The location of Zavyr and Nynnth’s weyr is hard to pin down, if someone wasn’t exactly told where it was. Their weyr is distinguishable from a completely empty weyr only by the fact that there’s marginally less dust in it, and the bare minimum for dragon care occupying one corner: A barrel of oil and several rags. Shoved up against the farthest wall is a small trunk with one hinge and its lock broken. Were someone to root through the trunk, that someone would find few possessions, but those uniquely Zavyr’s: A set of chains. A fine-crafted dagger that once belonged to her late husband; a set of performer’s clothes, beautifully-crafted to fit Zavyr’s androgynous frame, and never used; a change of clothes, cheaply-made, that would better fit a lad; a few undergarments and a pouch with some coin.

Two staffs, their oiled length emboldened by bits of metal and ribbon, but carefully-balanced, lean against the wall near the trunk. The dust on one reveals the other as the likely favorite. Even the bed is empty - a mattress covered only by a sheet; with its covering blanket missing. Near the couch where a dragon might lounge is only a single runner skull, brightly bleached and perfectly intact, sitting atop a small boulder that once lay alongside the shore of the lake nearest the Weyrling barracks. There’s a story behind that boulder and sometimes Nynnth had remembered to ask Zavyr to retell it. His memory is faulty, as per dragon-recall, but he knows that the story involved himself and brown Kyprioth and their efforts to remove the boulder from its prison of dirt.

Nynnth does remember not to ask Zavyr to tell him the story anymore.

What is missing from this weyr, is the rucksack that saw Zavyr through months of hiking through the wilds of the Southern continent with then-Jinorav. That, and the Fool, her lifemate, and her four lizards.

This is the new norm: The blue dragon and his rider are absent unless required. Zavyr and Nynnth appear meticulously at Weyrling drills, neither late nor early. They are neither outstanding nor bad. Every action seems to deliberately rebuff notice as the uncomfortably pale woman and her so-faded blue dragon manage to simply blend into the backdrop that highlights R’kyr’s stoic coping with Dhazkyth’s verbage…Doji and Raktraeth’s assumption of the leadership role… K’mine’s and Vedziyath’s evolution into public life… A’lira and Kyprioth’s being blooded by Thread… And the thousand other Weyrling dramas commensurate with a double-clutch and over seventy dragonpairs overseen by only one Wingleader and two Wingseconds. With so many, so visible, one - or two - can easily disappear, and they do. Zavyr and Nynnth report to their sweep assignments, to shadow with their assigned rider, and while Nynnth carries on a lively conversation of questions and observations with any willing dragon, his rider simply is.

“Yes sir.”
“No sir.”
“Of course, sir.”
“No questions, sir. No.”

-And she is gone, the moment she is released from duty.

The once-flamboyant Fool is no more; Zavyr eschews the Bazaar. Nynnth no longer plays with his clutchmates. The pair are, in fact, not often at the Weyr anymore. When they are at Igen, both dragon and rider are polite, quiet, and always together. When they are finished with whatever duty Igen Weyr requires, the rest of Pern beckons, and Zavyr and her lifemate are summoned. Zavyr and Nynnth, Valor and Joy, Grit and Hope together investigate the beaches of Southern. They drift over the skies of Telgar. They hunt in the isolated coves of Ista Island. They hike through the skybroom forests of Lemos. They oversee from afar the fishing fleets in Tillek, roast fish on the southern shores of Boll. They are not hiding, though. Simply absent. The queen dragons of Pern can reach Nynnth, if necessary - but one blue dragon’s absence more or less isn’t going to be noticed. Any firelizard can locate them, were anyone concerned; no one has been. And as long as Zavyr and Nynnth show up when they are supposed to, perform as they are expected to, they have evaded comment. Zavyr already knew it was easy to hide in a crowd.

This evening, Rukbat has only recently set, but at the location of Nynnth and his rider - somewhat east of the Southern Continent’s Monaco Bay on the Ring Islands - the weather remains balmy. Zavyr is settled on the blue’s leg, watching the dying fire as she draws her hand in slow stroking motion, down Nynnth’s muzzle. The faint odor of cooked fish mingles with the salt of the sea and the ever-present scent of dragon-oil. Zavyr’s rucksack is in evidence, next to her shed Weyrling garb, supporting an upturned pan and plate, with a fork balanced like some final decoration across the plate’s dark wood. Tiny glints of glowing eyes mark the locations of her lizards, even as Zavyr is partially-visible in the dim glow of Nynnth’s lazy-lidded regard.

With Nynnth now bonded to her, tracking Zavyr down is easier. Not without its faults, to be sure but eventually they will be found. The start will feel much like a phantom touch, seeking and searching before settling more heavily. When he is certain that he's found the correct soul, Lukoith’s presence grows heavier. As though the moons or setting sun are partially eclipsed, the shadows and darkness take on a living edge as the brown strengthens the link. No further imagery… it could be that distance does work against them or he simply feels no need for added filigree when his request is simple. « Where are you? » Silver tongued, purred with false sweetness in gruff tones. « She wishes to speak to yours. » A pause, almost like an exhaled breath laced with simmering frustrations. « We cannot fly. My wing is not strong enough for distance and even so, they have grounded us here. Will she come? » Hinting, of course, that should Zavyr heed the requested summons, that Divale is most likely in her personal weyr.

After a few seconds - long enough for the blue dragon to draw his attention from his immediate surroundings, but also to draw those surroundings into his mind. The scene is transferred in exquisite detail to Lukoith, in answer to his query about their location: Twilight by the ocean, overhung by Pern’s twin moons and a flare of unfamiliar constellations; the heaviness of humid air held at bay by the slightest of smoky scents from a fire. The sensation of bodies touching: Zavyr, three of the four lizards, and the sound of the surf. Then Nynnth’s gravel-and-oil tones, « We will come. But we must pack. Will be a few moments. » The scene fogs into Nynnth’s own default mindscape: Craggy cliffs rising against a high-bright sky, overseeing stretch of winter’s high fell dotted with a few survivor trees. The sluggish murmuring of cold water is suggested as backdrop, as Nynnth turns his mind and assistance to helping Zavyr break up camp. The dragon’s job is to douse and bury the fire. Lizards collect by their ‘assigned’ items, so Zavyr forgets nothing in her packing, released to the air when Zavyr attaches their charge to Nynnth’s straps. Not much time passes before the six have erased most of the evidence of their staying here, and Nynnth is in the air. Lukoith will feel *Between* cut off their connection, and then the blue’s touch strengthens as Nynnth bursts out of Between and carols his identity to the watchdragon. The blue lands quietly, without fanfare, upon the edges of the ledge, even as Zavyr’s lizards flutter about, getting in the way. His lifemate is off Nynnth fairly quickly, but pauses on the ledge, rather than inviting herself in. Divale and Lukoith no longer live alone, and Zavyr evidently is not willing to blithely trespass on what is now also Xia’s territory, without permission.

Zavyr has nothing to worry about. If Divale is offering an invitation to meet in her weyr, it’s safe to assume that Xia is either preoccupied elsewhere or not about. The bluerider on occasion stays in her own weyr too, which makes it even more unlikely that they’ll cross paths or that Zavyr is intruding. Lukoith will know the moment Nynnth lands on the ledge outside. The brown has holed himself up in his wallow and there’s a deep, long rolling growl from him; greeting and warning both. He’ll tolerate the blue on his ledge, but not any further beyond that. Recovering, he’s a touch territorial, despite his rider’s invite to Zavyr. Divale, however, ghosts her way towards the shadows stretching near the entranceway leading into her weyr proper. “Are you going to come inside? It’s much warmer and comfortable.” she muses dryly, her gaze lingering on the other young woman a moment before she turns to vanish back inside. Divale wasn’t kidding either; a small fire in the hearth gives a cozy sort of warmth to the smaller weyr and a pleasant glow of fire-light. Her weyr, as ever, is organized chaos and now has the addition of several more herbs and plants, most of which are dried and hung, upside down, from the ceiling above their heads. A kettle is hung over the small fire, the contents simmering and from the smell lingering in the air, Divale’s been brewing tea. “Would you like some?” she asks and, having assumed Zavyr followed her inside, she barely looks up or turns her head while offering. She has one battered looking mug set out, but her hand hovers above a second.

“Sure. You alright? He said you were grounded. Injured.” While Nynnth takes off to go sit on his own fairly nearby ledge, away from the cranky brown, Zavyr glances at Lukoith - or what she can see of a dark-brown dragon in the shadows, which is pretty much nothing. A few lizards slip in to perhaps take a better look, with superior vision, before whipping back to Zavyr to report in flashing images, whatever they may have seen. Then they too slip Between and out. “And you wanted to talk to me? You need anything?” That last occurs now, if Zavyr is not grounded and Divale is - that she might be needed to bring Divale something for her…Whatever. Brews. Potions? Odd hobbies.” Zavyr’s pale gaze flickers around to the weyr in general, noting changes from pre-Xia to post-Xia. “Which fall were you injured in?” That last a note of genuine curiosity. “Or were you injured at all?” Zavyr settles in a parade rest stance, unconsciously adopting the pose they are supposed to be in while formation and drills. Now Zavyr turns to study Divale carefully.

“I’m fine,” Divale will pull out that second mug and start quietly moving about her personal weyr in complete comfort. The kettle is gathered, the contents carefully poured into those two mugs. A spicy scent fills the air all the stronger and easily pinpointed now. Figures the brownrider’s tastes would fall to black teas much like chai. Gesturing to one of the few seats, she will set Zavyr’s share of the drink on the low table, while arranging her own spot. Yet before she sits, she will turn to face the bluerider. It takes only a slight tug and shift of fabric and she will be able to glimpse the healing threadscore that mottles the skin over her hip bone — opposite to the side of her ruined leg. “Guess the silver lining here is now I’m a little more balanced in my scarring? A touch asymmetrical but I’ve always been partial to that…” Dry, blackest humor there as she smirks, covering up again before she deftly settles into her chair. “Which one…? Ah. Last one over the Weyr. We’re in an unusually sparse time for ‘Falls. And yes,” Enough about her. “I realized it’s been awhile since we had a chance to catch up and talk. Not through any blame on either of our sides. We’ve both been busy, hmm?” she muses. As for the feedback the firelizards may bring on Lukoith’s condition, the brown will allow them a little glimpse to satisfy the curiosity. His one wing is unfurled, carefully, to display the deep threadscoring, now well on the way to being healed, along the wingtip. Not enough to cripple him permanently, but enough to take him out of fighting strength for a few more days.

“We’ve been exploring Pern. Missed that Threadfall - we were at an Island far to the east of Monaco Bay.” She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Nynnth heard just a bit ago, when Lukoith directly contacted him at a similar distance, but if there was an all-call, he did not hear that. No one has said anything to me, so I guess I wasn’t in trouble.” But then Zavyr has made a new profession about of being invisible. Rather like thieving, but public invisibility. “Do you need anything? That looks pretty ugly. Painful, I mean. Not-” Zavyr shakes her head with a sigh, a tightening of her jaw, “I’m sorry. I meant. Not the way it looked, Puzzle. Just that it looks like it hurt.” She settles into the chair, reaching for the mug as if it might give her hands something to do. “How does it go with Xia? Still seeing her? And has Lukoith won any more flights of late?” Zavyr doesn’t drink the tea, but simply sits with the mug warming her fingers.

“You’ve missed a Threadfall?” Divale’s tone doesn’t rise much or change, but the implied ‘are you mad?’ still lingers there. Her brows furrow. “Whatever would possess you to do such a thing? Are you wanting to be a weyrling forever? Had they caught you!” She merely shakes her head, then and, much like Zavyr is doing, she has her mug nestled between her hands. Only she will gently blow across the surface before taking a tentative sip. From the faint grimace that follows, the tea is definitely too hot. Or maybe it’s something Zavyr inquires about? “Of course it hurt but it doesn’t bother me so much now. Lukoith hasn’t won any flights… and with his injury it’ll be awhile yet before he can chase.” Probably to her relief. “Things with Xia are — good.” She hesitates as though uncertain, but that’s nothing new with the brownrider. Her struggle with ‘love’ and any relationship outside her bond with Lukoith are ever ongoing. “We are still together, yes.”

“It was that surprise Threadfall, right?” Zavyr asks, a bit of defensiveness creeping into her tone. “We didn’t mean to miss it. We had the afternoon off and were out somewhere else. No one called us. But wouldn’t surprise me if they made me a weyrling forever. Be much more characteristic than just explaining to me how I could better keep tabs on what’s going on here. We would have been glad to fly.” Her jaw tenses and Zavyr shakes her head, glancing toward the dark door, somewhere out of which Nynnth had gone. But she looks back at Divale. “Good. Glad to hear it. Hope she has realized what a prize she has in you.” Zavyr is not mocking; indeed seems completely serious. “Of course if she gave up Southern Weyr to come here to Igen, she probably does have a good sense of it.” Zavyr inhales the steam of the tea, before asking, “What’s in the brew? It has a…An unusual scent. Different from the others.” The few others that Zavyr has sipped here. “Oh, and I can take that sapling log that you’ve been storing for me. There’s room in my weyr. Our weyr.” That’s the understatement of the turn.

“Yes, but…” Divale makes a sound not far from a frustrated growl. “You shouldn’t wander so much. The freedom to do so is tempting, I know. Trust me.” She’s been there and is likely struggling with the temptation now but she’s barred from even leaving Igen’s walls and not solely because of injury. She shakes her head and sighs, letting some of the tension bleed from her with a subtle roll of her shoulders. “I’m sorry if I came off harsh. It was out of concern…” Even after all this time, some part of her still truly cares for and adores her friend. She scoffs, then chuckles lightly with a bemused expression that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I would not consider myself a prized catch. I am… “ Too broken? Corrupt? “… not what most think. Her transfer surprised me. Much of what she does of late surprises me and I admit I am not sure how to handle it. It feels so… strange.” There’s a hint of a dismissive tone to her voice; she may not wish to pursue that further though Zavyr can always try. When asked about the tea, Divale’s darker humor comes into play, a ghost of a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “If you’re worried it’s drugged or poisoned, it’s neither. Simply some of the best spiced tea Igen has to offer. Midra introduced it to me and I’m rather fond of it. The sapling?” Her gaze shifts to find the object in question before darting back to Zavyr. “Of course! It’s yours, after all. Though I’d plans to offer something a little more in the way of a weyrwarming present…”

“We leave when our duty is done, Puzzle. We don’t shirk our duty.” This is affirmed distantly by a bugle that may or may not carry as far as Divale’s inner weyr. “And,” now Zavyr half-smiles for the first time, glancing at the tea, “I don’t know why you’d want to poison me, or drug me; that wasn’t my concern. It just didn’t smell like the tea..You’ve made me before, is all.” To the rest, “Well, if she came over, and she’s still with you, and she’s being… Well. If she’s acting like she loves you… Maybe she does. Or maybe she thinks you’re a prize catch. It’s all about what they think, anyway. True or not. The other person.” Zavyr looks at the tea again and inhales its scent, taking her time before finally shaking her head, “I don’t really need anything. We don’t need anything. In our weyr.” Mostly because she’s never there, and Zavyr uses the place only to store what possessions she does not carry immediately upon her person. “But thank you. The thought is a kindness.” But Zavyr studies Divale now. “Are you sure you don’t need something? A door unlocked? Something…Moved from one place to another?” She’s yet unsure why she has been summoned.

Divale is mollified by the reassurance given by Zavyr and she has enough trust left in the bluerider not to be suspicious of any lying or stretching of the truth. She focuses instead on keeping a hinted and sly grin for the recall of memory her friend possesses. “Unless you’re requiring something to aid you in relaxing… I figured just some spiced tea to keep autumn’s chill at bay would be pleasant enough.” There are so very few she would openly admit to her knowledge of herbs and how skilled she is in the use of them; good and bad. “She found my journal. Read some of it, knows a little of my… secrets. That she didn’t go running from me then…” She shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve no doubt that she loves me.” Divale is the one with the issues, however but none of which she’s feeling inclined to divulge. Maybe she lacks the words? Or feels it’s her struggle to cope with alone. “Not even a little token or gift?” she muses, so blissfully unaware of the sparseness of Zavyr’s weyr. The questions only draw a curious tilt of her head. “I was looking for you because I wanted your company and realized it had been some time since we last sat down and talked. You are still a good friend, even if our lives have become consumed by other things. Duties, our dragons, your training…” She flicks a few fingers. So on and so forth! “You’ve been well? And Nynnth?”

Zavyr was summoned back here, and arrived in as much haste as she could manage, for a chat? Both her brows arch, though the left follows the right at a slightly slower ascension. Zavyr blinks, then, and quirks another smile. “Nynnth and I both enjoy fine health. And we enjoy being not-here. Out exploring. Our lizards are fine. No one has gone proddy of late and that’s fine. We are neither the best nor worst of a giant class of Weyrlings. And yet I am sure that the Wingleaders have already met and the short-straw drawer is even now trying to call in old favors from other Wingleaders, to not have to take me. But at least they’ll get Nynnth.” Zavyr pauses before finally trying a small sip of the tea. She winces, slightly…Still too hot. Drawing another breath, she continues into the silence, since that seems to be the expectation. “We’ve walked the black beaches of Ista. Explored here and there in Southern. Flown over expanses of Pern, from some of our Between points… Hunted in the mountains near High Reaches Weyr… I was planning on Bitra, here, soon.” Zavyr is quiet, almost unwilling to try to again toss the conversation back to Divale, as is her usual wont. Finally she draws a breath and steadies. “Well. If she loves you. Enjoy it.” While it lasts. Zavyr’s pupils narrow at that thought, but she looks back to the tea’s surface.

“You must be looking forwards to being ‘freed’ then and full riders. Have you considered which Wing you and Nynnth would prefer? The Wingleaders have no doubt been watching and observing you lot…” Divale murmurs and yes, her tone though quiet is perfectly conversational. Perhaps it was a touch selfish of her to summon Zavyr back to the Weyr, leading her to think that something was amiss but she holds no regret. She was wanting human companionship and figured it was as good a time as any to seek out her friend. “I am a little envious of your travels! You will have seen more of the world than I have by the time the winter months come.” she teases gently as she takes another small, careful sip of her tea. Ahh, perfect! Her gaze lifts to fix on the other woman and slightly narrows. She has known Zavyr too long and can sense something is ‘off’. “Are you alright?”

“I think I’d prefer a Watchrider position. Then there’s an excuse to go anywhere. But since that’s likely out of the question… We really don’t care. Nynnth is no more or less capable than any other blue, but he does sustain flame for a longer time than them.” She shakes her head, mulling it over again. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Which wing I’m in. Nynnth doesn’t care, except he wants to be in a wing with his friends.” Zavyr blows the still-rising steam off the tea to clear the surface momentarily. “And since they’ll likely be farmed out to the several wings, Nynnth will have a friend or two no matter what.” But Zavyr does brighten a bit at the travels. “It’s much safer to go with Nynnth. No one dare try to hurt me, when he’s there. It’s different…A sort of respect accorded. But mostly, I don’t try to seek out people. We explore. Go places that both he and I can go. We went back to Lemos, hiked through that wonderful forest that you showed me. Figure if they ever did make me a Watchrider… Or a messenger…We’ll know every part of Pern.” Zavyr shrugs again and adds, “You, work-a-holic, in a wing and doing patrols and dragonhealering. Is it good?”

“You and Nynnth would be an asset to a Wing. They put the older, near retired or retired riders on Watchrider duty. If I had any say in where you were to go, I’d say you’d be well matched to Arroyo or Sirocco. Arroyo, at least, does some of their duties outside of the Weyr.” Divale suggests in an off hand manner. A small half-grin tugs at one corner of her mouth and she scoffs lightly. “Of course you’re given respect. That’s what most folk are taught from the start of their lives. It’s different, isn’t it? I personally still dislike it when they call me ‘ma’am’. Ugh.” She even gives a mock little shiver at that before snorting in thin amusement and nursing a little more of her tea. “I may not be Parhelion much longer.” Bluntly delivered. “Depending on R’xim’s final decision. I apply myself to my duties because they are all I have. I do not ‘idle’ well. If I am to be stripped of my position… perhaps I will see if Whirlwind or Arroyo will have me.”

“Why would you be kicked out of Parhelion? His Lord Master Smiley is upset with you? Pending a final decision? Sounds like more news I missed.” Zavyr settles back as if she expects a story, with that bright inquiring expression on her features. Her brows arch up under hair that is finally growing back out from when she’d hacked it with a knife. The rest of her hair still falls roughly down but now reaches just about her shoulders. She could use the attention of a professional - or at least someone capable - with hair. “And most time I don’t get ‘ma’am’. Most times, they’re not sure what to call me. If anyone is about to call me anything. Blueriders are delightfully…Not noticed, for the most part. Though Nynnth’s color does attract some attention. People ask me if he’s sick. Why he has lost his color. I tell them his dam is fairly light-colored, so his hue favors hers. But do tell,” Zavyr gestures, “Why have you fallen out of favor?”

“You must be speaking or thinking of the wrong blueriders? Most of those I’ve encountered are known well enough or have achieved plenty. You forget our Weyrsecond was a bluerider, until T’ral chose to step down. You are only unnoticed if you chose to be. Which, honestly, is not a bad thing for some days.” Divale muses with a grim sort of smirk. “I’ve used it to my advantage at times.” She may have noticed Zavyr’s hair, but if any comment is to come of it, it will come much later in their discussion. Tea is used as a stall in explanation, letting a silence stretch on between them before she feels it necessary to give a few details over. “He is very upset with me. Childish, almost and I refuse to beg and grovel for something I feel is not entirely out of line. To very roughly quote him, I broke his precious protocol and rules. I was under orders by Eala… who is now facing a similar fate as I. If I have any regrets, it’s that she may fall too. She’s a damn good rider and —- well. It’s a grand mess, Zavyr. Even I am not above disappointment but I’ve learned much. So we shall see.” And she delivers this in near emotionless fashion, save for a hint of a slow burning anger and frustration. Beyond that, Divale is cool, if not coldly collected, wearing shadow and darkness as comfortably as the warmest of cloaks.

“Which rule? Which protocol?” Zavyr asks. “And I know what T’ral was. But he’s ambitious. I’m not. Nynnth feels he is quite capable and he considers me equal to Pern’s finest, but I think that’s his job - to think that. I’m barely capable of keeping his needs met and as long as that’s done, I am satisfied. Whether or not he picked the right rider is, at this point, moot.” She shrugs and given that Divale tried a second sip of tea, so will Zavyr. “I don’t know of any other famed blueriders though. Your Xia. Is she - was she - wingleader? Wingsecond? D’har? I don’t think so. I hear there was one named Jesha, who was a wingleader down in Oldtime, came forward. And there’s a very old bluerider here, who was also a wingleader at one time…Don’t recall her name. But most of our wings are led by bronzers, or greens. And seconded by bronzers or greens. Not even too many browns. Naomi being the exception. And Vosji, as Weyrlingmaster, but her assistants are browns and green. Hardly any blues in Igen’s ranking. Nor Southern.” Both brows quirk. “I think T’ral is the exception. And Oldtime…was different than now. I’ve been told that by …Some Oldtimer I met.” But back to the interesting point, “So what did you do?”

“Report to your Wingleader,” Divale recites in a stiff voice and yet it’s not the whole truth of it. She grimaces, mouth pressed thin in a manner that Zavyr should know by now is a sign that she’s not going to willingly divulge any further information. Instead she focuses back on their previous conversation. “So? Rather than set yourself to those standards, why not change things? I am not saying you need to strive for rank… But be a good Wingrider. Stand out.” Those last two words are almost alien to her, given her preference to lurk unless she chooses not to. Her gaze settles on Zavyr then, brows furrowed and her expression close to perplexed. “I never could understand why you are so determined to live beneath the shadows of others. Who cares, in the end? Does it truly matter?”

She shakes her head. “I can barely read and write. Whatever I do in the straps, whatever Nynnth does on the wing… There’s far more of better quality. Hell, they made 16 year old Doji the wingleader of 70 weyrling dragons, Puzzle. When normally the standard is 30 dragons for a Weyrling wingleader. Many of us figured they’d split the dragons up, 35 and 35 and have two wingleaders and four wingseconds. It’d give more folks a chance to try on leadership for size. But what do I know? Whatever I think, whatever I do…It’s wrong. I’m tired of… Being in trouble. Being ostracised. Being left. I’ve got Nynnth, and that’s all I need. I’m not trying for the rest of it anymore. I’ll do what he needs me to do.” Her lips quirk at that. “So, see. Maybe I was right many turns ago when I was speculating that dragons ran the whole game. They do, but they don’t know they do. And it’s not malicious, particularly. But after … So many disappointments, so much of…Getting… Punished and … -For taking risks. Yeah. I’m a Fool, but not to the extent that I keep… That I don’t learn from my mistakes. I’m sure there’s plenty more mistakes out there for me to make. And maybe …Given that they only saw fit to establish three of us, out of two full clutches, for leadership material… Maybe there isn’t too many of us that are fit for it. But I’m sure not.” She shakes her head. “Not going to try to stand out. I try to…Be invisible. And … I don’t get into trouble much anymore. So. I guess that works.”

“Risks also come with consequences. You… and I, would know that well. Did you want the rank, too? Is that why it bothers you so?” Divale dismisses much of the rest and chooses instead to strike right for the first thing that sticks out to her. She leans back in her chair, dark gaze settled heavily on her while she holds her mug between her hands again. Nothing else is said, though an expectant sort of silence hangs in the air. Well?

“No.” Zavyr speaks. She shakes her head to underscore that. “I want to be a Watchrider so I don't have to deal with people. If you’re a rank, you have to deal with people. I don’t want to.” Zavyr takes another sip of the tea. “How about you? Want rank? Want to be in charge of people? Be the go-to person for every problem? Be the focus of every kid with a crush? Be the one who answers to the Weyrleader - whomever that might be - for every screw up? I can’t figure out why anyone would want to be in that position? There can’t be enough coin.”

Divale’s expression grows ever more shadowed and her gaze takes on a distant, faraway look before focusing back on Zavyr. The barest movement of her head, to shake it in a negative manner. No. “I’d be the worst person they could choose to put into rank. There are temptations there that I know I would eventually fall prey too.” Yet? Something is left unsaid there. A brief, pregnant pause as she considers alternatives but never gives them voice. She silences all of it by lifting her mug of tea back to her lips and the conversation turns again and back again to a question previously unanswered. “How have you been, Zavyr?”

She’d already evaded that question once. Zavyr takes another sip of tea and her time, before answering. “Depends on the time of day.” This is finally spoken. “When Nynnth is awake, I am content, at the very least. Sometimes, even wildly happy. Especially when we are alone. We love sweeps. He keeps me company when I’m doing chores, and that’s fine. We explore, and all is well. When he is asleep…” Zavyr glances to where she instinctively knows Nynnth crouches, still awake, “Then I can hardly bear the time until I sleep too. I do …Whatever I have to do and lose myself in it. I have picked up knife-throwing again. And acrobatics. Or walking ropes. I do that last a lot more these days.” She nods. “So I guess single word doesn’t describe how I am. I am not ‘fine’ - but well enough when Nynnth is with me - awake. Alone, when he is asleep, I am… Lost and miserable and I try not to awaken him with it. So I just do things…That take my full concentration.” -That which, if Zavyr is not concentrating on it, she will fail and there will be injury, possibly dire. “So I have been sleeping more. Rested.” That last Zavyr says with a nod. “I am rested.”

Divale has heard similar answers before and can sense that familiar pattern. Her brows furrow again and the look she levels Zavyr with next is one mixed with concern of an old, long-standing friend but now strained with the addition of frustration. “What happened?” Bluntly asked and nothing else, while she keeps her gaze pinned on the other young woman, her mug of tea held firmly between her hands and, for the moment, ignored.

“Which what? Of late? A’lira dumped me. After months of ‘you won’t get rid of me, girl’, and ‘I don’t scare off easy’ and little gifts, and how much he missed me and could I stay over, and… his even introducing me to his mother, and her telling him she’d kick his ass if he lost me…” Zavyr just lifts and drops her shoulder. “And I have … no idea what I did wrong. Or perhaps it is simply me who is wrong. And after all that drama of my being separated from our group and not being able to be around A’lira for six months, except supervised.” Zavyr’s tones mock the entire situation, “And now… I’m not…” She shrugs, features hardening, “Not good enough, I guess. Or too broken. And he doesn’t want me. Or he got the notch on his headpost, with some bonus for having …So suckered me. So. Yeah. Men…Die or lie, I guess. You have the right of it, I think, Puzzle. Stick with women.” Quieter, “Do you think I could get transferred somewhere else? L’xan already told me that he’s glad I’m not at Southern Weyr. So that’s two Weyrs down. I figured… Watchrider. Somewhere. Isn’t High Reaches in need of riders? They might be desperate enough to take me. And Nynnth is an excellent blue.” Self-confidence is at a whole new all-time low. Zavyr won’t even look over at Divale, but studies the darkness over by Lukoith, her whole expression having gone bleak. Then, “Look. I don’t even want to talk about this. It upsets him too much.” She shakes her head and changes the subject, “So, been back to the Underground any?”

Divale listens for a good spell and midway through, she will exhale heavily, a near sigh, as she sets her tea aside unfinished and quietly slips from her chair. It’s on equally soft footsteps that she approaches where Zavyr sits and stands there instead, both behind and at her side. Gently, she will rest one hand on the other woman’s shoulder, a comforting weight but nothing more; should she move or reject even such a simple touch, the brownrider will rest her hand on the back of the chair instead. “Women can lie and cheat as much as men. Man,” she stresses that word a bit. “Is the cruelest animal. I do not know A’lira well enough to say what spurred his decision. And from what I took of your punishment, you were separated from him but not your peers. Isolating yourself further is not a solution to your problems. Nor should you allow the loss of another lover to be the end of all things. You have Nynnth. You still have a few allies and friends here. You’ve a chance to find camaraderie and… perhaps companionship… among your fellows. It took me awhile to realize that. I chafed as a rider to start but once you begin to see —” Her shoulders lift in a shrug and wordlessly her fingers will toy with some of the longer strands of Zavyr’s hair. “The Underground is the source of my current grief with R’xim. Indirectly.”

“No point trying again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I can learn.” The tears almost come, Zavyr’s eyes brightening as the briefest reflection of shattered heart, hopes and confidence. “I don’t even want a man…Ever. Feel nauseous, just thinking about it.” Zavyr sets the tea aside and pulls her knees up, curling into herself and looping her arms around her knees. “Yes.” Agreed. “I have Nynnth. And he is all I need. Ever.” Real anger in those words, a tone that Zavyr’s tones rarely carry. “And when he is awake, all is well. So I need to sleep more, when he sleeps. And we go elsewhere, where he can’t hear the dragons of the Weyr, so he doesn’t have to talk about them.” She glances over to Divale, not seeming to mind the other woman’s touch, “Why the Underground? What issue does he have with that?” Not that Zavyr is particularly surprised, mind you.

“I was in your place once,” Divale quietly admits and shares some indication of understanding Zavyr’s current mood. Granted, her situation is much different and involved considerably more trauma but ‘loss’ is still the common theme here. “Of course, you need to let yourself heal from this. You may find you change your mind… or,” Her mouth quirks into something almost sly. “Discover the joys of casual lovers. No strings.” Her fingers continue to play with Zavyr’s hair and eventually shift into running through it, if she doesn’t object to it. “Why do you always feel the need to run away, Zavyr? When things are less than perfect? You scolded me, when I attempted to isolate myself when Xia and I had that disagreement and yet here you are… Doing the same self-destructive methods I’ve witnessed countless times before.” Why? It perplexes the brownrider to no end. Her expression turns grim at Zavyr’s next prompting, her lips thinning as she sets her jaw. “Never you mind. It’s all past and done now and I’m paying a good deal for it. Could’ve been worse, mind? But I will live with it and move on. I will not beg or grovel but as he’s stripped me of most of my duties within Parhelion, so has he taken some of the respect I held for him as a Wingleader.” A shadowed smile returns to her features, faint but dark… and dangerous. “I am not so easily broken.”

“Less than perfect?” Zavyr looks up, clearly insulted. “Man wooed me, screwed me and dumped me. What, this is some level of ‘rosey’ that I should be thrilled with? Hell, no. I don’t want to stick around? He and I were friends with pretty much the same people. And he’s still his friendly Big Brother self. Probably looking for the next woman to woo and screw. If I say Word 1 about what happened, I become the bitch who is being …” Zavyr casts around for words, “Vindictive?” And if I don’t, and pretend all merry-like, that it wasn’t any big deal… Then I’m lying. I don’t want to be in the same room with him. I don’t want to be breathing the same air as him. I sure as hell don’t want to be in the same wing or anything else with him.” The Woman Scorned, here. “And I don’t have many friends here, Divale. Lost is gone. R’em is gone. Qulandei is gone. Chelsa became one of them - Weyrlingmasters. So had to toe the lines and even admitted to me that the punishment that A’lira and I had was…Well. She said that sometimes stupid punishments have to be endured because it’s tradition. Something like that. So. Yeah. R’kyr hates me, now that he knows I’m female. K’mine and Doji…Are K’mine and Doji now, and good friends with A’lira. Ever since Moanna became a dragonrider, I haven’t seen her. But once. By the first shells… I have you and Kaitlein and she used to beat me up and I don’t see her much anymore. But the beauty of dragon is that they go *Between*, so we could come back and visit and maybe go somewhere else where… We could try again. Where I haven’t already pissed off the former Weyrsecond and his mate, and haven’t already managed to upset one of the wingleaders enough that he had to go to the infirmary, and - So. Yeah. I think that qualifies as a lot less than ‘less than perfect’. Personally. But of course I’m prone to terrible exaggeration. 1.5 friends and maybe two wings I haven’t pissed off, and I should be thrilled, right?” She switches back to Divale’s topic, “Of course you’re not broken. And of course he wouldn’t understand anything Underground. He wasn’t there. They weren’t.”

“I wasn’t implying you should be thrilled with any of it,” Divale’s tone takes a sharper edge before she exhales slowly, eyes narrowing but a brief moment as they remain fixed on Zavyr. Her whole posture relaxes in the next heartbeat and she runs her fingers through pale hair a few more times before her hand comes to rest on Zavyr’s shoulder again. “Merely that while it hurts now, running from your problems won’t solve anything. You live too much in the past and wallow too much in your mistakes. Your home is here! Those you’ve transgressed against will either forgive and move on or not; that is their choice and their loss. And you are exaggerating — well, some of the details! Friends come and go. Lovers too. It’s the way of things! Won’t change, no matter where you go.” Switching back to the other topic has Divale scoffing lightly and she will lean forwards and down enough that her head is more or less level with Zavyr’s. When she speaks, her voice is whisper soft and gruff both, darkened. She’s changed, over the Turns. Stepped further into shadow rather than light; even if it appears otherwise. “Then you don’t know me well at all, do you? I have been broken and in some of the worst ways imaginable. And it wasn’t so much the Underground itself but what was found in it. It doesn’t matter… It’s done and I knew of the consequences. Allowed myself to be caught in a moment of overconfidence and so now I pay for it. Simple.” She withdraws a bit, straightening and with her hands now resting on the back of the chair.

“Then,” Zavyr replies, exasperated, “I don’t know you either - because you’re evidently talking about something more than your blaming yourself for the death of your first love, and the plotting against your grandmother and that. I sure as hell didn’t know A’lira. Except intimately. And I guess I don’t know anyone. But you’re speaking in riddles and obviously don’t want me to know anything more, so I’ll not ask.” She considers the other words. “And if the problem is that there’s nothing here for me, then it seems that running from those problems, somewhere that there IS something, is actually a lovely solution, rather than slogging along in the continuity of nothingness here. But you’re saying that if the problem is that anyone in my life is transient, I guess the solution is that I quit caring and don’t bother to make deep connections with anyone. And I’m OK with that. I’d just rather do that somewhere where there’s not so many memories. Where I can be more properly invisible, see? No history.”

Divale clicks her tongue in her own exasperated manner, eyes darkening as they narrow at Zavyr. “‘All that?’ There’s a lot more to my past and to who I am than just what little I entrusted you with — which I am beginning to think I erred, if that’s how damn dismissive you’re going to be. I speak in ‘riddles’ involving my punishment because it’s not necessary for you to know the whole details. That I confided to you at all, doesn’t mean anything? That out of… everyone,” Her hands spread in frustration, but to also indicate the Weyr as a whole. “I could choose to speak to, I had Lukoith find Nynnth so it could be you!” She stalks away for a moment, venturing closer to the small hearth and gathering a few sprigs of herbs and other dried ingredients. “Your history will follow you wherever you go, Zavyr. Seeing as you refuse to ever learn or grow from the mistakes or failures here.”

“You just corrected me - said I did not know you well at all. And I thought I had, because you had mentioned those things to me, but now you’re saying that you screwed up befriending me too? Look, Puzzle. I am your friend,” Zavyr gets up now, putting the mug on the table. “I have assisted you when you asked me to, and not spoken of a thing, as you bade me, and I have taken care of your dragon when you could not, and talked you back into …Your whatever with Xia, and this evening, when Lukoith called Nynnth, we dropped everything and packed up and came, because I thought you needed something. But if you made a mistake, and I am being ‘damn dismissive’ then I guess I not only can’t manage the lover thing, but I don’t have a clue how to do the friend thing either. AND I don’t learn or grow - though I have no idea what that is based on. My apologies.” She rises and steps toward the ledge, “I won’t be wasting your time anymore either, then, Divale.” All of her firelizards have disappeared, now.

“And when I was facing heartbreak, you told me the exact same as I tell you now!” Divale snaps back in a rare form of cold anger. “If I wasn’t allowed to grieve, then why is it any different for you? You have a dragon now too, Zavyr! And a place here! I’m trying to lend you the same comforts and support but it’s not good enough, is it? It never is!” Again, her hands move in agitated, frustrated motions as she moves about. Lukoith makes a low, huffed-growling sound from the darkness of his wallow. “Nothing we say will keep you here or make you see… You always run!” She even goes as far as to gesture in an accusing pointed finger to where Zavyr is now stepping towards the ledge. See? A deep inhale of breath, a slow and silent work of her jaw as she reins in her temper. Much of the tension leaves her body, and her tone is not so edged as before. “I will never forget all you have done for me, Zavyr. You don’t have to remind me.” She sighs, “It is a shame that you and A’lira did not work out but in the grander scheme of things… Does it really matter at this point? You’ll be going into a fighting Wing soon. You have… so much more you could be focusing on and attaining.”

Easily poised on the edge of the ledge, Zavyr looks back at Divale. “Like what?” Nynnth has not yet arrived, and possibly he has not yet taken off. Zavyr stares at Divale, but mostly the lack of light robs her expression of any detail. “What should I be focusing on and attaining?”

Divale dusts her hands clean of the few herbs and other ingredients clinging to her fingers; she doesn’t even need to focus that much to know how much to grind or shred. “Your place here,” she states again, firmly and turns to ghost her way a little closer to that ledge where Zavyr now insists on standing. “Learn to accept your mistakes and grow from them! Even if you’re not much for working as a team, try to help out your Wing! Focus on Nynnth and yourself, not by running and wholly isolating, but by forming different relationships here and I don’t mean all sexual or based on love. Prove all those you’ve “wronged” that you’re better than they may assume you to be.”

“Who have I wronged?” Zavyr asks, clearly surprised. “I was a good wife to Lane, and he can’t help having died. I was a devoted lover to A’lira. I have no idea why he dumped me. He said my life couldn’t revolve around him. It doesn’t and never has - it revolves around Nynnth. But I’m not the social vtol he is. I’ve never had lots of friends and that shouldn’t be … An issue to him. Unless,” her lips twitch, “His ambitions are such that he needs a ‘trophy’ mate, which I certainly am not. But I was a damn fine girlfriend to him.” There’s real anger there. “And I don’t need a lover. Or a mate. I have Nynnth. And my lizards. And when you have time, you. The rest can go to hell.” The rest of her tentative friendships with her fellow Weyrlings are now in A’lira’s domain, as far as Zavyr is concerned. He is the friendly, social one. “But I haven’t wronged anyone. Except R’kyr thinks I wronged him because I didn’t ‘fess up to him that I was female when he was busy saving my ass in the Underground. And nevermind that when he did ask if I was a girl, I did answer him honestly.” She hesitates, but then goes full-circle, “I don’t think that was a mistake either. But I’m very sorry he hates me now. Nothing I can do about that. He’s not warm and fuzzy. The rest…” She shakes her head, “They’re busy like you are. They don’t need friends either. Except Neryk. He needs friends. And I am still his friend. I’m fine. I just don’t want to be here.”

“You just gave me a list of names earlier of those you’ve supposedly upset or wronged not but a few minutes ago!” Divale sounds exasperated again, only to gesture with her hand. “See? That there. Not even giving your fellow weyrlings a chance! I’m not saying you need to go be everyone’s best friend. Not even I am that engaging or open, but… to toss them aside?” Her eyes narrow and then she makes a low frustrated sound before shaking her head. Shadow and darkness fall over her features, the edge back to her voice. “Go, then, if leaving is so important to you! I am done trying to help you, Zavyr. I have loved you for some time now, as a close friend and entertained in dreams what could have been more, but I can’t live through seeing you doing the same self-destructive behaviours over and over again. You are always there for me, but anytime I try for you? It’s this. Maddening circles… And you always leave.” And she will not beg or plead. “So… go.” A flick of her hand, harshly dismissive as her gaze becomes a hardened glare.

Eh? Zavyr blinks, and goes quiet for a long few moments, trying to parse what Divale has revealed with her own reality. But she retreats to the easier subject, “No, those are people that have left. R’em? You’re talking about that list of names? I haven’t wronged anyone. I-” she shakes her head, “I might have wronged Drex. -But,” One hand, led by a finger, comes up, “I made up for that. I testified on his behalf when he was put on trial for trying to kill me. And I am friends with his dragon. I have been wronged. But there’s naught to do about that.” She shakes her head, “I don’t do the revenge thing. And grief is not… Well. I’ll get through it. But leaving is not self-destructive. It’s just leaving. I’ve been leaving places long before we became friends, Divale. I’m from a family of travelers. Performers. We… Go places. And form few bonds. THAT’s enough. I did give my fellow Weyrlings a chance. K’mine and Doji are pretty decent. But they’re A’lira’s friends and I’m not wanting to get involved in that. I wouldn’t have even talked to you about this, but you dragged it out of me and now you’re upset because I’m upset. Further, there’s nothing you can do about it, so there’s no point in my having told you, because you go and get upset, see?” She shakes her head, dragging fingers through her hair that Divale so recently finger-combed as well. Then she thinks, “Or you mean…Wronged R’xim and T’ral? No. R’xim needs to get his stick out of his ass. And T’ral… He’s alright. Just kind of… Lives on a different Pern than I do. Look. I’m grieving. I want to go somewhere where I am distracted, where there’s new things and new people, and not just the same everything that reminds me of everything I lost. That I never should have thought I had, because I’m so stupid to think… To believe what people tell me.” Her eyes get bright again at that. She swallows then and shakes her head. “Pity you weren’t a guy, eh?”

“But you are not a traveller anymore? You are a weyrling of Igen, to be a wingrider of Igen.” Divale states cooly, “And I get upset because I care about you, as I figured friends ought. You haven’t lost everything. You lost a human partner, a lover, a boyfriend. You still have Nynnth. You have a few friends. Or am I to be lumped then with your fellow weyrlings when you learn I’ve dared speak to A’lira and actually do not mind him, as a person?” She tilts her head a bit at that, eyes still distant and cold and her mouth set grimly. A scoff for the final statement, a bitter curve of her lips. “Is that the requirement needed to love you?” As cryptic a remark as ever, but Divale leaves it simply as that as her gaze finally lowers as she shifts to turn away. “Clear skies, Zavyr.” Soft spoken, near whispered, but with a clear note of finality.

“You are still my friend, Puzzle. Call on me when you need me.” Nynnth does a smart landing, claws barely clutching the stone before Zavyr vaults up on a handy forelimb. The blue dragon launches backwards, twisting neatly in the air and disappearing into the darkness. Likewise they land on their own ledge for a moment, so Zavyr can shoulder into her flight jacket for the cold trip Between. Then she’s strapped in and Nynnth’s wide-open mindscape has winked out, as the pair slide Between to some other destination.