iaxryth letting out a much more velvet response to the motor bellow of the blue. The bronze even gives the blue the benefit of a head start before a couple of quick paces have the agile beast aloft, giant sails catching the currents easily and allowing the almost skeletal dragon to quickly rise and bank back toward the Weyr proper. The pair on the back get a grin from Sy, who is clearly enjoying the sensations of flight though he doesn't try to bellow across the vast distance between them thanks to the twin wing expanses, though the bronze does rise up a little higher to slide over the pair, casting the giant shadow down over them in a clear show off before sweeping forward with the powerful wing-beats.

Laughing softly, Kultir shrugs and doesn't bother to glower. Kalea being the only rider he's ever gotten a dragonride from, he rather expected T'ral to check the straps. "Yeah, I know. Wouldn't want you in trouble cuz you didn't," he says loud enough to be heard over the wind. Grabbing tight to the straps as that tooth-rattling run surprises him slightly before they launch into the air. Grinning, he lifts a hand to clap the older man on the shoulder. "You're welcome, T'ral. We'll set up a date to show you some tree-road walking then." His gaze follows the coppery bronze as he does a little fancy flying, laughing as the shadow slides over them before the downdraft hits them with a gust of air through his hair.

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