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Logfile from G'deon
26th of January, 2001
Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's
airspace, unusually smooth and buoyant -- though oft to switch as the seasons
shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of
the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet
wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is a spring afternoon.
Brown Chanticoth is here.
Obvious exits:
Northern Sky Weyrling Air Above the Pens Above the Lake Ledges
Chanticoth risks it and heads towards the Weyrling Grounds.
Watch for flying Weyrlings! The training grounds are busy, dangerous airspace.
Above the Training Grounds
Weyrling pairs have trampled the ground below into the hard-packed training
grounds: ash pits near the pens, targets on the walls, the occasional loose
Weyrling out of control here in the gentle thermals. The Weyr curves north towards
large ledges and the Hatching Grounds beyond, and south towards pens and lake.
What ledges are occupied here are high above the noise and smell of the Weyrs'
youngest riders.
It is a spring afternoon.
Gliding around is Tremayne.
Blue Trydanth and brown Chanticoth are here.
Obvious exits:
Up Training Grounds Central Bowl Northern Sky Ledges
Chanticoth drops towards the ground.
The earth really /is/ flat after all. At least the ground you drop towards.
Training Grounds
The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young
dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the
bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's
complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking
place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut
deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive
weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the
height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across
the hard packed earth.
It is a spring afternoon.
Soaring high overhead are Shugogetten and Kyrenna.
Blue Lainnoth, green Niamhyth, green Miravith, blue Catiminith, and brown Chanticoth
are here.
Lyri and Sora are here.
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Northern Bowl Corrals Fly
Ilare swings a leg over Chanticoth's neck and slides down his shoulder, landing gently on the ground.
You slide gently down Nylanth's neck and land with a soft thud.
Lyri
A slight girl, barely reaching 5'8, with short, ebony tresses that have been
allowed to grow out to just above her ears which, oddly enough, are a rather
lovely shade of purple. Her jade green eyes are her most noticeable feature,
looking out from under long, thick, lashes. High arching eyebrows stand out
against skin tanned to a yellow brown that has been stained a deep plum while
soft, ruby lips curve gently. A small, upturned nose compliments her angular
chin (making the soft lavender of that area stand out nicely), which is often
tilted defiantly and gives her a rather impish look. Farther down, her frame,
while rather frail in appearance, does carry the curves that show her to be
female, though little else about her presence would indicate it, in fact, her
newly acquired coloration would make her look more like some demented weaver's
creation. Her arms are a bit long with tapering fingers and rather short nails
and her legs seem to be a bit much for her to control.
Bright hues of deep forest green fold and crease their way down the wherhide
riding jacket, ending at mid-thigh. Soft undercolorings of light brown and tan
play just beneath the jungle of colors, culminating in a rich mixture over the
snug fitting hood. Soft fur lines the jacket, peeking out at the cuffs and hemlines,
a much needed protection from the cold of ::between::. A wide belt circles her
waist, shifting in color from emerald to jungle in smooth fluid motion; small
metal loops dot the belt, ready for straps or gear. 'Emerald riding pants fit
her loosely, while her gloves fit tighter, but still allow the free range of
movement. Rich emerald boots round out the ensemble, lacing up the sides to
her knees. Perched on Lyri's shoulder is Cyclone.
Twined cords of blue and black twisted with a strand of green identify her as
a wingrider and AWLM of High Reaches Weyr.
She is awake and looks alert.
Lyri is 20 Turns, 9 months, and 17 days old.
Sora
A mirage of sable and forestry, maiden's form curves with little more than life's
spring, from daintily-clad feet to an amusement-wrought countenance as shines
in serene affability. The possibility of mischief tweaks roseate lips, running
along her otherwise simplistic lines, and lurks in eyes -- vivid, leafy green
optics -- framed by elegant 'lashes. Cascading languidly just past shoulders'
court-held mark, dusky raven tressing becomes the ebon mark of maturity, though
singular strands shimmer in gentle acknowledgement of vanities fulfilled. A
suave sort of nonchalance finally graces body's rhythm and neatly-placed strides,
coming to the mid point perfection that her cohorts have come to expect. Unforeseen,
however, is the sparkle within those verdant orbs, the vivacious quirk to her
rose-brushed smile, and the imperceptible upward tilt of nose and chin.
Cranberry! Berry-bright pink swirls luscious shadows o'er bluelet's slender
form, clinging sleekly to faint curves and the firm, wind-thrown lengths of
muscle strengthening Sora's otherwise modest physique. Lifemate's touch brings
the glittering gold piping arching over shoulders, separate from knot, summer
warmth in the cranberry hue enveloping snug riding jacket. Beneath, parka opens
to a close-fitting vest in deepest wine, tightened lacing a perfect honey'd
gold: belt is all plummy opulence, flecked softly with a platinum glitter echoed
in faint streaks 'round trim waist. Leather stretches sanguine touched with
hints of blackened magenta, tightly moulding down legs to complete taut pants:
knee-high, feather-rimmed boots in blackberry and lacy crimson skiff to envelope
completely, dust-free from the float of wherry pluckings to the tap of boots'
toes. Fuzzy and soft thanks to rich fur, strawberry tones line collar and cuff,
jacket bottom and inner folds, while faux silver glitters faintly from those
shaggy bands, completing the almost painfully bright -- and utterly High Reachian
-- ensemble.
Simple knot, simple loop: sable twines a thoughtful twist 'round berry-clad
shoulder, dancing neatly 'twixt cobalt and made darker by the handsome sleek
of azurine purple ribbon that does clear to mark this weyrling -- these weyrlings,
Sora and Catiminith -- as High Reaches' newest Seniors.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 4 minutes.
Sora is 21 Turns, 10 months, and 21 days old.
Ilare slides down her dragon's neck, eyes bright as those of her dragon. And no, it has nothing to do with the wine. Nuh uh. Nope. Chanticoth looks vaguely smug, even as he pads after her, following his lifemate towards those already there. "Not late, are we?"
G'deon quickly dismounts, taking a moment to loosen Nylanth's riding straps before he turns around, a cheerful smile on his face. No, he's not delirious. "We're not late, are we?" he calls out, quickly walking over to Lyri and Sora.
Lyri takes a moment to send a glare to each of the 'lings and then shakes her head. "Alright, against my better judgement.. I've been instructed to give you all a lesson in chewing firestone." Growl. "I want you all to line your lifemates up along the other end of the training grounds and then go over and grab a bag each. It's firestone, and it's heavy." Grin. "And no complaints. You'll be lugging and tossing more than that before I'm done with you.." 'If you live' remains unsaid.. though the messages is clear from her expression.
"Hello Lyri-ma'am, G'deon, Ilare!" Sora beams, sliding down Catiminith and hopping neatly to the side. "How are--ooo! How fantastic! You hear that, Cat? Flaming!" Glow. Weyrling hovers slightly, gently ushering the blue into a line with the rest of the 'linglets. "Stay here, Cat. I'll be right back." Bluelet skitters over to the pile, tugging on a back and frowning at it. "It /is/ heav--I mean, uhm." Complaint is tossed for a bland, fake-ish smile, and bag lugged back to the blue. Oy.
Nylanth follows G'deon's quick instructions and begins to waddle over to the mentioned end of the bowl. His lifemate just grins, and even goes so far as to wink at Lyri before following the other weyrlings over to the firestone sacks. He lifts one rather easily to his shoulder, then turns, suddenly not sure where to go from there. Following Sora however he tramps over to the waiting dragons, a soft smile still in place.
Chanticoth blinks. Firestone? "Yup, that's what she said, Chan.." is the murmured reply, eyes blinking and some how managing not to look too excited. Well, Chan heard Lyri, didn't he? "Down to the other end with you. And stay there till I get my fire stone sack." Stern, but vaguely exited note touches her voice, before she nods to Lyri and fetches one of the bags. And makes a slight face. Heavy? Well, it's not as bad as she remembers from helping during fall at Ista. But she wasn't the rider then. Ilare straightens, and follows after the others, chuckling suddenly at a draconic comment.
Lyri motions Niamhyth over to the line, though the green does give what could be a grumble of discontent. "Hush, you can show the younger ones how it's done... and keep your hide from getting scorched." There, that should work. Grabbing a bag of firestone for herself, the rider wanders back to her own lifemate and pulls out a small chunk of stone to place into Niamhyth's waiting mouth. "The pieces should be no bigger than your fist, handful size." She informs. "And make sure that your lifemates don't bite their tongues in the process." Moohahaaa. "Now, wait for my signal, make sure you remind your dragons to think of their second stomach when they swallow.. or they won't get anything but a heavy gut." And purging.. did she mention purging?
Catiminith didn't leech /all/ Sora's brains out, and hence, she does happen to know about purging, consequences explained to the blue in a sudden, low whisper before she sorts through the sack and holds up a piece. Emerald optics saucer-blink, flicking up at her closely-watching lifemate. "This look good, Cat?" Flutter. "Remember: second stomach. Stomach number twooo."
G'deon sets down the sack near Nylanth. "Alright, you heard that, right?" he says to the dragon, giving him a quick nose rub before he opens the bag and looks for a suitable stone. He holds it in front of the bronze for a moment, eyes unfocusing as he relays the precautions, though he can't help but laugh softly. "Aye, I know it smells bad. We'll just have to get over that part." He carefully sets the piece in Nylanth's open mouth, and the bronze begins chewing slowly, his eyes a slow whirling blend of blue and cautious yellow.
Fist size, handful, second stomach, /think/. Sure, this should be alright. Chanticoth rumbles faintly, and Ilare pats his shoulder before she rummages in the sack. Soon, she removes several of the specified sized chunks of rock, and motions for her dragon to open his jaws. "Now, Chan, chew. And think about your second stomach - yup, you've two,.. No, that one's not for food, it's for this." She raises a handful of firestone. "Okay? Now, chew. And think of your second stomach." The brown whuffles before accepting the pieces, chewing with care, and thinking about - "Yes, your second stomach. think. Second. Stomach."
<Local> Nylanth senses that Niamhyth sends out a burst of authoritative gold. <<Chew slowly, bite down hard, and be careful to not bite your tongue.>> Images of dragon blood and scared lifemates are shared. <<Do this when she gives you the signal.>>
<Local> Nylanth senses that Chanticoth hmms thoughtfully, a steady rhythm beating time in his mind as he chews. The colours spin and dip and spiral within the beat, and he turns these colours of thought towards Niamhyth. << Chew, bite down, not on tongue? >> Not that he'd do that - that'd hurt. << And all the while think about a second stomach. >> At least, that's what his rider is reminding him to think. But chewing rock isn't exactly easy.
Lyri gives a nod to the 'lings. "Alright, I think that's enough caution.. it'd take someone deserving of eternal ash pit duty to mess this up." Get the hint? "Go ahead." And, with that, she begins handing the bits over to Niamhyth, letting her actions do the instructing.
G'deon continues to feed Nylanth various sizes of firestone, all the size of his fist at the most, though it's a rather large fist... "Is this alright, Ny?" he asks quietly, his eyes focusing once more. "Let me know when you've had enough, alright?"
Nylanth thinks to you, << Oh, that's plenty alright, now just let me swallow to get this over with already! >>
Ilare grimaces faintly, but nods at Lyri's command, hefting more pieces for her lifemate to chew. Chanticoth gives her a slight Look and she giggles, making him open his jaws anyway. "Don't worry about the smell, Chan. It'll pass. You'll get use to it." Really, he will. The brown seems less believing, earning a prod and a mock-glare. "Open." Jaws part, and pieces are placed in with care. "Try that.. Let me know if you've enough or need more, alright?" **Snort** Chanticoth resumes chewing, obeying the given instructions.
G'deon laughs softly at a comment from Nylanth. "It can't be that bad... what does it taste like?" he asks the bronze curiously, seeing as he's not quite curious enough to try for himself.
Nylanth would be plenty happier if G'deon chewed the stone than him, but he's probably not as talented. So he continues to chew the stenchfull, snorting displeasure at each bite.
Nylanth thinks to you, << Want a piece? Then many you'll feel great pity on me. >>
Lyri finishes feeding the last bit of 'stone to Niamhyth and then moves aside, pointing to a line of straw 'targets', which are really no more than piles put in place for this exercise. "Now, after a moment they will feel a build up of pressure, they'll want to let it out but make them control it. Make them wait for the mental signal from Niamhyth, if they can. If not, don't worry. They'll get the hang of it soon enough." Hopefully without any charred AWLMs.
Chanticoth chews. And chews. And chews some more. This stone tastes like.. Rocks. Only worse. Does Nylanth agree? Eyes whirl thoughtfully as he chews, all the while picture stomach no.2. Ilare nods towards Lyri, standing to one side and back by her dragon's shoulder, even as he chews. Nothing yet..
A most definitely amused grin creases Gid's face as he ducks around to Nylanth's side, just in case. "How's it coming, Nylanth?" he asks, eyes darting to the other two weyrling pairs. "No punctured tongues yet?" he adds, an oddly cheerful tone to his voice before he returns his attention back to his lifemate.
Niamhyth
Bright splashes of mint crown this darling's delicate headknobs, entwining and
descending, to adorn her fey neckridges in gay ribbons of colour. Dressed in
a hide of green, her flowing gown of forest hues is awash in satiny splendor,
while ethereal shades of pearlized mist etch fine lines over her foresails to
create a web of glistening dew culminating in the fairy hooks of her silvered
talons. Her spindly legs are at a contrast to seemingly oversized wings and
their dish-rag sails, but nobility shapes the rest of her: a dream descends
about her limbs, whirling through frothy sea-green foam and aquamarine to dissolve
into the perfect fit of her vitreous paws.
A well oiled pair of sturdy straps dyed in a rich mossy yellow surround this
green's neck, the light color catching stray shafts of light to reflect them
in dazzling hues. White triangles sewn in a staggered pattern alternate along
the length, the same color making up the lashes that hold her lifemate firmly
in place while small metal clasps glimmer along the end of each. Small circles
of peridot have been sewn at the tip of each trigon and dot the entirety of
the set.
Niamhyth is 3 Turns, 7 months, and 5 days old.
She is 43 feet (13m) long, with a wingspan of 71 feet (22m).
Niamhyth seems to be listening.
Catiminith
Deep, azure-tinged indigo flows in viscous waves down the sleek gloss of smooth
hide, navy and violet intermingling in a thick coat of oily color. A sheen of
slick vivacity resonates through this base, a fitting canvas for the overlaying
shades of color, smeared and streaked in curious layers of visual intensity.
Each whirling, faceted eye is encompassed by streaks of delicate silver, framing
the polychromatic orbs in an endearingly absent manner. A fleeting glimpse of
peridot is smudged just below the right headknob, as if paint were accidentally
wiped there and promptly forgotten; the knobs themselves are highlighted with
wispy periwinkle that suggests the fading of age and its accompanying wisdom.
Such smudges bespatter the rest of his lanky form, from the wisps of shimmering
orchid along his sinuous neck to the blush of dawn-like hues partly concealed
behind the bend of his elbow. Wings, especially, are an explosion of mismatched
brilliance -- sprinklings of smooth apricot, spicy cinnamon, and springtime
viridian trace elegant lines across sails and spars alike. The barest speckling
of ivory and ebony flick down the length of his dark tail, barely discernable
amongst the riot of even viscous hues. Random blotches and smears on the dark
purplish background give a haphazard mien to his strung-out frame, disorganization
offset by good intentions.
Lickable, lovely, glaringly, bright: 'tween ridge and spike, 'round neck and
curve, layer upon layer of slick, sleek tangerine richness paints the lengths
of leather into a phantasm of harshly dyed brilliance, belayed by the closer
inspection of soft, soft mould to Catiminith's indigo hide. What is bright,
though, would be harsh, instead rendered almost child-like in the lacy whorls
of freshened lime singing with gay haphazardness though creamy orange hues.
Dotting neatly up sides, and manifesting in the form of buckle and clips, chromatic
is exchanged for pewter's more burnished metallic luster, throat's clips leaving
way for growth and depth to the young blue. Lickable, lovely, glaringly, bright:
isn't it darling?
Catiminith is 1 Turn and 2 months old.
He is 48 feet (14m) long, with a wingspan of 80 feet (24m).
Catiminith seems to be listening.
Nylanth just has to wonder the displeasure he'd get if he swallowed and it went down to the wrong stomach. Better not to find out. It's very complicated to think second stomach and don't bite your tongue at the same time, but he does manage.
Catiminith chews and chews and chews again, swallowing and accepting another smallish stone. Sora shakes her head at the bronzeling, patting her blue's cheek and watching with a critical eye. "Not yet, Gid. Second stomach, Cat. Just keep thinking that. Feel anything, yet?"
Nylanth thinks to you, << It's going well, I suppose, besides the distastefulness of this firestone. >>
Ilare gives a laugh at G'deon's question, although Chanticoth huffs in slight annoyance. As if he'd bite his--ooo.. The chewing pauses, and Ilare blinks in surprise. "Chan..?" The brown slows the chewing, but his eyes whirl faster. "He says he can feel something, and it's not very comfortable." Her brown raises his head a little higher, chewing still, but much slower.
<Local> Nylanth senses that Niamhyth gives a mental 'nudge', a wispy tendril of pine scented green reaching out to each. <<Now. Turn and look toward the targets, and let the flame go.>>
G'deon nods to the last comment of Nylanth's before he glances at Ilare and Chanticoth. He gives his own lifemate a careful look and pats his shoulder encouragingly. "That's good, Nylanth, slow and steady now..."
Nylanth can sense the change in his own body...somewhat like a lot of gas maybe? Sensing something, he cocks his head to the side, facing the targets and lets out a tremendous belch, releasing a fairly good-sized flame along with it..
Lyri just chuckles as Niamhyth opens her delicate jaws and allows a long, steady stream of flame to burst forth, catching the target and turning it to ash in short order. A glance is given the others, so far as she can see them, and she waits.. if a bit nervously.
Ilare points, slightly alarmed as Chanticoth peers down at her. "Over /there/, Chan!" The dragon blinks and looks towards the 'targets' just in time to hear Niamhyth's command... And Releasing a dragon-sized belch that would make any full grown proud. Not to mention a rather large tongue of flame spinning forth too.
G'deon just stares blankly at Nylanth, a bit too stunned to say anything. Another moment though and he bursts out laughing. "/Shards/ Nylanth, that was hilarious!" He shuts his eyes and bites his lower lip, willing himself to keep from laughing again and urging his dragon to control that... belching a little more.
Rumble. Rumble. Sora's eyes widen. "Cat! Look /up/!" Weyrling pushes off Catiminith's muzzle, backpedaling quickly as -- whoosh! -- a sizable tongue of flame flickers upward and target-ward. "Faugh, Cat. That stinks." Weyrling wrinkles her nose, but offers free praise on the next breath. "Wonderful, lovelet! That was just...whoosh!" Beam. "Lyri-ma'am, didn't Cati do well?"
Nylanth
The torrent of darkness that blacks this dragon's claret hide rides his lean,
broad-shouldered frame as a cascade of shadows. However dark that jeweled hide
twinkles -- oh how it fits with never a wrinkle, that darkly gleaming skin --
his dashing, darkling glory is offset by those moonlit galleon's sails. Doe-skin
brown may soften his hindquarters, but it is bronze that crinkles bright at
his ale-laced throat, clatters down the gallop of neckridges steeling his spine
and dashes madly along the rapier length of his tail. His eyes -- bright, like
the moon at midnight -- eyes like the stroke of midnight, gleam with a robber's
gaze.
A well-oiled pair of riding straps are fastened to Nylanth's neck. They are
dyed half in midnight blue, and the other half has been bleached to a creamy
white, offset by gleaming silver buckles that twinkle in the light. They allow
places for footholds, as well as ample areas for passengers to attach there
own riding gear.
Nylanth is 1 Turn and 2 months old.
He is 63 feet (19m) long, with a wingspan of 105 feet (32m).
Nylanth seems to be listening.
Nylanth thinks to you, << Thank you, thank you...you can hold your applause... >>
Lyri simply nods, giving a slight grin, which is high praise coming from this rider. "Very well, for your first times." Of course, this admission comes grudgingly. "Now, you may all practice this as much as you like, providing there is an older rider with you. One of the assistants or a full rider." This is not a request.
You think to Nylanth, >> That really was priceless, mate <<
G'deon nods quickly to Lyri. "Will do, ma'am," he replies, followed by another amused chuckle. "How are ye feeling, Ny?"
Ilare is just beaming. That was a huge flame! Well done, Chan! The brown's eyes spin happily at the praise, from both rider and instructor. As nasty as the rock tastes, being able to breath flame is.. well, not fun, but very different to the rush a dragon gets when flying.
You think to Nylanth, >> Just think, Nylanth, now you can play your part to char Thread from the skies. <<
Lyri points to a rather smelly and avoided area of the training grounds. "Now that they've gotten the flame out, they'll need to get rid of the ash. The stomach will contract on its own if they wait too long but they can get it out voluntarily.. take them over and let them bring it up into the pits... those on punishment will be cleaning it up later." Moohahaaaa.. and you all thought mucking was bad.
Nose wrinkles, but a nod is given. "yes, ma'am." Better to regurgitate the nasty ash now than have an ill dragon later, neh? Chanticoth huffs, the strong scent of firestone spinning the dust about. "C'mon, Chan."
G'deon nods again to Lyri before turning back to his lifemate. "Lead the way, Nylanth. I'm sure you can't wait to get that stuff out of your system." He pats the bronzen shoulder with a look of admiration, sulfurous stench or no. As the pair turn towards the pits, the 'ling turns back to the other two pairs. "Fantastic, all of you."
Sora beams at Lyri. Strongly. "Hear that Cat? You did well. Is there any left?" The lean blue rumbles slightly, lets out a little fire-burp, then settles with contently whirling eyes...until Sora again informs him about ash. Whimper? No, another rumble as he dragon-frowns at his stomach, Sora-hands pushing at his haunch like tiny reminders. "Go, Cat! You don't want to have to watch me clean up your gut stuff..."
Nylanth is feeling like a million marks? No, not really...he just feels almighty powerful and is ready to fight thread come the time! He quickly turns his head towards his lifemate and actually gives the look for more thread as if they're cookies...Or not, guess he'll just have to get rid of the ash first. Leading G'deon, he disposes of the ash at its proper place.
Ilare grins, even as her dragon saunters past to get rid of the contents of his second stomach in a controlled manner, before wandering over to bronze and blue 'lings. "They did so well! Think the others will be as successful?" How can they not be, eh?
"Aye, I think so," G'deon replies to Ilare with a smile. "They've overcome so much by now, a little firestone seems like a small thing." He winces and waves slowly in front of his face. "Whew! Okay, maybe not so small."
Ilare giggles, the scent of fresh firestone not even causing her to bat an eyelid. She did grow up in her father's weyr, after all.. "It does stink a little, huh? I've a feeling a change in clothing may be in order.. and a bath for my lifemate too!" Chanticoth gives a faint bugle - at least the lake is melted!
G'deon nods slowly, his eyes carefully watching his lifemate. "That's a good idea I think," he replies, glancing down at his own clothes already wafting a soft hint of sulfur. "Just imagine what we'll smell like after a Fall," he adds in a rather excited voice.
Ilare stares, before she covers her mouth to suppress the giggles. "G'deon, I think the firestone's smell is going to your brain." Or at least reacting with the wine. Not her fault, of course. It was Nylanth's idea to bring the wine..
Nylanth senses Chanticoth gives a chuckle, having relieved his system of the ash. << That was.. different, do you not agree? >> to him.
Nylanth thinks to you, << I bespoke Chanticoth with: Nylanth certainly thinks so... to him. >>
A confused look crosses G'deon's face for a moment as he glances at Ilare, though that old smile can't be kept away for long anymore. "Aye, maybe you're right," he replies, laughing softly. "It's just... we're really on our way, y'know? We'll be riders before we know it." Although he's smiling, it's obvious from his tone that this is a rather serious matter.
Ilare chuckles, and elbows Nylanth's rider in the ribs gently. "What, you had your doubts?" A warm grin and a head shake are given then. "We're entering the final leg of the race, now. Although, I can't say I'm looking forward to leading us into threadfall.." Nervous much? Chanticoth croons reassuringly, and she rubs his nose. "Aye, aye, Chan, I'm being silly.. Still.."
G'deon winces in mock-pain at Ilare's jab, though his eyes are dancing merrily enough to dissuade any doubts. He sticks his hands in the pockets on either side of his trousers and laughs. "What, with /us/ behind you?" he asks, head nodding towards Sora, Catiminith and Nylanth." A faintly surprised look crosses his face as he pulls a hand out of one of the pockets, a rather crumpled mass of blue and black cords in his hands. He glances up at Ilare thoughtfully and smiles. "Maybe it's a good thing you'll have an ex-Smith to one side," he adds after a moment. "We have a way of remembering details, so don't forget to ask."
Ilare gives an amused snort at the wince, eyes dancing, before surprise flitters across her features at the threads he has found. Quiet a moment, her smile breaks out again at his words, pleased he hasn't given up on the position any more. "Thank you.. And believe you me, I'll take you up on that offer." A wink, followed by a pat for her dragon, as the brownling moves towards his neck. "Back to the weyr for a change, methinks..."