Welcome to Gaia! ::

Sailing over the vast seas of Pern adragonback was always hit or miss. Days and days of nothing but open sea was about as boring as it ever got for B'tar and his brown; he relished seeing any part of the planet he'd not before, but there was very little for his hands to do. Nothing to draw with aching, loving detail on his maps but a few sparse waves to remind future viewers that this was, yes, still water. In silence he reclined backwards, riding straps creaking lightly as his weight shifted. From the day they'd left the weyr behind, he'd spent probably ten candlemarks a day in these leather straps atop Efraath, and now riding had become second nature to him. He slept atop the dragon, ate atop the dragon, he could unhook himself and walk from headknobs to tailtip across the brown's back while the dragon still flew on.

And so when all he had to do was sit, he became bored. Days where they found sandbars or islands were far more interesting, and would see his hands flying over his work, eyes bright and alive with the thrill of discovery.

Beneath his back, Efraath let loose a low rolling rumble like thunder—a laugh at his rider's 'pout', or a sympathetic sound, or even a threat to stop complaining, it was hard to tell—which prompted B'tar to sigh and sit up in his seat once more. Silently and wordlessly they communed for a time, enjoying each other's presence and the solitude aside from that, until at last on the horizon there rose a speck. In a flash the rider had a large sheaf of parchment unrolled in his lap, a flurry of activity as he looked up at the sun's position, for any other celestial markers he used to determine location, and down at the map. In a bold stroke his hand came down with the long tip of a charred bit of wood, to leave a definitive dot. A heartbeat later the brown's steady pace surged into the draconic equivalent of a sprint, hurling them towards the distant island with twin glee.

B'tar and Efraath were never more one than in the moment of discovery. Revelation united them, bound their hearts and minds in unfathomable depths of pride and raw emotion. The brown never flew faster, and B'tar could feel the wind rush through his hair and across his back and over and under his-their-our wings. The euphoric connection was like that felt during flightlust, a melding of minds and senses. Through the brown's eyes B'tar could see every detail as they closed in on the island, and through B'tar's hands flowed Efraath's sight onto parchment.

Their hands flew over the page, dark streaks and dots and swirls coming together to rapidly lay bare the shape of the island. What was at first a lone dot soon became the tip of a small cove, and then up and around and inwards. From so high up and with a practiced eye they could see the currents below, and a few stylized waves made a subtle notation of it.

Almost in passing did both dragon and rider take note that the island was apparently inhabited.

Green. Efraath's voice was a distant thundercloud: deep, rolling, potent, and vaguely threatening, even in his rider's mind. A dragon meant that it was possible no one lived on the island, that whomever this was was just visiting. Rather than the square markings he used to denote a hold, or the round ones meant for weyrs, B'tar placed a triangle with no bottom, pointing up from between the thatch of trees he'd drawn in over the top of the island. It was invisible at a glance, but it would be enough for the man himself to spot in an instant.

Their hands slowed. Their wings flared, scooping the air to bring their bolting flight to a near dead stop. The hung overhead, their four eyes staring down in silence, debating.