Who

Zavyr and Nynnth, Malosim

What

A rider on a walk and a Miner on a run cross paths amidst the Standing Stones.

When

It is evening of the fourth day of the first month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Standing Stones, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 19 Jan 2018 07:00

 

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"Wasn't expecting to hear someone else out here this late."


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Standing Stones

It is perhaps a pity that the Standing Stones lie in quiet isolation, half-forgotten in the Weyr's easternmost corner. Or perhaps it is inevitable: the grandiose beauty of these red rocks is ill-suited to Igen's coarse grit, and maybe only their loneliness allows them to survive unmarred. Whatever the reason, it cannot be denied that the Standing Stones, a lonely jumble of ancient boulders, have a glory about them. The tumbled field of pillars and arches has been shaped by eons of wind and water into strange shapes, twisted and rutted. The going is treacherous: only the Weyr's half-feral herd of caprines navigates the terrain with any ease. To the northwest, the lakeshore glimmers; to the east, rough-carved steps lead towards another ancient pile of rocks - though the Star Stones are less haphazardly placed than their Standing cousins.


"No, I think I have to disagree." The voice, ambivalent in gender, can be heard in either a light tenor or some version of alto. "If that was the case, then clearly he would have not bet the amount that he bet, don't you think?" The sound of sand crunching in the dark is accompanied by the flutter of small lizard wings, and a pause, before that same voice starts up again, "But he was sure he'd win. And I was sure he wouldn't win. Right?" Another pause, with the sand's crunching becoming louder, "No, I don't think that's a fair point. And we did, after all, make a good bit of coin for that trip, right? That new harness you want is all but paid for. Dyed, even." A note of triumph in that last comment. Now, depending on the location of the observer, twin bobbing blue eyes swivel down and forward, intermittant with the speaker's voice.

There is another pair of footsteps crunching in the gravel and sand between the looming pillars and arches of the Standing Stones, these moving in the quick, rhythmic cadence of a run. It's a deliberate run, though, not the more frantic pace of one fleeing. Malosim, clad in simple linen pants and boots with a long-sleeved tunic and a tugged-off sweater slung over his shoulder, is on a run by moonlight. Firelizard eyes aren't a surprise; his own three follow above him, their chitter of greeting at an unseen fellow flit presumably belonging to the indistinct voice that filters into the Miner's attention causing him to glance upward a moment, searching. Naturally, that second of distraction finds a rock catching his toe, and he stumbles, briefly touching down with his knee before straightening. "Shardit…" Excuse him while he pauses to rub the resultant sore spot.

Both sounds of progress and voice stop at that exclamation. Then a large bronze lizard zips forward, fluttering for a moment by the brown before lifting higher and yielding his space to a smaller, caramel-hued brown. Finally a green arrives. She's the one that flips *between* and, seconds later, that speaking voice calls out, "Hey. You alright?" The crunching sound resumes: Heavy and light, though mostly the heavy obscures the patter of lighter feet. Bronze lizard zips back, circles the half-crouched fellow, then disappears again.

"Yeah, just tripped," Malosim answers candidly, peering upward at the flurry of firelizard activity overhead. Two browns and a bronze dart to and fro, chittering at the visitors while also making their bonded aware of where the owner of the others is. He tugs his tunic straight and shoves a hand through dark, sweat-dampened hair, weaving through the rocks with the direction of his bronze until he finally comes into view of the other person out among them. "Wasn't expecting to hear someone else out here this late," he notes with a smirk, though doesn't place blame for his tripping. He simply shouldn't have gotten distracted!

"Couldn't sleep." Zavyr intones, as if this is the excuse for nearly everything. "Figured a nice brisk walk in subzero weather was just the thing." Her tones are light, airy, perhaps sarcastic, but that particular is not evident just yet. The figure who speaks angles to catch better sight of the fellow who tripped; perhaps amusement alights in pale eyes at Malosim's attempt to straighten himself. Nynnth is likely fairly evident in Pern's moons' light: He is a pale creature, stripped of most by the essential of his blue pigment, and those glowing eyes peer with interest at the Smith. His rider ascribes to darker-toned clothes, this day, but there's a shock of brilliantly light-colored hair that betrays her location. "No blood then? Though," a grin crackles in the follow-up, "Some would be grateful for the blood, given it's an excuse to drink, right?" Perhaps a question, or perhaps a challenge, this dragonrider evidently holds cards close to the vest, so to speak.

"Still seems a bit early for sleepin' yet," Malosim observes with a quick grin, and then glances down, shaking his head. "No blood. Wouldn't be my excuse, anyway." He shrugs, glancing up to notice the oddly pale dragon. Dark eyes flick between dragon and woman, curious, as though there might be a connection in coloring, leap though it could be considered. Sometimes his gut likes to infer things. "Is…" He squints a little, studying the dragon again and making a guess based on size more than anything. "…He yours?"

"Possession, in terms of dragons…Is a consideration that has puzzled me for some time." Zavyr admits. Nynnth's muzzle extends, but not too close, to draw in the scents of this man, sifting through those sensations in a manner entirely different than Zavyr's sizing Malosim up. "I have concluded that it works the other way around, mostly. He belongs to the Weyr. I am his caretaker. So sort of in a periphery manner, I belong to the Weyr too, but only as associated with him. I most certainly am his, so perhaps he is also mine, but… It is far more 'partnership' than 'ownership'. She tilts her head slightly, "Can you 'own' your best friend? - I think not. He is quite his own creature, but dependent on me. And now, having known him, I fear I am dependent on him. There is Neryk, as evidence of a man bereft of his companion, and sometimes…He is not a pretty picture. You are?" The expectation lingers on the air, that Malosim might introduce himself.

Not having had a chance to discuss much of what a dragon bond is like, save with someone Weyr-bred and as-yet un-Impressed, Malosim is fascinated by the monologue he next receives…and by the fact that the dragon is now sniffing him at him. For good measure, he gives the pale blue a bow. "Oh, I didn't mean possession at all; I know it's different. I've just never been quite sure how to put it, even after over a Turn here…" That wide grin of his flashes once more, lingering a bit longer this time. "No, definitely couldn't own my best friend. There's a matter of hearts being given, but that's still more a partnership. An entrusting. But there's really nothing quite like what you have with a dragon, right? One of you goes, so does the other, even if that doesn't mean physically sometimes." Like the man the rider just named. "That's a different kind of deep you can't find in anything else. Malosim," he answers, extending his hand. "Miner journeyman."

"I wouldn't want to live past his death." Zavyr's words are so entirely honest that she, herself, is embarassed by them. She glances at Nynnth, who dips his muzzle to nuzzle his lifebond. Zavyr's hand draws over that oiled hide, before she glances back at Malosim with a tint to her cheeks that might befit a newly handfasted bride. But she clears her throat and straightens slightly, "Ah. Miner Journeyman Malosim. I'm Zavyr. This is Nynnth. He's," she adds in case it's not obvious in the dim light, "Blue." Her hand has a very firm grip, slender fingers that, despite gloved covering, are calloused. "As far as I can tell, dragons have two devotions: Their riders and killing Thread. Once their riders go, they do too. The riders that outlive their dragons… Don't do so well." This observation comes from a pool of exactly two.

The depth of honesty in that answer draws a somber nod of understanding from Malosim - not that he can truly understand, being without a dragon himself, but he knows what he would not want to live without. He smiles gently, catching that faint flush on the rider's cheeks even in the moonlight and wondering at the depth of the bond that allows it to come forth. He expects strength in a rider's grip, returning it in kind easily. "Well met, Zavyr," he says, and shivers slightly as the warmth in his blood from his run starts to wane. He tugs his sweater back on. "Can't imagine they would. Losing something that incredible is…hard to wrap your head around." His smirk tilts back into existence. "Could you add being devoted to food to the list, though? I've heard they like a good hunt. But I'm guessing there are exceptions?" Being the individuals they are.

A brief and, this time, silent consultation ensues between Nynnth and his lifemate, with the editorial commentary of a suddenly red-eyed gold that lands on Nynnth's head-knobs. Zavyr's mobile features shift into a full grin, as she dips in a mock half-bow to the Smith, "He says that he hungers for food no more than I do. And then he said that I don't eat enough. But the lizards, they assure Nynnth that Food is certainly the third or second or first most important aspect of life, as he tells it. Now then," Zavyr rounds back on the man, "What sort of Smithing? You put shoes on runners, or make equipment, or look at the Dawn Sisters or what?" Nynnth settles into a crouch now, arranging his wings around his own frame so that he's perhaps holding in the wane warmth of his chill-appearing hide.

"Fair enough," Malosim says with a chuckle, watching as the little gold comes into view. This, of course, has his trio perching on a nearby boulder trying to look impressive while uttering deferential greetings. Mal just rolls his eyes and scoffs quietly at that. Dark brows hitch upward a bit at the last question, and he shakes his head with a mother grin. "Mining, not Smithing. People do that a lot, though, no worries. We work so sharding close anyway. But, ah, I specialize in gemcraft and firestone. Figured Igen would be a good posting considering both are nearby in abundance."

"Ah. Well. Yes. Lots of holes in the ground, is Igen. There's a lot of… Very neat caverns in Kurkar too. If you ever need a guide, I used to do that. And I work fairly cheap." Fairly. Or unfairly, depending. "Transportation included." This, added, with a quicksilver show of glittering white teeth that are all still intact. "Good to have you here, then." The little gold has developed a profession out of ignoring browns and bronzes, so she doesn't seem to notice the trio. The big bronze does, though, and he lands rather possessively next to his queen, with a glance at the littler brown to take up occupancy on the other side. Nynnth's headknobs need a 'no vacancy' sign.

"Hadn't ever really considered going out to Kurkar," for a few different reasons, "but I'll definitely keep it in mind. And your offer in mind, of course." Going by dragon would definitely be preferable to rattling along in a wagon or dealing with saddle-soreness. "Glad to be here. Anyway, I'd better get this run finished up before I'm missed and my hair freezes." It's cold enough; it could happen! "Good to meet you again, Zavyr. And Nynnth. See you around." And once farewells are traded, Malosim will find his pace again, winding his way through the Standing Stones and eventually back out across the Bowl, through the Bazaar, and up to his apartment in the Crafter's Quarters.

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