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Farin shook her head with a stead expression. "No, it's fine if they sleep. I do not expect them to be alert and able to partake in lessons for at least another few weeks. It's good for them to get their rest." She moved, and gestured to the ones ready to settle down for some napping and oiling. "If you could gather around here, you may begin oiling your dragon if you'd like. Hopefully you have all been showed how by one of the attendants at the hatching, but should that have fallen through, you must rub the oil over any patch of skin which feels even the slightest bit course. When your dragon is older, this will be to keep them safe in between- but for right now, your dragon is growing, and it serves an even greater purpose- if you let a dragonet grow out of it's skin, it could very well cause scar tissue around the areas that receive the greatest amount of tension. Scar tissue is very bad for younger dragons, particularly those who have never been between. So it is your job to keep them well oiled."

She'd not go further until it looked like most were ready, but she observed Ch'tan finishing up with his rather ravenous bronze, who tottled behind him on his hind legs as his rider collected a bottle, and then collapsed on the grass. With a snort, the dragonet collapsed on top of him with a grunt. Ch'tan made a slight flailing motion from underneath the human sized dragon, who simply snorted, and nudged his head against that of his riders.

Ah- what the future of the Weyr looked like...

Saranth flopped down, stretching out her clawed forarms. She gazed adoringly at L'mur as he began to slather the oil onto her hide. He paid special attention to the joints in her wings, making sure to smooth the oil in. Saranth's eyes whirled a lazy green-blue and then closed, as she drifted off to sleep.

L'mur smiled, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of warm, oiled hide under his hands. This was bliss. It wasn't fighting Thread or flying, but he was with his dragon. As the little green fell asleep, he finished laving her down. Wiping his hands on his pants, which were certainly going to need a thorough washing, he sat down on the grass next to Saranth, waiting for the rest of his classmates to finish.

Farin shifted, watching as the bulk of the Weyrling class settled down to rub oil into their dragonets. Although looking slightly drowsy, the dragonets seemed to be making a good show of trying to keep awake for the pleasurable oiling. Farin decided now was as good of time as ever to go over dragon anatomy, and some things about the skin flaking.

Without a word spent between either of them, Moth suddenly extended her large wing over Farin, and touching down quite some ways away on the other side of the rocks. Even a green was huge in comparison to a human, and Farin needed to take one stop forward to get herself out of the great wing's shadow. At once, she pointed carefully to the dragon equivalent of the elbow. It was partially masked by a thin layer of skin which bound the wing in a permanent arch- which she figured she might as well address as well while she was at it.

"Oiling your dragon is something you will need to get used to, as you will be doing it for the rest of your life. Although the task of oiling a large dragon can be daunting, as your dragon grows you will steadily train yourself to get used to a larger and larger body to work with. By the time your dragon is full grown- you will not overwhelmed." She motioned once more to Moth's wing, who sat placidly in the grass, her eyes carefully rainbowing a blue-green color in pleasure of being important.

"Proportionally, dragons are not that much different then humans. They have a head, two arms, and two legs. Areas that might get dry skin on your body will frequently get dry skin on the dragon's body. Elbows are bad areas that will need to be worked on, and since dragons spend a bulk of their time rubbing their bellies over hard stone, you'll also find some dry skin patches popping up there as well."

"But the most important places to look out for are the ones which involve your dragons wings. We don't have wings- but wings are not all that different from arms. They have the same bone pattern, but except for fingers, they have long bones which hold the membrane of their wings together." Moth shifted her wing. "There is a small patch of skin up at the top of the dragon's equivalent of an elbow." She placed her hand on the skin. It was large in comparison to Farin- about the size of her arm, but in comparison to the dragon, it seemed an almost worthless patch of membrane. "This small thatch of skin seems unimportant, but it is all the reason a dragon is able to fly. Therefore, it is your job to make sure that this area is protected. If there are any cracks in the membrane, your dragon should not be allowed to fly until healed."

"This portion of the wing stops the dragon's wing from fully extending. You and I can move out arms totally straight out-" She motioned by moving her own arm totally straight. "Dragons however, cannot. The reason for this is that thermals and wind could easily force a dragon's wing open to overextend. This piece of skin disallows the joint from fully extending. A dragon who has an injured wing membrane may still be able to fly, but will frequently pop their joint- and in some cases, dislocate it, and the dragon may vanish between before a rider could calm it down into a glide."

"Even though the joint doesn't fully extend, the wings top receives the brunt force of the wind, and will frequently become dry." Moth folded her wings back against her back. "Other areas you'll need to look out for is right at the center of the shoulders, where skin bunches up during wing flaps. When you are riders, you will also need to rub the neck, as saddle chafes where the ropes go are common."

Remia had nodded at the Weyrlingmaster, and with an eager Trith in tow, had followed G'dor and his dragonet over to the carcass. She'd carefully watched X'lias, and though the flesh was somewhat slippery, she didn't have too much trouble cutting off the vaguely palm sized peices of flesh for the green.

She was very glad she wasn't squeamish, and also glad that the smaller dragonet meant she wouldn't keep the rest of the class waiting too long. Tirth, for her part, had simply said that the meat was good, and no one was waiting, really. Some were asleep. Remia had chuckled quietly at the last statement.

The meat had disappeared down the green's throat, and soon she had been rather satiated, content to sit and watch Remia retrieve the oil, burping quietly as she did so. Deciding to take a chance, Remia had kept her place near G'dor. She'd decided that he'd been nice, and since she didn't really know anyone anyway, that this was a good place to start for remedying that. She had smiled at him again, hoping he wouldn't mind.

Remia was now taking an oil bottle back to her green, who was settling down comfortably, though not napping like the bronze Remia had seen in the dining hall last night, Datie, his rider had called him? she wondered silently, not expeciting an answer. She got one anyway.

Datiath, mine. Is that oil for me? Trith piped up, recalling Remia's attention from its momentary lapse.

"Yes, yes, love, it is," Remia agreed, and then turned to listen to the instructions being given by Farin, while she smoothed oiled hands over the smooth hide before her. It was almost medatative, and she methodically made her way over Trith's hide, working especially on the areas that the Weyrlingmaster indicated.

The little green was helpful, for the most part, stretching out a glistening leg or wing so Remia would have better access, and giving contented sighs when something felt particularly good.

Right there, that feels very good. It is an itch. she said, and leaned into Remia's hands. The teen quickly went to work on the afflicted part.

"There, that should take care of it. Anywhere else you itch?" Remia asked as she massaged in the oil, smilingly taking care of the places that Trith indicated.

Remia took a deep breath, her nose filling with the scent of dragon musk and warmed oil. It was a unique scent, and definitely not unpleasant. She sent a contented gaze around the group as she did so, watching the others as they took care of their dragon's hides.

Remia smiled and nodded at G'dor. "Hello," she responded, and then they were both occupied with oiling their dragons, both of whom seemed to be leaning into the massaging of their riders with every evidence of pleasure.

Remia had turned her attention back to her task, but Trith, it seemed, was an eavesdropper. Are your hands rough, mine? the green asked, and Remia gave her a quizzical look.

"No, only somewhat at the fingertips... why do you ask?"

Because Queth says that his rider's hands feel good rough, and your hands feel good. But, your hands aren't rough. But, they find just the right places to rub. Trith seemed to be puzzling this out, her mindvoice sounding somewhat faint, like she was half-dozing.

Remia smiled wide. "I think there are many different types of good, love," she said, as she finished up another part of the small green. This was going fairly quickly now, but she could see some growth in Trith already.

Kirana worked the oil into Laneth's wingframes, tracing her hand over the small green's body to make sure there wasn't any place that she'd neglected, "Itchy anywhere else, Laneth, love?"

No, mine. I feel fine now. Thank you.

Smiliing softly to herself, Kirana turned her attention back to Farin.

G'dor worked the oil until the bottle had run dry. He knew how to work oil over leather- it made for the finest of their wares and would often fetch the best price if done correctally. In oiling Queth, he used the same ammount of care, his strangely bright eyes sinking over every detail, every dried scale that needed his attention. By the end of it Queth was practially glowing- both from his hide and his swirling eyes. It had been obvious that the dragonet had very much enjoyed the rough but oddly gentle hands of his rider.

G'dor stepped back, wiping his hands off by beating them on the sides of his pants- something he'd probibly regret later come laundry time but for the moment he simply did not want to have oily hands. The day did indeed seem like it would be quite full... especially at the mention of chorse. Once again he and the other wyerling were pointed out and reminded of what they'd be doing come chore time. His eyes quickly fell to the ground and a short nod was given.

A craft? Well he had one- but not within the wyer. There'd be no traveling between the wyer and the port for quite a time so he fit in with the 'craftless' group though he'd be sure to explain his situation as carefully as possible. He remained where he was, watching the others retreat to lunch. Queth had settled himself down in the grass as many of the other dragonets had done, content in a full belly, a well oiled body, and the pleasent rays of the sun. All in his world couldn't be better.

With a bit of a grin, G'dor decided he'd better get something to eat as well. From personal experience a full day on an empty stomach was no good and would leave even the strongest of men gazing into space and loosing their wit.