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"No, you're not," she agreed to his self-assessment. He was no sort of Harper that anyone in their right mind would ask to perform, well, anything. And yet the fact that he persisted without apology was...admirable, even if his song wasn't particularly appealing. Shaking her head, she turned back to the task at hand. "Come on, then, rider, let's do what we set out to--"

She almost moved before she registered what she saw there ahead of her, in the shade of a tree. She was sure she recognized the shape of the plant, though. She'd seen enough samples that it had to be mystweed. She sprinted the little distance and dropped to a knee, trying to tear away other grasses as carefully as she could.

Not that it would do them or any Weyr good, no matter how gingerly she treated the plant. This one was clearly withered and dry, barely holding onto a speck of green. Even if it had been healthier, it certainly wouldn't have survived a transplant attempt. Sanza sat back on her heels and swore. Expressively.

Little does not mean that you are bad or worse than any dragon bigger, Maomith assured him. You are black and there is a place for you. Any wing or dragon or rider that says there is not is wrong. She'd been fortunate to hatch at Trine and not have to have that argument too often, but she'd argued her worth before and would if she were ever challenged again. Then her attention sharpened on the riders and she stepped after them a little faster. Mine has found something.

She'd had her little tantrum. She pulled herself together, drew herself back to her feet, and dusted her hands, a physical dismissal of the sad little plant. "I don't suppose we have to worry about which Weyr gets that one after all." Oh, she was disappointed. Losing did not sit well with her, and finding something already dead counted as losing, as far as she was concerned.

Mine is very clever, Maomith agreed, but she rumbled a sound that somehow conveyed her disappointment very clearly as well. This is not a good thing.

He was speaking logic, which was exactly the right approach to take. More to the point, Sanza appreciated clear-headed thinking when she'd let disappointment get her in its teeth and shake her around. She took his example, exhaled a breath and was once more cool and composed.

"You're right," she told him. "We'll make note of the tree, the location..." She bent and pulled a few strands of the grasses around the wilted thing, and then a plucked a leaf off of the thing. "Samples could be just as useful as living plants." She pocketed the plant life, straightened again, and turned in a slow circle, scanning what she could see for signs that they might get luckier, but no. Nothing.

Maomith grunted and settled. No need for alarm if Hers wasn't truly upset. There is not much use for a plant. They, meaning riders, she implied, may eat them, or wear them, but they do nothing. Dragons were clearly better.

"Pretty places," she agreed, having another look around, herself. "But we shouldn't linger. The dragons will keep us more or less safe, but we wouldn't want to be caught out for much longer." And given his loathing to run in to another cat, getting somewhere cleared of brush and away from something's hunting territory would be wise.

She exhaled hard, a heh rather than a true laugh. "I think it's safe to say, darling," she drawled, "that I am one of a kind."

I have never tasted water plants. Not that she could recall, at any rate. If ever we come to Malvren, we will hunt. She couldn't pass that up.

She supposed he could have been talking about her as much as their surroundings. He might be just as right, too, though she didn't think she was ugly inside. Of course, opinions differed, so perhaps she was after all. She started walking and trusted him to keep up, either behind or beside her. She wasn't picky about which.

She did say, over her shoulder, as she rerolled the map and tucked it back through a belt loop, "I wonder why you think you want me. Is it the challenge? The near-certainty that I'll refuse your pretty words and flattery? Or are you so sure of yourself that you think you can find a way in to my heart?"

A promise, Maomith agreed and followed after her rider.

Point. She didn't scare herself, inside, but she'd certainly traumatized her fair share of others, so. He had a point.

She stopped again and turned back to face him. She wore the almost-smile again. "You're not insulting me," she promised. "Or offending me or even upsetting me at all. You have me curious, so I asked. Flirting certainly does seem to come naturally, so I wouldn't put it past you as a second language." He was quite good at it, really.

She started to turn away, then paused and added, "And thank you."

All things had to come to an end, for better or worse. Sanza nodded to M'cel, shifting her weight back onto her heels. He hadn't been so bad, all flirting aside. Even clever. She could appreciate that, in its place. "I will, of course. Give ours to yours in return. And fly safely, M'cel. No use surviving this endeavor only to hurt yourself going home."

Maomith echoed her rider, though it came off something more like an order than she managed. Be careful for your rider, Tairoth, and see that you get him home safely.