Hot weather ferns shiver back into their growth pattern, knock back from something brushing by them. « If you and your rider are free, the Weyrsecond seeks a capable riding pair. » Tavuqth's granite-edge mind voice is a cavernous, deeper pitch of Th'bek's own. He shows an image of the Dragonhealer Yard where the brownrider's currently located.

Th'bek is speaking with L'nosh, a rider close to eighty. The day's light Fall over Katz Field was not risky for the Weyr but L'nosh and his green Anpenth had an accident. Though in Mirage and not strictly in harm's way, the man had an unknown medical incident that sent Anpenth veering into Khetanaxeroth from fright. Both greens have abrasions and some segments of bruised hide but are in good condition. Th'bek is finishing up gleaning what details he can from the disoriented man before Weyrhealer Jhothulos and some of his aides carry him on a litter to the infirmary for further tests. Staring at the ground in some bubble of thought, Th'bek's linked fingers slide back and forth."

« We are free. » Lukoith's mind does not shrink back from that heat or the granite-edged voice, even though his landscapes are primal, age-old forests held back by rich wooden walls and aristocratic flare — a fancy 'cage', if there ever was one. His voice, smoke and fine liquor with a subtle note of deep cello, bemused. « She will arrive shortly. » Indeed, minutes pass and Divale steps into the yard, just as they are carrying L'nosh away. Brows furrowing, her dark gaze will follow their progress and drift to Th'bek once they are out of sight. "You wished to speak to me, sir?" Dryly spoken, but with quiet interest laced beneath. Her hand lifts, brief but respectful in the belated salute she offers him.

Tavuqth and Lukoith share the propensity for old growth forests perhaps through their common dam of Rhiscorath. When forests meet they temporarily share borders. Tavuqth himself is on his ledge with a moist patch of numbweed for a shallow char burn. It should not hamper his attendance of the next Fall. "Divale," the male brownrider blurts as she sneaks up upon him in his moment of introspection. He turns to face her and nods with respect for both her decorum and speed to arrive. "I did, I was wondering 1) if your afternoon is clear and if so, 2) involves investigating a particular area, an island in our territory actually." He arrows for the heart of the matter, eager to be able to cross something off a to-do list, even if he isn't directly the one to satisfy it. "L'nosh," tracing a chin point to the small procession. He wish he could contribute more to the man's condition.

It very well could be a connection linking them and partly why Lukoith does not overly mind sharing that temporary 'border' with Tavuqth. For now, there is no need to insist on invading the others personal space. For now. He remains uninjured and also on his ledge, settled comfortably with the majority of his attention 'leaning' on that of his rider. If he must be the gentleman, he demands a price of information! Divale's features remain neutral, unreadable, save for a flickering spark of keen interest in response to Th'bek's explanation. "I could leave Parhelion business in the capable hands of my Wingseconds," That would be a 'yes' to her afternoon being clear. Her eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Investigating? What's drawn our interests so far as to focus on an island?" Cutting straight to the matter suits her level of patience of late. "L'nosh." she echoes, committing the name for memory in case, though her features betray some puzzlement. "Are they connected?"

Though he is one of the people responsible for others in the Weyr, Th'bek knows when his subtraction is the better outcome. Leaving his space for healers to occupy freely, he waves Divale over to a place of shade by the wall, beckoning for her with two fingers. "L'nosh isn't part of the equation, I just didn't know if you knew him." Though not Igen's oldest rider, he's a contender. "I'm not entirely sure." He draws a scarf around his neck quickly up to wipe sweat from his face. "M'tej noted in his sweep report there was a flag waving over the island we've dropped exiles off before. Because it could have been a ploy, he didn't land with Temyrth. But I'm curious to see why they're trying to draw a rider's attention." He looks far away again before winding hazel eyes back to the wingleader. "I'm also aware it might be a trap, that's why I was wondering if you and two or three of your riders might investigate."

"I'm afraid I do not know him," Divale's answer will be mostly spoken to Th'bek's back, while she shadows him to where the moves aside in the yard. It could be she knows vaguely of the greenrider, as so few live to be that age despite the claim that riders live longer! Her head tilts slightly, brows furrowing again as she listens and mulls over the details shared by the older brownrider. In the end, her expression is grim and her already dark gaze has darkened further. Troubled, perhaps? One can never quite say, with her. "What would the exiles gain by setting a trap for a rider? I'd not imagine their numbers are fairing well, given their situation." she murmurs in a low voice, pitched just-so to keep most of the conversation between them. A beat of silence, as she glances aside to contemplate potential options. When her mind is made up, her gaze will lift to meet his. "I've a few in mind who could be beneficial to this. It may take time… or are you desiring an immediate answer to this mystery?"

"His great-granddaughter in the creche has the blondest— sorry, I'm side-tracking," Th'bek owns up to his irrelevant side conversations and prunes them. The hand wrapped around an upper arm gets turned up as they weigh motives. "It could be they nurture enough vengeance to get in any harm they can, either by weapon or plague." If that isn't enough to win Divale over, what would? "If this is a task you'd rather not take on, no repercussions will fall on you. After the next Thread date, I was going to lead a small detachment myself but this way will have answers sooner. Do you know the location of the islands, I can draw a hasty map…" He's searching some depths of interior pockets.

Another time, perhaps, they can discuss L'nosh's extensive family but currently Divale's interests lay elsewhere. "… harming a rider would not make their lives any easier. If they wish to die, they could do so by their hands a lot faster than being staked out." She states that in an eerily detached manner, all manner-of-fact tone and not a twitch of emotion to such a grim, disturbing topic. "I'll go." Her agreement lacks any hesitation and no further musings of what-ifs and could-be. She'll leave him to search those interior pockets for a few quiet seconds before she smirks. "Could Tavuqth give the image to Lukoith?" In case that ends in a 'no', Divale will spare further time lost by rummaging in a hidden pocket of her own and procuring a small writing tool. He'll have to supply the actual hide, however! "Does K'vre know of this?"

Judging by the objective, pragmatic approach to the sweep summary, Divale was a good choice for this assignment. "I won't pretend to know how the minds of desperate people work other than one ought not to underestimate them." As Divale procures a utensil to write with, he pairs it with an old hide, quickly reading the front of the old message to see if it's expendable. "I will do both, thank you," some quick scrawls and identifying some features by known names for better orientation. "I left him a note…" Th'bek indicates the Weyrleader has been notified. "Today's Fall took precedence." Her writing tool returned, Th'bek looks off to the side to understand Tavuqth's adaptation of the location from Temyrth. "If you need anything, take it."

"That could be applied to anyone, really." Divale's logic is to treat everyone to a mild dose of suspicion and caution on first glance! Watching him as he sketches out that map, she is silent during that time and only nodding to confirm that she understood that both map and imagery between the dragons will be her guide. She will hold out her hand for the writing tool and then the map as well. "Of course." 'Fall takes precedence above all, doesn't it? She would know that well enough. Lukoith will be alert and ready for Tavuqth to share the knowledge required, the younger brown's eagerness bleeding through slightly beneath brandy and woodsmoke.

Th'bek slowly nods his head two or three times to the other brownrider's adage. Not ill advice. "I for one will be anxious to see what's out there, other than the obvious." Pern's cast outs subsisting on rocks. "Thank you, Divale. Fair winds!" Tavuqth, aggrieved that he'll not be among the party, places the island chain among the blue waters of Big Bay for Lukoith's benefit.

Divale's head dips in farewell. "Clear skies, Th'bek." With map now safely tucked away and Lukoith having the imagery in his grasp, she will not linger. Turning on her heel, she strides purposely from the 'yard and all the while she is laying out plans on how best to spin this. Who she will report to and what will be reported; she has little knowledge of what could be discovered but she fully intends to handle the information as she sees fit. For that reason, the entourage she summons to join her are trustworthy ? perhaps in the vaguest terms possible, as Divale truly does not trust anyone but a precious few (and that is even debatable). That and there are those she is already in alliances with. It's complicated. Taking only what she needs and wasting little time, she settles her affairs in regards to Parhelion before securing the window of escape. There and gone, with only Th'bek and fewer still to be aware of where they've gone. At first the island will be surveyed from height and distance… high enough to avoid immediate detection. Even then, when it comes time to delve a little deeper and closer, it's Lukoith who lands closest of all. He never quite folds his wings, leaving them unfurled just enough that if a quick escape is necessary, they are not fully unprepared. Divale has long since tucked away her knot or any marker of her Wing. No need to throw rank beyond 'rider' here. Neither will she immediately dismount, content to wait on any first moves from the inhabitants. Where is her entourage? No doubt strategically in place.

Isle No. 4
The second largest land body of the island chain is made up of lots of rocks, plants that once came from the wind, and exiled criminals. This island has the best source of freshwater. Shrubs are sparse, any large trees probably Thread-chewed and there are several other islands able to be visited via low tide or shallow water. An old lighthouse is now a primary domicile and look-out for the very young. Those old enough are soon sick of looking at endless water.

A sound caught Sabik sleeping against a den of rock, still warm though Rukbat just barely set. The sound repeats, a woman's voice hollering then answered by Chadwick and his infernal palatal whistle. A rider. It worked. Getting to his feet, he barks an affirmative response then appeals of where they landed. He has a good guess, the beach with the best place to make landfall. "Stay here." He knows his children will follow and he hopes to reign them in before his wife will need to. Bark-bound feet leave a progression of prints down the rocks toward the beach that's only 25% sand. With the sunset behind Divale, she is a dream realized in silhouette and it makes his flesh creep. "Greetings, dragonrider." He stays away from the water, these shoes would be ruined. Holding a hand to the orange sky, "how should I address you?"

Perhaps she could be a dream but there is a chance she is nightmare too. Isn't that how most of them start? Lukoith shifts, sending a few rocks lose under his footing to skip and tumble noisily down from where he's awkwardly placed. It's not the most comfortable way of holding a conversation, but Divale is not taking that risk. Not until she gets a good look at Sabik and a better glimpse of his state. Should others dare to attempt to sneak in a peek on approach, especially the children, she'll see that the danger is still present but perhaps only to fools. Then there is the matter of Sabik, her eyes narrowing under a grim scowl. Old memories nag, but until she takes a small gamble on her part and dismounts… Landing carefully, she'll turn to face him just as Lukoith folds his wings behind her, giving her time for recognition to sink in. Even then, uncertainty has her leaning to her cryptic ways. A test, in the form of an old saying any true denizen of the Underground would know. "Still waters run deep." she offers in place of greeting or name, no smile in place save for a grim smirk.

If Divale has allies in strategic places, so too are there bodies behind each rock for every person who stays visible. They are a gaunt race of hollowed eyes, hungry faces, and sinewy limbs. None of them appear to have weapons, certainly no one in plain sight. Sabik, though never a large man to start with, has been reduced by twenty pounds or more. His crow-colored hair is as dark as Divale will remember, but longer and his clothing is rags and sea spray. Keeping his back to his known audience, he looks sparingly at Lukoith. Sabik doesn't like the thought of dragons but in truth only ever met the one who marooned him here. The rider's use of the Underground's precept is a surprise, some skin by his eyes pinch. "And hide much." Is a common return response. As she leaves her dragon, he doesn't budge an inch, casts a lazy eye to Lukoith. "I never thought I'd want to see a dragon stare at me like that but he brought you to us and that is a gracious thing. I'm glad the flag worked. So, can we talk? There are better spots than this." Divale may not think so on this wind-swept archipelago of convicts and shipwrecks.

To be continued.