Welcome to Gaia! ::

A sudden cry of delight came from behind Kayadon. His mother followed, sitting backwards on the bench with her back to the table so she could pull the boy into a swift embrace without having to get her long legs over the bench. “Oooh, my boy, I’ve missed being home and seeing you!” she sang, smiling dizzily. She wore her riding leathers still, and her hair was tousled, but the leathers were embossed and dyed a dark shade of blue that matched the ribbons holding her hair into some shape that made the tresses still look appealing. She was rather proud of herself for having said goodbye to him before heading to Trine, and for now greeting him again so promptly on the return. It saved her the mother’s guilt that inflicted her when these sort of details slipped her mind.

“Oh, goodness no. Well, it might have been alright, except one of our men made a fool of himself fighting that crimson dragon’s rider over there and his bronze killer her dragon. Didn’t you hear about that?” She pressed on without waiting for reply. “It was dreadful, of course, but after that the rest of us were treated so coldly you’d have thought we’d planned it.” She shook her head, curls tumbling.

K’la nodded amicably at his rush of questions and made to answer in a rush when he paused, though his last query set her back a moment. She laughed suddenly, sounding half surprised. “Oh, not yet.” She swung her legs over the bench and dragged an unused plate in front of her. A bit more delicately as she remembered her manners through her flurry of emotions, she began picking out bits of food for her place. “They were suspicious of all sorts of things. Mostly, I think it was due to their not understanding what the healers were about prodding those clutches and all. I hardly had any notion myself, but that didn’t affect their opinions.” She frowned critically at a meatroll she’d almost grabbed and adroitly took the one next to it instead. She cheered at her next bit of news, grinning with forbidden knowledge. “Oh, you should have seen that crimson’s clutch hatch. Do you know they really do whack the dud shells with a shovel? It looks most absurd.”

“Not all,” she assured. K’la, despite her hunger, ate in small bites befitting her station. “They wait until after the healthy ones hatch, and then their weyrwoman comes out with a glorified shovel and just whacks the ones that are left. I was distracted at the Hatching and don’t remember if there were any true duds among them, but when they happen it’s supposed to be all egg-stuff inside when the shell is broken.” She shrugged at the gross subject. “And there are more of the runts in crimson clutches it seems. I saw some of them at the feast. Very weak and small, they were. Many of those that Impressed them carried them around when their legs wore out.”

K’la hadn’t really thought of that. She wondered if it were possible to damage the dragons through all that thick egg and protective membrane. Probably, if the shovel wielder weren’t careful. She looked vaguely thoughtful as she nibbled at a pastry. “You know, I’m not sure? I know they get tired very easily, anyway. All the ones I saw at the hatching were well formed beasties, if small. I know if they get over exerted it can be very dangerous for the runts, but I’m not sure they actually die that frequently.”

“Yvoth? Well, mostly, until that accident of course. It’s a bit strange, but she doesn’t seem to have much of an opinion about the atypicals. She’ll talk to most anyone really, until the hostilities went up. The Trine dragons wouldn’t speak to her then, the poor dear.” Her face reflected distress over the memory, then darkened slightly. “And the funeral was appalling. Malvren showed in force and riders and dragons alike made a very open but unspoken stand against it. Completely unnecessary since we were scheduled to leave shortly anyway, and poor Yvoth. She does not bear up well under resentment. I would have taken her back Between to Benden in a moment to spare her if I could have.”

“It was for the rider of that crimson that died,” she said, freeing her hands of food and utensils. A rapt audience eliminated the need for food. She explained the funeral in haphazard detail. The burning ship – oh they’d been by the water – and the Malvren junior riders that had been specially taught to go Between. Oh, and Masterhealer Givon’s curious ego and poor poor Yvoth. And thank the First Shell for S’raid. He’d been the only one of them that seemed comfortable – though she wouldn’t have minded it if he’d been a hair less amiable.

By the time she’d let off steam about the aggravating funeral and it’s indignities (though she really had few examples of those), the remains of her breakfast had gone cold. “I don’t envy our weyrleader and woman having to sort and settle things, but I think there’s little to do now except let things calm down on their own and hope whatever Givon found was useful.”