==== December 21, 2013
==== Cha'el, K'vvan, Sikorth, Nadeeth
==== Former wingmates touch base at the Star Stones. Lengthy conversation ensues. Shyeah right.

Who Cha'el, K'vvan, Sikorth, Nadeeth
What Former wingmates touch base at the Star Stones. Lengthy conversation ensues. Shyeah right.
When There are 0 turns, 5 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr, Star Stones

Chael10.png Kvvan2.jpg Sikorth.jpg


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 daytimes 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.
It is the sixtieth day of Summer and 124 degrees. Mercilessly bright, Rukbat's light heats the desert as a small dark cloud appears on the horizon.
To the west, you see a brown dragon.
Bronze Itzquintlith, green Nadeeth, and brown Sikorth are here.
K'vvan is here.
Obvious exits:
Sky Above Central Bowl Sky Above Lake Standing Stones

K'vvan and Nadeeth stand on the edge of the Star Stones. She crouches while he rests his mostly healed hand over her neck. They stand in silence as they watch the sun begin to rise over the horizon, their eyes fixed on the dark spot on the horizon.

Early morning after a late night drags a certain brownrider toward the Star Stones to enjoy the view and the liquid golds and ambers of the rising. Bullshit! Sikorth insisted. So here he is, one bleary-eyed Cha’el, not quite awake but at least dressed though he could do with a shave.

Nadeeth perks up when the brown lands nearby, K'vvan's arm sliding off of her back so she can turn jewled eyes back to the pair. Her murr is full of joyous-it-is-beautiful-morning as she snakes out a bright yellow ribbons to twine in greeting. K'vvan looks backwards to the pair his eyes lingeting on the knot. "Ah sh*t." he mutters then gives a salute.

“You sly bastard!” Cha’el mutters under his breath the moment he spots Nadeeth. Having not bothered with straps for the short jaunt upward, he slides down Sikorth’s side and lands with that sort of sleepy-wobble, snorting at something said by the brown. The moment yellow ribbons are extended, the sun dawns across silent monoliths, casting long shadows into the circle they create. Silent. Waiting. “Don’t start with that shit,” the brownrider sends to K’vvan for the salute, attention dropping to the greenrider’s bandaged hand.

"Then don't f*n wear the knot." K'vvan replys with a scowl. He notices the gaze on his hands and folds them to put them out of sight. "W'rin's serious about f*king respect. What the hell happened to that bastard Bitra? -Wait. This means you're going to Whirlwind, f*king W'rin!" If dragons could roll their eyes Nadeeth would be doing so. Instead she simply sends her ribbons dancing around the brow. « He is upset to lose you in our wing. »

Aaah. Greetings K’vvan style. At least some things remain a constant. Focus narrows when the younger man tries to hide his hands and then a brow hikes upward at his outburst. “I don’t wear the knot, W’rin makes me sit on the small chair.” Aheh. Not really. Well. Maybe not. It doesn’t take a genius or the relay of dragonspeak for him to figure out and of course, Cha’el will tease. Hand to chest. “See? I knew you liked me. You’re gonna miss me.” Mmhmm. Smug. Warm amusement. A morning breeze sighing between the monoliths flirts about those dancing ribbons, encouraging them inward, Sikorth waiting with a quiet sort of anticipation to see what they might do this day. « Mine struggles. » With what he doesn’t say.

Nadeeth is all innocence when K'vvan shoots her an exasperated look. Then his gaze goes back to Cha'el. "Arroyo needs more browns and you're f*ing leaving for f*ing Whirlwind." This is real annoyance, directed not at Cha'el but at the turn of events. The ribbons darken slightly as a black embroidered trim slowly stitches itself to the edges, a reminder that not all is well. «Mindpain heals slow.» is the green's sad reply.

“I know,” Cha’el states quietly, humor fallen away. “And we’re doing what we can to get you more.” There’s a short gap of silence where brilliant blues seek out deep-green. “You and Nadeeth led well,” genuine respect and approval there before he goes on to gesture toward the hand K’vvan is trying to hide. “How bad is it?” The black trim that stitches itself along those silky ribbons draws a dark cluster of clouds across the arrangement of monoliths, blotting out the sun and dulling the edges of Sikorth’s mindspace. Slowly a larger slab of granite begins to rise in the center. One by one the names of the pairs that had fallen are inscribed across its glittering black surface. « Better to fight for something, than live for nothing. » Comes the brown’s considered opinion.

The names are copied in black silk upon the bright yellow ribbons. They join one, already faded and hard to see, picked out in gold. Each ribbon is detached and pined firmly to the gray stone, the sunlight yellow contrasting harshly with the darkness. Nadeeth agrees. K'vvan lets the silence stretch out. "She wad very good at it." He finally says, and tucks the hand down further. "It's basically healed. Her foresail too." He nods to the fading scores on Nadeeth's wing.

In grave silence, Sikorth watches the ribbons flutter in the cold wind that picks up, swirling through his mindspace with a mournful dirge. « It is good to remember them. » Externally, the brown thus far as still as the Star Stones, shifts. A sigh of movement that sways toward Nadeeth. “As were you,” Cha’el makes a point of noting, “You held it together and didn’t lose your shit up there.” As some might have and others had. Blue eyes follow the downward shift of K’vvan’s hand, clean shaven features carefully devoid of emotion. “Still got full use of it?” He asks, attention slipping over to the little green and her healing foresail.

Closeness is what the small green craves, and with K'vvan's arms folded she drifts (as well as a twelve meter long dragon can drift) closer to the brown, gently brushing against him. « Always. » Cha'el's concern is more bareable when he shifts his gaze away from K'vvan and onto his dragon. "Aye, already back to drilling, though the healers want her to stay out of the next dust storm." This comment takes his gaze back to the black dot on the horizon.

While Sikorth may not be one to initiate anything that resembles cuddling, he’s also not that much of a bastard so as to shove a lady away. In fact, he once again lifts a wing as he had before, allowing her to get as close as she wants to before mantling it carefully over her. Nadeeth tent! “I meant your hand,” Cha’el states, taking the chance to put K’vvan under close study when he stares back out over the horizon.

Easily fitting under that large wing Nadeeth settles, taking comfort in the large brown's closeness. The ribbons surround a gaely wraped present, a thank you for the comfort. Cha'el will see K'vvan as few people do, with his attention directed elsewhere. He stands with his back slightly hunched against whatever weight presses down on his mind. Green eyes stare out at the blackness rolling towards the weyr. Upon his face is a mixture of resignation, fear and determination. His attention so directed, he doesn't hear Cha'el's question.

A present? Sikorth cranes in closer and eyes the gaily wrapped affair. A mental poke of snout. « What is it? » Long Cha’el holds that study, mapping the younger man’s posture, the emotions blended across his features, the ever present wind at this elevation whipping through bangs and he frowns. His question left unanswered he doesn’t press the matter and instead follows K’vvan’s gaze letting silence fall companionably between them. “Another storm.” He murmurs, tone one of idle notation rather than ‘Aw shit. Everybody batten down the hatches!!’ urgency he might have before.

Pleased Nadeeth allows the box to open. Inside is a patch made of the finest embroidery. The whirlwind symbol dances in bright yellow upon a black field. If he looks closer he'll even see picked out in the tiniest stitches of bronze Valiuth's ship sailing around the edges, always hunting. K'vvan shakes off the gloom as this time he does hear Cha'el's comment. "Yeah. We should get back, Trek might want to drill this morning till half us are grounded to keep the injuries from being aggravated by the sand." Poor K'vvan, he almost sounds like an adult.

Sikorth is intrigued!! A mental breath of approval is whuffed at the patch and cool mists drift in to carefully lift it up out of the box, suspending it in the air at the center of his mind like a glowing beacon of hope spreading its tendrils to encompass all the wings of the Weyr, one of which reaches out to wrap about a fluttering ribbon. « Together we shall stand. » “Aye,” comes Cha’el’s quiet reply, baritone still missing that sense of urgency. He’s tired. So very, very tired. But so is everyone after the horror of the past few days. “We should get back.” Slipping a glance to K’vvan he lifts a hand and lightly bumps a fist against K’vvan’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.” Fond for the greenrider has proven he’s anything but a kid.

"Don't touch me." K'vvan's reply is as reflext as needing to get up in the morning, as is his twitch away from the older man. Nadeeth gives the large brown one last nuzzle, approval for the mental image swaying through her thoughts. She pulls back her ribbons, wrapping them tightly to prevent fraying, though a single yellow thread stays, and invitation if ever he should wish it. She emerges from under the wing, settling down for K'vvan to pull himself onto her neck. K'vvan pulls himself up.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” comes Cha’el’s return, unconcerned by the gripe that’s as part of K’vvan as his dragon is. That tiny thread, seemingly so delicate is carefully wrapped about the base of one of the silent monolith’s. Anchored. Safe. Treasured? With Nadeeth slipped away, Sikorth crouches as flat as he can and Cha’el mounts up. Settling between neckridges he pulls on his gloves, helmet and finally goggles. Apparently he’s going somewhere. “Don’t be a stranger.” Reiteration of the standing invitation to drop by though the day K’vvan actually does so, the brownrider is likely to fall off his ledge.

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