Who

D'kan, Sawyer, Niall

What

The dragons have lunch, Niall has Lunch, and dragonriders are still talking about that Fall.

Dragon noms and all that come with it.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-third day of the sixth month of the fifth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Pens, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 02 Aug 2015 07:00

 

chill.jpg sawyer_facetheday.jpg Niall6.gif

"Besides, he'd barely floss his teeth with that one."


igenpens.jpg

Pens

Here thar be pens, in a variety of shapes and sizes fit for all manner of beastie. The largest pens are those housing plump herdbeast for human or draconic consumption. A few of the smaller pens are unoccupied, though there are remnants of their former occupants still evident on ground and fence. The actual pens themselves are made of wood, stick, nail and twine. It's a slap-shod sort of place, kept together by dreams and good luck to hold fast against the winds. In each pen there are troughs for feed and water, and they appear again by the stableside.


The summer sun beats down relentlessly, baking Igen without a cloud in the sky. The dragons may love it, but their riders are generally not fans, which is why D'kan is taking shelter under a make-shift awning. He has a water canteen with him, which he uses to wet down his shirt, dark eyes focused on a burly brown already working on a felled herdbeast.

Despite his injuries, Wyrraith isn't as careful or slow as he should be as he powers across the bowl with his usual swinging gait. While his wounds are no longer bandaged, the blackened scars still look shiny and fresh, tendrils reaching along his shoulder and the very edges of his wings. Sawyer's chest is still clearly bandaged, visible beneath the thin, billowy fabric of her tunic as she sits between the brown's neckridges. He stops at the edge of the pens, crimson hunger seeping into his gaze as the pressure of his constant storm is pushed upon Kazavoth. « Come watch my girl when you're done. » Not a command, but a favor asked with a deep, familiar bass.

Being from Keroon doesn't quite prepare you for the heat of Igen, or so Niall is finding as he comes out, a small lamb in his arms. Its eyes are open an its ears wiggle as Niall feeds it from a wineskin presumably full of milk from the white liquid splashing a little around its mmouth. The lamb is intent on its milk but Niall catches sight of the brown on the herdbeast and winces a little at the noise, moving to take shelter under the awning as well. A nod to D'kan and he would raise a hand in greeting but, y'know, lamb. "Afternoon there, sir. That big one out there yours?" A nod to the feasting dragon. Looking up and suddenly, another brown: Niall's herder ways can't avoid looking over those scars and the lamb bleats woefully when it feels Niall's attention is no longer in giving it lunch.

Kazavoth lifts his head from his kill, dark maw surprisingly clean as he looks toward Wyrraith and Sawyer. For once, his reply is more thought than statement. Understanding and agreement, with an underlay of curious concern he has no expectation will be answered. This is done outside the reach of his rider, who watches the exchange, shut out from the communication, though he can likely guess. He lifts his free hand to Sawyer in greeting but does not leave the shaded patch. He has his own expectations, perhaps. Shade is smart, after all. He turns to nod in reply to Niall, his focus briefly landing on the lamb. "He is," the rider answers simply, even less chatty today than his dragon, though his attention also swerves toward the other brown pair's injuries. "Thread's quick," he comments quietly, half lifting the canteen to his mouth. "Not dirty. But not pretty."

There's a lightning flash of blue appreciation, a small sliver cutting through his otherwise crimson hunger for Kazavoth's agreement. Wyrraith lowers himself, burly form leaning to one side in an attempt to angle his neck as close to the ground as he can. With an almost goat-like precision, Sawyer is able to plot her course from dragonback to the ground, favoring her right arm during her descent. Raspy and bright, "D'kan!" Wyrraith turns his head to watch Sawyer approach the two men, still settled on his belly until Kazavoth is done. There's little rush beyond the natural, gnawing hunger that the younger dragon feels. "And… you." Meant to be a greeting, given that she doesn't know Niall's name, eyes drawn to the suckling lamb. "Looks good." A compliment uttered in a tone usually reserved for someone about to tuck into a meal. Mmm, mutton.

With a little persistent nudging the lamb gets Niall back on track and the Herder bends his head briefly to coo something in its ear, not caring who's watching. To Kazavoth's, he says, "Well met, rider." D'kan's observation on Thread injuries doesn't seem to need a response so Niall simply nods - besides, Sawyer is coming near and Niall's happy to watch her instead of her brown, as he studies how she moves with that injury. Blue eyes blink once, slowly, at the woman's greeting: "And you," is what he settles on for reply. Her examination of his lamb doesn't see Niall shifting it closer and the lamb seems totally unconcerned by Sawyer's interest but there's a momentary impression of withdrawal. "Ach, you wouldn't get much of a meal on him," Niall says genially after a moment, "Gotta grow 'm a bit before he'd make something tasty." Though the Herder doesn't sound too intent on it.

There's a brief, mildly crooked grin from D'kan as he watches Niall with the lamb, but it's Sawyer's approach that gets his more immediate response. He gestures with the water canteen in silent offering, though he'll be a good boy and not just toss it to the injured woman. He'll even uncap it. "How's the arm?" he asks before his attention diverts briefly to the pen, where Kazavoth has finally finished getting whatever nutrition he can out of the carcass of the old herdbeast. There's a brief chin-nod to the other brown, then the older one begins making his way toward the humans, his gait carefully measure. « I will be sure not to rile them up for you, » he sends to Wyrraith, though his mindvoice is heavily laden with good-natured teasing. « That injury makes you move as smoothly as the beast I just consumed. » No really. The goading is well-meant. He wouldn't turn his back on the other brown if it wasn't, right?

"Better." From her tone, it's obvious she's mimicking a Healer's opinion, upper lip lightly curling into a sneer of frustration. "Almost good enough to fly. Soon." Which will never come fast enough, judging by the moment of tension that ripples through her. The canteen is accepted with an upward jerk of her jaw, though she sips with her attention shifting to Niall, watching in her quiet way. Eventually, "Why're you doin' that?" With the milk, and the mutton. Wyrraith's growl is amplified by thunder and the slow grind of shifting earth, « If you can catch one… » Then he should have no problem, even injured. Only after the older brown is heading toward the humans does he leap into the pens for his own meal, day-old hunger making his hunt a particularly savage one.

Looking out to Kazavoth and Wyrraith, Niall only takes quick stock of the browns before turning back to their riders. "'s mam rejected him and I figured I'd take him in," he tells Sawyer as the lamb finishes his meal. "Happens sometimes with new ewes, an' he's a runt anyhow so I figured I'd handraise him, see if he can't do something useful for a while." Like what? Niall doesn't go into that. The lamb will nod off a little, belly full and safe in arms that turn him so he won't see what's going on in the Pens. To D'kan, the older man mentions, "He's all full up, right?" chin jerking towards Kazavoth coming their way. Not that the lamb would be much more than a canape.

"He prefers herdbeast," D'kan answers, not entirely unsympathetic toward Niall, but still pragmatic. "Besides, he'd barely floss his teeth with that one." Or, he's just a jerk. He turns to Sawyer again and nods slightly, taking in those bandages. "What'd the wingleader say about it?" he asks, perhaps a shade vague about it, what with the sheep whisperer right there. Kazavoth settles on their side of the fencing, not obscuring their view of Wyrraith. Which is probably a pity, given that… it's Wyrraith. Neither he nor D'kan watches the other brown hunt, though. They've seen that show before. "I feel like I should get Kaz to haul the remains over… somewhere when he's done," D'kan muses after a moment. "Rather than make some poor souls go out there later with a cart. They really start to stink in a hurry in this heat."

Kindness, especially if it doesn't have an obvious goal, is an unusual concept to Sawyer. Niall's lamb earns a confused look, nose wrinkling, "Why? Food now, food later." Her one shouldered shrug is dismissive, but at least she doesn't intend mock the herder for his choices. She just doesn't understand. D'kan's question has her giving a snort, "Says we can't fly, either." Likely not what he meant, but clearly all the brownrider cares about. Kazavoth is given a big, beaming smile as he settles nearby, her happiness rolling off in waves, louder even than the tangle of annoyance at her injuries. Without turning back to the two men, "We'll finish it! We're hungry." Hungry enough for Wyrraith to down one beast, and scavenge what the older brown has left behind.

Niall looks somewhat reassured by D'kan, if not Kazavoth. He's trying not to watch the other brown, though, on principle, giving the man a brief grin: "I'm sure the drudges 'd sure appreciate it." Apprentices? There's things even they can't be ordered to do. Sawyer's straightforward interpretation gets a brief grin but Niall isn't doing so to be polite - "He's too small to be lunch just yet, but he may grow into it." The dragonrider talk goes on without Niall's attention because he's bending his head down to the lamb: "Is that gonna be your name, fella? Are you gonna be Lunch?" This grin turns rougher when Wyrraith is busy eating but Niall announces, "If you'll excuse me, riders, I have to go take Lunch here," the lamb, "in for a nap." He'd salute but the most Niall can manage is a nod to Sawyer and D'kan before making a sharp turn to head back to the stables, all the while keeping Lunch's snoozing head away from the sight of dragons.

D'kan dumps a little more water from his canteen onto his shirt to keep it damp. Even in the shade of the awning, the summer heat feels downright stifling, and any little breeze is nothing but a tease. He recaps the canteen and watches Niall walk away with Lunch while Kazavoth quietly digests his own. Later on, there might be a little ditty scrawled about how Niall had a little lamb, but for now, D'kan turns away from the retreating herder to give Sawyer another look before very briefly glancing toward Wyrraith. Very… very briefly. There's a moment where it seems the older rider might strike up conversation again, now there isn't a non-rider to offend, but instead, he lets the heated silence simmer for now.

Sawyer has passed the point of 'attractive glisten', drenched in sweat, though she doesn't look particularly uncomfortable in the stifling heat. Matters of genuine discomfort are being settled in the pens, every squelch and crunch easing the remaining tension from her broad shoulders. More of a growl of approval than words, "Lunch." Niall's farewell is met with a nod and a smile, dark eyes trailing after the still unnamed stranger. The moment comes and goes with Sawyer's attention shifting to D'kan, expectantly, as if feeling a shift in the wind. When he doesn't speak, she instead eases closer and tucks up against his right side for what has to be the most uncomfortable, stifling cuddle.

For both of them, probably, given that Dkan's been soaking his clothes in water for the past half hour. He glances down at Sawyer, attention again going to the covered Threadscore. "Kaz and I were right above Arroyo when that happened," he shares, pointing unnecessarily with his chin before looking toward the dragons again. His own brown, now that his hunger is properly sated, has begun his more usual chatter, though he's keeping it to a dull roar, given that it's Wyrraith on the receiving end. At least the riders are spared for now. "I'm glad you guys came out on the other side of it."

It's almost careful, the way she leans. When D'kan doesn't move her or himself away, Sawyer settles more of her weight solidly against him with a soft, pleased sigh. "Too much dying." That day, or in general. "Had to do somethin'." Even if that 'something' was reckless, and earned them those nasty 'scores— even if it meant another pair made it back to the ground that day. Wyrraith doesn't rebuke the older brown, he never has. Instead, Kazavoth's chatter is added to the cacophany of his mind, the important bits echoing across their thoughts. Sawyer leans back, head tilted up to beam that sharp, too-wide smile at him, "We are Wyrraith." It's not bravado, but a confidence born of the truth, "Got more Thread to flame."

"This time," D'kan replies, not about to pull punches when it comes to her. "Next time, maybe the Thread ends it all." He glances at her again, but only for a second before looking over the pens, where some of the animals have started to graze again, despite the lunching going on. "Still… it worked. That anything did that day… that was…" Heat does not lend itself well to eloquence. He sloshes what's left of the water in his canteen, then takes a breath, shifting one sticking arm against hers, but not really moving away. "It's easier to see from higher up just how important the formations are. And what it looks like when they fall apart."

There's a stubborn set to Sawyer's jaw as she turns, offended, "It won't. Not us." Now it's youthful arrogance, shoulders easing back and chin raised high, meeting his glance with a glare. Kazavoth will be able to sense it, the mental weight of his storm pressing down, deflating Sawyer where she stands. It will happen. One day. But, "Not yet." She murmurs, eyes instinctively drawn to her lifemate that has made short work of his prey. Now it's on to clean up Kazavoth's scraps. "Sometimes, they should." Fall apart. And though it's the very reason she's marked for life, the alternative had been yet another death. Though she's without remorse, Sawyer still has her sense, "Never again." If they have their way.

D'kan grunts softly in reply, not bothering to argue. He picks at the front of his shirt, trying to create some airflow, making the water slosh again. "Sometimes," he echoes, quietly agreeing. "But not like that. Another inch in any direction, half a second too long…" He shrugs, nudging her in the process. He absorbs her promise with silence, finally looking down at her again, regarding her for several seconds before he uncaps the canteen and offers it to her again. "Just give us a heads up next time you're going to do something crazy, all right?" he says softly. "Us. Someone else. It's okay to let someone watch your back, you know?"

The nudge brings her gaze back up, and for a moment the weight of it all darkens her eyes. Proof that she's not just hearing, but listening. Not many can claim that from Sawyer. The last of the water is taken, a greedy swallow followed by the drag of her hand against her lips. Finally, quietly, "We will." The canteen is returned in a white-knuckled grip as she moves closer, seeking comfort in the tuck of her head beneath his jaw. "..sorry." After sevens upon sevens, the gravity of it all may have just sunk in. "Just wanted it to stop." So much death.

Obscenely gross heat or not, D'kan wraps his arm around Sawyer's shoulders, careful of the bandaged one. "Yeah. I know," he says quietly. Kazavoth watches all this go down, his mindvoice going oddly still for a moment before he glances toward Wyrraith, testing the waters in that storm for a moment. Because… they are Wyrraith. Slowly, the brown gets to his feet and shakes slightly to dislodge the sand from his belly, wings giving a single, slow downbeat, managing to stir up at least a momentary breeze. A second later, D'kan nudges Sawyer with his hip slightly. "Good thing he can hunt, right? Can you imagine going back to cutting up all that meat?" The unspoken, that he's okay to leave the topic where it is if she is.

Sawyer squeezes up against D'kan for the duration of that embrace, soaking up all she can before easing back. Kazavoth is right in his curiosity, Wyrraith staring at the riders from the pens, splintered bone sticking out of his maw. There's little change in those chaotic winds, red tint banished from the deep blue of stormy skies. There's a heat below the surface, a pure-hearted warmth that is shared with the older brown, should he probe any further. They are Wyrraith, and Wyrraith approves. A nudge, a switch flipped, "Too much! So much…" It's a bit insincere, doing her best to grasp at social cues. Thankfully, her next words much more genuine, "Lake? C'mon. We can get them wet." Their 'scores, presumably.

D'kan's smile slowly grows until Sawyer gets to the part about the lake. "On a day like this?" he replies, laughing softly. It takes some peeling to get his arm off Sawyer, but once that's done, he grabs what little else he'd brought to the pens. Kazavoth has already begun moving in that direction, his normal chatter picking up again along the mindlink, though now some of it occasionally filters through to the riders, too. There is a moment while he steels himself to leave the shade of the awning, fitting a broad brimmed hat over his head before he gives Sawyer a friendly grin and offers his sweat-sticky arm before heading in the direction of the water.

Add a New Comment