S'yn, Prymelia


S’yn helps Prymelia offload her most recent acquisitions and gets a surprise


It is midmorning of the nineteenth day of the ninth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr, Clearing and Bowl

OOC Date


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The rise from sea to Weyr is made serene by a charming road winding sand-trodden from beach below to stonecut entrance above. The path wanders among a surprisingly green valley where purple flowers bloom in charmingly unfettered profusion. The meadows themselves are often in high demand as picnic areas, for dragons are not allowed to land in the narrow valley itself. No trees nor cliff lies near to shadow the clearing, however, and the intensity of sun can be unbearable for those not familiar with the humid drench of Southern's summers.

Spring is in the air everywhere one looks around; spring is in the air between every sight and every sound. The clearing above the Weyr is no exception to this, the meadow dotted with flowers and people alike enjoying the beautiful weather after the dreadfully wet winter that plagued the tropical locale. Rukbat rises slowly up the eastern sky to beam down brightly on the inhabitants of the earth, giving out its light freely to all beneath its benign reign. There is a pleasant breeze coming in off the Azov to rustle through the grasses, keeping the air humid but still pleasantly cool, allowing folks to enjoy their recreation without too much sweat involved, though many are taking advantage of the weather to wear much lighter clothing that comes into vogue once the flowers do.

Spring is indeed a most wonderful and splendiferous thing. Especially if you’re a trader and most assuredly if spring brings with it an end to the monotonous winter rain that had turned trails and paths to slick and goopy swathes of brown mud keeping travelers miserable and Weyrbound. But that has changed and the roll of wagon wheels and steady clop of hooves across grass tufted earth tells of the return of a certain mahogany-haired trader coming in from her first seven out and about in the Great Beyond! The trip hadn’t been without its issues but all of that pales, to the extent that Prymelia is singing a jaunty little ditty about a young man wooing a maiden with the first fruits of his labors.

Since dragons aren't allowed to land in the clearing, one young rider is on foot to hike up from the base of that clearing to parts unknown. Truly, S'yn has no final destination in mind and is simply taking advantage of some well earned free time to get the shells out of the Weyr and get his leg back into proper shape after his convalescence, ambling up the path with no particular haste. He's garbed in a sleeveless linen tunic of new leaf green that highlights how slim his arms really are despite the workout he gets as a rider, the lightweight garment tucked into a pair of capri trous made of a slightly heavier cloth in a neutral tan. Feet are shod sensibly — wouldn't do to twist an ankle or gash a sole — in thick soled sandals that protect his feet for the most part, a satchel slung over his shoulder casually. His gaze roams the fields and flocks, absently humming as his attention wanders. The sound of a wagon draws his amber “eyes back to the road — nobody wants to get run over, after all — and he spies the familiar form of a certain trader, waving. "Prym!" Because that's totally an appropriate nickname. "Hey!" Listen? Now who's being a blooming faerie?

Clop-clop-clop, even Soot is in an indolent mood, his broad head drooping calmly from wide shoulders, snatching up a clump of grass here and there that waves tall enough for him to reach. “The melon she tossed with flick of her hair, a bite she took from the juicy pear…” Prymelia sings in silvery tones. “Alas my love, I do not care…” The song comes to an abrupt halt at the call and hazel eyes narrow in the direction it had come from. “S’yn!” The young bronzerider identified with a wide smile, reins gently tempered to draw the plodding runner to a slow halt. “Top of the morning to you!” The trader sings out, all the joys of spring evidenced in the gaily-colored skirts and off-the-shoulder blouse. “You’re out and about again.”

Top of the morning, eh? S'yn tries to wrap his head around the origins of the phrase before discarding it entirely as a nonsensical pursuits. "Trying to be. Can't stay being cooped up in that Weyr anymore. I'm going crazy." Eyes widen and bug out slightly for emphasis as he wiggles the fingers of his free hand in added emphasis to make himself look especially unhinged. At least as unhinged as a fourteen-Turn-teen can. "Coming back with your latest spoils?" he inquires as his hand drops and leaves the rider with a semblance of normalcy as his fire-lizards cavort about his head in swoops and dives along the gentle breeze. "Didja need some help?" Because he wouldn't be a proper man if he didn't offer the gentler sex assistance, ya dig?

It’s a trader thing, S’yn. Just go with it. From her perch up on the wagon, Prymelia cants a grin down to him. “Ooooh, I know the feeling. For a moment there I wasn’t sure winter was ever going to end.” Glancing behind her pride sifts across freckled features. “Aye,” she confirms on returning with the fruits of her labors, “and a few surprises too.” There is just the barest of hesitations when the bronzerider goes on to offer aid but rather than demean his masculinity, the trader sends him a warm smile and pats the seat next to her. “Hop on up, its easier to take the wagon into the Weyr proper and unload straight into the stores before unhitching and settling Soot.”

"Tell me about it; I swear Faranth was throwing the buckets of water down from her maw." Don't try to imagine it, the picture is just too ludicrous. The hawkish orbs follow the trader's glance back to her wagon, no doubt laden and partly responsible for Soot's ambling gait. "Surprises?" Trust a teenager to be inquisitive about surprises. S'yn's eyes brighten when Prymelia doesn't brush him off outright — as many have done during his convalescence — and at least seems to offer him a chance to be of use. "Sure, that makes sense." Really, it does. the young rider saunters over and pulls himself up with his good leg to settle on the bench beside the woman, his fire-lizards coming to perch on the shielded footrest before them, looking bright and freshly oiled even. "So are you gonna spill, or leave me dying of suspense?" Mirth tickles through his tone as the youth looks toward his companion, eyebrow quirking.

Prymelia laughs. “You dragonriders. It wasn’t Faranth, it was Old Man Weather taking his bath. Or so my Grams used to say. He’s very messy and it all slops out over the sides. Sometimes he snores.” Thunder. “When he falls asleep in the tub.” She’ll tell S’yn with all the conspiratorial set of tone and pattern of features to suggest these are tales told every trader child growing up and should be taken, seriously. Okay. Maybe not for the giggle that erupts shifts any idea that she actually believes any of that. Again, out of deference to male pride, eyes are averted when he favors his good leg and settles in beside her. A light slap of reins and Soot put his back into and soon they’re setting off toward the cobbled road that leads to the Weyr entrance. “Hmmm,” mischief dances in hazel eyes. “I dunno. Should I make you guess or should I trade you revelation of secrets for a trip anywhere I want to go? Choices, choices.” The last uttered with a contemplative tap of fingertip to pretty lips.

S'yn listens raptly to the trader's correction of just who is responsible for the miserable weather for the past several moons that has only recently broken into fairer skies. It wouldn't do to make fun of her beliefs, would it? That chuckle at the end has the rider bubbling up one of his own, unable to contain his mirth at the hilarious mental imagery Prymelia has conjured up. Still, he manages a sage nod — probably not as wise looking on that baby face — and responds in grave tones. "I stand corrected, madam trader. Yours make much more sense." That whole old man in the sky watching over them really doesn't fly any more than the golden dragon, but both are amusing ideas none-the-less. The shifting conversation makes the youth lean back against the cushioned seat, palms cupping over his knees as he stretches out his too long legs as much as he can. "Well," comes the lazy drawl, "I know that Iaxryth will gladly take a pretty lady anywhere she'd like to go, so I doubt you will find me much hassle to negotiate transport from, at least for yourself." More could get trickier.

The fact that S’yn plays along earns him a playful nudge in the ribs from Prymelia. He’s just earned himself mega points with her for doing so. The closer they draw to the Weyr’s entrance, so the slower Soot’s plod becomes as the large black gelding navigates his way through the traffic flowing in both directions made up of people on foot, those with handcarts, a couple of runners and even another wagon coming in the opposite direction. “Pretty lady, eh? Sounds like your boy’s a bit of a charmer.” Not that S’yn isn’t potentially capable of such charm himself. “You’re not very good at negotiating you know,” she’ll go on to tell him, “you’re supposed to hold out for the best deal possible before giving in.” Amusement twitching about her mouth.

S'yn chuckles dryly at the woman's observation. "So he claims, though usually he pays attention to greens more than the riders or others of the bipedal nature." The coal-crowned head shakes slightly in bemusement for the dragon's proclivities before the trader's observation of the rider's negotiating skills earns a snort of amusement. "I'm afraid I'm lousy at negotiating with friends." That whole sticking his neck out for friends no matter what can be a real bitch sometimes. "But surely you don't mind my mediocre mediation skills? You do benefit after all." Amber eyes sparkle at his companion, lanky torso putting him at about even eye level with her. "Besides, it gets me out of the Weyr again." And that's worth anything right now to the stir crazy youth.

“Oh?” Prymelia cocks a brow. “So what you’re saying is that I resemble a dragon?” Does she try to look affronted? You bet! “I’ll have you know that the last time I tried to fly it didn’t go very well, not to mention that firestone tastes disgusting!” What? She’s tried it? Waggle-waggle go dark red brows, mischief lit in hazel depths. “I think I’ll stick to the human kind but I am flattered by his compliment.” For what woman wouldn’t be. Soft the chuckle that follows and warm the smile. “In that case, I’ve a long promised errand I said I’d run for Donatien. So how about we hit up the Weaver Hall in Boll in say, two days time?” They’re through the arch of the Weyr entrance now with a slender hand lifted in cheery greeting to the other waggoner as they pass by each other.

Uh-oh. Talk about opening mouth and inserting foot. At least that's how it seems to S'yn at first as the trader seems to get affront to the ill thought explanation of his bronze's favoring of the gentler sex. Then the statements start to get just downright ridiculous and crack the shell of worry forming about the youth with a little giggle. "Firestone is disgusting," he agrees with a blech expression for good measure. "I shall be sure to relay your appreciation, however." But not now, for his amber eyes start properly in focus and on the people rolling by as they dart about the busy Weyr, a picture of industry in the bright spring morning. "I can do that," he agrees amiably enough. "Probably would behoove me to get some new threads myself. I seem to have outgrown last Turn's things by and large." Oh, so those trous weren't intended as capris originally? Meep.


Lesson number one, S’yn – Never take anything a trader says at face value. Coming to a halt just the other side of the entrance, Prymelia drops a look down to those trousers of his and then glances up at the handsome lad. “You know, if those still fit your hips, I could take them up and turn them into shorts for you.” She offers and then the wagon jerks as once again Soot plods forward – Aaaalmost there! “You should get yourself some flashy threads so you can take a girl out to dinner somewhere nice. Impress her by maybe going off continent or something.” Dr Ruth, in the wagon!

Prymelia's scrunity earns a momentary blush from the bronzerider, making his tanned cheeks darken. "They still fit my hips; I seem to be growing vertically and not horizontally." Which, for a rider, is less than ideal. Or so he reckons. The offer to turn them into proper shorts nets a thoughtful glance down at the garment. "Mmm… Sure, but probably should just hem them up. More than likely I'll grow another few inches before you know it and then they'd be indecent." Or perhaps just better appreciated by the ladies. The golden orbs lift back to the trader's face with a half smile, partly wry, partly chagrinned. "S'what I keep hearing. S'pose I ought to take the advice." A chuckle. "Perhaps you can lend me your expert opinion? I am a mere male, unwashed and uncouth." At least he's not callow? The idea for going off somewhere nice has got some gears turning in the boy's head, but he keeps those thoughts to himself.

Leaning slightly toward S’yn pretence of a delicate little sniff is made followed by a feigned wrinkle of nose. “I did wonder where that smell was coming from.” She’s kidding right? So sayeth the glint in hazel regard. “But yes, you are male and I assume straight and a terrible negotiator too, so you’ll probably come away with some awful end-of-the-range crap that the weavers are trying to get rid off. Yes.” A firm nod. “You most definitely need me.” The wagon comes to a halt right outside the entrance way closest to the tunnels leading to the stores. Poor lad is likely to come away from the Weaver Hall resembling a peacock. Or…maybe not. It’s a crapshoot.

S'yn bathed this morning, honest! Still, he takes her ribbing with good humor and a dry chuckle. He can be the butt of a joke, especially when he laid it out there so neatly. "Alas, guilty as charged on all counts." He knows better than to argue with female logic; it just goes in very dire places in a hurry. "I would be most grateful for your assistance, m'lady." Look, he has manners! Never mind he might come away looking like a peacock, at least he'll be clothed. Hopefully well and comfortably. Once the wagon shudders to a halt by the lower caverns he slithers down from his perch atop the bench, supporting his descent with strong arms on available railing. The movement scatters his two fire-lizards who wing off for parts unknown and the youth heads toward the back of the transport for lack of better instruction. "Where to?" The stuff, presumably.

Manners, taking the ribbing like, well, like a man, forwarding compliments from his dragon…Yup, color Prymelia thoroughly impressed. If she were a few turns younger and in any way interested, she may even have developed a crush. As things stand, S’yn will find himself silently slid into the category ‘adopted’ kid brother. Beware girls! He may be a brave defender of the skies but when he’s on the ground Prymelia is on the WATCH over this one. Hopping down when he does, her own faire of flitters not arsed to budge themselves from their sunny perch atop the wagon, she moves round to the back and whips the canvas off of a load of wooden crates all neatly stacked one atop the other and lashed into place with sturdy rope. “For now, they all go into the stores, except for that one,” this a crate painted a jaunty turquoise, “and that one.” That crate a deep emerald color with cheerful yellow dots. “Those are mine. Oh. And I have this little trolley thing the smiths made me.” Said creation untied and dropped to the floor. “See? We just stack two crates at a time on top of each other and then wheel it on!” Ta daaaa! Clearly it’s a new addition and one that hasn’t lost its novelty for the young woman. “You want to try it?”

The trader's booty is eyed speculatively, youthful curiosity brightening the bronzerider's amber eyes as Rukbat gleans enticingly off those crates. The jaunty turquoise and the polka-dotted emerald are both made note off — earning a heightened sense of curiosity as well — before the offered trolley is enticing the former Smith all the more. S'yn's gaze turns toward the newly revealed toy and a broad grin splits his face. Try a new and unique gadget? You bet Faranth's rump he'll give it a whirl, for the sake of youthful curiosity if naught else. "Absolutely!" Let none say that his response is anything less than enthusiastic in its reply. The contraption is eyed with brief speculation, the teenager measuring up the storage space available before turning to unload a few boxes onto it carefully. He even goes so far as to unload it to the ground — properly with his legs despite his mostly healed scoring — and stack them in the right order on the dolly so that nothing is crushed by the heavy crate being on top. "Does it need to go someplace in particular in the storage caverns?" This reasonable inquiry is tossed out as he prepares to get up and go with his burden, eager to try out the specially welded structure.

One assumes that’s booty as in cargo and not the other kind. It’s safe to say that Prymelia takes it as the former, a wide grin lighting freckled features for while the crates are securely nailed closed, she knows exactly what’s in each. Whereas she’s quite capable of loading and moving her cargo in this instance she stands back and allows S’yn to be The Man and the one to play with her new ‘toy’. “Isn’t it marvelous? To the stores,” she goes on to direct. “I need to drop this manifesto off with the Headman and he’s quite particular about scrutinizing the contents of the crates against it. Once he’s done that, he’ll probably hand it on to his assistants to unpack and put away.” All this revealed as she leads the way forward, the leather folder in her hand used to shoo people out of the way, clearing a path for the bronzerider to follow in. Once or twice, she’ll slow her steps or glance behind her to see how the recuperating young man is fairing but other than that, she’ll not smother his masculinity.

Having a dragon in one's head constantly making observations about assets tends to push one away from making especial note of them on the regular, so indeed S'yn is focused on the cargo and task at hand rather than any of the trader's choice aesthetics. The former Smith is happy to follow Prymelia toward their ultimate destination with his load, both hands utilized to steady to cargo as they go over some of the less smooth portions of the path. "It's quite marvelous!" He's managing fairly well with the new upright cart contraption, quickly learning how to steer the two wheeled device about by tilting it back and wriggling it rather serpent-like. Fortunately this gives his amber eyes something to focus on aside from the woman's posterior, as otherwise he would never hear the end of it from Iaxryth, so for once his cheeks aren't turning crimson. "Can't blame him; I'd probably do the same with my shipments." It's logical, right? Her glances in his direction aren't really noticed, his long gait hampered more by the cart before him than actual handicap at present.

Ah yes. Dragons. Prymelia has no such hindrance (?) commenting on her every move or choice in life. Probably just as well for she’d be likely to exasperate a dragon to Between without the option of coming back. Back and forth the pair go with Prymelia helping to balance a wonky bundle on the last trip with a hand outstretched. Finally, returning to her wagon for the last time, there’s mysterious flash to hazel eyes as she palms a hand to that turquoise colored crate. “Right. Ready for a surprise?” She asks of S’yn, secret delight dancing across her expression. “But you’re going to have to close your eyes and open your mouth.” Uh oh?

The steady unloading of the wagon certainly gives S'yn a chance to do something productive for a change, so the youth isn't complaining after far too long feeling useless after his scoring. It certainly has brightened his demeanor despite the fact that he's worked up a bit of sweat. Once they return from that final trek into the lower caverns the youth hoists the dolly up onto the now empty flatbed so it can be properly secured by the trader whenever she's ready to leave again. Attention returns again to that unusually colored crate as Prymelia calls it to mind with her words and deeds and while curiosity is bright in the youth's eyes there is also a faint flicker of suspicion there too. A recent trust burning when it comes to things being put into his mouth makes him pause in his answer, a moment of hesitation that displays a flicker of nervousness as he swallows. "Uhm…" Inner lip is gnawed briefly before he decides that the trader is less likely to prank him than his young Seacrafter friend, so — steeling himself in case his assumption proves horribly wrong — the bronzerider dutifully closes eyes and opens mouth. "Aaah…"

Oh, Prymelia is well capable of pranks, S’yn. Never fear. Or do. Probably a good thing to be concerned. BUT, this isn’t one of those times and only once the bronzerider dutifully has his eyes closed and mouth opened as instructed will he then hear the scrape of wood against wood as the trader moves the brightly hued lid aside. There’s the sound of straw being moved about and then, the direction her voice comes from will tell him she’s back in front of him again. “Ready?” Tough if he isn’t for next thing he’ll know there’s the blunt tip of a thickly curved food stuff being stuck into his mouth. “Now bite.” Prymelia instructs further, glee in tone and expression both as she awaits the bronzerider’s reaction to the delicious yellow skinned fruit she’d found hanging by the bunches in a small jungle fringed clearing. This one of course has been peeled with its thick skin draping over the trader’s hand reminiscent of the petals of a wilting flower while she offers the paler, softer flesh for eating. “Isn’t it the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten!?”

S'yn tries not to be nervous or let his imagination run wild as he listens to the sound of shuffling as the trader unpacks her surprise for the youth. Good or bad, the kid is committed now and he's going to be man enough to follow through, even if it turns out badly. Or so he's telling himself. Her query and sudden insertion of a rather phallic object into his mouth nets the kid freezing in surprise — what guy wouldn't be startled by such a thing? — before she instructs him to bite and he does so with a modicum of hesitancy, hoping that it isn't something the woman chopped off from another male thing. The sweet, mushy mouthful he gets is a far cry from what his imagination was running wild with, but it's a much more pleasant surprise than the last time he trusted someone to feed him something good, so he'll call it winning. "Mmhmm." That's about all she'll get out of him as he works to clear that fruit from his oral cavity, eyes still dutifully closed.

Luckily for S’yn, Prymelia isn’t for any reason ticked off with him or he might well have had a nasty oral surprise. As it is said phallic object turns out to be none other than a BANANA!! At least it wasn’t a cucumber. A giggle of delight marks his obvious enjoyment thereof and the trader will attempt to bop him on the nose with the rest of when his eyes remain closed. “You can look now,” she sing-songs and holds the rest of it out to him to finish off. “I found a whole load of them growing just up from the coast about three days out from here. “I’m going to make some bread with them. And maybe, maybe if you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll tell you where I got them.” Cue the comical waggle of mahogany brows. Because bananas are on the same level as finding semi-precious gems lying on a beach right? They are if you’re Prymelia.

Nose is duly bopped, netting a faint darkening of the kid's cheeks as a bit of embarrassment creeps through S'yn. "Kay." This is managed around the mouthful somewhat thickly but he obeys the edit and opens his eyes, lifting a hand to take the partly eaten fruit from the trader. Jaw works as he listens to her explanation of the discovery, finally getting it chewed through enough to swallow and allow something like proper speech. "Really?" There is a note of youthful excitement to be let in on such an obviously precious secret, lips curling in a smile though he isn't quite sure he dares show his teeth just yet. "I promise." Who's he going to tell, anyway? Another bite is taken of the sweet, soft flesh, this one smaller and more reasonable for chewing, which he does so with obvious enjoyment for the sweet treat that is so different from most other fruits he's tried. "Bet th' bread'll be good." With nuts. Because you can't have a phallic object without nuts.

“On one condition.” Prymelia bargains turning to free a banana for herself from one of the bunches in the crate. “You always bring some back for me.” A brow arches upward in silent query of that being acceptable to S’yn. “And we should probably tell the Headman about them but not just yet.” For there is profit to be made in the discovery of a fruit not always easily accessible by most. “As thanks for your help, you can have these,” one of the bunches is lifted out and held out for the bronzerider to take, “just don’t tell anyone who you got them from until I’ve had a chance to bake up the bread to sell on the Boardwalk.” And there will be nuts!! Perhaps even coconuts with the shells being fashioned into island style bikini tops. Next there’ll be grass skirts and flower garlands to go with that too.

The condition seems rather fair to the youth — share the spoils and all — so S'yn nods agreement. "Shouldn't be a problem." May not be large quantities of the fruit but he can bring a few bunches back, surely? Another bite of the creamy shaft is taken, the teenager enjoying it much more now that he knows what it is and his imagination isn't running rampant and horrible. The offered bunch is taken carefully into his palm, cradled close against his chest for safekeeping of the easily bruised food. "Cross my heart." The bananas weave an X across his chest for added emphasis. "I'll keep 'em in my weyr." And given his two hollow legs they'll be gone within days. The mention of selling bread on a boardwalk nets a grin, tongue licking the pulp from his teeth. "If you need someone to test your product beforehand…" Trust a sprouting boy to offer his eternal appetite up for use.

Re-lidding the crate and attaching the dolley S’yn had set back onto the short flatbed section of her wagon, Prymelia utters a short laugh at the offer made. “I’ll be sure to send you some. Though it might take a few attempts to get it the way my Grams used to make it.” Items secured and with the weary runner in need of a good rubbing down and resting, she turns to head toward the driving end of her mobile home but pauses before doing so. “Do you need a lift anywhere?” Because he had worked rather hard in helping her get her goods delivered and she does remember that he’s probably still on the last leg (excuse the pun) of healing.

"I'm sure it'll still be wonderful." It's hard to tell if that's the kid's stomach talking, genuine confidence, or outright flattery. S'yn seems sincere enough, however, and is soon polishing off the last of his banana, leaving only the peel behind for theoretical composting. The trader's offer of a ride nets a head shake in decline, mouth still momentarily full before he manages to chew through that last big bite enough to respond properly. "I'll just drop these off at my weyr so no one sees them." The amber eyes sparkle with appreciation for the gift of food; he can always use some of that. "When and where should I meet you to head to the Weavers?" Two days hence he knows, but from there the rest is a mystery and one he knows he ought to clarify before they part ways.

Tucking her banana into her pocket to enjoy later in peace and quiet, probably with a good book – no, not that kind – Prymelia lends the young bronzerider a warm smile, gratified by how he so thoroughly enjoys her gift of food. “The others won’t be too happy if your lad lands to close to where we’re camped in the clearing, so perhaps down on the beach?” For S’yn will know where his dragon will best be able to situate himself without doing any crushing of people or their goods.

S'yn nods thoughtfully at the information. "No, we're really not supposed to land up there at all because of the crowds. The beach should do fine, and Iaxryth is pretty hard to miss." What with his copper-pot hide and all, not to mention that rakish exterior. A final nod is given as the idea solidifies as sound after a brief mulling over in the youth's head. "Two days, beach, mid-morning?" he offers, knowing he'll be up early due to routine if no other reason.

“Good.” Prymelia declares with a triumphant little smile. “I’ll look forward to it. And thank you again, S’yn.” The few short steps are taken closing the gap between them and where she’d been about to offer her hand to shake, impulse takes over and the trader instead plants a quick kiss to the side of the young ‘rider’s cheek. “You’re a real sweetheart and I’m sure once you have a few turns on you, the girls will be lining up to swoon.” She tells him and gives him a little pat on the shoulder in the annoying way an older sibling might. Her hand then lifts and digits are wiggled in farewell. “See you in two days.” Prymelia sings out and swings up onto the buckboard of her wagon and urges the stoic runner back into motion. A good end to a good time out of Weyr trading. It’s good to be home!

"Anytime." That he's available, anyway. The rider is working to free up a hand for the farewell shake when the trader abruptly alters course and plants that sisterly kiss on his cheek. It surprises S'yn for a moment and he stills with a startled blink before the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, cheeks darkening at the assurance. "Maybe…" Head ducks sideways at the pat, eyes averting in momentary shyness before he gets that blushing under control, straightening his shoulders and standing upright in as manly a fashion as he can manage. "See you then." The hand holding the peel is lifted in a wave to wish the departing woman farewell, amber eyes watching her thoughtfully for a few moments before he turns to head toward the open bowl to summon his lifemate and stash away his spoils. All in all, not a bad turnout for a casual stroll, and it puts the kid in a much better mood for the remainder of the day, as evidenced by the pep in his step as he saunters away.

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