Kultir, Linden, Niyati, S'yn


A young bronzerider puts out a call for help to bathe his gigantic dragon and Candidates answer!


It is afternoon of the sixteenth day of the twelfth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Training Grounds, Beach, Southern Weyr

OOC Date


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Training Grounds

A broad and sheltered swoop of bowl lies bare for the talons and tread of countless weyrlings that-will-be, encased by stone scoured and scarred by those-that-were. Dirt lies as neatly as dirt can lie, swept and raked daily, at the mouth of the caverns that must indubitably be the weyrling barracks. Devoid of decoration, the place stands strangely absent of presence when empty, the ever-present wind of Southern giving strange acoustics to those under the shelter of the towering bowl-wall.

Though the season is yet young, summer is in full swing at Southern Weyr with Rukbat leering down gleefully at the jungle denizens to bake brains and flesh alike as the caldera soaks up the heat and radiates up upward. It's pleasant enough for dragonkin, but for the more humanoid residents it is less so, resulting in many sticking to the cooler interior of the caverns where ever possible. Those that are braving the heat do so sparingly and in the coolest garments possible. Such is the case with S'yn, the Weyr's youngest rider — or so he reckons — who is dressed in a pale cream tank top and short trous in a slightly darker taupe, trading boots for sandals and a Southern green bandana serving as a sweatband around his short black locks. He traipses in with Iaxryth winging in from above, a coppery silhouette providing intermittent shade as the beast dips and wheels lazily along the thermals. Keen amber eyes squint in the bright light of midday to scan for the knot he's looking for as he makes it into the training grounds, soon finding an assistant Weyrlingmaster to make his inquiry with. A little dialog back and forth and before long the Weyrlingmaster is nodding agreement, moving to round up available Candidates who are keen to volunteer for something other than the usual gamut of chores, leaving the young bronzerider to lean against his lifemate's foreleg as the dragon finally back-wings in for a landing and arrays himself impressively. There might be ladies, after all.

Linden is one of those eager to volunteer for the task, the teen emerging from the barracks with a grimace at the heat. Pushing hair off his forehead he walks towards the bronzerider — younger than himself by a few months, he guesses — and tosses up a salute and an amused grin. "Sir." Feels weird to call him sir. "Linden."

Kultir is hustled out of the Barracks with the rest of the Candidates asked to assist one of the riders and grins as he sees his little brother and that coppery bronze waiting in the Training Grounds for them. Thankfully, he's dressed in his cooler clothes that won't cause a problem in water since they are light weight and cool for the summer heat bearing down on them all. "Afternoon, sir." His own amber eyes sparkle with mischief as he watches his friend's reaction to the title, knowing the younger man's aversion to formality.

Whilst waiting for the wide-eyed Candidates to emerge blinking into the sun, S'yn sets his pair of buckets down on the dirt-strewn ground, one having a generous portion of cleansing sand for his dragon along with scrubbing brushes, and the other having a large jug of oil and rags, ready to be used by however many hands he gets to volunteer. The Lynx wingrider feels no need for a knot today, not when he has his dragon right there to proclaim it loud and clear for him, and particularly regarding his aversion to formality. For the sake of Pern's future protectors he will tolerate it for today, at least in front of the Weyrlingmaster that escorts his volunteers out of the Candidate barracks and into the training grounds to line up loosely before him. "Afternoon Candidates." Lips quirk in a faintly amused smile, the hawkish eyes sparkling as he regards the Candidates before him. "Thought you might like to know what could be in store for you if you're lucky enough to Impress. I'm S'yn, bronze Iaxryth's." The dragon cranes his head down to loom over the volunteers, whuffling into their hair and looking dramatic and imposing. "As I'm sure the Weyrlingmaster told you, I'm looking for a hand to wash my lifemate. So, if you don't mind getting a bit wet, climb up and let's go down to the beach and get started." To facilitate this the copper creature lowers himself, positioning his foreleg for climbing his strapless side as his rider moves slightly to one side to hand up the buckets once his passengers are aboard.

Linden dips his head, smiling at the bronze and looking at the rider. The candidate looks at ease and relaxed, curious and eager. "Oh! You're Nathanael's friend," he says as he walks forward and climbs up when welcomed, nimbly. Clearly he's mounted plenty of dragons before.

Kultir manages to keep his laugh mostly silent as S'yn introduces himself and nods slightly though the sparkling of his eyes doesn't diminish at all. When Iax wuffles at his hair, he lifts a hand to caress the muzzle before it turns toward the next in line. Moving to the coppery beasts's side, he climbs easily up the bronze's side, even though the male is much larger than he's used to, and settles behind Linden before reaching down for the buckets.

"Nathanael is one such that I do call friend," S'yn agrees with a twinkle of amusement at the association. A hand waves them up and once his volunteers are settled along the long, lean back he hands up the buckets for their safekeeping before vaulting up easily to settle at the front of the pack. "All right, hold onto your hats, buckets, and other personal belongings. Up we go." Giving them perhaps half a minute to secure their things and themselves, Iaxryth soon vaults for the air, large wings sweeping down as he defies gravity to become airborne. The familiar sensation of his stomach dropping out from under him is something the rider is quite used to, though a quick glance is given back to his passengers to ensure none of them lose their lunch if they aren't. The bronze doesn't take very long to gain altitude, clearly very at him in the air as he turns about and wheels toward the sparkling azure of the Azov sea. It only takes a few minutes for them to wing their way over and all too soon the lithe beast is spiraling tightly downward to finally back-wing into a landing that only kicks up a bit of sand in comparison to his size, settling back onto all fours so his cargo may disembark. "All right, off we go." And off he does go, the wingrider swinging his leg over and sliding down the suede side to land softly in the pale, heated sand.


An eerie mirror, the glass-quiet Sea of Azov: the clear waters stretch along the dark-pebbled shores, and along this narrow beach. Here the faintest lap of waves belies the calm beyond; here the rocks have been ground down into finest, softest sand - those observant would mark upon the similarity between it and the sands of the hatching grounds. The soft sand soaks up summer sunlight as a sponge; painfully hot during the warmer months, it is only truly pleasant at wintertime. Rocks rise to east and west, lichen-limned and green against the abyssal darkness of stone.

Linden whoops with a wide grin when the bronze lifts into the sky, the teen beaming in pleasure. He grabs his bucket and slides off with practiced ease, dipping his head to the bronze with a grin. "Thank you for the ride! We'll scrub you good in payment." Eyes gleaming with amusement, he looks curiously at S'yn and laughs. "I just call him Nate."

Kultir slides easily down the coppery side to land lightly with bucket in hand in the sand so that he can move out of the way for the bronze to move into the water. Setting the bucket down, he waits for the dragon to get into the water and for his young bronzeriding friend to let them know what he wants done. More than used to helping wash a dragon, albeit a much smaller green, he knows what they are getting into and conserves his energy for the task before them.

Once his passengers slide off his burnished back, Iaxryth saunters into the surf to meet the cooler waters with a warble of enjoyment as the foam crashes over his withers and ridges and soon he sucks in a deep breath to dive under the surface with the grace of a porpoise. S'yn watches his bond's progress for a moment, but when the beast slips below the glassy surface and out of view he turns his attention to Linden with a wry grin. "Usually I stick with 'Thanael. I'm pretty sure he loathes being called Nate." Though his eyes go briefly distant with some memory that perhaps makes him reconsider that stance before shaking himself back into the present. "Anyway, you can just call me Sy or S'yn when the Weyrlingmasters aren't around. Kultir can tell you I'm not much of one for formality." As if to prove his point he reaches over to gently sock the aforementioned Candidate in the shoulder with brotherly affection. "Glad you got offered the knot again; maybe this time will be different, yeah?" There's hope, though contained, within the amber eyes of the rider, though he soon gestures to the sand and brush filled bucket. "The first thing we'll do is scrub his hide. Particularly sensitive spots are the joints and neckridges: pretty much anywhere there is a crease should be paid special attention to. Under the tail and inside the legs are often neglected by careless riders, so let's be sure we don't make that mistake, hm?"

Linden grins. "Well, I haven't actually called him Nate yet, so thanks for the heads up, now I know to avoid it." The teen grins at the younger boy. "That sounds great to me, S'yn, thanks a lot." Glancing between the two who clearly know each other, Linden smiles at Kultir, then nods to S'yn. "Yup yup. My dad rides bronze so I know how this goes, he got any odd sensitive spots? Aik's got one spot on the underside of his jaw that he always twitches away when you touch." Weird, as the teen sheds his shoes and tromps into the water with his bucket.

Kultir grins at that gentle sock on the arm from his brother and nods, a return fist-nudge of the other's shoulder in return. "Thanks. I got it more than a seven ago but I've only been back from the new Hold for a few days and been busy getting stuff settled. Otherwise I'd have rousted you out and let you know sooner." He heaves a soft sigh and nods as he watches the bronze cavort in the waves. "Let's hope so … though it would have been nice to be a Weyrling with you and the rest. Oh well … you can be my boss now." His eyes sparkle at the younger man with a grin as he takes up that bucket again as the rider explains about what to pay attention to on the dragon's hide.

S'yn chuckles softly at the assurance that the Candidate hasn't actually made that mistake yet, granting a nod in acknowledgement to the thanks. The inquiry about sensitive spots earns a briefly thoughtful expression. "He used to when he was younger, but not so much now. Mostly it's just a matter of making sure the dead hide is fully scrubbed away from those creases, otherwise they might get irritated or crack between." Iaxryth soon emerges from his underwater cavorting, thoroughly soaked and sluicing water off his bright hide as it gleams beneath Rukbat's regard. Sauntering back into the shallows he settles onto his belly so that they can tackle his spine and wings before working their way down his lithe body. The young rider snorts at the assertion that he can be his brother's boss, shaking his head slightly. "Never wanted to be, Kul, still don't. Bronze ego is for the nutters." He gives the taller teen a gentle nudge toward the water, though he has them leave the bucket of oil and rags behind, knowing no one will touch it while they're in the shallows washing his lump of metal. "I find it works best if you grab a handful of sweetsand, dampen it, then put it where you want to scrub and brush away." Slipping out of his own sandals and following them into the rolling tide he takes the bucket from Linden to set down near the foreleg, the large bag of sand opened up and a handful scooped out as he claims one of the many brushes. "Like so." Dampened sand is applied to the neckridges just above the shoulders and the brush applied, bits of citrine hide flaking away as he scrubs vigorously at that crease.

Linden nods. "Yup, all right," he says with an easy smile. He watches how S'yn does it too, nodding. Just because he's washed his father's bronze and his mother's gold hundreds of times doesn't mean that this bronze and rider like it done the same way. So once he sees how S'yn does it the teen mimics his movements to a T, moving to the bronze's other side with a soft murmur hello before he begins.

Kultir sets his bucket down where it won't get washed away and claims a brush for use after his brother nudges him into the shallows after the bronze comes back up to shore. "Ahh, you say that now. Just wait till you get put in charge of something." The young tracker's tone is teasing as he takes a handful of sand and dampens it to smear across the coppery hide just behind the jaw on the strong neck. Brush is dipped into the waves at his feet before being applied to the sandy area with just the right amount of pressure and elbow grease behind his strokes. "He seems like he's grown since the last time I helped you with him, Sy. Is that possible? Or is it just that I've been scrubbing Rya too much and all dragons seem so much bigger than her?" Working easily along the bronze's neck, he uses his fingertips and the palm of his hand when he gets up around the neckridges and works carefully through those creases around the base of each ridge.

Niyati on the area just behind one wing. "So does he prefer a good hard scrub, then?" Because she really has no idea how this all works. "I'd assume that he'd have areas he wouldn't want gone at so aggressively?" The question is given as she looks first at rider, then at dragon. Despite the lack of knowledge she begins to scrub, giving enough pressure to at least get the dragon's hide clean. "And how careful do we need to be about the wings? I doubt I can apply firelizard cleaning experience to washing a dragon."

"Well, I know you'll be there to pop my head before it gets too big, Kul." The rider returns the teasing just as readily, the banter easy and comfortable between the two who call themselves brothers. S'yn watches Linden's work after demonstrating, though Kultir's question earns a laugh. "I don't think he's grown any since you last washed him, Kul. I just think you've been washing that tiny green too long." Iaxryth turns a whirling blue-green eye toward the former tracker with a rumble of obvious amusement, tilting his head to allow the trusted teen to access his neck and jaw more readily. The part the wingrider is working on is soon rinsed clean so that the sand doesn't irritate the soft hide as he comes to glance at Niyati's work with a smile for her thoughtful questioning. "I find that the creases need a bit of good elbow grease to ensure you get all the dead skin loosened up and gone to reveal the good skin beneath it, but the sails and general hide don't tend to need such a rough treatment, though a good scrub gets the ichor flowing and improves circulation, so it's good to make sure you scrub firmly enough for that to happen. You'll notice the skin color change a bit. Iax's tends to get a bit darker but by the time we're done oiling him he'll look like a new copper pot."

Iaxryth slinks through the tracker's mind like wafting cigar smoke, a rustle of pages from just behind the shoulder. « Though she be little, Rya has much spirit. Perhaps you would not mind so much if I chased her rather than Bevurth and let S'yn bed her rather than that uncouth lout T'lvier. » That mind withdraws with a tinge of amusement leaving behind a smell of old leather and a recently snuffed candlewick.

Linden listens while the others talk, the teen focused on his task. He murmurs a few times to the bronze but if he hears or not doesn't seem to matter. Linden could very well just be talking to himself too as he scrubs. Hands slide over the coppery hide, finding those folds and gently working the sweetsand between, then making sure it's all rinsed out and cleaned away so it doesn't irritate that hide. He flashes Niyati a grin, and goes back to his quiet murmuring and scrubbing.

Kultir laughs at the teasing reply from the young bronzerider, relaxing a little with their banter now that the Weyrlingmasters aren't watching them. "I suppose that's possible. Though when I've been away at the new Hold for a while and I come back to help wash her … she seems huge that first time." His hands move easily in the scrubbing task, his smile lingering as he listens to his friend give advice to the Candidates who haven't had this chore before. Sand and water is added as often as needed to keep building up that cleansing lather to make sure Iax's hide gets as clean as the young tracker can make it on the sections he works on. The young hunter nearly swallows his tongue as he chokes on laughter he tries to hide, his cheeks turning dark as he blushes. His eyes narrow as he peers toward the dragon's head though he doesn't lose that humor that shines in the amber eyes.

Kultir thinks to Iaxryth: "I'd much rather Sy beds her than T'lvier … I'd rather anyone beds her than T'lvier if I can't!" There is a sense of bellowing laughter in that thought.

Niyati nods, scrubbing at the wing joint with the appropriate amount of force. "I imagine if I go at it too rough he'll let me know." A chuckle is given for her own uncertainty. "Well, I did say I wanted to do things I hadn't done yet. I suppose it's a good thing we learn all of this beforehand, just in case." She continues to scrub along, making sure to work out all of the bits of dead skin before moving on to the less complicated hide of the wing. There she's more careful, stopping to observe the hide to make sure she's getting the right effect. Linden earns a grin and she even waves before going back to her work. Why can't more of their chores involve being in water?

That bright gaze follows the progress of the Candidates S'yn has roped into assisting him with this large beast, finding a faint tickle of amusement at things coming full circle after his own dragon washing as a Candidate, a mere few Turns ago, though it feels like half a lifetime now. "Scrubbing any dragon feels like a chore when you haven't done it in a while. Hard to believe Iax used to be just a few feet long." The dragon rumbles, the sound vibrating his chest cavity as he turns a glance to his rider, the cant of his eyeridges somehow comically suggestive. "I'm pretty sure they don't want to hear about that, Iax." Just what that is could be anyone's guess, but those familiar with the young rider might see the darkening of tanned cheeks that indicate a faintly embarrassed blush. The bronze's aside to his brother earns the creature a thump on the shoulder but the youth doesn't make any verbal commentary about it, merely blushes furiously. Throat is cleared and he grins at Niyati, shrugging off his lifemate induced flustering. "At least it gives you an idea of the fact that riding a dragon is work. Sure, there's a lot of benefits to being a dragonrider, and it's an honor, but with the reality of fighting Thread and everything that we have to do to prepare, it's a lifelong commitment and responsibility too. We're protecting Pern, not just from Thread, but from any number of other threats too. We're peacekeepers in our own way. At least, some of us." He shrugs at his longwinded speech that sounds just a little too indoctrinated before he moves to assist properly, taking some sand and a brush to climb up atop the long spine and begin scrubbing down it with practiced efficiency.

Iaxryth snickers softly at that vehemently returned thought, listening carefully for Kultir's reply even as his hide is scrubbed so diligently by his adoring followers. « I shall bear this in mind when next that minty hide begins to glow… perhaps in time you will be lucky enough to have that privilege yourself. Faranth will no doubt reveal her plan in due time. » His rider's chastisement seems to do nothing to deter the bronze from scheming for the future, even if he'll forget this conversation ever took place in mere days, leaving only S'yn's embarrassed memories to attest that it ever even happened, the beast withdrawing his thoughts with the sound of a book being sharply clasped shut.

Linden smiles, glancing over at Niyati with a nod. "Yeah, this is definitely good to know. Every dragon likes it a bit different though. But. Easier to know what your dragon likes I'd think?" He grins, and goes back to scrubbing, placing his hand against the hide to make a handprint before he swishes it away. "You okay, Kultir?" he calls when he hears choking laughter. Then he drifts into silence while he words, scrubbing away.

Kultir offers his younger brother a sympathetic shrug, not able to keep the bronze from teasing the younger or help the rider with those problems the tracker no longer has. "Yeah, it does seem a chore at times when I haven't done it for a while. But I can tell you, I'm very happy to see any dragon coming to fetch me when I've been at the new Hold for a seven freezing my arse off." The young man moves along the neck and shoulder area he's been working on to start in on the leading edge of the bright colored wing, the sand and brush utilized to scrub away the dead skin and dirt that has accumulated since his last scrubbing. Another sharply suppressed laugh is snorted through Kul's nostrils as he shakes his head as his shoulders shake with mirth. He catches both lips between his teeth to keep from blurting anything out but his gaze glances toward his little brother with shining amber eyes.

Kultir thinks back to the bright bronze, "If She does give me that privilege, then you'll just have to watch and try to outfly my own dragon."

"Anything is work until you decide to enjoy it," is Niyati's take on the matter. She moves along the wing, scrubbing a bit more at spots that look particularly itchy. Of course, the blush earns a curious glance at Iaxryth but she's not going to ask. "I used to absolutely HATE looming until I found a way to not hate it anymore. I imagine doing work for someone you care for would make it much easier." Kultir's words earn a chuckle. "After a seven in that cold I'd be happy to see one of those large felines come to drag me away so long as it was downhill and away from the snow. I do enjoy the climbing and the whole idea of getting it ready, but they can keep that cold."

"Having permanent access to what another being is thinking certainly makes it easier to know what they'd like, absolutely." S'yn glances at Niyati as he considers her take on the whole matter before nodding. "This is true. It's certainly a worthwhile endeavor, seeking to Impress, but I don't want anyone going in with rose tinted goggles the way I did. Figure this is the least I can do to help." Shoulders roll in a shrug as he works down that spine, his hands working with a familiar, practiced touch along that long spine while he pays attention to what his volunteers are doing to ensure that nothing is done half-arsed or badly. "But I admit I think Iax is still worth it, worthless lump of copper he can be sometimes." The brassy ribs are patted affectionately before he resumes his work. Linden's inquiry to Kultir is blatantly ignored, as is the further discussion happening between his lifemate and his adopted brother, lest his cheeks turn a furious shade of crimson. The discussion of the new Hold gives him something safer to latch onto and he joins in on that readily. "I've actually not been yet; I suppose I should make some time to go see it. Might be nice to get away from the blistering heat for a while." Indeed the sun renders the air almost shimmery with the heat, the cooler waters beneath them a small mercy as it swamps in and out of the shore to tickle around their knees as they work in the surf. "Guess I might need to find some winter wear… haven't needed any save my leathers since I came to Southern." For his part, Iaxryth does lift the wing being worked on out of the water to shade Niyati and somewhat Kultir as they work it over, the hide darkening as they scrub the veins into heated industry.

Kultir manages to get his blushes and snickers under control as he works on the bright hide of the bronze. He shakes his head at the young Weaver, his gaze darkening at the thought of a feline in the area of that new Hold. "I don't think the felines in that area would be bringing you back to the warm … unless it was the relative warmth of their den followed by the warmth of their stomachs." He grins up at his adopted brother and nods before that wing rises to shade him from the punishing sun though it traps the humidity to near suffocating proportions. "Thanks for the shade, Iax. You should, Sy … it's a pretty nice place if you can stand the bone-chilling cold. I thought Bitran winters were cold … Bitra is practically balmy compared to the new Hold. But there's some nice looking caverns and the hot springs are really lovely to look at." The underside of that wing is scrubbed carefully since he's already beneath it, each crease tended to carefully so that the dead skin is sloughed away.

Niyati shakes her head. "The secrets twixt men…" It's said to the dragon as she continues to scrub, now working toward the more solid hide of his flank. "After seven days in that cold I doubt I'd complain about the accommodations." She's joking of course, but she shakes her head. "When I said I'd stand, I hadn't honestly thought about it. Given the circumstances I found it hard to say no. Of course, now I HAVE thought about it and I suppose it's a bit like accepting apprenticeship. They go in with big dreams of being a master and being hosted at the best holds. In reality, you spend hours working on clothes only to be asked to alter or remake at times." She shrugs. "I'm used to hard work. Not this particular hard work." Kultir's words are given an enthusiastic nod. "The first time I was there we were taking samples. Nevik nearly fell into a hole. I could feel the air from the iceshift where we were working. I missed most of the excitement going for help but I hear the rescue was quite exciting."

S'yn laughs softly at the banter between former tracker and Weaver, recalling as almost a distant memory his youth raised in Telgar and the rather cold winters that northern territory endured. "I didn't really think about it either, but then I was twelve at the time." A reasonable excuse for not looking at the bigger picture of things, the naiveté of youth. "I went into becoming a Smith with much the same notion I suppose. I wanted to do good with my hands, like my father." The teenager has far more fond memories of his deceased sire than his foster one, but leaves that sourness for a more appropriate time as he finishes the spine and moves to work on the tail. "That sounds like Nevik all right; glad he didn't bite the dust. Or ice I guess?" Iaxryth dips his far wing in the surf and raises it to wash the lingering foam from his back as his rider works down his tail instead, the water sluicing down the other side to rejoin the sea. "Can't say I've ever been to Bitra, Kul, but I was born in Telgar. Not the warmest of climes." Working his way partly down he slips off the long tail to attend to that creased underside as the bronze lifts himself up a little higher out of the water so they can work over his lower half. "But I'll make a point to go… maybe I can find some excuse to take a few of you with me, get you out of the heat for a few candlemarks."

Kultir works his way out from under the bronze's broad wing to scrub down the copper colored flank to hindquarters, making sure he gets all those little creases and crevices of the tender spots. "I don't know that I'd be quite as keen to find accommodations in a feline's stomach, myself, but whatever makes you happy, I guess." His glance is teasing as he looks over at the Weaver before glancing up at the young rider, a sympathetic smile curling his lips. When talk turns of Nevik and the young Healer's near escape, he shrugs. "It wasn't all that exciting. The ice gave way under him, he smacked against the side of the hole when the rope tightened and knocked him out … I pulled him up and got him out of the dangerous area by just dragging him along the ice with me as I backed up." The young hunter downplays his part in the boy's rescue since nothing beyond a concussion would have been the result once he'd seen the hole they had opened up. Well, in anyone other than Nevik, perhaps. "Hmm, yeah, been to Telgar too and it wasn't too bad, almost as bad as Bitra but the area of the new Hold … that is bitter cold. If you find that you want to go, just drop by Kalea's weyr and tell her that I said you could borrow my extra set of furs; tunic, trous, coat, cloak and boots with liners. When I got sent down there, I had a couple extra sets made up just in case I needed them … and I have."

"Maybe I'll trip you down the hill for them to chase," Niyati threatens without any real malice as she works toward the dragon's belly. "Try not to lose your footing? I'd be terribly unattractive as a sand mat." The subject of the near loss of Healer is given a shake of her head. "It's criminal how much that young man believes he's a menace to anything he touches. I think he's been told how bad he is for so long it's become a self fulfilling prediction. He can't be that bad, can he? He'd be dead by now." The Weaver disapproves, clearly. "Have you been to High Reaches during deep winter? It's something like that but with more danger since there aren't as many experienced with the climate."

"That sounds like Nevik; worse luck than a compulsive gambler with a Bitran dealer." It makes the rider almost wonder what the dragons saw in the Healer, but Niyati's commentary gives him something to mull over. "You know, that might be the exact problem. Maybe we ought to start pointing out the things he does do well." It's what friends are for, right? The brush is used to collect the salt water to rinse the sloughed off skin and suds from the underside of the tail by and large before S'yn works down that long, whip-cord appendage. "I haven't, actually, though I've been meaning too. I've heard so much about the seven spires from Kalea that I'd really like to see them in person." A glance it tossed toward Kultir, a flicker of thought fleeting across the amber gaze before he returns to his task, though still absently checking on his helpers between glops of sand. Iaxryth assures him that they are all doing well and he is content since the bronze is enjoying the attention of so many hands at once. Especially the female ones. "I'll bear that in mind, Kul. Probably will be a bit big on me, but at least not too small… a problem I seem to be running into more as I keep sprouting." He chuckles ruefully for his body's wont to keep growing up instead of filling out, shrugging helplessly before resuming his scrubbing of those ridges down the tail. Rukbat beats down on them mercilessly still, but fortunately the afternoon is wearing on and the sun is losing its supremacy of the sky as it sinks closer to the western horizon, bringing at least a little relief to the thoroughly baked tropics.

Scrubbing down that sinuous tail from the haunches, Kultir works carefully but as quickly as he can while listening to the conversation. "I've been trying since I met him … got him working on learning the sling, showed him how to use a bow he'd been given. I think he's just growing so fast that his reflexes and coordination just didn't grow with him … you know what I mean?" It's been so long since he'd sprouted faster than his reflexes that he can't exactly recall but he does remember the many times he'd been called clumsy and useless because of the accidents he'd been having. He nods as he stands from his bent-over posture and looks up at his brother. "Think he's nearly done? I'm pretty sure I got all this side …"

Niyati finishes her scrubbing before beginning to rinse. It's quite a task from her angle. "I think that's a wonderful idea. If I see him flinch one more time I'm like to go mad. No one should be that afraid to move." Of course, it's hard to talk when there's washing to finish and she goes on about her task, quieting with concentration as she works.

S'yn goes to lift his hand to scrub the back of his neck in a habitual gesture before stopping himself as he recalls the sand coating his appendage, lowering it back to the dragon's hide. "Eh, I sometimes feel like I'm sprouting faster than my reflexes can keep up, but maybe it's just an illusion." The youth has so many drills and practice to keep his muscle memory fresh for his duty that he barely has time to think about such things anymore. Kultir's question makes him glance about and reach out to his lifemate even as he finishes scrubbing the tail fork and finds that all the hands he had helping him have indeed rendered the bronze squeaky clean in the time they've worked away. "Looks like it. Rinse your brushes and put them back into the buckets if you please; time to go back to shore for oiling." Once the Candidates comply the brassy beast slips into the surf once more to completely rinse free of those suds and dead skin cells, soon coming back to shore to sluice off that salty fluid, ready for oiling. With the hardest part out of the way the varnishing of that bright hide doesn't take long at all and before they know it Iaxryth is clean from snout to tail fork and ready to fight Thread in style. Cleaning implements are rounded up and passengers reloaded onto the svelte spine before being flown back where they belong to the Candidate barracks, the Weyrlingmaster thanked before the pair depart again, a mote of bright copper against the blushing sunset sky.

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