As the noon hour begins to pass, beginning the very hottest period of an already unbearable day, most have retreated to the Weyr's cooler corners and watery pockets to keep the heat at bay. The ground weyr area isn't among the very coolest, but it's not bad. Even with Rukbat almost directly overhead, there is enough prolonged shade that the merest hint of breeze makes the place… perhaps not comfortable, but tolerable. As many take their meals and siestas, the dragonhealer area is nearly silent just now. Piles of sand dot the ground where folks have swept the debris from the last sandstorm. Some of the ground weyrs are inhabited by victims of the latest Threadfall, but in the yard itself, only Kanyith is present, wings only partially unfurled, the better to catch the breeze. His focus is on his rider, who is currently lifting protective hides away from the shelves and cabinets, each sheet letting off a puff of dust and a scattering of sand.

Nearly silent is the perfect time for Mayte, herding Rhiscorath along (except Rhis is here of her own volition, thank you) into the Dragonhealer Yard. The younger weyrwoman has changed into some loose pants and a shirt and even as she's walking in, Mayte pulls at it to try encouraging some cooler air down her front. Good luck. A somewhat worried look starts to clear when she spots Trek, while Rhiscorath takes her fine filligree'd butt off to go converse with Kanyith. "Trek? Is this a good time to talk with you?" Mayte's trying to sound casual, but it might be more cross: "This heat is trying to kill me, I swear!" Something they can bond about.

Trek is in full-on desert gear, herself. The Bedouin bluerider. Her head isn't covered, though, so she is unimpeded when she turns to see who's joined them. Smiling quickly, she folds the hide in her hands, dirty side in, then hops down from her step stool. Short ladder, really. Trek tosses the hide into a pile with the others waiting to be cleaned and stored, then grabs a damp towel on her way toward Mayte. Her light eyes flit over Rhiscorath's form quickly, always her first response these days, before she turns the same curious look on the goldrider. "Absolutely," she answers, folding the towel once she's gotten the worst of the dust off her hands. "I have water, chilled overnight next to the ice blocks down in cold storage," she adds a beat later, hooking a thumb toward the nearest work bench.

Rhiscorath is wallowing in the sun, flexing her wings to catch any shimmer of it she can. Yay, sun! Mayte turns to look when Trek does, as if having the dragonhealer look will reveal what she's looking to see. "Cold water?" Mayte is excited by the very prospect of this, nodding happily and moving to follow the older woman's footsteps. "I… I'm sort of here because of something weird she's doing." Words rush out like Mayte is urgent to hear the yays or nays of the situation. "I mean, she's always loved the sand season and she says it's alright, but…" The goldrider's voice trails off uncomfortably, looking around at whatever might have some shiny interest to distract her from the real problem. But Mayte's not the type to shy away from that, so she inhales a moment and says, "Rhiscorath's been burying herself in sand when a storm blows in. She likes… popping out of it, and startling people." Pause. "And I think some caprines fainted." Despite Mayte's worry, her lips twitch at that last one. "Maybe some herdbeasts too."

Trek heads toward her work bench and tosses the damp towel onto the corner before reaching for a leather-wrapped bottle that is indeed cold to the touch. She offers it to Mayte, saying quietly, "No glasses, you'll just have to rough it," before her attention turns to the dragon again. Or dragons, really, as Kanyith is all too happy to compliment the other on how lovely she looks in the sun, though he remains on the darker side of the shadow's line. The section of his left wing where the Thread wrecked its havoc shows stark white amid the deep blue as he unfurls his wings the rest of the way for a moment, catching another feeble breeze before it dwindles back to nothing. Trek slowly approaches the two, getting a closer look at Rhiscorath before she turns back to Mayte. "She didn't bury herself before?" she asks curiously. "And is it in order to scare things, or is that just a happy side effect?"

Rhiscorath preens a little at Kanyith's flattery, turning just so to show off how her haunch muscle looks that way. After a moment more, she starts inspecting the blue's wing, even if the gold won't put her head into the shade. Mayte practially whimpers at the feel of cold in her hands and drinks from the bottle greedily for a moment, storing it back down and wiping her chin before following Trek out. "No, she just sort of sand-bathed in it, before." Mayte's eyes go distant as she searches her memory, "Uh, the scaring thing is a happy side effect. Except for anyone who's not expecting it…"

Trek lets out a short laugh at the last bit and gives Mayte a crooked grin before bringing up the hood of her outfit. She settles it just so, rolling the edge to offer a little more shade for her eyes, then steps from the shade so she can draw nearer the gold. Kanyith continues to watch his rider, his wings now properly folded, and he is less lounging now than lying in wait, attentive and ready. "As long as the sand doesn't get lodged somewhere it shouldn't, there isn't that much harm in it, exactly," Trek adds, sounding more distracted now as she walks trustingly near, trusting in her own lifemate to relay questions and answers as needed. And to ask permission, not that Trek waited for that particular nicety. Once she nears the gold's head, she looks up at the dragons large head while Kanyith reports in his most genial tone, « My dear rider would like to lay her hands on you. She, too, likes to collect wisdom and exercise intellect. In this instance, comparing your fine hide to—. » The blue gives his rider a full, slow blink, as if to ask, "What?"

Mayte has to settle with shading her eyes with her hand, but coughs a little to get Rhiscorath's attention. The cheeked golden head looks down at Trek and then Rhiscorath brings her head close for Trek to look at, eyes whirling with slow amusement. « Mine thinks I have strange habits. » she tells her fellow dragon. « But I do not. » Poor, worrying Mayte. « Wisdom is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Intelligence is knowing not to put it in fruit salad. » This little moment of erudition is brought to you by the letter C (for cliche). Behind her, Mayte's muttering something that she has to pause to tell Trek, "She hasn't complained of anything anywhere. And it's weird but nothing ever walks over her - it's like animals know she's under there or something."

"Animals have better honed instincts than we do," Trek muses as she begins checking all the usual spots for sand irritation. Namely the joints and the spots where hide often rubs against hide. On a dragon of Rhiscorath's size, it tends to take a while, so a minute into it she glances at Mayte again. "The hide is thick, which is both good and bad. It means they can withstand a lot. But sometimes it means they can withstand too much." She starts concentrating on the joints and creases under the nearest wing, while Kanyith continues to watch with keen interest. "Since it's something new, it's probably in reaction to something else, but just because she hasn't complained doesn't mean there isn't hide erosion or inflammation." Not that she's announced she's found any.

Mayte smirks briefly, "You mean they're smarter than to step on something that can eat 'em?" Her eyes follow Trek's careful examination, a little tight at the corners with keeping sun out and worry. "Rhis never liked the water much - giving her a real bath," the normal kind with water like a normal dragon likes, "is always an argument, and now she's too big for me to just sorta push her in." Rhiscorath sniffs delicately, but it's Mayte who asks in worry: "Anything so far? Oh, and she's started gnawing on books more." Like any concerned parent, Mayte feels she's pro-active by tossing in all the little weird things her dragon's doing lately.

Trek finishes with the first wing and ducks out from underneath the tail end of it to give Mayte a look. "'More,' you said?" she asks, clarifying. There is a mental look more than a physical one shared with Kanyith, then she moves on, checking the rear leg before moving around to work in reverse along the other side. "If there's more than just one change in behavior, it's probably just your first look at her in estrus," she throws in, completely casual.

"Yeah, more," Mayte replies with a hint of misery, "She's nearly finished copies of old records. Says she likes the way they feel on her teeth. But she's careful - no chipped teeth or anything." The dame in question opens her maw happily to show Kanyith. See? Not even a hide stuck between. "But she's getting pickier too." The rider is so wrapped up in thinking of Rhiscorath's gnawing problem that she nearly doesn't hear Trek's diagnosis and then she freezes where she stands. "Estrus? Like, proddy?" Mayte asks just a little faintly, "But she's been so sure she isn't. Like, one hundred per cent, no go." Still, despite that, Mayte's shoulders relax a touch and she coughs out a brief laugh, "Actually? That's sort of a relief. She's over two Turns now. I was starting to worry that she wasn't." « I am not! »

« Oh, but you are, » croons the blue nearby, who has roused himself to a stand, prepared to aid Trek as she comes around to the main spar of Rhiscorath's other wing. She feels along its ridge quickly, then moves on, past the gold's chest to give Mayte another look as she peeks around. "Exactly," she answers, nearly in unison with her lifemate. Maybe he's not in the running for the likes of the young queen, but that doesn't make him less male, right? Mind if I hop up, by the way?" she adds quickly, pointing to Rhis' shoulders. Kanyith has drawn alongside her, his eyes nearly the same blue as his hide, though quickly whirling now. "And really, it's not like she could know, right? There's nothing wrong with that. Her first time and all."

« No. » Rhiscorath isn't commanding that no; merely denying it to herself. Faranth forbid. Mayte's shoulders continue to fall into relaxation, letting out a low breath as she mops her forehead with a sleeve. "No, go ahead. Rhis, give her a hand up." The gold will allow this, extending her arm to give Trek a way up. "But shouldn't she know?" Mayte asks, "Like…" That stumbles off into confused silence for a moment until she tries again, "Like, the other queens would say, 'oh hey, you're getting kinda proddy there'?" Like some big gold support group.

Trek is all too happy to use Rhiscorath's help, though Kanyith stands rather near, just in case. Practiced ease with her blue does not necessarily translate to climbing to another dragon's shoulders, of course, so it takes the robe-clad dragonhealer a little extra time. Once she's up there, though, she sets to work right away. "So… just how quickly does she spring out of the sand, exactly?" she calls down distractedly before leaning so she can look at Mayte again. "And… I suppose on some level. But only if she wants to see it," Trek says, frowning a little. "I mean, if you think about it, we go through a similar cycle. Just not as… you know. Evident." And she doesn't even blush.

That question gives Mayte pause: "Uh… a few seconds?" she guesses, then adds, "Depends on how deep she's let it get over her, but there's like, no warning, and then sand flying everywhere." A pause to consider further, then, "If it's pretty deep, she'll shrug a bunch of it off and then come out." But back to this whole estrus thing: Mayte's looking a little less puzzled, a bit more thoughtful, "I guess I see what you're saying. Like, if she ignores it enough, it might go away, but then it won't?" A little huff and Mayte shakes her head at her lifemate: "Give me some PMS any day." Actually, no, don't.

"To some extent," Trek answers, grinning. "I'm no expert on golds, mind you. I just like to observe. And what I've observed is that dragons, like people, tend to vary greatly in how they deal with their various cycles." She carefully moves closer to Rhiscorath's wings, adding almost as an aside, "You might want to get up here." She settles in to wait, musing as she does, "At least we actually can ignore it if we choose to. Some might say they can't, but they're…" Reboot. "She'll reach the point where she absolutely can't. I've never known a healthy dragon to skip their cycle."

If Trek's no expert on golds, Mayte doesn't look concerned. At least not by that. The moment Trek asks her to come up, Mayte is practically bounding up her dragon's arm to look at whatever Trek will point her attention to. "What? Did you find something? Is it something I missed?" Now who's the neurotic secretary? Anything that isn't about Rhiscorath is forgotten, but for the relieved, "Thank Faranth." Mayte squints and recalls, "I remember in Weyrlinghood, they said she might be 'around' rather than 'spot on' a day, but she'll never totally miss it?"

Trek shrugs, completely devoid of concern. "Everyone's different," she says, making it sound like the answer. "Every dragon, too. And who's to say her first cycle is going to lay the pattern for all the others?" So helpful. She shimmies a little farther down, then points toward the golden wing that is nearest the looming Kanyith. "Don't worry, nothing horrible. But see the scraping patterns there?" she asks, then points beyond Mayte toward Rhis' head, "and there? If she doesn't rise soon and keeps making herself into a sand trap, she's bound to wear away the hide. And then there might be issues."

Mayte huffs a little, but grins anyway, "Super helpful." It's pretty directionless, but Mayte looks over to where Trek is pointing on Rhiscorath's form. Lips purse briefly, "I see it." Her breath lets out in a frustrated sigh, "Soon like, a seven-day? Two?" Almost accusingly, the rider turns to dragon and tells her, "See? I told you." Mayte is not above saying this. To Trek, Mayte looks and asks, "Is there anything I can… do for it? Some cream, or oil? I mean, if I could get her to stop doing it…" But her dark eyes roll about the likelihood of that happening.

Trek's mind must still be on the proddy, because when Mayte asks if there's anything she can do for it, Trek just stares. "You mean, like… a cold bath?" she asks as her expression dips into a frown. Then clears. "Oh. The sand. If she's not going to stop, there's not a lot you can do, aside from keeping it clean and oiled," she admits with a half-grimace. "Probably just the abrasion. Maybe she could be scary more slowly." A hitch at the corner of her mouth tugs the grimace back into something of a small, crooked grin. "But really, how long do you think she can last before she has to give in? If she kept on with the sand trap after, I'd start worrying about her hurting herself."

A frilly parasol twirls above Sadaiya's head, a stark constrast to the shambling that constitutes her slog through this heat. She stops riiight in front of Rhiscorath. Looks up. Twirls her parasol thoughtfully. "Soooo," she drawls conversationally, pursing her lips at Rhiscorath, then squinting up at the pair atop her shoulders. "Do I gotta pack an overnight bag? Or do you think I have time before THAT happens." The emphasis is accompanied by a tip of her umbrella that indicates the gold as a whole.

There's a moment of discord where Mayte is looking at Trek looking at her: "Uhhhhh…" Cogs start moving again and Mayte blinks: "Oh! No, like… Well, a cold bath'd feel great in this heat. But yeah, the skin." Miss Communication 12th Pass! Her head moves around again so she can stare at the back of Rhiscorath's head like she can just jam that idea of 'stopping' right there, but Rhis is ignoring her. Instead, the gold huffs a little at the incoming parasol. "Well," Mayte sounds doubtful. She just really doesn't know. "I'll try to get her to… slow down, and if she keeps up after, I'll let you know?" Then there's Sadaiya's voice and Mayte looks down: "Oh! Hey, Sadaiya." That Sadaiya's figured it out? Okay, Mayte's blinking just a little: "How am I the last to know this? Anyway, I think you have a few more days: Rhis isn't even totally admitting it to herself." And if Mayte were less mature, she'd stick her tongue out at her dragon. So she does.

"Beeecaaauuuuse," Trek begins, grinning down at Sadaiya as she gives the weyrwoman a salute, "she's been at it longer, and I've been taking advantage of others' proddy greens for Turns?" She gathers her robes and starts to crawl her way back down, still awkward, but not as slow as she was climbing up. "We were checking Rhiscorath for sand damage," she reports to Sadaiya, letting down her hood now that she's able to duck back into the shade next to Kanyith.

"Also I can read minds," Sadaiya says absently, chewing idly on her lip as she gives the young queen a concerned once-over. "So, what happened? Is she being particularly frisky? Land with a particularly long skid? I'm not seeing anything over here." Shrugging, she straightens, then fixes both of the other riders with a wide grin, stepping back for Trek's dismount. "Don't worry. I'm sure she'll be fine, and flights are pretty awesome. I've always wondered if it's different for the other side, though, like, if dude dragons react differently somehow. Wonder if any Dragonhealers or… well who WOULD research that? Harpers?"

Mayte follows Trek down off of Rhiscorath's back, then follows the dragonhealer's example in saluting the Weyrwoman. And then she makes a face, "Sure, have good reasons for that." Still, the grin that follows Mayte's complaint is a little more relaxed. "I guess I'll be finding out soon enough. But by the way bronzes have been 'checking in'," full air quotes, "on her, I guess they're as into it as the riders are?" Mayte's guessing here, with that disconcerted tone, but a little grin is directed at Sadaiya, "Maybe dragonharpers? Like, if a Harper impressed a bronze or a brown and decided to document it?" A little shrug, "We could ask someone…"

"I'm pretty sure we all study it, willingly or not, every time a female dragon rises," Trek drawls lightly, eyes twinkling as she grins at Sadaiya. "I guess I only know what it's like for Kanyith and me, though." She resettles her desert robes on her shoulders as another welcome breeze winds its way through the dragonhealer yard. She lets the goldriders do their goldrider talk, though, and adds during a convenient pause, "With the sand, just keep an eye on it. If the hide starts to crack or discolour, come find me. Otherwise, clean it, oil it, hope this passes afterward."

Sadaiya gives Trek a saucy little grin, eyes gleaming wickedly. "Oh yeah. You'll be replete with bronze and brown riders bearing gifts or other ways they think will get them an advantage. You think they'd know better. I bet Kanyith does, though. None of Jivayath's babies would be so goofy, would they?" Switching the umbrella handle to her left hand, she uses her right to give the blue an affectionate pat. "So what DID happen with the 'sand' anyway? I can't help but think it's some sort of proddy antic of a sort. Was she nesting?"

Mayte does know what Trek's talking about there, tipping her head in agreement. The dragonhealer's instructions are listened to carefully, nod nod nod, and a long-suffering, "Fingers crossed on that." Sadaiya's comments earn a huff: "Yeah, they're doing that, alright. No more fish on her ledge the night before, though, that's a nice one." Oh the sand is a fun story: "Well, Rhis has been… burrowing under in the bowl when it sandstorms. And then when it's all clear, she likes to suddenly burst out of the sand, scaring the ever-lovin' Faranth out of whoever's around." Rhiscorath huffs a little; she's right here, you know. How Darude.

"Kanyith gifts in compliments," Trek answers Sadaiya, both looking and sounding amused. "I gift in back and foot rubs." Which Sadie may or may not already know by now. "Leave the sillier things to the sillier dragons and riders." She steps away then toward her work bench, where she helps herself to some cool water, then begins filling out a hide. As the riders present will find sooner or later, she's noting the details of the day's consultation.

Sadaiya knows about the rubs! She totally knows! She'd enthuse if only she weren't suddenly and breathlessly wracked with doubled-over wheezes of laughter. "She… right… is that what those random piles are?" she manages to squeak, peering up through mirthful tears at Mayte. "That is incredible. I will give you SO many marks if you can get W'rin. I'm almost afraid to ask about the fish." Breathing deep, the giggles are contained and Sadaiya dabs at the corners of her eyes, cautious to avoid the ever-present eyeliner. "Oh… that is awesome. You should get some of Trek's rubs though. If only she could be made Weyrleader. That should be a requirement for sure instead of a wham-bam that I hardly remember."

Rhiscorath is totally enjoying those compliments, by the way. Mayte looks a little more intrigued, but Sadie's question gets her attention then: "Yup. That'd be Rhiscorath. I'll ask her about W'rin - so far the biggest thing she's scared crapless is a couple of herdbeasts, but the fainting caprines are hilarious." Mayte's totally serious about this. A pause, "The fish was some gifts by some bronze who thought he'd get his name in early. Except he left it the night before, and it was hot that night, so the next morning, my weyr smelled like dead fish." Which is totally ew, bee-tee-double-you.

Thank Faranth that the old auntie's warning of 'if you keep making that face it'll stick that way' isn't an actual thing, because Sadaiya's face is screwed up in the most impossible, disbelieving way. "Ugh! Figures that your firelizards didn't make a meal of it. Was the, uh, phantom fish-giver someone you were a Weyrling with? I hope? Though, ew, knowing him would make that creepier. I don't know. What on Pern goes through dudes' heads sometimes?" Dropping her voice, she takes on a sort of loose posture. "'Oh yeah broski, this fish for sure will get me access to her lady weyr.'"

If that were the case, Mayte's face would be a permanent sneer. Fortunately, she can still look thouhtful: "Ya know, I didn't think of that. What kind of firelizard doesn't wake up when there's fish around? Anyway, whatever; I don't wanna know who thought it was a good idea. That stench took two days to finally air out." Grody! A little snort of laughter in agreement to Sadaiya's parody, even if she wrinkles her nose, "Lady weyr? Oh Shell, please don't tell me anyone's every called it that?" Totally off the Turnday-card list there.

Trek returns, rubbing at an ink smudge on her thumb, just in time to peer at the other two women. "Only Sadaiya here," she answers Mayte, her voice a bit of a drawl. "Ky and I are going to head out, but if anything comes up with Rhiscorath, I'm never that hard to find," she informs the younger of the two goldriders. To Sadie, she winks. "Lady weyr. I'll have to remember that one." She gives the pair of them a salute, while Kanyith makes his own verbose farewell to the sand swimmer, then they move back into the sunlight several paces until Trek can mount up, with the blue waiting barely long enough for her to clip into the straps before he takes to the air, where moving is so much more comfortable than standing still. Within moments, he has climbed out of sight, somewhere far above along the Weyr's walls.

"I dunno, sometimes the words just happen and I can't quite stop them," Sadaiya mutters, though grinning as if secretly pleased at her addition to local vernacular. "Aww, well, don't be a stranger, Trek, okay? Stop by the sands soon, or my weyr. I doubt I'mma be stuck in the hatching grounds much longer." Her return salute turns into a shade for her eyes as she watches the pair mount up and fly off. "Wonder if it was one of those fish that's all bones and no meat. Or if the gift-giver saw them and requested they leave his, uh, romantic gesture alone. So are you nervous at all?"

The bluerider's departure earns a wave from Mayte who watches her for a long moment. Then to Sadaiya, Mayte looks curious: "Jivayath doesn't mind if you leave for a bit?" A sidelong look at Rhiscorath, "I… dunno what that'll be like. Nervous?" Hah! Mayte laughs in the face of nervousness! "A little. More like wondering, am I going to embarrass myself or anyone, or who it's going to be, blah blah blah." A brief roll of her eyes even if Mayte's grin stays a little anxious: "And if it'll be, uh, worth it, or if I'll even remember." How's that for a heap of problems?

Sadaiya shakes her head, flapping her free hand dismissively. "Nahhh. Well, sometimes. Today, though, she's not feeling particularly broody, and she prefers if I don't feel stuck 'cause then I don't get all antsy. It's sweet that she's so concerned about my welfare." Now, her expression is positively saccharine, love shining from her bright eyes, smile sort of sloppy. "Likely it'll be just fine. Just make sure to keep your wits about you as much as you can, even if the link between you is… well, it's certainly worthwhile where pants-things are concerned. I guarantee, though, that those hoping to catch will be acting even more goofy than you could ever hope to. It's like puberty all over again for them. Fortunately, I can't see any of the likely suitors being unkind to you or hurting you, so don't worry about that. Really, it's wonderful. You'll see."

Mayte files that away for future information, or asks Rhis to. She will listen very intently to Sadaiya's advice, hmming every so often. That the chasers will be acting even weirder, though, brings a smile of relief to her face, "Oh, that's a relief. Maybe I can get one of them to do something really funny…" As for suitors hurting her? Mayte shifts a little uncomfortably but glowers, "Well, they'd better not." There's a brief smirk, but it fades quickly enough after.

Linking her arm through Mayte's, Sadaiya tips her umbrella to cover the both of them. "Oh nonono, you're totally allowed to hit back if it comes down to it, but I haven't heard of that happening in longer than I can remember. Mostly, just make sure to set strong boundaries during the flight and they'll listen. Ugh, here, let's get out of this weather. It's like bathing in one of those sulfur ground pools, only it's the air." With a tug, the elder goldrider guides the younger off for MORE ADVENTURES and EXCITEMENT and PROBABLY TALKING.