Who

Ginger, Kyriatis

What

Little dragons mustn't get Bad Ideas.

When

It is midmorning of the seventh day of the eighth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Training Grounds, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 28 Jul 2018 23:00

 

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Training Grounds

A broad and sheltered swoop of bowl lies bare for the talons and tread of countless weyrlings that-will-be, encased by stone scoured and scarred by those-that-were. Dirt lies as neatly as dirt can lie, swept and raked daily, at the mouth of the caverns that must indubitably be the weyrling barracks. Devoid of decoration, the place stands strangely absent of pressence when empty, the everpresent wind of Southern giving strange acoustics to those under the shelter of the towering bowl-wall.


Day by day, the little dragons are getting less little, and more dragon-shaped. Now, four-and-a-half months old, they're old enough to be ridden - albeit from safely on the ground - and that has led (at least for some weyrlings) to a certain amount of laziness outside classes. "C'mon, Omair," says Kyriatis, cheerfully, at breakfast-time on a cool, damp morning. "Crouch down and I'll hop up, and you can take me to breakfast. Good exercise for you, and good practice for me." Not to mention slightly faster than walking… if still somewhat bumpy and awkward.

Ginger is not on Shokravanth's back, though he is dressed suitably for riding: he's wearing his very first practice straps. He is, in fact, being measured for letting them out; Ginger's standing beside him, reaching up with a tape measure. Seeing Kyriatis nearby, she rolls her eyes and calls, "Honestly, what is it with dragons? You blink, and suddenly your cute little baby has a forty foot wingspan and he's taller than you." To the dragon, she adds, "Sorry, love, either I'm going to have to get on your back to finish this, or you're going to have to sit down. And sitting down is easier." Shokravanth obliges, while Ginger strains to keep the tape at the spot she'd reached before.

Kyriatis still has an inch or two on Omairhuith at the shoulder, though it's pretty clear that that is not going to last for long; he's straining at the seams already. "I know, right?" she calls back at Ginger, hoisting herself up onto her blue's neckridges with an awkward that speaks to lack of practice: this is still new, and still hard, and he's not even close to fully grown. She turns, then, watching Ginger at work rather than pushing Omairhuith to set off. "Hard to imagine they were ever as small as they were. They're more than half the size of the fully-grown greens already. How'd that even happen?"

"Must be all the eating they're doing." Ginger declines to do the climbing thing: instead, she stretches and leans, and manages to fix the tape so that she can walk round Shokravanth to compete the job. Coiling the tape round her hand, she concludes, "Well, they need to be six inches longer right now, 'cos they're on the last hole already, but I may as well add another foot for spare 'cos he'll have grown again by the time I've done that. Good job I've got the knack of punching the holes now - or I soon will have, all the practice I'm getting." It's a grumble, but a fairly mild one. "I s'pose we can't really complain about them growing, though. It is kind of the idea, after all."

"Leather is so much harder to deal with than fabric," agrees Kyriatis, with a roll of her eyes, one hand smoothing the leather of Omairhuith's straps. "I keep thinking I've gotten used to it, and then I have to make an extension and… no, I really haven't. But they have so much more to grow still. Can you imagine 'em, twice this size and then some?" Beneath her, Omairhuith shifts, adjusting his positioning and nearly sending Kyriatis tumbling: he's not exactly smooth in the way he moves. "Omair. Shells."

"I couldn't imagine them full grown at first, but I'm starting to think I can see how he'll look as an adult." Ginger lays a hand on Shokravanth's side as she speaks, just because. "He's always been kind of… sleek, and he's not losing that as he grows. I'm thinking he'll actually be pretty streamlined. I always think of browns as a bit more solid, but not him. It's going to be interesting to find out how they all fly."

Omairhuith settles again, probably less due to his rider's words and mroe to do with his own inclinations. "Whereas I tend to think of blues as more sleek, but Omair's definitely more the solid type. I'm beginning to think Omair's going to be bigger than dad's Siovarith, though of course Siovarith was from nowtime parents. Still. He's pretty clumsy on the ground, though. Hope he's better in the air. He prefers the water, but that's not going to help us, is it?"

"Not a lot," Ginger laughs, "Except maybe at bath time. Shokravanth was clumsy at first, but he's got over it now - he never trips over his own feet any more." She rubs the brown's flank as she speaks. "Don't know how big he'll be eventually - not the biggest, if I had to guess, but that's all right. Size isn't everything. And now we can go down to the beach, he's liking the water more. He's kind of fond of wide expanses. Night skies for preference, but other things will do."

"I can barely get Omair to leave the beach," Kyriatis laughs in response. "If he could stay out there forever, I bet he would. I think— I mean, I hope he'll be happy with the skies, too. He's definitely more interested in his wings now, and in the prospect of using them. But then, aren't we all? It's not so far away, now. That's what all these straps are far, far more than riding them on the ground to the living caverns." As fun as that is.

"Certainly are! Though they're kind of handy on the ground too, if you get a bumpy ride. And he'll be fine. I've never met a rider yet who said their dragon didn't like flying. Mostly they can't wait to get up there. Pawla said Ziemrath was all set to try it way too early, if she hadn't stopped her." Her lips wrinkle as she realises she might be sowing unwanted seeds in fertile young minds. "But that would have been really, really dangerous, she adds, with emphasis.

Kyriatis casts a quick, wary glance towards Omairhuith, whose expression - as much as draconic faces tend to have expressions - is placid (phew). "Really, really dangerous," she agrees, firmly. "And not something any of us should try. Can you imagine, your dragon ending up with serious or even permanent damage before they're even in the air a single time? That'd be the worst. It's bad enough when people end up with really bad thread injuries." A more serious expression, now; a frown. "But that's not going to happen to us, if we can help it. Right, Omair? We're going to try hard and learn well."

"And so are we," Ginger says firmly. She listens to Shokravanth for a moment, then shakes her head urgently. "No. You absolutely can't. It would be a Very Bad Thing, and you know what we say about Bad Things." Shokravanth repeats, « Bad Things have Bad Results » in a tone of distinct boredom. Ginger mutters, "Now I've done it. Distraction needed. How about some nice oil on your neck ridges before it's time. Yes, I know, but it's good for your hide. Yes, I'll take the straps off if you come in now. Got to anyway if I've got to restitch them after." She adds for Kyriatis, "It's 'I hate straps' day. Or week. But I'd better be going. See you at class later." Shokravanth gets up and starts to amble back towards the barracks, with Ginger in his wake.

Kyriatis's grin is sympathetic. "Good luck with that," she says. "I'll see you later. Come on, Omair— we've got to get to the caverns if I'm going to eat anything." The blue launches off, ungainly but not entirely unsteady. Off they go!

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