Hide your retinas from a desert's sheet of white sunlight. Its savage pureness keeps the resident goats from straying far from the outcrops' shade. There's a two-legger among them, Threvobek taking notes on behalf of the stables, trying to discern any identifying characteristics documented from prior capture. Two firelizards not readily visible are prying invertebrates from the crags. Threvobek's eyes are visible through a slit in the face mask though he's not in direct harm from Rukbat.

Once again it is close to sunset, and once again Sorvani has escaped the bustle of the over-crowded Weyr to find peace and tranquility amongst the eroded beauty of the Standing Stones. Settled so that the stones frame her view of the weyr (and keep her shaded from the desert sun), she's supposed to be meditating. But really she's playing with a beautifully carved black stylised horse - complete with sound effects. The goats are ignored, as are the foraging firelizards. However her own pair, are roused from their basking to socialise. The smaller younger blue practically tripping head over tail in his eagerness. "Figners! No!" She scolds in a well put-upon tone.

Despite its cumbersome burden Threvobek is the patron saint of chalk and slate. Self-conscious of his writing, the chalk is much easier to edit and swipe away blunders. With it propped over a leg bent horizontally he is somewhat prepared to notice Sorvani, covered face obviously impassive. "Not a whole lot of mischief to get in up here, unless you're a dragon with a taste for caprine." Valmai and Iscah pick up on the new firelizards though the eldest has territorial orange spinning in his eyes.

Sorvani stares at the horse figurine in her fingers. Then back at Threvobek, then back to gape at the horse. Dammit, that thing is magic, so completely engrossed in her 'meditation' was she. "Ground, you don't have to stay still any more." She mumbles patting the dust hopefully, with a blush flushing her cheeks. When it becomes apparent that the soil really isn't going to help her out, she sighs. "I wasn't looking for mischief. I was looking for a place to do my breathing exercises." Her tone is oddly defensive, and her eyes squint.

The caprine lying on its side several hundred yards away is missing part of an ear— a previously unrecorded atypical trait. Threvobek notes it and pauses, side of his hand resting on the slate's surface. He can see the black veneered equine fastidiously clasped in her hand, knowing its origins. His own small 'salvaged' red gem is hidden somewhere. "Lots of people like it up here, Veresch is one of 'em." But she's absent. Fingers tug the face guard down his face where it bundles at his neck. "Show me how you do them." The request is neither forceful nor pleading, it is neutral curiosity.

"Do what?" She asks him suspiciously. Hasn't he seen enough of her pony play? Eyes narrow a fraction before an eyebrow is quirked. "Oh you mean my exercises? They're boring and silly really." But they do seem to be working. "I sit on the ground, take deep breathes in and out and chant." Is he really going to insist? Because the ground is totally not listening to her repeated requests to be swallowed. "What are you doing?" Quick, lets change the subject!

Iscah has cornered something she fears but by nature is rue to leave it be. Her repeated calls for back-up go ignored by the older and more independent Valmai. "Chant?" Rev repeats the girl. Thinking those were only for tribal nomads scarely seen, he has the inclination to see what Sorvani's version is. "If they help you they can't be that ridiculous. I meditate sometimes, but without the chanting part— I'm in it for the quiet." As the shadows lengthen the goats begin to come alive over the rocks, backs arching, tails flagging.

Figners to the rescue! Or something, at any rate he manages to co-ordinate enough limbs to reach Iscah's side. Ooooh! With neither a trace of fear or overt intelligence, his momentum carries him forward. Friend? However a bare second later he's outta there! Reappearing beside Sorvani's head with a chitter, and eyes whirling displeasure. "So stupid." She remarks to the blue, but allows him to settle for affectinate reassurance. "It is stupid." She insists louder, to Threvobek. "'The ground is solid. The ground is not moving.' Over and over again." Her eyes focus on the black horse fumbling from hand to hand. "You do?" Is asked very quietly.

Iscah's spirited by the addition of Figners' brief company but short from flashing a dark image of something dubbing the crevice home, the small green backs down for the sake of easier prey. Valmai's whereabouts are unknown. After Sorvani shares her calming ritual Threvobek is silent, unsure how to categorize mental illusions of safety, truth versus security. He decides today not to pick that scab. "Once or twice a month if I remember to," when he moves his hand there's a brief display of moisture on the slate quickly gobbled by the arid atmosphere. "So the eggs are getting harder." Neutral still, but obviously prompting more in the way of talking.

Sorvani stares at Threvobek for a long moment. Stare. "Really?" She asks her voice tight with false brightness. "I had thought perhaps they'd get…" Her dark eyes shoot out to the rose-gilded Weyr, it's not so bad from a distance. She sighs. "Of course you're right." It's too late, and she's too tired and vulnerable to tread that route. "Why do you meditate Threvobek?" She asks, still looking out over the crater. "I have a reason. But I would have thought you'd…" Her voice trails, before she shrugs and shoots an inscrutable glance in his direction.

"They'd get what?" Threvobek asks, "hang nails? Hats? Cranky?" So he's a little liberal with some nouns and adjectives but maybe the sun denatured the protein in his brain. In response to no longer feeling his right foot Rev places it flat to the ground. "To get some quiet and see if I get a little smarter." He might very well be serious, face as schooled as a gambler's. Self-reflection is so new age. "The Weyr's an active place. You would have thought I'd..?" No mad libs!

Sorvani's expression changes to a sardonic curl of her lips. "Uh-huh." The brow quirks upwards once more. "I was going to be perverse and suggest that the eggs were softening. But I decided better of it." It is seriously not fun to explain things. How ever her gaze drops as she considers his next question. "You just seem to have all the answers." Her words are a touch bitter. "So it seemed out of character for you…" Meditation is for broken people only. "So I would have assumed you would have no need for meditation." A gentle blush returns to her cheeks, but she's not looking at him so that totally doesn't count.

Damn pins and needles. As Threvobek's foot feels like pirahna fry are working it over from the inside out, he tries not to move it until the feeling passes. "They'll get so hard if any more damage should come to the Weyr it'll bounce straight off their shells." A lie, and blasphemy, it's mighty good they're alone. He couldn't avoid stretching his legs and winces for the gumption to, but Sorvani's comment has Rev resetting his face so he can grin carelessly though still somewhat surprised. "Not all." Both shoulders shed a humorous roll. "I don't know if I do it right, I think instead of not-think when I do it. But mediating, it isn't for only healers to prescribe." The nub of chalk is spun between thumb and finger.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Sorvani asks, her own mouth twitching, below eyes that are atwinkle with mirth. "You're not very good at it." She teases. His figets remind her of her own figets, so she shuffles somewhat. "Oh this is just silly!" She declares before standing, and moving to sit beside him. He is almost forgiven. "So you think first huh?" She asks once she's settled, the tiny black horse once more galloping through her fingers. "You should have thought harder about that tarnish comment. I am not a lump of metal." The last is said in a stubborn mumble, her eyes downcast.

Threvobek answers, "it's not my best." And Sorvani should believe it. Not prepared to have her transition to a spot by him, Rev carefully slides the slate over to the side where it won't unnecessarily smudge his records. At the swing in conversation, like the left field kind, he has to wade through more than a sevenday's memories to make any sort of relevence. "You're young and impressionable, you and metal both can rust." And it's favorable to protect both from the elements. "Ask Finn, he'd probably tell you." Smith extraordinaire!

Sorvani snorts, very unladylike. "NOT metal. I don't rust." It is very important to establish that she is totally not metal. "And being holdless cures the young and impressionable bit real quick." She may be sitting beside him, but she'll be damned if she'll look at him at the moment. "Besides you're only a turn or so older. You total hypocrite." Her tone is hard to read as she focuses on the details carved in the horse. The details are also very important.

Sweet Faranth flying. Is Veresch hiding behind a rock coaching Sorvani on things to say or is free thinking an epidemic? If Sorvani doesn't want to engage in eye contact that's fine, but Rev is pivoting on some internal axis, hand planting itself above his knee, and staring. Calmly, with a sarcastic finish: "Do explain."

Sorvani does sneak a glance at him from beneath her eyelashes. Her posture doesn't change overtly, but she becomes tense. "The not metal bit? Or the hypocrite bit?" Because he seems to be a bit dense on both accounts. "I'm not metal because I'm a person, not a thing." Oh definitely, her and Veresch are totally bffs. "And you're a hypocrite because you just are!" Actually she has no explanation for that particular accusation, it came from a dark and confused place. Threvobek is totally not the boss of Sorvani, to prove it her glance becomes a glare, directed straight at him.

Just perhaps Kczyslawborth could be hankering for goat meat and swoop Threvobek up at the same time as a voluntary hors d'oeuvre. The two candidates face off, eye for an eye, glare for glare. Then Rev's swinging his gaze wide, looking for someone to confirm this is still reality. The goats aren't talking. In fact, they've descended the rocks to excise resilient grass found there. "I don't have time for this." Grabbing the slate and burying his chin the excess of cloth at his neck, he also starts down the rocks with only slightly less traction than the feral goats.

"Good! I don't have time for you!" Sorvani immediately retorts, a whole host of conflicting tones coloring her voice. She has NO IDEA what just happened, only that her victory rings a little hollow. "Men!" Her eyes roll, as she scrambles to her feet clumsily. "Veresch was right! Gah!" She extends claw like hands at his departing back, descending into formless sounds of frustration. The urge to hit him. Gah! "Wanker!" She finally mutters to herself once she cools down. Even so, it takes a moment more before she's ready to brave the path back to the weyr.