Nevik, Kultir, Niyati


Nevik and Kultir observe the newly clutched eggs and have a chat with the weaver, Niyati


Southern Weyr

OOC Date



Kultir takes the steps to the Galleries two at a time as he finally shakes off the feeling of being crowded as he and Nevik leave the party. Since the young tracker didn't get to see the clutching, he managed to talk the young Healer into coming to look at the eggs and speculate about what might be in each one. The heat and humidity of the day and the heat rising from the sands make it a bit more sultry than might be comfortable for most, but at least the hunter can breath now without the press of people around him. "Wow, nice bunch of eggs. How many do you suppose she laid?" He settles onto a bench where he can lean back against the one behind and stretch his legs out over the one in front, his hands clasping behind his head to hold him up so he can look down into the sands.

The rusty-haired healer follows Kultir out of the bowl and up into the galleries to escape the mass of bodies pressed into the living cavern for the after-clutching festivities. Finally out in the open and with a bit more freedom of movement now that they are surrounded by those who have taken their ease to watch the eggs now that they have been settled. Easing himself onto one of the stone seats he answers the man's question, "Thirty-six…though there was a lot of talk that she was only going to drop thirty-five. Odd-numbered clutches would have meant bad luck according to my old Nan but I'm not sure," he points to the last, lonely egg, "…that one will survive."

Kultir ahhs softly at the answer though he doesn't bother to try to count them for himself. "Hmm, never heard of odd numbers being bad luck." The young tracker doesn't consider luck either good or bad, it just is, if it even exists. "Let's see … this clutch was sired by a brown … Yules' Desmeth, right? So … no gold, obviously. How many bronzes you think he threw?" Leave it to an ex-Herder kid to think of the possibility of offspring before the eggs are even hard much less close to cracking.

"What was odd was -how- she clutched them. They seemed to come in groups of three. Not all of them but that was a sort of a pattern. So…I'd wager…" he glances out to the eggs once more and then back up to the man, "…three bronzes." Nevik smiles a bit and chooses to elaborate on the old hearth tale. "My old nan used to say that if it was an unbalanced clutched, then ~Whence came the shards to the sand, and there the chosen be made to stand. Uneven came the eggs as a flood, so counted one less chosen in blood.~ The voice, a shaky and fairly good impersonation of a creepy old woman's tone, is given theatrics with a bit of wiggly finger action as though he were pointing with a crooked finger at Kultir.

Kultir chuckles softly at the imitation of the old woman the young Healer does for him and shakes his head. "I guess three's better than none, eh? I still think there might be more than that. Probably same number of browns as bronzes, a few more perhaps but I bet most of the clutch is blues and greens." He glances at Nevik with a slightly raised eyebrow as if asking his opinion.

Nevik shrugs a little and tries to recall how the pattern of eggs happened at Fort Weyr and assumes that one clutch is fairly similar to another - assuming that the sire is the same. "Well, ya don't see many browns catch is the problem. Once you get that into the mix almost anything is possible." He explains and adds, "but if I were putting marks on the table then I'd go with blues and greens too." Another glance towards the eggs and his eyes pick up the blacker then black egg and then the lonely last one. It's odd - he tries not to look at it but he can't ignore it either. It gives him the shivers. "Nan had a word for that kinda clutch but shards if I can remember it now." He smiles and wiggles his fingers again at Kultir in a faint mockery of some old hearth woman and adds, "…She knows lots of stories."

Kultir starts to get a bit uncomfortable in his stretched-across-three benches position so his shoulders push off the one behind him and his legs are pulled off the one below as he curls forward with this elbows on knees and shrugs to settle his tunic where it sticks to his back. "No, don't see too many browns catching. Makes speculating on the clutch kinda hard I guess, but makes for an interesting discussion, eh?" He looks at the pile of eggs and soon individual ones start to make an impression, even if just the colors of the shell are interesting. "Sounds like your old nan was a good one for stories."

Niyati steps into the galleries, though it's more of a return now that she's had a chance to actually eat something. Those golds just never wait until your work is done. With her book in hand she walks over to settle in near Nevik (he's always where the action happens, after all) and gives a wave to Kultir. "So much easier to see them without all of the crowds about, don't you think? And it's so exciting! All of the clothes that people are going to want for the hatching." Yep, she'll just jump right in there and yammer.

"Aye," the healer responds a bit of the 'Old Fort' creeping into his accent," that she was. I was hoping to be able to be sent back with a message or something someday but that doesn't look like it would be happening. Only way I'd get back to Fort Weyr, now, is if a Fair-and-twenty flits were to grab me and jump me back there." He smiles and the expression of 'Fair-and-twenty', an old term equating to simply a large number beyond counting, crawls out of his mouth. It would seem that the memory of Old Nan carried with it more than just a story. The arrival of Niyati catches him a bit off guard as he had his back turned to her. "Evening…" he greets with a nod and a smile of welcome.

Kultir's head turns at the entrance of another person coming to egg-ogle and grins at the Weaver. "Evening, Niyati, isn't it? Last time I saw you we were all bundled up in furs so forgive me if I get the name wrong, I think I recognized your voice though." The young Healer's words make him chuckle softly, not having heard that expression in a very long time, and his eyes go distant as his own memories of that Fortian dialect and saying and the man who had spoken it to him as a child. Shaking his head slightly, he turns his attention back to the eggs. "I forgot that you were from Fort, Nevik … if I even knew that."

Niyati grins. "Bundled in fur and making a dull task much more exciting. You've gotten the name right, which is quite surprising considering the face freeze despite those layers over our faces." Nevik is given a curious look. "You know, I thought you might be but then some are just so good at picking up accents. I didn't want to pry." She pauses. "Well. Actually, I really did. You never know when someone's going to have a perfectly interesting reason to have come here."

Nevik turns to Niyati and, in a near perfect rendition of the Benden accent with its accented consonants and semi-rolled 'r' sounds, offers, "Now why would ya be thinkin that I'm from Fort when it's clear as the perky little nose on yur face that I be from Benden…" Mimicry? Where did that come from? Turning towards Kultir he shifts his voice a bit, drops it down a knotch and conjures forth the raggled accent of an Igen nomadic trader, "Far and wide me'boy…far and wide - that's what they say about the likes of us." Who knew that the boy had such talent. But then again, when would he have felt the need to show off in such a manner. "But," he falls back into a thick, Fort, brogue and continues, "…my parents, if the stories be true, had a bronze flit drop me into a basket ya know…bare old enough to rip off my own nappy and walk bare-arsed through the nursery."

Kultir listens to the two talk and can't stop the soft laugh that escapes when Nevik starts in on the impersonations of different accents for them though he's glad the boy doesn't try a Keroonian accent. "Oh, that's good, Nevik. Almost as good as an old friend of mine, he had a flair for changing his voice. I wonder if that's a Fortian trait or just that he's a Harper and learned it for his story-telling." His own tone is mostly accent-free though there is a touch of that Keroonian twang in some of his properly enunciated syllables.

Niyati claps, laughing with delight. "Oh that's marvelous! Why Nevik, you're an absolute mimic!" She nods at Kultir's assessment. "It's a wonder you didn't become a Harper, though I suppose it's easier to tend a wounded person when you can actually understand the thickest versions of their accents. At least, I'd assume it's more calming than putting your foot on their head to hold them down." Clearly, this is a perfectly acceptable alternative. "I can't manage it, myself. I've been to a lot of place but haven't gotten the knack."

Nevik shakes his head, a fearful look upon his eyes, "Harper?" A pause lasting only the length of a breath is made before he adds, "Oh…you don't want me to do anything…creative." The very thought almost sends shivers up and down his back. "Nan used to say that it was a good thing for me to be a Healer - that way I could at least fix what I broke…which was usually myself." Turning back to the sands and leaning back upon his elbows with another, though not so brief, pause before adding, "Though sometimes…a thing can't be fixed."

Kultir chuckles softly at Niyati's enthusiasm and claps Nevik on the back as the young Healer becomes a bit more sober than he had been. "I mainly stick to animal mimicry rather than human, but those are good accents, Nevik." He glances at the young woman with a grin. "You planning any new designs now that you know there's going to be a Hatching?" His gaze turns to the younger, the last comment making him wonder what 'thing' the youth is talking about though he has an idea.

Niyati rolls her eyes. "Nevik, if you were that badly off you'd be dead by now. You're clearly sitting here talking to us, so you're NOT that badly off. I'd say you're quite lucky." She settles her face into a kinder expression. "Don't be so hard on yourself, it lets others know how to treat you." Kultir is given a nods. "I have at least ten designs in mind and I'm working on others. Hatchings bring out the need for new outfits in everyone and of course it's my /duty/ to make them. Not that I'll mind the extra orders at all." She finishes off a drawing and stands. "Speaking of, I have a fitting I'll be late for if I don't hurry. It was good to see you both again! And if you need something new to wear for the hatching, don't hesitate to come see me! Big events are always SO exciting." And then she's off. One day she'll run out of energy, but it's not today.

The last lonely egg, the last one to fall from the golden queen to the sands, sits there with an oddly shaped top. Festooned with odd colors and what could be considered 'mold' at the flattened peak, the egg, to some, almost appears sickly or misshapen. Rumors and whispers have already started to filter down from the sands that it could very well not hatch at all. Nevik doesn't even want to point to the thing, rather he kants his head in the direction where people have pointed and such and then drops his eyes. To him, it would seem, the thing appears to be a patient that one could not treat. You just have to sit and wait it out and hope. "Oh…good evening then.." he adds as the weaver stands to depart. Her words seem to have struck home with how he seems to automatically side against himself in nearly all things. He's his own worst critic. "So how have you been?" he asks to Kultir in an attempt to pick up the subject.

Kultir nods as the Weaver leaves, his wave of farewell lost as she has her back to him before he drops that hand back to his knee. "Oh, not too bad. Just doing what I do best, hunting, snaring, tracking. How about you? Gotten into any scrapes lately?" His tone is mostly teasing since he knows the young man is just getting his growth and how clumsy that can make a boy.

Nevik shakes his head, "Thankfully no. Came down with a bit of a cold though - keep getting sent up to the ice fields to help out. Going from very cold to very warm over and over again is a formula for bad health. Leaning back on his elbows still, he occasionally glances over towards the hunter and adds, "Still can't fire a bow to save my life…but I'm getting better with the sling.

Kultir nods slightly at the young Healer's words. "Yeah, gotta make sure you're good and warm while you're there otherwise you'll come down with a monstrous headcold or somesuch." He doesn't know much about how he stays healthy in the changing climes he's required to deal with when going from the jungle to the ice, he just knows that whatever he's doing is the right thing. "It takes a long time to get the hang of either one and you already had a good start on the sling. Keep practicing with the bow and you'll get it eventually."

Nevik nods, "I hate to ignore a gift like that but I almost feel like I'm…uh…embarrassing the bow. I mean…this was made by a -real- hunter and carried by him. It put food on his table and defended his um…tribe? Clan?" He's obviously not sure of the word and stumbles around with vocabulary until he just forgets the whole thing and continues, "…I should be better with it, just not sure when I'd ever use such a skill."

Kultir sits up and glances at the younger man, his head tilting slightly to look at the Healer-lad. "As long as you are practicing, you are not embarrassing the bow or the maker. You have to remember that he started practicing when he was a third of your age, Nevik. I started using a bow when I was eight and I didn't learn to bring down game till I was nearly twelve though I practiced daily on small rodents and avians after I learned to hit the center of the target I had set up." He reaches over to squeeze the youth's shoulder gently and shakes his head with a slight smile that is full of his understanding. "You've not had it very long, give yourself time. You'll learn."

Bro-smile! Yup. Kultir, whether he wanted it or not, has fallen into the role of Nevik's older brother. The hunter knows so much about life and their world that the clumsy healer can't help but idolize him now and again. A wide, warm smile creeps cross Nevik's face and he can't help but offer a nod of thanks.

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