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Nyaranau [HR] - 19 - she/her/hers - Weyrling of Gold Mictecath
The sun was warm on her hide, making the pale gold gleam in the burgeoning spring day. Nyara admired her as she laid out a blanket on a grassy space, away from the hustle and bustle of the Weyr. The relative peace was nice, silent save for the distant cries of wherries and gulls, and the occasional bugle and trumpet of a dragon.
Not all was well, though, for Mic’s eyes held hints of red, and her tail lashed the air as though possessed by an angry spirit. I cannot believe, cannot begin to entertain… A growl accompanied her words as she managed, in all of her queenly prim and properness, to curl up and occupy a single corner of the blanket (the rest of her sprawled upon the grass). Nyara reached out mentally, soothing her growing frustration. I understand, but it is what it is. We can’t do much as we are now…
Surely my granddam would understand… I must appeal to Eveleth… Mictecath muttered, drawing a few long furrows in the ground. It helped with the surge of anger. Well, maybe they’ll be amenable soon… give it time, love. Give it time. We’ll change things someday- you’ll see.
The dragon gave a sigh, turning her head slightly so her eye was level with the small picnic basket. Nyara laughed; “hungry already, dearest?” she asked, as she pulled it towards her and began to unpack its contents.
It wouldn’t be a tea party without tea and cake. Of this, I have been assured. Some of the Weyr children told me that is exactly how a tea party goes. Sometimes, Mictecath got some very strange notions into her head. This was one of the sweeter, less stubborn ones. Nyara set out human sized cups and plates, poured some juice into them (hot klah seemed like a bad idea when transported a-dragonback), and withdrew a whole bubbly pie. “Look, I even persuaded a cook to give us this.” Mic gave a small croon, inhaling deeply. It was still faintly warm, the heady scent of sweet berries and golden crust causing rider to drool (it wasn't the wonderful meat of herdbeast or wherry, but Mic appreciated it for her rider's sake anyways).
Dearest Rixth, are you there? It’s your Mictecath... The young queen lifted her head skyward, letting her thoughts reach out into the mental space between dragons. Meanwhile, Nyara leaned against her dragon’s side, resting her head and shutting her eyes as a gentle breeze danced through the air. It would be a long afternoon filled with dragon chatter, if Mictecath had anything to say about it. She wondered, for a moment, if Rixth was forcing Thren to take ‘tea’ as well? Mic had certainly been quite insistent...
Smerdle
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