"Would you stop fidgeting already? You're not helping!" Set'al thwacked the scrub-brush lightly against his dragon's side, his tone just as affectionate as it was scolding. He stood in one of Trine's lakes, bare from the waist up and shaded from the sun by his dragon's wing.

But I have many itches, Mine! Scrub me faster! Pipith turned his head to regard his rider, snorting. His hide was quite itchy around the places he'd been scored during the last Fall, and it was rather maddening.

"Sorry, but there's only one of me, and a lot of you." While he may have been small for a bronze, he was still a sharding dragon, and that meant a lot of surface area to cover. "So hold still and let me scrub."

Can't we get a Candidate to help? They're supposed to learn these things! Besides, they would probably like it.

"And they're probably busy, and I am not commandeering a Candidate for you, so get over it."