Who

Miel, Ji'or

What

Ji'or gets up on Eyzaroth for the first time.

Super backdated.

When

It is evening of the seventh day of the seventh month of the eleventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Weyrling Training Grounds

OOC Date 25 Jul 2017 07:00

 

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"Baby steps!"


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Weyrling Training Grounds

Here, a wide and spacious field, devoid of all but more of the glare of ubiquitous, fine white sand of Igen: not even a blade of grass dares lift its head against centuries of clumsy draconic antics. To one side, ever-present firestone bins are set, kept supplied by many a hand, while agenothree tanks line the curving angle just outside the barracks, primed and ready for use. Very often, a glimpse of classes in session or dragonets at play may be caught under the open sky under the watchful eye of diligent Weyrlingmasters and older dragons.


Here, a wide and spacious field, devoid of all but more of the glare of ubiquitous, fine white sand of Igen: not even a blade of grass dares lift its head against centuries of clumsy draconic antics. To one side, ever-present firestone bins are set, kept supplied by many a hand, while agenothree tanks line the curving angle just outside the barracks, primed and ready for use. Very often, a glimpse of classes in session or dragonets at play may be caught under the open sky under the watchful eye of diligent Weyrlingmasters and older dragons.

Young dragons array the grounds in various states of disorder, rumbling to one another in eagerness and impatience alike. Standing by silvered claws, Ji’or busies himself with the straps, buckling and tugging in equal turns. “This isn’t going to be long enough,” He mutters in low tones, as much to himself as the bronze he stands beside. « Then make them longer. » Eyzaroth is as untroubled as Ji’or is troubled, and his solution is plainspoken, accompanied with a sort of confusion, as if his rider had needed the dragon’s assistance to pinpoint Rukbat. “Yes, thank you,” is the annoyed counter as he slaps lightly at his side. “If only you’d told me it was so simple this morning.” A glance is thrown to the side as he continues to tug at the straps holding the stirrup, dreading the inevitable arrival of the weyrlingmaster.

“It’ll work for now,” Miel’s gone and all but snuck up on Ji’or, though Eyzaroth likely saw her approach and could forewarn his rider. Her tone is pleasant and sweet, but most weyrlings have learned that she can be as strict as the other Weyrlingmaster staff. The bronzerider won’t have to worry so much though or dread her arrival. Of all the crew that could eventually drift his way, she’s at least a little more approachable. “Just make sure it’s securely adjusted. I’ll be quick in evaluating here, while you do.” No pressure at all, Ji’or! Without further delay, Miel begins to circle around the growing bronze, hardly pausing as she scribbles a few notes and then checks the straps on the opposite side. “Your work is decent and should be fine until he outgrows this set.” she comments while coming back around to Ji’or’s side. A nod of approval and then a gesture for him to proceed. “Go on and mount up. Take your time, you can’t hurt him! Take a moment to settle and buckle yourself in. See how it feels!”

He does not initially give an indication that he’s heard her, fiddling with the straps as he is, but he does manage to throw a reproachful look in the bronze’s direction before he turns. “Yes ma’am,” he answers, giving a firm nod. Turning back to the straps, he gives it one firm pull, expression sour. As Miel does her walk around, Eyzaroth stands a little taller, coppered wings rustling as he does so. He’s being checked out - he’d better look his best! “How long do you think I have until he outgrows it?” He asks over wryly, looking for a foothold. With a hand still on the stirrup, he studies the straps not with a focus for the handiwork - that ship has long since sailed - but for mounting up. Blue eyes flicker this way and that, a deep breath is taken, and then! Using the stirrup for leverage, he presses off of Eyzaroth’s foreleg, half pulling himself, half scaling the wall of dragon. As he reaches the top, he throws a leg over, settling behind a neckridge. He pauses so, taking a moment to take in his new perspective with unblinking blue eyes before he buckles himself and sets about wranglin his feet into the stirrups. That’s somewhat slower going - the stirrups are short, and when he does finally get settled, his knees are rather high and close to his chest. Giving up on the stirrups somehow growing longer, he gives it another look, peering down at Miel. Grinning, “He didn’t seem nearly so tall down there!”

“How long would you estimate it?” Miel’s answer is almost cheekily flippant, but softened by a smile to Ji’or. She’s testing him! … maybe. Or they’re reaching a point now that she expects them to be a little more confident in their knowledge. As he successfully mounts up, she will skip having to point out the change needed in his stirrups — that is obvious enough. Instead, she grins. “It can be an adjustment! And he’ll be growing bigger every moment.” So enjoy the view as it is now, because it won’t be the same in about a week! Gesturing to where other weyrling pairs are making circuits across the grounds, Miel gives them their ‘freedom’. “Go on and take a few steps, then! As you feel comfortable, walk around. NO flying! I will ground both your asses if I see so much as a little jump. Understood?”

That his off-handed question be answered with a question does not seem to be something Ji’or had expected. Upon realization - and Eyzaroth - he blinks, blue eyes resting on the horizon thoughtfully before dropping down to Miel. “There’s some slack there, so a few sevens at least. A month or more if I’m really lucky.” A lazy smile curls upon his lips and then his focus is back upon Eyzaroth. He leans forward, laying a hand upon coppery hide in preparation to steady himself. Miel’s instructions get a perfunctory nod when necessary, and while it seems to sit well enough with him, Eyzaroth’s tail lashes the air and there’s an impatient huff. Miel might overhear the murmured reassurance: “One thing at a time, Zar’,” before the growing dragon lurches forward on their first joined step. Ji’or sways side to side with each movement, using his hand to brace himself.

Miel’s smile is evidence enough that Ji’or answered correctly. “They do eventually slow down in their growth. Promise!” Just won’t be anytime soon and sadly not before the bronze weyrling has to redo his straps at least another time or so. Brows momentarily frown for the murmured reassurance but as Ji’or and Eyzaroth have not shown to be a troublesome pairing, the greenrider allows any concerns to slide. “How’s it feel?” she asks, with a touch of a grin, when the pair finally take their first forward step.

“It feels-” Ji’or begins to answer before trailing off. His focus is downward, certainly, but towards a certain bronzed head. After his first few steps, Eyzaroth has come to a stop, stilling where he stands. Haunches bunch with the promise of something more than being bound to the earth, but stay so. An unsatisfied snort of hair heralds Eyzaroth’s form relaxing, and the promise of those haunches is never delivered upon. The bronze’s spindly legs move forward, one by one, and Ji’or gives a wan smile. “It’s good. Strange, but good. Like riding a runner, almost, but I can’t feel the runner.” The bronze takes another few steps forward, gaining in pace, before slowing back to a walk. He’s not testing anyone, honest!

“Lots of weyrlings say the very same thing on their first rides,” Miel muses. “And you’re not far off. Gait is different, but it’s similar concept. It’ll be the most natural thing, in a few weeks.” Not to mention potentially sore during the adjustment period but the greenrider skips those lovely facts. “It’s okay to walk with a bit of enthusiasm!” It almost sounds like she’s laughing, as she catches Eyzaroth’s little pick-up in pace. Case in point? She gestures to another pair, who are nearing a bit of a lively walk. It’s no jog (can dragons jog?), but it LOOKS like fun! And Miel has just given them permission to do the same.

“In a few weeks?” Something about that piques Ji’or’s interest, and thick brows raise over blue eyes. “Will we be allowed to do this on our own, now? Or only in lessons?” The answer seems of some importance to him as he remains still, giving the greenrider full attention. Eyzaroth has different ideas, though, taking the permission to pick up the pace, easily getting up to the pace of the indicated pair. It’s not without cost, though - Ji’or tries to brace himself on the bronze’s back, but there’s still an occasional wince despite. “Not quite so fast, ‘Zar,” he pleads, and the bronze slows, if only a little.

Miel ducks her head a bit to keep some of her amusement hidden (not that it really works), when Eyzaroth picks up the pace and Ji’or hasn’t quite figured out how to sit it comfortably. THAT she has little advice for — each dragon is different, unfortunately. “You’ll be starting with supervision and then you can be solo. Same’ll happen when they start to fly solo and when you both fly together. Baby steps!” Which’ll likely become quite tiresome by the time training is done! “You’re both progressing well. If he still has some energy left, you can keep going. Otherwise, have him stop, Ji’or and dismount. Consider yourselves dismissed.” And free to do… well. Not much, but Miel leaves what few options there are open for the weyrling to pick from.

Ji’or might spot Miel’s amusement, but any response is disrupted by another wince. He changes where his hand braces against the bronze’s neck, shifting his hips to and fro until he finds a more comfortable spot. There’s a nod acknowledging her words, and he repeats her words: “Baby steps. Got it.” Despite best efforts, he can’t conceal all his disappointment. Neither he nor Eyzaroth are going to pass up the chance to go for a run, though, and only a “Yes ma’am,” is all the warning there is before the bronze takes off across the grounds in an easy lope. Only when the bronze dragon verges on exhaustion will the pair finally give it up and go in.

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