Cold winds and dark moods

[B'kay]

Ravyna slapped her sides, wrapping her cloak tighter. It had warmed up some, but today the wind was blowing, making the air feel colder than it really was. Why hadn't Igrainth agreed to at least take her back to the weyr before she fed? She reached up, for the third time in as many moments, and pulled her hood back over her face. Not only was the hood meant to keep her head and neck warm, it was hiding her embarrassment.

She shuddered with the memory, and her gaze darted toward the skies.

There is no Thread, Mine, Igrainth said with more sharpness than her gentle nature normally showed. Just as there was no Thread the last time the wind blew. It is all freezing dead high up and none is falling today anyway. We dragons would know, you know!

Suitably chastised, Ravyna cast a pained glance toward her dragon. The green had not been quite herself for some time, and the fall of Thread and the disaster that ensued among the Weyrs ranks seemed to have soured her.

Or ... something had.

The dark young woman swallowed at the lump in her throat, but it wouldn't go down. Igrainth had been snippy, and often impatient with her rider. Ravyna knew that it was in part her own frequent complaints about her minor injuries, and Igrainth's draconic inability to understand why something as insignificant as hair would upset a human so much.

It is not like you bled, Mine. Many bled. Many bled badly. I saved you, yet you cry about your hair being burned.

It got my neck, too, Ravyna had said that day, as she sulked in front of the mirror, her brow furrowed in anger, looking like a homely young boy. The thick black braid had come loose from where she'd tucked it into her flight jacket, and a small bit of still-living Thread had caught the end of it. The hair shriveled, burning like a fuse, reaching her neck before Ravyna realized what was happening. Just as it occurred that something was wrong, they were in black Between, and out again ... with singed skin on the back of her neck and hair cropped so short it did not show from under her helmet.

All her life-long growth, shiny and beautiful, gone. Gone.

How could a dragon understand?

A sudden burst of delight tickled Ravyna, and startled her out of her dark reminiscence. She looked up, blinking in surprise. The lithe green stood in the middle of the feeding grounds, where she'd taken down a fat wherry buck, with entrails dripping from her jaws and blood streaming down her neck, staring with eyes whirling cobalt toward the Weyr.

"What, Igrainth?" Ravyna turned in the same direction, but the rock formations and outcroppings nearby were too tall for her to see over.

The green's only response was a wash of warm emotions.

[Kitari]

((OMG. Apparently T'ryis and Wickhath were dying to be played. I'm really sorry for the size of this thing...I had no idea how long it was getting. Yeesh!))

"Bloody sharding cold," T'ryis grated, crossing his arms across the front of his wherhide jacket as he leaned forward into the wind. His chin was tucked into the collar of the jacket, hiding his dark goatee, but the rest of his face was being struck by needles of pain every time a gust blew. His short-cropped, dark brown hair was thoroughly inadequate protection for his ears, and all the former Lordling could think about was how his Hold never got this cold. "You just had to be hungry today," the young man muttered, casting a half-hearted glare upward at his dragon.

Upward. It was a daily surprise how quickly Wickhath was growing. It seemed only just yesterday that the brown dragonet, glistening with the slime of his Egg, had stumbled into T'ryis's life. Although Wickhath was only half-grown, and already revealing himself to be remarkably small for a brown, his amber head, supported by a proudly arching neck, was now carried above the rider he had once looked up to. And still, did, of course, figuratively.

I told you I was hungry as soon as you woke up, mine. I did have to wait while you ate first, Wickhath replied promptly, not at all perturbed by his rider's dark looks. He had gotten used to T'ryis's frequently gloomy moods and didn't mind them in the slightest. His rider was funnest to tease at those times. And you took a very long time, you know. I nearly starved to death, and the other dragons have likely eaten all of the best wherries by now. His tone had grown plaintive, with an air of wistfulness, as if he had suffered greatly on his rider's behalf.

With a sigh, the sigh that always signaled to the triumphant brown another victory, T'ryis cast his gaze downward and mumbled a reply, "You're right, I'm sorry. We should have come here right away. I had only hoped if we waited a bit longer, Rukbat might show itself and warm this shardin' place up a bit." He now turned his baleful gaze upward at the clouds that had interfered with this plan, muttering more silent curses in his head.

That's okay, Wickhath replied cheerfully. I thought it might, too. But oh well! The wherries will be fat and slow in this cold. His eyes whirled green with eagerness, and he began to lope forward, unable to delay any longer.

"Wickhath!" T'ryis cried, breaking into a jog to keep up. The brown topped the last rise and paused, waiting for his rider to catch up. Gritting his teeth against the tearing feel of the cold air in his lungs, the young man trudged up the last bit of the incline and gazed out over the Feeding Ground.

A pair of whirling eyes was staring back.

Familiar eyes, at that.

"Igrainth?" T'ryis murmured, surprised. One would think, in a Weyr of this size, that he would have run into the green dragon who had convinced him to stay for the Hatching at least a few times in the many sevendays since then. But Wickhath had kept him impossibly busy, with care for his dragonet, lessons, and other chores keeping him moving from dawn until dusk. Besides, he thought, with a sharp twist of his stomach, Igrainth was Ravyna's. And that meant...

His brown eyes flicked with an ill-suppressed eagerness away from the beast herd and across the Grounds, settling finally upon a hooded individual standing just down the slope from him and Wickhath. It must be her. He knew it was, although he couldn't quite make out her features. Just knew.

Wickhath, who had been carefully eyeing the flock of wherries for a prime target, slowly realized that his's mind was growing frenzied and strange. Curving his neck around, the brown fixed his whirling eyes on T'ryis, tilting his head slightly to the side in an effort to understand this new emotion. His was always full of strange thoughts, shifting rapidly from awe at the majesty of Wickhath to bitterness over the Weyr, to unending waves of love for his dragon once again, to gloomy unapproachableness. Wickhath had grown used to much of it, but this...this was new.

Glancing out over the Grounds once more in an effort to discern what had elicited this response from his rider, Wickhath fixated quickly on the lovely green whose snout was smeared in blood from her kill. He had barely glanced at the other human, not caring in the slightest about any of them aside from T'ryis. Immediately upon spotting Igrainth, however, curiousity over his rider's plight vanished, as two decisions crystallized in his mind. First, his rider could be reacting to nothing other than the loveliness of this green dragon. Second, he was about to impress that lovely green in a way no other dragon could, for he was Wickhath, and there was no other Wickhath.

With that, Wickhath gathered himself and leaped. T'ryis cried out, throwing up his arms at the sudden buffeting of wind from his dragon's wings, for the brown had been standing right beside him. The force of the gusts and fear of being struck by an errant wingbeat sent the young man tumbling to the side, and he gazed out after the brown from this splayed position on the ground.

Wickhath! he exploded, shocked at this ill-mannered behaviour. The young brown had only recently begun to fly, and the task required concentration. He shouldn't be plunging into it without preparation!

Ignoring his rider's continuing reprimands, the dragon swerved out over the field, curving in such a manner that the lovely mahogany of his wings were well visible to the green below. Then, with an air of expertise, he selected a target, tucked in his wings, and dove. The stunt would have very likely worked, had Wickhath not been Wickhath. But the brown couldn't help it, tilting his head slightly to see if Igrainth was watching, and by the time he looked back, there was no chance to correct his slight drift off course. Instead of landing on the oblivious wherry, he was about to strike the ground some distance before it. Wickhath had only a moment to burst his wings open to slow his descent. And thus, he struck with a force that would have broken any wherry's back, but instead, because of his error, sent the brown tumbling forward. Luckily, or not, he crashed right into the wherry, which didn't even have a chance to squawk in surprise, and broke its neck in the process.

Wickhath lay in a heap, on top of his prey, for a long moment.

T'ryis, who had been frozen in terror at the sight of his dragon's rash plunge, was on his feet and racing into the Grounds before the dragon had stopped skidding. His heart thudded painfully as a list of possible injuries whirred through his mind, and he reached out desperately for Wickhath's thoughts.

A reassuring yet chagrined warmth enveloped him as the brown responded, slowly rising to his feet and shaking himself off. Wickhath was, remarkably, uninjured. I um...well...sorry, he murmured meekly, gazing down at the squashed wherry. At least I killed it! he added, tone slightly cheery. His spirits were already being restored. The attempt hadn't been a total failure!

T'ryis slowly stumbled to a halt, some distance yet from the brown. Wickhath was okay. Although he wanted to continue racing forward and wrap his arms around that amber neck, never letting go, he knew that would be much more for him than the dragon. And Wickhath was already turning back to Igrainth, confidence ever-brimming. No, T'ryis needed to learn to stand back, to let Wickhath be, well, Wickhath. As much as it irked...

I'm not angry, he replied softly, knowing the brown had learned a lesson and didn't need T'ryis to further aggravate the injury to his pride. I'm just glad you're all right, love. Please just, for my sake, be more careful.

Yes, of course, Wickhath brushed this off easily. His worried too much. Instead, he lowered his head respectably to Igrainth, ever the charmer, and sent, I have slain this fat wherry on your behalf, beautiful Igrainth, and you are welcome to it, if you desire it. Head still lowered in a gentlemanly bow, the brown backed away from the carcass, careful not to step on it and crush it further.

T'ryis, despite the adrenaline still flooding his veins, couldn't help but roll his eyes. That the brown could recover from such an embarrassment with unflinching poise was a neverending surprise. Suddenly, he remembered Ravyna, and with mechanical movements, forced himself to turn around and look for her. What would the greenrider think of him now, allowing his young dragon to endanger himself so...

[B'kay]

Ravyna reluctantly pulled back her hood, just a bit, to free the path of her gaze. What could Igrainth be staring at?

And then, a young brown dragon topped the rise. He was a bit on the small side, though obviously growing strongly, and a lovely shade of amber marked with mahogany. Obviously one of the Junior Weyrlings, and Ravyna had no trouble placing him ... for this was the young dragon whom she had most wanted to meet, but duties to the Weyr, Thread, helping with Infirmary chores whenever anyone could grab her assistance, stealing moments to care for her runners....

The odd mixture of emotions that suddenly burst from her dragon ... the elation of a moment before combined with excitement, and ... could it be ... jealousy? ... pulled the greenrider's attention from the young brown. She turned and stared at Igrainth, frowning, and once again pulled her hood over her face.

For where there was Wickhath, surely there must follow Trey...
No. T'ryis. Brownrider T'ryis.

Why were her hands shaking so? What was this odd feeling in her stomach? It was the hair, of course ... she nodded slightly as if trying to convince herself. She looked so terrible without her beautiful long hair, would T'ryis be as mortified as she? Memories of his hands going through her long dark hair, untangling that nuisance flitter of hers, caused her heavy stomach to lurch uncomfortably.

As if on cue, a bronze firelizard, screeching what he thought was a tuneful song, burst from Between overhead and dove head first into the pile of entrails and viscera that lay beside Igrainth's lunch.

And then Igrainth whimpered ... a plaintive sound filled with confusion, cut short in mid-breath as the young brown leaped from the ledge.

Ravyna gasped, for she'd no sooner spotted T'ryis on the rise, than his dragon nearly flattened him with a wingstroke! She instinctively began to move toward him, opening her mouth to call out, but the wind whipped her breath back into her lungs.

And then she spun, in shock, as Wickhath made an abrupt crash-landing in the wherry run! She broke into a lope, certain that the young brown would be injured. Igrainth, too, her emotions shifting to concern, took several steps forward, eyes whirling yellow.

The weyrling dragon stood, as unconcerned as if squashing the wherry like a bug had been his plan all along, and Ravyna stopped short, not even realizing she'd done so almost within touching distance of the junior brownrider.

Igrainth struggled with her feelings. Her Treylis was coming, and yet ... he was no longer hers! She stared at the handsome ... oh, why did he have to be so handsome? ... brown on the rise with mixed emotions. Surely he must be a wonderful brown, to have chosen so wisely, and yet, Igrainth mourned the loss of her special status in T'ryis' eyes. She did not know what to do, should she turn away, gather her rider and fly to their weyr? Surely the brown would finish her wherry ... and she would have no hard feelings about that. Should she simply return to her meal and ignore him? Or should she....

No, she wanted too badly to see her friend, her T'ryis, even if he did have a dragon he would always love more than her.

All of this thinking, enough to make a dragon's head spin, happened within a few great heartbeats, and was cut short as the young brown dove. Every emotion shifted to worry as he crashed, and she took several panicked strides toward him. Was he injured?

But no, he was apparently fine. As he stood, Igrainth once again warred with odd feelings. A bit of her was angry for his display, for causing such fear in all who witnessed it; another bit of her was still jealous of his closeness to her dear friend; but the largest piece felt relief and ... and something else.

A deep chuckle, not of ridicule but of fun, began in her belly and rolled upward to her mouth. It emerged as a soft hissing rumble of dragon-laughter, and she tilted her head toward the young brown.

Why -- how could she be mad at him? He was ... he was ...

You are just ADORABLE, Igrainth said in her most admiring tone, stepping forward to nuzzle Wickhath and leaving a bloody smear on his neck. That was so VERY clever of you!

She turned, trotted back to the remains of her own wherry, and dragged it (with Nuisance complaining loudly from within the carcass) beside the interesting meat-pancake that lay bleeding upon the ground.

Here, let's share! she said, and dipped her head to take a large mangled chunk out of Wickhath's offer. And after, perhaps we can take a bath in the lake together!

Ravyna, chin dropped nearly to her chest, instinctively sought out the eyes of Wickhath's rider.

T'ryis was already looking at her. She felt the heat coming to her cheeks, and compounded the feeling by becoming frustrated with herself for blushing.

"That was," she said softly, her dark eyes shifting nervously from his gaze, as she pulled the sides of her cowl forward to hide her Thread-shorn locks, "About the most interesting method of killing a wherry that I've seen so far." Then, smiling with an odd shyness that was most un-Ravyna-like, she glanced at him again, and away. "It's good to see you, T'ryis. I've been wanting to find you, to congratulate-- Well, things have been so, so strange around here. Thread and all, and now the Weyrwoman.... um...."

Her voice faded to a near-whisper as she turned once again toward the two feasting dragons. "Your young brown is very handsome."

[M'kel]

Since he'd been turning to locate Ravyna with a mix of anxiety and fear, T'ryis reacted quite strongly to the surprise of finding her right beside him. Focused as he was on Wickhath, the brownrider had failed to notice her racing out into the Grounds behind him and hadn't expected to come face-to-face with her so quickly. Especially when he was already fearful of her reprimands for his dragon's risky antics.

Thus, the Weyrling took a step back at the sight of her so near, and when her eyes turned to meet his, he cast his gaze immediately downward, fumbling awkwardly to draw his wherhide coat more closely around him. Luckily for Ravyna, the combination of this quick turn away and her concealing cowl hid the reddening of her cheeks. Even if he had caught a glimpse, the young man attributed it to nothing more than the cold wind. What was a matter of far greater importance at the moment was what she would say, and he found that he'd scarcely remembered to keep breathing as he waited for just that.

Her soft tone, followed by a pause, caused him to shiver slightly, and T'ryis couldn't help it, his eyes drawn upward once more. This time, however, it was Ravyna who was looking away. When she spoke again, it was the last thing T'ryis had expected to hear, and he could only stare, dumbfounded, mouth slightly agape. She wasn't angry with him? No, she was even smiling, that smile that made his knees feel weak and flooded his veins with a different sort of adrenaline after his dragon's scare.

"Yes, I suppose it was rather...spectacular," he replied, faltering slightly at the end. Her eyes met his, briefly, before she looked away again. It was rather cruel, that, causing his heart to race and slow, race and slow, with each glance.

T'ryis was very pleased, indeed, to learn that she was glad to see him. Even more so that she'd been thinking about him at all in the past months, let alone had considered seeking him out. It was a very unexpected concept, that...someone desiring his company. A'clayr would laugh at the very idea...

When she turned to regard Wickhath, T'ryis knew he should turn as well, but something held him in place, drinking her in. He supposed it was because he hadn't seen her in so long. And could hardly see her even now, with that cowl pulled so low.

"Yes, he certainly thinks so," the young man murmured as way of reply. "I wouldn't let him overhear such a thing, however. His ego is inflated enough as it is." Was it wrong of him to wish that the compliment had been directed at himself instead of his dragon?

"I'm glad nothing happened to you...or Igrainth, during Threadfall. I was...worried," he added suddenly, before turning to stare at Wickhath himself. It was a difficult subject, in light of all the Weyr had suffered. Especially difficult, considering how agonized he had felt, trapped on the ground while she was alone in the air. Well, of course she hadn't been alone, with her Wing and three others up there, but he hadn't been there to watch out for her.

"You look cold," he burst out suddenly, turning to her once again. "Here." With that, T'ryis pulled off his wherhide jacket, moving to sling it about her shoulders. As the first gust of chill wind struck him, the Weyrling wondered for an agonizing moment why he was doing such a bloody foolish thing in this weather, but a second later, the chill was replaced by warmth as his hand brushed her shoulder. Ah yes, that's why.

Oblivious to the trivial communications of the humans standing a short distance away, Wickhath watched with nervous yet eager anticipation for the green's response. She seemed to be considering him for a moment, and the brown felt unusually anxious about her reaction. All fears were immediately set aside as an unmistakeable draconic laugh brushed the cold air, and Igrainth's thoughts touched his. Although adorable wasn't quite the word he'd been looking for (really, his brave feat would rather best be described as noble, stoic, heroic, or something else along those lines!), Wickhath was never one to spurn a compliment, and he barely suppressed the desire to squirm with pleasure. Thatwould be an entirely Weyrling-ish thing to do, and Wickhath was determined to prove himself a mature, respectable adult.

And then she was reaching forward, nuzzling him gently, and the young brown's whirling eyes picked up speed, as his tail twitched ever so slightly.

Ah, clever, now that was more like it!

Despite his desire to demonstrate his truly chivalrous nature, Wickhath's head snapped up at the offer to share, and he lumbered forward quickly to join her. He set to work immediately on the wherry, though applying great effort to restrain himself and allow her to feed as well, for he was very hungry.

Ah, sweet Igrainth, you are as kind as you are lovely, he informed her, raising his blood-smeared snout. He didn't really know what he would have done had she not offered to share the meal, for he didn't quite feel up to another hunt so soon, but it was still very generous of her. And a dip in the lake would be most pleasurable, indeed, although I daresay no amount of scrubbing could ever make your hide shine more brightly. Wickhath was a charmer, and 'laying it on too thick' was a concept far beyond him.

T'ryis, who was still privy to Wickhath's side of the conversation (the brown loved to impress his rider with his multitudes of suave lines), winced slightly. That dragon...

[B'kay]

The quiet small talk had begun to relax Ravyna, bringing back those moments of comfortable connection she had shared with T'ryis before the Hatching. She winced when he mentioned Thread, wanted to tell him that she had not, in fact, come through it totally unscathed, but the thought stopped halfway out. She wanted to renew where they'd left off, though, of course, the fact that he was bonded to a weyrling dragon now complicated things at least temporarily. When he so fondly spoke of Wickath's ego, though, she couldn't help but smile.

"I think he's simply charming," she said, and was about to add, "But I promise not to tell him," when, to her surprise, T'ryis began to remove his jacket.

What on Pern--? He was placing it around her shoulders, saying something about the cold. Had Wickhath's chivalry taken over his rider as well? Her own cloak must be just as warm as his wherhide, after all. It was freezing in this wind!

As if on cue, just as Ravyna turned toward him to protest, the wind whipped up and caught the edge of her hood. It flew back, revealing her unevenly Thread-shorn locks.

The greenrider gasped. Her hands flew up, grabbed the hood, and she yanked it forward.

At that moment, however, Nuisance, happily munching on some small slimy internal organ, realized that the large set of dragon jaws munching down on the wherry not inches from his little bronze self were not the jaws of his dragon.

The flitter squawked, leaped out of the carcass, slapping the brown muzzle with frantic wingbeats, and blinked Between.

He emerged above his person, squealing and sending images of having been nearly swallowed alive. He grasped the hood, pulling it back off Ravyna's head, and hung upside down, flapping and chattering in a panic.

Ravyna stood frozen, dark eyes wide with shame, T'ryis's coat dangling off one shoulder. "Cold." Her voice croaked from her throat. "You should, I'm warm en-- it's cold...." She took the jacket, held it out to him, and started at the ground, oblivious to the frenzied firelizard hanging halfway down her back.

Igrainth, used to the flitter's sudden bursts of out of control emotion, looked up briefly and then nudged closer to Wickath. Don't mind him, that's why his name is Nuisance, she said as she grabbed another mouthful.

Truth be told, though she found his extreme compliments unusual, Igrainth could not help being flattered. Thank you for your kind words, Wickhath, she said, trying to match the graceful diction of the young brown. You are most welcome to feed beside me any time!

[Kitari]

T'ryis had never had much of a reputation for being 'smooth'. Sure, he could charm the dignitaries who visited the Hold with a polite and proper air, but it was Aclaryn, now A'clayr, who had captured the interest of their agemates, young men and women alike. And at the time, T'ryis had little interest in pursuing ladies or seeking friends... So of course he expected to find himself a bit rusty, a bit unrefined. But he hadn't expected Ravyna to actively resist his gentlemanly attempts!

She was turning, shifting her shoulders away from the jacket he was attempting to place there, while a confused yet determined T'ryis moved closer to better position that very jacket, when the wind caught her hood and flipped it backwards. His attention drawn upward by the sudden movement, T'ryis froze instantly at the sight. It was the first time, he realized, that he had been able to see her clearly since arriving on the Feeding Grounds, and something had definitely changed. Aside from the look of horror that flitted across her face, it was immediately apparent what had caught his eye. Her long, luxurious black hair had been severed, with not a strand to fall down her neck and back.

The brownrider's eyes had grown round with surprise, and he watched with a sort of detachment as she reached up quickly to replace the hood, only to have her efforts countered by a frenzied bronze flitter that suddenly attached itself to that hood and pulled it off once again. It was a shock, true, to see the change that had occurred, for losing that much hair was a pretty drastic shift indeed. However, the reason this all was becoming increasingly distressing to T'ryis, although Ravyna was likely suspecting superficial reasons by now, was the absolute shame that was written on her features. It just didn't make sense for her to be so upset by something she had chosen to do, which raised the question of whether his change had been by choice.

As he continued to watch, Ravyna croaked out a garbled, insistent few words and held out the jacket to him once more. Absently, T'ryis reached forward and took it, only then realizing how cold he was when his icy fingers brushed her warm hands. "If...if you're sure," he murmured, already slinging the jacket back around his broad shoulders.

Then, with his face still expressionless, he moved around her, reaching for the bronze flitter that was swinging back and forth across her back. "Get off, you silly creature," he muttered, trying to coax its claws loose from her hood. Ravyna was upset. Therefore, T'ryis's first priority was to cure that, however he could. If it made her feel better to wear the hood, then he would make sure she could do that.

"You um...you decided for a change of appearance?" T'ryis asked, still trying to disentangle the flitter. He was staying behind Ravyna, trying to remain out of sight while he schooled his features. Would she be offended by his look of sympathy? Take it for pity? No, it would be best to play it cool, he decided. There could be no misinterpretation of that.

Wickhath, the poor young Weyrling, nearly had a heart attack as his meal made a horrible sound and proceeded to smack his snout, attempting to beat him off. He reared back, eyes whirling orange with alarm. But...but that wherry was dead! He had crushed it; nothing could survive the weight of Wickhath!

And then Igrainth spoke, and Wickhath eyed her with bewilderment. The wherry had a name?! The brown was very confused and turned to T'ryis, as he always did at such times. His was busy fighting with some little cousin, it seemed, a little cousin that was making a whole lot of noise for such a tiny creature. Noise that was quite familiar, actually.

And it clicked. With a rumble of embarrassment, Wickhath dipped his head, considering the wherry. Yes, that made sense. The little cousin must belong to Igrainth's and had come to join in on the meal, just as his had Panther, who liked to feast on Wickhath's kills on occasion. Now if only Igrainth hadn't noticed his confusion...

Breaking the silence with a determinedly buoyed, confident tone, Wickhath replied, I hope to take that liberty quite often, then, if you welcome it. Hesitantly, he took another bite of the wherry, half expecting another attack. When none came, he happily munched down, tearing off meaty chunks until he was full. Would you like to accompany me on a swim now? Wickhath couldn't quite keep the touch of excitement from entering his tone. Swimming with Igrainth would be fun!

[B'kay]

The little nuisance, Nuisance, saw and felt kind hands coming toward him. They touched gently, and he recognized them, for the same hands had rescued him before. They had saved him from a hanging, a linching, a sure death of asphyxiation tangled in nasty dark vines, vines that writhed and tightened and.....

Oh, no, that was just his person's long hair.

Yes, he remembered now, and scrambled up the arms and against the chest and neck of his once-again savior, T'ryis. He purred and chortled loudly, rubbing hard against the man's adam's apple in gratitude, claws clinging with affection, and the long bronze tail thrashing in effort to wrap around his new best friend's chest.

Ravyna, though her back was to T'ryis, couldn't help picking up the emotions and images her all-too-blatant flitter was broadcasting. She sighed, hoping that, should Igrainth ever take Flight ... and that odd concern over why her dragon had shown no signs of such maturity when others in her clutch had already had their maiden flights ... she could somehow secret Nuisance away, or every dragon and flitter and half the humans, in the Weyr would know her every emotion.

But the concern was fleet, and soon swallowed up by the memory of her real shame, for T'ryis had asked about her hair. He had done so calmly, in his cool, gentlemanly manner ... the manner that the young woman suspected held back a wellspring of deep and powerful emotions. His quiet words, though so mistaken, seemed to soak in through her frightened exterior, and calmed her. She took a breath, breathing in old remembrances of the comfort she'd developed in his presence.

Tears came to her eyes, brimming and shimmering but not spilling over. Normally Ravyna would never let such things show, especially to a man. But she looked at her dragon, eating so happily next to his brown Wickhath, and suddenly Ravyna felt like the only safe place on Pern was in the presence of these three: Igrainth, Wickhath, and T'ryis.

"No," she said softly, and turned toward him, not caring if he noticed that her eyes shone more brightly than normal. "I didn't decide. Thread chose for me. I was ... careless. My hair wasn't secured properly ... a stray bit of live Thread...."

She glanced down at her silly flitter and back, with growing courage, to his face, and chose not to replace the hood, even though the wind whipped around her freezing ears. "Igrainth saved my life. She realized what was happening before I did, and I escaped with only some minor burns on my neck ... and a horrible shearing." She swallowed hard and cursed the tears that drained through her tear ducts rather than spilling down her cheeks, for they were now trying to escape out her nose. Absently, she began fumbling in her trouser pockets, hoping she'd remembered to bring a handkerchief.

After telling T'ryis about her first Thread injury, she began to see just how much she had gained, and what she had lost seemed less important.

*

Igrainth watched Wickhath carefully, though tried not to show that she was observing him. She could see that he was warring with something that made him a bit uncomfortable. However, Igrainth, wiser than she realized she was, said nothing ... she just nudged closer to him. As the young brown raised his head and spoke into her mind, his hesitation gone, and invited her to swim, the green dragon was filled with odd emotions. A strange connection began to grow inside her, making her feel almost....

... motherly.

Having no emotional constraints, Igrainth reached out and briefly rubbed her neck against the smooth hide of Wickath's. A swim would be lovely, she said, and arched back slightly, tilting her head to the side to get a better focus on him. The action posed her in a way that the cold winter sunlight sparkled off her hide, which was shining with smeared wherry fat. She raised her wings, and just as she launched into the air, she said, teasingly, Race you!

The ground skimmed below her, less than a dragon's height away, for she wanted to be sure that her young friend would be able to not only catch, but overtake her if he chose. She knew that a half-grown dragon's flight abilities were good, but not perfected, for she recalled more than one bump and blunder when she was his age.

Her enthusiasm over the prospect of playing in the lake with Wickhath almost made her forget the recent agitations she'd suffered from the shifting moods of her Own-human. Today, let Ravyna play with T'ryis, and she, Igrainth, would play with T'ryis' dragon! Wickhath was, after all ... adorable!

[Kitari]

The fire lizard he was so carefully extracting from Ravyna's hood, although his attention was mostly fixed on the dark-haired girl in an attempt to perceive her expression through the back of her head, suddenly decided to claim more of T'ryis's attention than the Weyrling desired. With a sharp intake of breath, the young man winced at the flurry of claws, limbs, and tail, as the bronze scurried up his arm and proceeded to wrap his tail about the brownrider's neck, while rubbing the side of his head against T'ryis's throat.

Awkwardly, the former Lordling reached up to stroke the bronze. "I like you, too?" was all he could manage, the consternation plain on his face. Panther was never this affectionate. And that though reminded him of one of far greater concern; hopefully Panther wouldn't decide to make a surprise appearance...the little blue was rather protective of T'ryis...

All thoughts of flitters flew (quite literally) from his mind when Ravyna turned to face him once more. Her wide brown eyes, in which he was often in danger of losing himself, were sparkling with brimming emotions. Immediately, T'ryis's gaze softened in turn, and as she recounted the tale of how her hair had been shorn, how close the Thread had come to taking something even more precious, he felt his throat constrict and the blood drain from his face. So close. So close that Thread had been to harming her, while he had been trapped on the ground...

He had moved before he realized it, caught up in the swell of her pain and carried by his own, and his arms went around Ravyna, drawing her close. T'ryis closed his eyes against the burning image of what had almost been stolen. He breathed slowly, drawing in the scent of her, trying to absorb her into his being so that it could never come so close again. It may have been out of place, he knew it, but T'ryis wasn't one to hug on a whim. In fact, he wasn't one to 'hug'. But she needed it, and, to a lesser degree (in his mind at least), so did he.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're okay, Igrainth's okay. That is all that matters." All that mattered in the world. "I won't let it happen again." An impossible promise, but spoken with ferocity and conviction. If T'ryis had anything to say about it, it wouldn't happen again.

Luckily for that young man pushing the boundaries and rules of Weyrlinghood, Wickath was far too distracted to pay attention to human emotions at the moment. There were plenty of his own to sort through, thank you very much!

After all, a lovely green dragon was not only paying him vast amounts of attention, but had rubbed her neck against his, her soft green hide warm and inviting to the touch.

He shifted to regard her, almost obediently, as she arched her neck, and the brown couldn't help but wiggle inwardly at how perfectly her emerald hide sparkled in Rukbat's rays. Suddenly, her wings were open, and the Weyrling stepped back in surprise, until her challenge provided the explanation and her leap the goal.

Almost instantly, Wickhath gathered himself, barely managing a sufficient downsweep in his excitement to become airborne. He pumped his wings somewhat labouriously at first to correct this rough start, before soaring eagerly after Igrainth. Triumphantly, the brown manouveured to greater speed, realizing that his quick start and skilful flight were allowing him to catch up to her quite easily. Eager to impress, the brown gathered himself for another burst of speed, fighting to race ahead.

At the last moment, however, just as his snout was surpassing her own, Wickhath flared his wings slightly to slow. Despite the overeagerness of a flighty young dragon, the brown was born to charm, and his calculating mind had quickly realized how inappropriate it would be to suggest his strength surpassed Igrainth's own agility. Instead, he demurred, with a polite yet teasing, Ladies first. Oh, but those lake waters did look inviting... This air was far too cold for Wickhath's tastes!

[B'kay]

Why, thank you! Igrainth replied and promptly dove. She turned with almost as much grace underwater as she showed in the air and surfaced belly up. As her long wings surged to the surface, they brought with them a wave of cold water. The splash sailed into the air, engulfing Wickhath with mischief, before the green dove again. She sent a mental invitation to a game of water tag to the young brown and sped toward the center of the lake.

Even the loud splashing from the lake and the feel of her dragon's playful emotions couldn't distract Ravyna from the warmth that enveloped her. T'ryis's arms were around her. In all this time, it had never occurred to her how much she had wanted this moment. Suddenly, the horror of Thread, the loss of her long, beautiful hair, the shame and guilt she'd lived with since that terrible first Fall, were almost worth it.

"I won't let it happen again." , he said.

Had any other man, in any time in her past, in any situation she could think of, said those words, they probably would have finished the statement to the view of Ravyna, haughtily tossing her head as she walked away. Now, however, she leaned closer, and not just because Nuisance had wrapped his long tail around her neck and was chortling merrily at the concept of a group hug.

A feeling like fluttering firelizards churned in her belly, and she refused to let herself think about the consequences of this. She tried to tell herself that it was the cold and wind that made T'ryis's arms feel so nice around her. But Ravyna was right on the verge of admitting to herself--the truth.

A sudden burst of emotion from the lake, Igrainth playing, having fun, with strong implications that she was clearly the elder dragon entertaining, and enjoying the company, of a youngster, wedged like a heat shield between the greenrider and the man she was about to lose herself in.

She gasped and made an effort to step back. The bronze flitter, however, tightened his grip, and Ravyna wound up a step away from T'ryis at ground level, but with her face smushed firmly into his chest.

She raised her hands to push gently against him, hoping to communicate her concerns without appearing to dissuade his affection. Nuisance was not about to let go.

"Abominable flitter," she mumbled, her voice muffled by T'ryis's jacket. She reached one hand to the firelizard's tail, attempting to extricate herself. The effort to unwind the tail caused Nuisance to unwrap and immediately entangle it around Ravyna's wrist.

She was still held captive, but at least she could breathe, and she tilted her head back to look into the man's face.

"Thank you," she said, her voice husky with emotion. "And you're right. Igrainth and I are okay. That should be the most important thing, and I've been a fool to let...."

Nuisance, at this moment, chose to climb up on to T'ryis's head, pulling Ravyna's hand with him, so that it wrapped around the lordling's neck.

Distracted by the awkwardness of her predicament, she swallowed once, and blushed. Another burst of playful emotions from her green, however, shifted the balance and the blush was joined by a grin and a chuckle.

"He is such a Nuisance," she said softly, her tone filled with affection for the ungainly creature. "But he reminds me continually that life may just not be as serious as I have a tendency to think it is. I'm so glad we ran into each other today, you--and Wickhath--have made all the difference in the world."

Taking half a step backward, but leaving her hand on T'ryis's neck (since the flitter would let go of neither her wrist nor the young man's hair, or at least that's what she told herself), she stroked his chest once with her free hand, and let it drop, with obvious reluctance, to her side.

"However," she glanced toward the lake, "Perhaps we should ... remain aware of our ... situation." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "For now. Wickhath is still so young."

[Kitari]

A brief flicker of What am I doing? was quickly silenced, as Ravyna shifted herself closer, and T'ryis felt the warmth from her form spread from his chest and stomach, through his limbs, until he felt lightheaded from it. This uncharacteristically vulnerable show of emotion left a part of T'ryis struggling to regain propreity and normalcy, urging him to step back and be his usual distant and aloof self. But the other part, the new part, was beginning to realize the value of connecting with someone, someone human, on a level that actually caused him to trust...

And then she was pulling away, however gently, and he let his arms drop instinctively. However, her plan was foiled by the bronze flitter (who still hadn't disengaged from T'ryis himself!), and the Weyrling gazed downward at surprise, as Ravyna's face became planted in his chest. He shifted awkwardly, wondering if he should step backwards and away, but it seemed that Nuisance's grip would just pull her along and might even cause her to fall over...

Gritting his teeth, T'ryis reached out to begin working at the flitter again, trying to get him to let go of Ravyna's wrist, now, when the bronze clambered right onto the former Lordling's head. With the flitter clinging far too tightly to the brownrider's short shock of dark, dark hair, T'ryis responded to Ravyna's thanks with a pained smile that promptly vanished upon realizing where the flitter's grip had caused her hand to fall...

"You are...anything but a fool," he grated, dark eyes shifting uncomfortably away. It was becoming a bit too much for the standoffish young man. She was so close, and the flush in her cheeks, the spark in her eyes, was too inviting. And her next words, about Wickhath, solidified that concern.

Swallowing the huge lump of emotion in his throat, and the desire to pull her close again along with it, T'ryis determinedly stared at the sky. "I know that," he replied, voice low and somewhat detached, although more by a glimmer of guilt than anything else. "I know he's young."

And suddenly his gaze whipped downward again. She had very pointedly added, 'For now'. As in...suggesting...she wanted more...with him?

T'ryis was silent for a moment longer.

"But you're worth the wait."

And it was right at this second, this moment of intensity, that Panther decided to wander in and see what his person was up to. And the blue wasn't exactly taken with the sight.

Flitting out of between, he did a loop above T'ryis's head, adjusting his flight to land neatly on his person's shoulder as usual, when the sight of bronze hide deflected his flight, and Panther spun off with a screech. A moment later, he was spinning right back, shooting over Nuisance's head with a bugle of challenge. This was his! That silly bronze should know that!

Wickhath, still unaware of the silly nuisances (aha) of humans, watched Igrainth dive neatly into the water and continued to beat his wings along, carrying him above her. He gazed in admiration at the sparkling green of her stomach and was so transfixed that the wave of water caught him completely off guard. Folding his wings up instinctively to defend from attack, the brown plummeted into the water, a move that would affectionately be termed by humans as a 'canon ball' but was more like a terrifying and slightly painful plunge for the brown.

He quickly overcame the shock, however, and unfolded his wings underwater, using them to sweep along through the water in pursuit. I'll get you for that! he cried, momentarily forgetting his chivalrous mode of speech. This was fun!