Riding the day's hard winds, arriving from the north, a dark blue dragon begins to approach the Weyr, his rider a small figure crouched at his shoulders to avoid picking up any of the drizzle-saturated breeze. As they draw nearer, the blue, who can only be Kanyith with those unusual yellow highlights, aims for the beach at a rather sharp angle, doing what he can to reduce turbulence. He does land, several dragonlengths down the beach, successful despite the spray of sand. A rather bedraggled looking Trek is soon unhooking herself from the blue's riding straps, along with a bulky oiled canvas duffel bag and two surf boards, once of which is likely done for, going by the angle. The boards are unceremoniously tossed a couple paces away, with the duffel on top, then she works on unbuckling Kanyith's straps, leaning into it thanks to the damp.

With thread and grubs being a pain in the ass the wings are doing double their number of sweeps JUST IN CASE. Thankfully the wet weather is doing some help by like, killing the thread in the sky kinda, but still. SO MUCH WORK. Enough that K'vvan is all super-tired when they get back but when Nadeeth catches sight of a particular blue on the sands her mind lights up with an explosion of color. «Kanyith!» She'll just shout out to him and even if K'vvan is all 'but nap' she's gonna swerve and land on the sands beside him. K'vvan drops down and makes a large indention in the sands. "Couldn't you have chosen a less-wet time to visit?" Inquiring minds want to know.

Kanyith's reply to Nadeeth is cheerful and gallant, as always, his voice warming instantly as he greets the green. He and Trek are also fairly tired, though, and the blue can't hide that. Not that he tries. Trek leaves them to it, giving her lifemate a fond pat on the shoulder before she hauls the wet leather away from him and starts pulling it into neater loops, despite the sand that clings to the straps. Kanyith isn't so large that this is a long and laborious task, though, and she's soon stooping to sling her duffel onto her back, followed by the straps, then crouches down to pick up the boards, leaving Kanyith to his alliterative ways. "It wasn't entirely planned," Trek says to K'vvan as she draws nearer. "I mean… the surfing, yes. Not the weather." She nods her head in a direction further up the beach. "I was hoping to let Kanyith catch his breath while I change into drier things." A beat later, she gives him a closer look and asks, "How are the two of you?"

Nadeeth is not at all above going and rubbing up against Kanyith with all the <3s she can muster. "If he wants he can go lay on Nadeeth's ledge with her till you're ready to give up whatever more or less insane thing you came to do with those." He tilts a head towards the boards and Nadeeth is totally going to be all « Yes! Come! » and making the invitation formal. As for her question the greenrider shrugs non-chalantly. "Tired as shit, but it comes with the knot. What are you doing down here in this weather?"

Trek glances back at the dragons, where Kanyith has already decided a nap on Nadeeth's ledge is simply the best idea ever. Except he's using more words for it. His rider turns her attention back to K'vvan, eyes twinkling softly. "Oh, already been. I finally had a day off, so I figured I was overdue for some waves. Very first one broke my favourite board, though," she explains, slightly hefting the two that are under her left arm. Upon closer inspection, there is a faint crack at the centre of the board. "Figured I may as well leave it here for scrap wood. Caught a couple waves before I had to pack it in." They near a pile where someone has industriously gathered some of the driftwood that's come ashore on the Sea of Azov, and Trek casually drops the broken board on the pile. After a moment, she gives it a push with her foot to make sure the crack is visible, lest someone try to actually use it. "So. Heavy knot, is it?"

Then they are gone and K'vvan can just walk his own butt back to the weyr. Cuz Nadeeth isn't going to miss a second of Kanyith time that she gets. K'vvan smiles faintly as Nadeeth is gone before flicking his gaze out to the rough water beyond. "Should have gone to Ista if you wanted good weather. Southern's is shit until spring comes again." For all of his words there's faint affection there. As for her final question he shrugs the shoulder that holds the knot. "It is every time I let them give it to me. But when K'ane gave it up to follow Hannah to Ista there really wasn't anyone else so…" There he is. Again. "Age is helping though." K'vvan just hit thirty. "Things look different on this side. Want something warm to drink while Kanyith naps?"

Trek also watches the dragons take to the grey sky before they're lost to sight. "Yes, but I wasn't born at Ista," she answers with a laugh, "and as much as I seem destined to remain at Igen, and for as much as the Southern Weyr I knew might be gone, there's still a large part of me that only ever feels at home here." She stops talking suddenly with that expression of having said too much, and after a brief shake of her head, she smiles up at him, shifts the things on her back, and hooks her arm through his. "Anyway, if I wanted easy, there were lots of places I could have gone, is my point. I don't want easy. Just home. And yes! Drinks. Drinks for both of us, for our turndays. Tipsy Kitten?"

K'vvan blinks at the mention of turndays, and then wrinkles his brow. "Fuck me if I'd completely forgotten." Not just Trek's turnday, but his own. HOW TIME FLIES. The hook of her arm through his gets a bemused look. "You know, I should hit you for that. My wingsecond gets ideas way too easily." Like, he might think that K'vvan likes that kind of touch. He's not shaking her off though, but keeps her arm in his as they walk towards the Kitten. "You're more than welcome to come home you know, here, to Southern. I sure as shit wouldn't mind having another friend around."

"I'd hit you harder," Trek promises in reply, and while her expression and tone say she's teasing, it's probably still true. "Besides, this is entirely for support. After the seven' I've had, pushing myself to some ocean surfing today was a pretty stupid idea." They turn toward the path that leads to the Weyr, her bare feet making quiet, sand-gritty sounds once they reach the boardwalk. For a while, that's the only sound she makes. Of course, she could just be keeping quiet so that nasty wind doesn't just send sand into her mouth. Finally, though, as the local pub comes into view, she glances up at him and uncomfortably lifts the shoulder that isn't supporting the surf board. "It's crossed my mind," she admits simply, then unlinks her arm so she can maneuver her things, board included, on her way into the Tipsy Kitten.

"Probably." K'vvan admits it dryly. He hasn't won a lot of fights, "Though I did kick the ass of a former Ocelot who wouldn't stop giving one of the females shit." So now Trek knows what few people do, the full reason why Ocelot only has one wingsecond at the moment. Pushing the door open K'vvan will hold it for Trek to move though and then signal the bartender on duty. It's one who knows K'vvan and eyes him, "Klah?" An assumption made, but there's a hint of suspicion in it. And a glance at Trek. "She's a friend from Igen, and yes, just Klah, and whatever she wants." A handwave, K'vv isn't going to presume to answer for Trek. Only once she gives her answer and the man is off will K'vvan ask, "What happened that's making that cross your mind?"

Trek holds up two fingers to indicate they're both going to be fairly cheap customers today. Truthfully, though, the bedraggled look might explain Trek's motivation. It's not that warm. She settles the surfboard against the wall where no one can trip on it, then sets her duffel of a chair and starts digging into it. In short order, she produces dry clothing, complete with socks and her usual riding boots. She's dry enough she doesn't have to strip, and in short order, she's at least wearing warmer, dry things over the damp ones. The duffel is propped next to the board before she takes a seat and begins de-sanding her feet so she can put on the foot wear. In the middle of all that, she starts to answer with, "What hasn't happened?" It's not until she's seated that she actually continues, though, glancing across at K'vvan as she pulls on the socks. "I don't know. It's not one thing. Just… lots of small ones. I keep hoping to find a place Ky and I will fit in like we did in Ista. I'm starting to think life just isn't like that here. Case in point, if you're losing riders to that kind of behaviour."

"I don't know if there is a place to fit anywhere." K'vvan says it flatly as he leans back in her chair and gets all comfortable. It's early enough that their part of the Kitten is more or less deserted. Privacy and K'vvan feels like he can actually relax rather then keep up his pissy-wingleader guise. "But Southern's been good to me. It's away from a lot of the Northern shit, and even with pirates and stuff always burning the fuck down." Seriously, Southern has a thing for always burning. "… It's good. It feels like we're needed here. And actually wanted most of the time." K'vvan's not recruiting ecactly, but there's a satisfaction in his tone that is usually missing. He's finally grown into his own skin. It just took 30 some odd turns to get him there. "Can Nadeeth and I help at all? As a turnday gift?"

Trek does that head-bobbing nod here and there to show she's listening, but at the part when K'vvan mentions they're actually wanted there, Trek's nods stop, and she stares at the table top. She's given a brief reprieve when the server arrives with their klah. She thanks the man quietly, then wraps her hands around her mug before looking up at K'vvan again. "I… no. I mean, it's not something that can… you know. Just be fixed," she murmurs, lifting the mug briefly to blow across the surface of the klah. "I miss when you and I were both in Arroyo. I mean… despite all the shit that came with it, it felt good. I've been tossed from wing to wing ever since," never mind for some very good reasons, "and it's just… really wearing. None of them fit anymore. But with all that, I still feel like I owe it to Igen to stay. I mean, there's still the dragonhealing. There's always that." She takes a sip of klah and leans back in her chair, giving K'vvan another long look before asking, "Why does stuff burn down here all the time?"

"I do sometimes too, when N'cal, you, and I lead Arroyo. Though I don't miss who I was then." Constantly drinking, fighting his bond with Cha'el, not allowing Nadeeth to be a full partner. There was so much he did wrong in those days. His gaze lifts upwards as memory, much of it bad, washes over him in waves. A deep breath before he glances down to see her long look. "Shit if I know. It seems like someone just has to breathe and it goes up in flames. Last time was during the clutching party when there was literally shit on fire."

Trek grimaces slightly and has to nod in agreement. "You and me, both. I still wake up sick to my stomach sometimes, thinking about… all that. With W'rin and… that stuff." Clearly, she doesn't even like talking about it, because she stops herself from talking by taking another sip of klah, wincing when she burns herself on it. She looks up at him and laughs softly, shedding the queasy look when he mentions the clutching party. "I did hear about that. Is that what I've been smelling all afternoon? Is it still on fire?"

"I named my kids after him." It is too bad that K'vvan doesn't drink right now, because he would toss one back for the dead-man. Instead he'll just drink his klah with all the seriousness of the moment. "No, we have candidates now, so they sent them in to clean everything up. I think that's half the reason why they started searching so quickly after the eggs were laid." Seriously, Southern wasted ZERO TIME getting candidates rocking. "The smell is probably something else. You know, you're always welcome, even if you didn't want to move. I'd take you on Ocelot in a heartbeat."

Trek laughs softly and silently toasts with her mug of klah before taking another sip. It's either getting to a more tolerable temperature, or her mouth is desensitized. "Well, for… what was it, forty-one eggs? No time like the present." She takes another drink, then sets down the mug before giving K'vvan a long look. She takes a slow breath, then smiles slightly. "I will definitely keep that in mind. Shells, to be within easy straight flight distance of the ocean again…" She looks toward the door, as if she can see the ocean from right there anyway, then shakes her head slightly. "Not yet. There are some… things I need to look into first. People I need to talk to." She massages the edge of her mug absentmindedly while giving K'vvan a warm smile. "So! Any good candidates? Or just handy ones?" She winks, showing it's definitely nothing but a tease, and to prove she doesn't actually want an answer, she follows it up immediately with, "Any likely riders to step in as your other wingsecond?"

"Usually I'd say that it was shit if I knew. But there is one - Sorvani. Candidate once up in Igen." See, K'vvan actually knows and doesn't hate one of them for the first time in his entire life! But then he'll snort and shake his head slowly. "No. D'ean's managing the stress so far, and we have a rotation going for the rest of the time. We'll figure something out eventually." Or K'vvan and D'ean will die of exhaustion WHICHEVER HAPPENS FIRST. "Mostly I just hate them all, and the only one I fancy for the spot would rather focus on being a mother outside of regular times."

Trek gives a single, deep nod of recognition when K'vvan mentions one of the candidates by name. "I did like that one," she agrees, "though I've always been a little biased for bartenders, having been one myself. We're just the most helpful, knowledgeable people around, don't you know." She takes another sip of klah and leans her elbows on the edge of the table. "Are all the wings at Southern feeling that same strain?"

Sorvani would probably be a good bartender to K'vvan. She'd probably be all 'nope, no liqour for you stupid greenrider'. If she was still slinging drinks that is. For Trek's question K'vvan nods once. "More or less. The grubs are failing in places where people have settled, and right now, we don't know why. Eventually we're going to have to pull back unless for some magic we get six queens and enough people to fill all the spots so we're not running so thin." Every weyr is running thing. "Is Igen recovered from losing half of Hogback yet?"

Trek shakes her head slightly in answer to the Hogback question, but her frown is a distracted one as she stares at her mug. A few seconds later she adds, "They've been fast-tracking the weyrlings to try to fill the gaps. I can't help but feel like that might burn us further down the road, but…" She shakes her head and takes a slow, deep breath. "So few options these days, none of them good. Still no idea why the grubs are failing?"

"These queens just need to have more golds. I think there might be a defect in the bronzes that catch though, to keep it from happening more often." K'vvan shakes his head at the grub question. "Hannah and some others have been working on it, but so far, no dice. That's why the fires in the jungles - inexperienced idiots with flamethrowers."

Trek finishes her klah, then sets the mug to the side and scrubs her fingers through hair, still damp, but getting closer to the dry side. "Shells, but I'd love one Turn where things went right instead. One catastrophe after another lately. One disastrous 'Fall after another. Droughts and floods, bandits and arson. It's a wonder we've survived all the previous Passes, really." She takes a deep breath, then starts to get to her feet. "We should probably pry apart the dragons. I need to check on some injured ones back in Igen before I can sleep." She pauses while gathering her things, eyes unfocused in the characteristic way of mind-to-mind communication. It's over briefly, giving way to Kanyith beginning his prose of departure. Trek tugs her riding jacket out of the duffel bag but doesn't bother putting it on yet. "Ky and I are only filling in spaces right now in Igen for 'Falls." Hence the Tumbleweed knot that can just be seen affixed to the jacket in her hand. "Maybe we could help fill the spaces here now and then, too. I know he'd love to stretch his wings over some more tropical thermals again." Whatever the rest of their discussion might be, it's lost as they leave the pub behind, its evening business beginning to pick up.