==== October 13th, 2013
==== Kyara, K'ane
==== A cold winter night finds Kyara and K'ane up late at the Star Stones.

Who Kyara, K'ane
What A cold winter night finds Kyara and K'ane up late at the Star Stones.
When Late night. There are 11 months an 26 days until the 12th Pass.
Where Star Stones, Igen Weyr


Star Stones
The climb up here on foot is steep, narrow stone steps carved high into the sandstone, and from the top the precipice-drop to the jagged-craggy stones far, far below is treacherous. It's a wide sweep of ledge, a dragonlength and a half jutting out from a rough cliff wall. The wind here is ceaseless, dusty-dry during daytime and biting at night. But for those who brave the climb to this lookout perched high above the Weyr's bowl, the view from these sandy-red rocks is breathtaking. Igen stretches wide-wide-wide around, a vast expanse of deep blue lake and lush green swamp and the myriad rust-rich colours of desert and rock. The real purpose of this spot, though, is highlighted not in its view of what is below but its view of what is above. Three tall rocks stand, one balanced across the tops of the other two, at the focal point of the ledge, perpetually framing one slice of the desert sky beyond.

The hour is quite late, the winter night still, calm, and rather on the biting side in it's chilliness. Most riders are asleep in the warmth of their weyrs by now, though some are out on sweeps, of course. Or watches. And then there's Kyara, who has none of those things but is up anyway, and at arguably the coldest place in or on the Weyr at the moment. Fortunately, the breeze up at the Star Stones is nearly nonexistent for the time being, and bears no sign of getting worse. She ought to be asleep. She knows it. It's still just a little hard to get there after the previous night. So she sits up against one of the tall stones, half-empty bottle of klah beside her, eyes turned skyward to take in the night. Waiting until tiredness overtakes her. Liareth is perched nearby, a silent jade sentinel with green eyes shining remotely in the shadows.

The excellent thing about the Star Stones at this hour is that it is indeed deserted. Well, excepting for the dragon on watch duty winging in to take a spot up above, his lifemate swinging down with nothing but a bizarrely fuzzy, faintly-purple sweater in deference to the bite in the air. Not even a scarf! Whoever knows why K'ane is standing this obsolete watch, though it seems to occur to him that he is not alone up here despite the hour. The snap of cold air has brought high color to his face, and he picks his way towards Kyara with slow movements, a thermos in one hand. Dhioth snorts, his breath fogging in the night air, before lofting back to the sky in a show of light-dark wings brilliant by the light of the stars.

It's size more than anything that tells Kyara that the arriving dragon is Dhioth in this darkness. That, and the subdued, melodic trill of greeting Liareth sends the bronze's way. The greenrider slowly pushes herself up to standing against the stone as K'ane approaches, a gentle smile coming easily as she stretches the mild stiffness of cold away. She does sketch a salute with a soft hello, though catches her hands around behind her back again fairly quickly. "You get this watch? I'm sorry," she comments, a small chuckle ending her words as she comes away from the rock a bit. She quirks a brow at his sweater, compares what he's wearing to the leathers she's wrapped in, and shakes her head a little. "How do you do that?"

"One of my wingriders," K'ane states, and his voice is still a little rough from too-much-shouting, "has a bit of a cold. Ain't rightly helpin' for him t'be out here, gettin' more sick. I was up anyhow." A pinch-hitter watch-sitter. Or something. He lifts his thermos to take a sip of whatever is within: maybe spiked klah, from the spicy scent of it. He offers it to her as an afterthought, silently. Dhioth has a rumbling greeting after he's pushed off and is up in the sky, twining circles far above. "Do what?" is K'ane's blank, dumb-man question afterwards. "Oh, the fuzzy? It was a gift," almost defensive. Almost.

"Ah. Fair enough," Kyara says, though her smile grows at K'ane for his reason for being out here. She steps closer to accept the offered klah, hmming when she catches the scent of whatever else may be augmenting it, and nods appreciatively at the taste of it. And at the fact that it seems to work a little better than the straight klah she brought with her to warm her. "Well, maybe that's my answer," she observes, and then glances back up at him. "I mean the whole staying warm in just a sweater bit. I wouldn't last a minute up here without less than a jacket. Of course, I've always gotten cold easily. Bay born and all." She chuckles at his near-defensiveness over the sweater. "I'm not judging the fuzzy." She reaches over and catches some of the fabric on his arm between two fingers of an un-gloved hand, appraising it a little before letting go. "Feels like it'd keep you plenty warm. Who cares how it looks if it does its job? And it's not as if I can see it well to make fun of you for it." With a smirk, she takes one more sip, and hands the thermos back the to the big bronzerider in the fuzzy sweater.

A distinct tang of vanilla and peach: some kind of brandy in sweet harmony with the thick texture of klah itself. "Oh," K'ane replies as she explains. "This ain't nothin'. I used t' be a cotholder, right up by the snowy wastes," he comments absently. "This is llama-wool, too. They weave it different, somehow. Warmer'n just y'average sweater." Indeed, the texture is dense and soft - so very soft - under Kyara's fingers, when she reaches to touch it. "Y'warm enough?" he seems to belatedly realize she may indeed still be cold. "I think I've got m'jacket up on the lout." He jerks a thumb skywards to indicate Dhioth circling overhead, then accepts his thermos back to cap and tuck under an arm. "It's a little purple," he states abruptly to Kyara. Then: "Uh, th' sweater, that is. A'lory was makin' fun of it just th' other day."

Kyara nods in response to his question, hugging herself a little before becoming aware of her bare hand again, which she shoves back into the glove she plucks from her belt. The answer she gives is at odds with her nod, however. "I should be alright for a little while more, but…no, not really. I didn't think to bring a fur with me. I usually do. Just too lazy to go back down for it. But you don't have to call him back down here just for that; it's fine." When he tacks on the new fact about the sweater, she grins. "Sounds like our Weyrsecond. I won't join in with him, though; I promise. Not out loud, at least." There's a wink to go with that - a quick thing, almost miss-able - before she looks back up at the sky for a moment, folding her arms.

"Finally recovered from th' games?" K'ane picks as a differing tack of conversation, rubbing his hands idly in front of him. Is he ignoring the elephant in the room? Probably. It seems like the bullheaded kind of thing the bronzerider would do. "I woke up t'day and realized I wasn't sixteen anymore." His voice is deep and terribly, terribly wry: "Creaked around so loud this mornin' that 'Kari asked me if th' Smiths needed t'oil my hinges." He shakes his head, amusement sketched obvious even in the faint light.

Eyeing the bronzerider rather blithely for his redirection and raising an eyebrow amusedly, Kyara follows along with a fair amount of ease, chuckling. "Oh yes. Took me a few days, but I think I finally got it slept off." She stretches again until her neck pops lightly, pushing a bit of wayward hair back behind her ear. It's with a straight face that she regards him now. "You mean to say you're not? Faranth, man, you've aged yourself prematurely, then." Part of her thinks she ought to knock that off now. But at the moment, she's finding that subtly picking on K'ane is easy, and as she's not given to teasing often, she lets herself for the time being. That, or she's finally starting to tire. She laughs at his last. "Is that your daughter?" she questions, idly rubbing gloved hands up and down her arms.

K'ane pulls a face at Kyara. "Laugh it up, kiddo," he grumbles. "When you get to be my age, we'll see who'll be th' one laughing then." It'll be K'ane. Just in case anyone was wondering. He shifts, pacing around the greenrider to block his shoulder against a nearby outcropping of rock — because it is easier to lean, apparently, than stand. He has a half-smile for the question. "One of 'em. My eldest," he confirms. Blue eyes slant over; "Are y'sure y'ain't cold?" His voice seems to be infused with doubt.

Folding her arms over her chest, Kyara turns, watching K'ane walk around her, and purses her lips as she levels a mild Look at him, letting a hint of defiance color the attitude of the slow steps she takes in his direction. "'Kiddo,' hmm? Maybe, compared to you, but try not to mistake me for one otherwise. If you please." She accents the "if" by jabbing a gloved finger into his shoulder and pushing a bit, then retreats a step to lean against the rock herself, her smile crooked. "And you're not that old," she adds, now looking down and fiddling with the leather fingertip she just used as that bit of attitude dissolves into her typical demeanor. "Fine. Yes, I'm cold," she admits grudgingly, eyes coming back up. "You have others? Kids, I mean," she asks curiously.

K'ane grunts at the prod, arching his eyebrows at her. "If I really thought you were a kid," droll, "trust me, I wouldn't…" Whatever he WAS going to say is cut off. Because K'ane is a giant tease, isn't he? In more ways than one. He grunts again: "Almost thirty." His voice sounds a little morose. Whenever did he get so old? At her admission of being cold, he glances up to the heavens, apparently checking on Dhioth's location; when, with a more philosophical shrug of his shoulders, he reaches out to grab that hand that had jabbed at him a moment before, intending on reeling her in to nestle her back against the soft warmth of his sweater. "Yeah," about his kids. "I've got a few, I s'pose." Rueful.

Kyara's eyebrows jump upward a bit when K'ane goes for her hand, but she lets herself be taken close, pleasantly surprised by the act. Most certainly he is better than has jacket would be, and she quietly sighs a little, a few butterflies beginning to dance somewhere in her stomach. "And where are they?" she asks quietly, keeping that caught hand in his as she makes herself relax. It isn't that he makes her tense; it's just…new. Then it finally sinks in that he didn't finish what he was saying before that, and she blinks, intrigued. "You wouldn't what?" she presses carefully, glancing up at him.

K'ane waits a moment and then settles his arms idly over her shoulders, draped as a living mantle. "I've a pair of hellions down in Southern," he returns, "That I know of. Th' past Turn has made it clear that women ain't always forthcomin' when they bear someone's children." His voice is darkly humored, then. At her question, he laughs — more of a rumble than anything, and she likely can feel the vibration of his chest through his sweater; something felt more than heard, anyhow. He shifts a bit, leaning down to question lightly against her ear: "What d'you think I meant?"

Ooooh goodness. Quite the least among a jumble of reactions rolling through Kyara's mind is something that could be summed up that way as K'ane's arms come around her, and gone is the cold as warmth rises through the length of her, feet to face. The vibration from his laughter is felt and transferred across to her in a flash of goosebumps, but who would know through all that leather and fleece? The question at her ear makes her shiver a bit, and she leans into him further, reflexively turning her head toward his voice. "Well…," she returns, her voice markedly huskier now as she slowly slips hands up around the arms at her shoulders, "you wouldn't be doing this, I'm certain."

K'ane would tease her for those goosebumps, if he'd seen them. Probably for the best that she is so wrapped up in her fleece and leather. "Oh, this?" His voice is still low, a rumble of mirth touched by just a touch of deviled rasp — masculinity incarnate. "This's jus' a good deed. Anyone'd do this for a fellow wingrider, now, wouldn't they? Stavin' off th' cold." His breath is doubtless warm against that ear, at the least.

Oh, it is warm, and acutely so, to Kyara. And because the butterflies in her stomach are multiplying, she gives a low laugh of her own to alleviate the feeling. Not unpleasant, that sensation - but something that's affecting her heart rate, and she has to do something to keep from focusing on it too much. "Mmm, maybe it would be a trend to start. A requirement, during the cold months. Strictly for the good of the wing." Turning in his arms then to look up at him, her smile is coy, though perhaps nerve-edged. She hesitates for a second and then lets her arms drift up around his neck. "Of course, you could just let me think otherwise and see what happens."

Arms slip down easily, hands sliding full-contact down her jacket to lightly rest on the tops of her hips. "Kyara," K'ane states, then, his voice forced-gentle, a rough burr lying behind the syllables of her name. "I don't have t' wonder about what comes next, I let y'think otherwise. I ain't no saint." There is a serious slant under those words: a warning? Perhaps. Maybe the courtesy of a door opening in case an emergency exit is needed by the amber-eyed lass.

Kyara does hear the way out beneath what he says, and her eyes fall to a vague point on his chest as she takes a moment, considering. "I know it," she tells K'ane, half-whispered, a decision she's gone back and forth about for a while now coming to a point of crystallization within. "And I know it's nothing you have to wonder about. I just have to put new things into words for me. Always words." She looks back up now with a fluttered breath, lowered lashes not obscuring the heat now unhindered in amber eyes turned to embers. "But no more, for now." Then, rising up on the balls of her feet to bridge the difference in height between her and the tall bronzerider, she kisses him, a gentle, earnest thing pushed firmly through any trembling left in her resolve - inexperienced, but openly given, and lingering when she pulls back a fraction to breathe and to see what he'll make of her taking this step.

His return is a thing of low heat — a burn of whiskers and lips supple against her own. K'ane allows her to set her own pace, though there is always that seeming power restrained by sheer force of will, this close, as if a demon trembles just beneath his skin. When she pulls back a fraction from that kiss, there's a strange conflict on the bronzerider's face: residual heat that narrows and darkens blue eyes to cobalt, set against a touch of honest puzzlement. "So, what exactly are y'sayin' then, little bird?" His fingers shift to knit at the small of her back, sweater-clad arms unfazed from circling her.

Kyara can sense something being held back in him, even if she can't quite understand what or why, and she pulls back a little more so that she can see the rest of K'ane's face, watching his eyes as she works to keep her breathing even. "What I'm saying…" How to put it into words? Sometimes, they do indeed fail her. She curses her gloves at the moment, leather-clad fingers unable to feel the stubble of his cheek as they trace over it and along his jawline. "I'm saying I…I want to know this." Any spare distance her own inadvertent tension might have been keeping between them disappears as she relaxes fully against him, her gaze locking to his honestly. "What more there is to this. With you. I don't trust anyone else, and maybe you'll think that's not the best thing, I don't know, but…I know what I want." There's something rather freeing about that timorous admission, and a gentle smile curves her lips. "If it's okay with you."

It is very likely that it is for Kyara's own sake, that subtle frisson of tension. K'ane shifts instinctively into that gloved hand, eyes not leaving her face. "Well," hoarse as his voice still is, "that may have t'wait ‘til when I'm not formally on watch." A dry note, there, from the eternally pragmatic wingleader — though that may be from Dhioth's pointed landing none-too-far-away, and the disapproving noise rumbling forth to match the bronze's forever-judgmental expression. K'ane doesn't seem to mind terribly much, being used to it as he is. "If y'don't let me go," so-serious, this low-voiced tease, "I may have t'abandon my watch, an' then we'll all get demoted." An underlying hint of predatory amusement juxtaposes with the whimsical kiss he places on the tip of her nose.

Kyara laughs then, a sound rich and soft, as she grins at K'ane. "Well of course I didn't mean now," she counters, her other hand searching out the other side of his face before Dhioth lands. Her expression waxes sheepish as she cranes her neck to look over and up at the big bronze, and she bites her lip a bit before returning her gaze to his rider. "Mmm, no, no demotions need be had," she says, her sigh exaggeratedly long-suffering. The kiss on the nose has her giggling under her breath, and she ventures one more soft, nearly teasing kiss of her own to his lips. "Stay warm," she whispers, and then she does let him go. "Another night, then." She takes a moment to track down the bottle she left somewhere in the shadows nearby before moving off to Liareth, smile lingering as she lets her pretty green bear her back the short distance to their weyr. She will most definitely be needing a little help from Lia to get to sleep tonight.

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