Night has fallen, filled with the chilly feel of winter. Crisp night air, a sharpness to the breath that stings when inhaled too deeply. At the edge of the calm lipping of the lake's shore stands a man with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. The night wind ruffles the blond hair that hangs too long and uncut around his face. Shadowed blue eyes watch the lake, and while his stance is unassuming there lingers a dark intent, an arrested motion that suggests movement at the drop of a mark. A predator's readiness holds him still, though not too far away, a strange bronze sits parked in the bowl. Idling.

Two draconic silhouettes briefly render the night sky blank overhead, once wheeling about in a glint of shadowed jade and ivy to make a quick yet graceful landing on the lake shore. The green's rider - a woman, from the sound of the voice muttering a few curses under her breath - slips to the ground and pulls off her helmet amidst the billow of breath's steam, striding a few paces away before her lifemate takes to the sky again in pursuit (it seems), of the second dragon. Not a chase, but watching, as the greenrider herself seems to be doing. Suddenly, she glances over to spy the unfamiliar man on the shore…and his dragon. "Good evening, bronzerider," she greets a bit breathlessly, inclining her head to him before craning her gaze skyward again with a slight frown of concentration.

Sa'mael angles is head towards the arriving greenrider, and the smirk that pulls his expression together suggests he find some internal amusement to keep the chill at bay. Czhaevth continues to idle unobtrusively at the edge of the main part of the bowl. "Evenin'," his greeting is a quiet rumble, textured baritone rolling across the night's dark eddies. He doesn't explain himself or make excuses for owning this little square of land that he currently occupies. Belligerence and defiance cling, but so does something cooler. His regard is fairly benign; his intent isn't to start trouble, but he's alpha and male enough to face with world with a certain expectation of a fight.

Kyara still looks skyward a bit longer, whatever she's vicariously observing presently causing her to scrub a hand over her cold-numbed face in frustration. Then she sighs, reaching up to rub at her neck a moment before glancing over at the long-haired bronzer curiously. "Where are you visiting us from?" Since the dark isn't allowing her to see knot colors very clearly right now, and Liareth is…well. A little too busy to try plying her wiles on the blingy bronze at the moment.

"Not here," Sa'mael supplies, a hint of barbed laughter buried beneath that so-helpful response. "What are you looking for? The sky falling?" It's not escaped his notice that she's looking pretty hard at the dark vale of sky curved over their heads. Did he see the chasing dragons? It's hard to tell, because his game face gives nothing away. Moonlight reflects off the downy blond beard that frames his jaw. Despite the danger clinging to the tension that limns his muscles, the man isn't trying to be threatening. Merely waiting for some thing or some one. "Or are you one of those that gets infatuated by the stars?"

"You don't say," is countered with dry amusement, a subtle smirk tweaking the corner of Kyara's lips. She folds her arms, her air casual but thoroughly attentive…and not at all intimidated by an hint of danger or threat the man gives off. Confidence is something she wears easily, despite the generally quieter aura that hangs about her. "I am, actually," she replies atop a chuckle, "but they're not what I'm about tonight. One of my weyrlings is having a little trouble getting his positioning right coming back into the Star Stones in the dark. Liareth keeps tabs up there while I watch his angling from here." And she totally is. Even while talking.

Sa'mael takes a moment to process her words, his eyes never straying from the greenrider's face. "Hnnn." A sound, more nasal than not, merges from the back of his throat. He doesn't give judgement on it, but he does turn his eye to the sky. While he's not necessarily the best conversationalist, a keen intelligence surfaces - most often obscured back home behind his belligerence and the fight against what the world expects of him. Here, in Igen, there exists a freedom. "Make him hover over the star stones and memorize something defining, something personal to him that doesn't change between night and day. Then add in the night."

Kyara considers the bronzerider's suggestion with an intrigued lift of one burnished brow. "Something personal," she echoes, giving a thoughtful hum as she looks skyward again. "Not something I'd considered before." Silence and vagueness of gaze prevail for a moment as she relays instructions to Liareth, and after a moment, the two dragons appear over the Star Stones and hover for a little while before winging away. After another stretch, the muffled whump of air displacement that happens on blink from ::between:: reaches her ears from high above and beyond. Liareth and the weyrling pair have returned…and he's almost exactly where he's supposed to be. "Again," she murmurs just before they wing away again, and she returns her gaze to the bronzerider. "He's already improved," she notes, lips curving into a genuine smile. She may be an AWLM, even what could be considered an experienced one by now, but she's definitely not above taking suggestions and advice. "Thank you."

A fraction of a smile ghosts across Sa'mael's lips. "It's easier to relate to something personal. You relate to it, you can find it again." It's experience, maybe, that speaks but when the weyrling manages to improve his performance, he shoots the AWLM a look. "You're welcome," he answers, stepping back and to the side so he's a little closer to the greenrider. "Gotta commend you on teaching the babies. I went through weyrlinghood," a rough sound escapes, like laughter. "I know what difficult assholes weyrlings can be."

There is complete agreement nodded for the bronzerider's words, and it's certain that that Kyara is filing the tactic away for use if needed. His admission earns another soft chuckle as she shifts, angling a bit more fully toward him as she moves closer. "Never a dull moment, for certain," she notes. "You can't do it and not change…" Something a bit wistful, perhaps, creeps into her tone, but a shoulder hitches upward in a half shrug. Nothing gone that is truly missed. "…But neither can they. And that's the whole point. Kyara," she introduces herself finally with another dip of her chin.

Sa'mael's attention remains on the sky: watching the weyrling dragon, watching other dragons that take flight and land with all the activity of a Weyr in motion, or looking at something only he can see? It's difficult to ascertain, though he does slant the greenrider another look, hooded by the shadows of night. "Sa'mael," his name is given, along with the intensity of his attention. "The future's a bitch. Always changing the present." It's a joke; roughly given with barbed blades of the past driven into the words designed to cut as well as draw rough laughter. "So, Kyara of Igen, do you always run your weyrlings into the night?"

The weyrling makes another attempt - successfully, which garners a quiet smile from the greenridering AWLM. "Well met, Sa'mael," Kyara returns, and then laughs softly at the joke. "As someone who stared four hundred Turns of future in the face before leaving it in the dust, I agree. Though the present looked more the bitch at the time, I have to say." A smirk is skewed for his last question, a little headshake given. "Only when they need it. And this one," who is quicker on his third try and consistent now, "is done for now, so I'd best get moving to dismiss him."

"The future is always a bitch, but the past does a fair amount of fucking to ensure the present sucks balls," Sa'mael quips with quiet laughter. As the weyrling performs his final act, the bronzerider draws up and dips his head. "Work 'em hard, Kyara," he gives her a lazy, two fingered salute before striding off into the dark, curving the lake and heading towards some part of Igen, unknown. A moment, a slice in time where two different pathways intersect. For his own part, Sa'mael leaves a trail of darkness, yes, and restrained violence, but also a loneliness that lives within the steps of a Wanderer. And then he is on his own, lost to the roads of life.