There's a lump of sky sprawled in the damp sand of the Lake Shore this afternoon - a lump that looks remarkably like a dragon sprawled on his side with his wings flopped open to catch the sun. Iolarth isn't here for the sole purpose of sunbathing, however. Nor his his rider here for an afternoon swim in the like, although N'cal and his lifemate alike have certainly done so. That done some fifteen minutes past, the tall bluerider has a loose shirt thrown on above damp swim trunks, a shallow pot of some sort of salve in his left hand as he stretches to reach the top of a long, freshly-scarred slash slanting over the length of Iolarth's shoulder. Just a little basic dragonhealing going on after some minor physical therapy, more or less.

Though Iolarth may be looking for healing, Nadeeth and K'vvan have ventured down to the banks of the Lake for a very separate reason. This reason is explained fully when K'vvan trundles upwards with a bucket of oil in one hand, and the other holding a satchel of herbs. "You know this would be more comfortable…ah, Iolarth." Catching sight of the blue K'vvan understands why his green had wanted to settle beside the water for her oiling. It came with fringe benefits. Or friend benefits. Whichever. Nadeeth for her part settles close to the water, and kicks up small rocks as she steps closer to the blue, flicking him once with her tail.

N'cal can only see the upper outline of an approaching green dragon from his current vantage and is thus a bit wary, though Iolarth reassures him quickly that it's only Nadeeth, which is a considerable relief. The lean-muscled blue rumbles companionably at the approaching green, greeting her with a brush of warm wind across a sunlit forest floor carpeted in soft needles and leaves. Someone is quite lazy right now. « You are a welcome sight, Nadeeth, » he pronounces, rich baritone quiet…though he does attempt to tail-flick her back. N'cal comes around his lifemate enough to glimpse K'vvan and flicks a salute at him before dabbing at some more salve. "One of the few not to make him twitchy, for the moment," the bluerider observes ruefully. "Though I think he's mostly past it it now. How are you both?" he asks with a light grunt as he briefly stretches upward over Iolarth's ribs again.

There is a distinct lightness to the smooth of silk against Iolarth's mind, followed with just the hint of her fuzzballs. «The flight was not kind to my wingmates.» She does find some amusement in this fact. K'vvan does not return the salute, instead taking a moment to examine Iolarth. "Sharding green did a number on several of you didn't she? Who would have figured with that rider of hers being such a mouse." The tale has spread.

Iolarth huffs, tail giving a light thump to the ground. Apparently there's a just a little sulk left to him. Even so, he cranes his neck to look more fully at Nadeeth, the raptor within his mind coming to rest gently on a great sunlit boulder in the midst of his forests and tilting its head curiously at those few fuzzballs. « No. It hurt Jovianth and Karkath more, however. Each flight is a challenge…but not all are fun challenges, » he says, breezes swirling with feathery playfulness against Nadeeth's silk. N'cal simply nods, standing more normally to work now that he's tended to the uppermost reaches of Iolarth's injury. "Indeed she did. Though she wouldn't be the only dragon to be such a dramatic counterpoint to her rider," he points out with a smirk.

«It is a shame,» Nadeeth will say, looping a ribbon to rest against sunwarmed rock. «Flying should be fun, not hurt.» Just her very proper opinion on this, after all, she is a creature which seeks fun above all else. «You must be more careful.» This time her tone takes on a gentle chiding tone, the silk edged in a darker green. "Heh." K'vvan isn't about to remark on dragons with opposite personalities. "Common Nadeeth, leave off. It's too sharding hot to stay out here long." Setting down the bucket K'vvan kneels to pry the lid off, then opens up his satchel to pull out another jar, this one the kind which holds oil which the hold ladies put onto their hair, and dumps the contents into the larger bucket. A nearby stick becomes a stirring rod, as K'vvan mixes the oil Nadeeth prefers.

There's a low chuckle that resounds through the trees of Iolarth's mind, that dawning sunlight brightening just a fraction to gleam off the raptor's feathers. It flares for a moment, and in the avian's place is perched the Hunter - the man made of mist and light with fiery arrows that the blue reveals only to those he considers friends. « Not all who lead such chases think as you do, my dear, » he says, reaching out to gently curl that ribbon around a misty finger. « I will certainly try to be more careful, if I remember to. Mine has already scolded me thoroughly for not being so. » Suddenly, the blue gives a sniff, shifting onto his stomach and eying the bucket that K'vvan is mixing oil in. "Oh, now you make things easier. No," N'cal warns, thumping his dragon's side as Iolarth starts to move his nose closer. "You can smell it from there, so stay there." With another huff, the blue remains still and lets N'cal continue his ministrations. "She certainly doesn't settle for plain, does she?" he questions with a bit of amusement as he watches his fellow wingsecond from the corner of his eye.

The chuckle stands in contrast to the bright shower of fuzz which Nadeeth's own carefree laughter conjures to mind. «It would be better if we did not lose ourselves. But perhaps a lesson has been learned.» The smell of flowers coming from the oil draws Nadeeth from Iolarth's side like a moth to a flame, as she curls her tail around both K'vvan and the oil mixture. This was going to feel excellent. "No. She doesn't settle for plain. She claims the regular oil smells bad, and would rather not smell like what she eats for dinner." This commentary is delivered dryly, but without too much irritation. He is talking about his lifemate after all. "How long do you figure before he's completely healed?"

N'cal's eyebrows hike a bit, and he gives a small nod. "She has a point, I suppose. Can't say I've ever thought it smells like the latest meal, myself, though it does smell a far sight better than this." He makes a face at the salve on his fingers and seals up the pot, plucking up a nearby rag and proceeding to wipe down his hands. "Of course, Iolarth has a particular smell about him, so I can't say I've noticed much otherwise." The blue hasn't either, except he's certainly noticing what K'vvan is using on Nadeeth now and sniffs the air more deeply. « Oil doesn't smell like prey, » he declares, giving another sniff, « though yours certainly does smell…different. It smells like you. » Perhaps he doesn't quite get what changes it, but he approves, at least. "Completely? Another seven, if all goes well," N'cal answers. "We're good for between again now, though. Sorry for having to leave you with our half of drill responsibilities for a few days."

"She's picky." The last K'vvan will explain of Nadeeth's particularity when it comes to oil. He dips a rag into the stuff and reaches upwards to begin the long process of smoothing it onto green hide. « It does. » Nadeeth remains firm - her answer serving as a response to both comments, even as physically she melts under K'vvan's touch, helping move whichever way he mentally nudges so that he can reach each spot completely. "Heh. It worked out. Nadeeth is getting stronger, a bit more able to last the full half fall. We had to bread in the middle though, and direct from the ground." There is irritation in K'vvan's voice at that- he'd never been one for sitting on the sidelines while others worked.

Iolarth makes an short, odd noise in his throat, the falling pitch of it sounding rather like a 'hm' that's somehow both a disagreement with one thing and affirmation of another. In other words, he doesn't know what she's talking about, but whatever. That's beside the point in light of simply being in Nadeeth's company for a little while. N'cal nods as he finishes gathering up his own supplies. "She is; it's noticeable. Leading from the ground…none of us like being in that position, but it might be worthwhile to have more practice at it, on purpose. Just in case something dire happens to one of us who've had the practice on point," he suggests, glancing over at the greenrider.

"Heh." Another grunt as K'vvan stands on tip toe and Nadeeth crouches downwards so he can smooth the smelly mixture onto her crest. "She gets grumpy when we have to, though I've almost got her to realize that it isn't useful if she hurts herself doing too much." She's only seven years old and just now learning to pace herself. "When the weyrlings are done I see us getting a big influx, what with most of them being chromatics." K'vvan follows the shift in conversation, does N'cal?

"Likely," N'cal agrees as the initial comment from K'vvan elicits a snatch of draconic laughter from Iolarth. « It would seem I am not the only one who must be a bit more careful in some things, » the blue teases amidst a light gust of warm, cedar-laden breeze as he rises, gently nudging one of Nadeeth's wings with his nose in the process. The tall bluerider smirks as he watches, then continues on. "A mostly even spread across all wings, " save for Whirlwind, perhaps, "though I believe there may be quite a few hoping for a spot here. We are not so much the underdog wing anymore." This observed with a smirk as he hefts Iolarth's straps over one shoulder. "I've heard rumors that we may be in line to mentor them, once they're in the air. We can certainly have a good look at who we might want, if that's the case."

Surely no one would give K'vvan another weyrling to mentor- not after last time. K'vvan's gaze flicks upwards to N'cal, weighing his statement mentally for a moment, then turning back to Nadeeth. "So long as we've got strong partnerships to put them with, I don't see why we shouldn't take as many as would like. We've got a few holes that need filled." Because no everyone has been able to adapt to the differences and flexibility in Arroyo, a few have moved back to prior wings. Then, of course, injuries. Nadeeth gently thwaps that nose of his with her tail, fuzzball laughter the only response to that particular jibe. « Would you like some of my oil? » She'll offer it with an infusion of sunlight across silk.

Iolarth snorts - he's full of that today, apparently - at the thwap given his nose, shaking his head a little before blinking at Nadeeth. « No, that's quite alright, Nadeeth, » he returns warmly, another chuckle carried on playful breezes that loft and puff at those fuzzballs. « It suits you much better than it would me. But thank you. » As it turns out, N'cal doesn't believe his fellow wingsecond should necessarily take on a mentor's mantle, if he doesn't want it. Not all are suited to such things. "Indeed we do," he agrees, absently thumping Iolarth's side. "And there are certainly plenty of them to choose from. But we'll see. I'm off to check on the others. Anything before we go?"

« It suits everyone. » But perhaps this is just a tease as showers of fuzzballs fall, and a rather irreverant picture of Valiuth covered in flowers appears in the mind eye. K'vvan, of course, might protest just for the sake of protest the issue of a mentee. Though realisticly, he knows better. "No. Just get that sharding hide of his healed and be more careful next time."

"Only so much I can do," N'cal counters with a dry snort. "Clear skies, K'vvan." With that, he starts off toward the Bowl, while Iolarth flips his wings tight to his back and laughs a bit at Nadeeth's flowery display. « A bit of an improvement, » the sky-washed blue concedes with a last whuffle at his green counterpart in passing. « Until later, Nadeeth. » Iolarth pads off after his lifemate, ready to bespeak the dragon of whomever it is N'cal intends to see from here.