Where E'bert realizes that he may have been a bit too hasty in returning to his own weyr.


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


Mole's Home, Igen Weyr

OOC Date


Mole's Home

This is a nearly perfect circle of a room. Everything is neat and clean, not a thing is out of place. Riding jacket hangs from one of the pegs near the exit to the ledge, with a peg for riding straps, and a third for hanging an extra jacket or damp towel. A curtain hangs across the entrance to an inner room that is presumably used for sleeping. Situated around the stone couch that Karkath sleeps in is a table with a couple of chairs, and a sofa that can also be used for sleeping.

He's been released from the infirmary with light duties. How long had it been since that Threadfall anyway? He'd been mercifully unconscious when Karkath had come screaming back into the Weyr demanding help for the unconscious rider that was strapped to his neck. A sigh, a wince for that sigh, and then the itch in the center of his chest.

A hand trails through the build up of dust, and fingers brush together as though to make it simply disappear. From the ledge the brown dragon rumbles, and E'bert smiles, “Yes, it is good to be home,” but he can't remember the 'Fall. Can't remember past Trek's putting him in charge of, “The Wing! Kar, how many of Arroyo were injured? What about Kanyith? Who did we lose? Shards I have to go back to the infirmary. I have to check on our wing!”

The thought has him in a panic, and he's hastily slipping back into the riding jacket that really needs replaced. The pants he'd been wearing had to be cut off, or that's what he'd been told. So he'd been left with a pair of loaner hose. These get stripped off, and a clean pair of riding pants pulled on in their place. Boots are jammed onto his feet, and he's grabbing the nearly ruined riding straps from the peg he'd hung them on. A groan escapes him, and E'bert's sitting down on the nearby chair, “Shards. Kar, we have to replace everything. Your straps are ruined, my jacket's ruined, and thanks to the healers cutting my pants away, I'm down to one pair,” he's effectively stuck unless he can get Ivy to send him what he needs to craft new riding leathers, new riding straps, and a new helmet.

A space is wiped down on his writing desk, and a hide drawn to him. Leeezard uncurls himself from around E'bert's neck, and slides slowly down the rider's arm to the writing surface. What's this? Ooh, is that wet? Yes! Look at that! Feets prints! “Leeezard, stop. I'm trying to write a letter to Ivy,” the brown cocks his head to one side and chirrs before he's once more prancing through the ink, and then across the hide that E'bert is trying to use to write the request, “Leeezard, I said stop!” a deep, disapproving rumble from Karkath has the small brown firelizard chirping once before vanishing, “Thanks, Kar. Now I get to start the letter all over again,” and the hide with the firelizard foot prints is set aside. Interesting patterns, so maybe he won't throw it away. Maybe E'bert will find a way to frame it as a piece of art. Not as refined as the harper hall painting he has hanging on one wall, but cute just the same.

Letter written, E'bert sets it aside to dry. He'll be stuck in his weyr until he can craft new riding gear. Fortunately for him, he has everything but the leather. Unfortunately for him, he does not have safe riding gear to go get the leather himself.

Leeezard pops back in as the letter finishes drying, “Good. I don't have to have Kar call you,” the letter is stuffed in to a tube, then tied to the brown firelizard's right front leg, “Take that to Ivy. Ivy Lee, I need you to take that to Ivy,” a clear image of the rider in question is held firmly in E'bert's mind as he repeats the name a few more times. At last Leeezard gives a happy chirp, and winks Between. Hopefully Ivy gets the letter, and not some pretty girl that kind of looks like Ivy.

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