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There'll Be Time Enough For Counting 


Date:  May 30, 2001
Place:  Outside Telgar Weyr
Game:  PernMUSH
Copyright Info:  The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey 
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

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Kassi's Note:  If the title of this log doesn't make much sense to 
you, don't worry. ;)  It's more to go with the next log than anything;
that, and the other titles I considered all sounded silly.  Kassi and 
Is meet up just outside the Weyr to exchange words and efforts, and end
up discussing names for the baby Kassi carries--just in time, as it 
turns out.  There's also a bit of a scolding, which I'm sure Kassi will
get even with Kay for at some later point!

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The Log:

I'sai emerges from the weyr.

I'sai slips out into the cold - for all that it's not so cold as it might
have been - and pale eyes slit against even the cloudy sun as they search
the vicinity.

The black and green of a cloak and skirt, Kassi's, trickle down one of the
flat rocks near the entranceway. She's still in them; she's chosen the
stone as a perch, on which to sit and on which to write in what looks to be
a plain-bound book. As quiet and still as it is, motion is quickly
noticed--"G'day, Is," she greets, surprise giving its inflection.

He turns, at the sound of her voice - "Asked cavernsfolk instead of the
dragons," I'sai says with a touch of pride. "So I could sneak up..." though
his bootsteps crunch none too quietly against the snow. Inquisitive eyes
note the book, but for now all he says, does, is hand her a small
loose-wrapped -something-.

Kassima's brows lift in unison, one disappearing beneath breeze-mussed
hair. "You succeeded," she allows, suppressing a grin at that pride. "I
hadn't thought t'be seeing anyone out here--" Which isn't to say she seems
unhappy to have been wrong, though curiousity is replacing that surprise,
even as she notes his notation. She might explain it, had opened her mouth
for the purpose. But then she's handed a something. Setting the book in her
lap, she accepts it and pokes at the wrapping. "For me?"

"Just a little something," I'sai assures, and it is - but there's that
quicksilver smile all the same: unwrapping yields what looks like an
ordinary mint-stick, but... "It's mint-flavored. From the first batch that
tasted good; figured you're an expert, wanted to know what you think.
'Sides, it's fun." Pause. "What're you writing?"

Deemol comes up the mountain pass to the foot of the Weyr.

Deemol walks down the road, a travel sack over his shoulder. He is looking
around at the Weyr in wonder as he walks in.

Kassima pulls the mint stick free, regards it a bit curiously--until he
explains; she looks up then, and flashes a delighted smile. "You've started
making mint sticks? And I can taste? There might be a way t'get 'em without
daring the Healers?" You'd think she'd just been informed that precious
jewels were being handed out by the handful. She doesn't taste yet, though,
evidently wanting to be sure that's what she's meant to do. And in the
meanwhile: "'Tis a journal I started keeping a few months ago, if'n you can
credit it. I mean t'be writing m'memoirs down in it, for--" She breaks off
as the stranger comes into view, and nods amiably to him.

"'Memoirs,'" I'sai repeats, brows slanted high - for all that he's leaning,
waiting, boyish as can be for her to _try_. "And no, I didn't all myself,
but they set me to stirring some so it'd be smooth, fewer bubbles. Hurt the
tongue, they do." That last had been voiced more quietly with the man's
approach, but he then adds, "Afternoon!" bright as can be.

Deemol smiles shyly. "Afternoon, Riders," he says, taking in the knots
quickly. "Is this Telgar Weyr?"

I'sai darts a glance at Kassima, and settles for, "Would you believe us if
we said no? Or that it was, I don't know, 'Sharding-cold-Weyr'?" and that
with a grin. "Hope you haven't travelled too far in it."

Kassima grins at that boyish anticipation. How could she not? And how could
she not, in the face of it, taste the minty fresh product of those labors?
She even makes a show of it, nibbles delicately, licks once, attempts to
savor and consider the flavor. "As a connisseur of mint sticks," she says
with deliberate, measured slowness, "'tis m'pleasure t'declare this every
bit as good as any other mint stick I've known. And most certainly the
smoothest, bar none." Back to that grin, but she's reasonably sincere for
all that; and meanwhile, "G'day, traveler. I suppose I shouldn't lie and
say nay? 'Twould be too rude of me, and as Is says about belief... so, aye,
'tis indeed."

Deemol looks a bit confused, but smiles anyway. "Um, Thank you... I was
looking for my cousin. She works in the lower caverns here... Kayrin. Can
you please point me the way to the lower caverns, Riders?"

You sense I'sai keeps his voice down, that only she may hear, bright of
timbre enough to belie his words: "-As- good as? But it's special, on a
stick. Well. At least I got to watch you sample; delightful indeed."

"'Kayrin,' you say... let's see. Sounds familiar; don't suppose she's
another of Keara's relations?" I'sai spins about, eeney-meeney, but finally
points him in the right direction. "Certain she'll be pleased to hear you
got here safe and sound. Sunset comes early this time of Turn, and all that."

Deemol smiles. "Thank you, Rider, Sir." And with a spring in his step, he
heads on in.

Deemol enters the long tunnel.

Kassima's quiet laughter is deep enough to balance as she assures, equally
soft at the start, "An extra point for uniqueness as well as flavor, 'twill
give you... and 'twill say naught about the latter, but rather," her voice
rising, "marvel at that young man's hurry."

"Can't blame him. Warmer in there - but... what's the word? 'bracing' out
here. Imagine the information network if one got all of Keara's relations
working together, too..." and raising jacket collar's the only concession
he makes to the cold. "Anything you want to - or are willing to - share,
those 'memoirs' and all?"

Kassima adds as an afterthought, if not an unimportant one, "'Tis honored I
am t'get t'be the first t'sample, I should mention. And I can have the rest
of it, too? All for me?" Her turn to be as a child poorly-hiding eagerness,
and never mind that it's unlikely anyone else would *want* a
previously-sampled mint stick. "Auri's relations would be more impressive
if'n she's t'be believed. Which must indeed be something. And they aren't
much yet," she next admits, casting a rueful glance to her book, "since
I've only gotten down m'Candidacy and Impression, with a few random
comments besides. You can read if'n you like. Just be warned that I blame
you for it in the start."

"All for you," I'sai promises, "...Unless Slither-son comes out and steals
it away, I suppose, and we're unable to vanquish him. Not that -that- would
happen. And tell me about our dear Weyrsecond's relations - " a pause, a
grin, "_after_ I raid _this_."

"I'll settle his hash if'n he shows up again," Kassi promises in an
affected, dire tone, shaking her mint-onna-stick at I'sai. "Particularly
if'n he tries t'take away m'lovely, minty present. I'll tell you what I
know, which isn't much--but far be it from me t'distract you from reading,"
and she obediantly passes the book, eyes dancing with lighter glints.

I'sai all but glitters - and not gold - at _that_ reply; and he's quick to
take it up, tilt it to the slanting sun and search out first the beginning
and then... deeper in.

Kassima tries not to fidget or show signs of anxiousness--and she'd do
credibly if it weren't for twisting the stick 'round and 'round. Well, that
and leaning to try and see what pages, precisely, he's looking at.

I'sai, reading fairly slowly - if with brow-wiggles here and there designed
to torment a certain someone who's waiting - murmurs with eyes lowered: "I
wonder whether this counts as finding it, hm? Found you, and you had it - "
but then he puzzles over another bit of handwriting, dim as the light is,
and finally straightens before continuing: "I like that it's for ours, you
know. It's - different; special," and there's -his- getting named in the
first sentence, too. He reads on.

It's interesting handwriting to read, anyway; not chicken-scratch, not even
poor, but full of swirls and flourishes. Kassi makes an inarticulate sound
of exasperation at the evil wiggling. "Nay quite the finding I meant, but
it does technically count... 'twas just something I thought might be a good
idea." Trying not to be flustered in the least. "I just wish I were a
better chronicler--what're you reading now?"

"Mm-ph. The story of you torturing a certain wingleader-to-be," I'sai fibs,
ill-controlling the glee at that -noise- of hers; "...I like the
teeth-and-screech bit. That has a ring to it, it does. Does Lysseth like it?"

Kassima's chortle isn't quite heartless, but certainly wicked. "He's
probably thinking everyone's *forgotten* about that incident." Bereft of
anything but her stick, she can't hit him for the glee, so will have to
settle for aiming a poke at his ribs. "You know Lysseth. She's downright
pleased with herself at the memory of being the terror of the Sands, even
if'n most of the memory is mine."

Kassima pauses a moment. Then, "Though, I'd meant t'ask; speaking of that
Wingleader--"

That poke disrupts his hasty paging back to see exactly what that accident
really was - and I'sai just laughs softly, pale eyes a little distant. "I
see; Tear - Hm?"

Kassima squints at the page with just a hint of suspicion. Still--"Tear
what? Don't let me be interrupting your tithe train of thought,
particularly since I'd like t'be knowing what 'twere going t'say." She's
smiling, perhaps at the laughter. "I only wanted t'be knowing what happened
between you and Mart the other eve."

I'sai blinks, once, then readily enunciates: "'Tear'-a-lyth - he thought
that interesting. That must've been great, -seeing- them, not this fog
around you... well. Nobody was blooded." And, "Which one? Drills,
inspections, or the joke that went astray?"

"That's what I figured, about the name," and Kassi flashes a quick grin.
"'Twas curious how it tied t'him. I've always been glad that I saw her
Hatching...." Her voice trails off, sympathy invading. "It would've been
fine if'n you could've seen. A'course, I'd assume you saw Rinath's
Hatching, but the same 'tisn't--" On the second topic, "Whatever made him
charge from the workroom in a huff when you went in with that sack. Lysseth
found it curious enough t'mention it t'me, and I can't help but wonder how
you riled him so. Is this joke the answer?"

"It's not. Good in its own way - " and pride mingles with wistfulness in
his light voice as gently he closes the book's pages against the
all-but-fallen sun, but doesn't yet set it aside. "That. Well. I could say
it's my laundry and I gave him a whiff; but no, he was prying and so I
teased him about Ceria and it, ah. Well. Went a bit ...far. But we didn't
hear back, so," and I'sai's shrug speaks volumes.

Kassima takes a turn at wistfulness as it's her turn to agree: "'Twould be
wonderful t'see your dragon's hatchlings, but they can't match your
dragon." Needless, perhaps, to say. She nibbles on the mint. "Prying.
*Ceria*. This I'd like t'be hearing, methinks, from curiousity's sake. What
said you about Ceria that would incense him so? --I can't help but notice
that you're still alive, for good measure. Nay even any nightmares
concerning him going after you with an axe?"

Needless. As it is to point out that Rinath hasn't risen again, with their
dragonets now nearing six Turns old. "No nightmares," I'sai promises, and
slips shy from -those-; the merest twinkle finds those pale eyes, "...Let's
just say that he threatened to reassign all women of childbearing age to
other wings."

Perhaps she was spoiled by Taralyth, and doesn't want to risk being caught
by another male? Kassi seeks his eyes, faint concern darkening hers at the
avoidance, the invitation for talk clear. But for now, "Faranth, did you
threaten t'be bedding and impregnating all of them?" She blows out a breath
that commingles exasperation with deep amusement. "And he believed it?"

For now. I'sai stays with a slow, "...No-o, Ceria's name came up, around
the weyr-inspection idea - said Mart wouldn't want to see Myk's and mine,
see - and he just assumed... and then got the idea," wonder how? "that this
child, not that there is one, might be Myk's or mine and we weren't sure,
would have to wait and see how tall the kid got... and that's when the
reassigning idea came out."

I'sai clears his throat.

"Weyr inspections," Kassi mutters, her humor momentarily departed to be
replaced by distaste. "Anathema. Though," brightening back up, "I could
tell him that your weyr and Myk's isn't terrible at all; you don't even
have aught horrendously embarrassing hidden anywhere--" Now, how would she
know that? "A child, whose child? 'Twouldn't be ours, since you said there
isn't, and surely Ceria's nay ready t'be pregnant again *yet*. Faranth's
teeth." Kassi's not angry, nor appalled. She's trying hard not to laugh.
"How did he survive the fury you must've put him into?"

I'sai squints at her - but doesn't ask, settling for, "Right, he thought it
was Ceria's." Pause. "I think. He might not've. Not sure. Got to Ceri
first, before he got to her, and... like I said, he never -did- say
anything, so I just don't know. ...Lucky Ceria's so patient with me," and
on a number of counts, it would seem.

Kassima agrees dryly, "*Very* patient with you, since I don't think she
gets as much out of tweaking Mart's nose as you do--though I could be
wrong. But you two always have seemed particularly close, even for
clutchmates." A bit of wistfulness, a bit of regret, for her own
clutchmates passed. "...Mayhaps you should write your own memoirs, Is.
They'd likely be more interesting."

"She's my journeyman," I'sai says, as if that explained all, for all that
it's a touch rueful; "And no, no memoirs, no evidence. Nothing like that.
I'd -much- rather read yours. Which reminds me: we should get a better idea
about names, and I should pass on Kaylira's, ah, -message- back to you."

"That's right, you *were* a Baker," and the surprise suggests that Kassi
may honestly have forgotten. "I always forget 'tisn't a Harper 'twere.
You're welcome t'read all that's there for all of me, only it does break
off a bit suddenly right now; I'd just started on the story of how Kay came
t'be." Sort of. "Minus technical explanation," in case that weren't clear.
"Names, names are an *excellent* idea. It won't be long, y'know... but I'd
like t'be hearing this message first."

"I shall, then - perhaps after you finish that story?" I'sai requests upon
her confirmation. "And I'll give you her message. Only I want you to
promise something, first."

I'sai says "...Promise not to laugh."

Kassima agrees, "That'll do. Only give me a bit t'be finishing, if'n it
goes aught like the Impression story. I finished that more in bits than in
any smooth, uninterrupted episode." Too much to write about and remember in
one sitting--she lifts a brow at him. "Nay t'*laugh*. Well, 'twill try
m'best on that. But if'n it comes between laughing or exploding, I'd rather
have the first option. Less mess."

"Laughing over exploding," I'sai agrees gravely, and hands her back her
book, thereafter rolling up his sleeves as if to some arduous chore, no
light matter in winter's growing chill. He does steal a moment and a
glowbasket with it, though, casting jaundiced light about the stone - and
assumes the position: shoulders out, chin up and brows down, one fist
braced at belt and the other held forefinger-up on high. And squints at
her: laughing yet?

Kassima accepts the book with a gracious nod, slipping it into her satchel
and settling in to listen. Or watch. The position, finger especially,
garners him wide eyes--and an abruptly bitten lip. No, not yet, but the
longer he stays in that stance the lower the chance of things staying that
way.

I'sai holds it another long moment - another - and then affects a facsimile
of Kaylira imitating someone else: her mother, an auntie? but tenor can't
quite strain into soprano: "Mo-_ther_. You have to take _care_ of yourself.
Be _good_ and don't over_do_."

Kassima isn't supposed to laugh at this? Oh, cruel requirement--but she
tries, she tries, and if her eyes laugh on their own, surely she can't be
blamed. "But I do take care of m'self," she protests in a mirth-strangled
voice. "When do I ever overdo, young lady?"

I'sai confides scratchily, "Actually, she asked me to scold you, but she
didn't say how - " and then lifts voice and shaking finger up again:
"Whenever I leave you a-_lone_. Have to keep an _eye_ on you. Going to the
_Lava_ Lounge and all. That's how you got the - the - " and now he's
coughing, laughing, something.

"*Scold* me!" Kassi isn't outraged, but clearly finds this outrageous. Or
at least outrageously funny. "Scold *me*--oh, I'll get m'own back with that
lass in time, you'd better bet, even if'n there isn't a chance at the
Hatching." Back to the game; back to watching the finger. "I'm nay *alone*,
and I can keep an eye on *m'self*, and I've nay been to the Lounge in an
age--" She can't reply to that last by doing anything but covering her
face, trying desperately to hold to her promise.

I'sai, given his open mouth - enough to catch tunnelsnakes in, never mind
spinners or crawlies - is poised on the verge of continuing; but now and
again there's a promise he won't incite someone else to break, and this
time he just says with undue delight, "I'll have to thank her for this.
It's better than -tickling-; you get a running start."

Kassima looks up with shoulders shaking, face red, and eyes bright with
merriment even if it isn't vocally expressed; she says, "You are a wicked,
wicked, *wicked* man, which I'd admire if'n you weren't costing me so much
breath," only she certainly does talk a lot for someone out of breath,
doesn't she? "I *do* thankee for nay tickling, at least. I couldn't
retaliate half as well as you deserve at the moment--but don't you doubt
I'd find a way t'be catching you! How much of that did you actually get
from Kay?"

"Breath, marks," I'sai shrugs with something of a grin; and, "...Well, she
told me to scold you; and... I forget exactly what-all; I'd had to go, see,
so there wasn't much time. She seemed to be doing well, though. Wasn't
slaving away on the living caverns' floor, either."

"Can't imagine what inspired her t'think I needed scolding," Kassi murmurs,
just shaking her head in bemusement before grinning back to him. "There are
worse costs. I'm glad t'hear it, though--that scoundrel of a girl hasn't
sent word; I'll probably have t'be collaring her t'learn aught. But she
can't have done aught too terrible. They'd have sent her home." Abandoning
that thought, "Thankee for the news, Is. 'Twouldn't have imagined I'd ever
miss the little minx so much."

"Is that something you want me to tell her?" I'sai half-teases. "That you
miss her, not the collaring; I'd hate to give her warning. I suspect -
because I'm a man and I know these things, y'understand," which is to say,
not - "she's liking to think herself all grown-up and all, so wants to
mother -you-. A little. From a safe distance. That, or get me into trouble,
hey?"

Kassima snorts with amusement. "You can tell her about the missing *and*
the collaring if'n you like. 'Tis sometimes more fun t'chase fleeing prey."
No, the grin she flashes doesn't show too many teeth at all, why? "You're
probably right enough--about being a man, about her reasoning, both of
them, though I don't know that you're right about being right *because*
you're a man."

"And men know these things," I'sai fibs further, comfortable as his
returning grin, his lean against the stone near her. "Don't know if I'll be
able to get back before their hatching, but if I do, anything else I should
quiz her about?"

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Kassima sing-songs, waggling her finger at
him. "I want t'know so much 'tis hard t'narrow it down t'questions--what's
she done, what trouble has she got into, what are the other Candidates
like? I won't have time t'be asking her at the Hatching itself, and I doubt
there'll be much time after, whatever the result." Her sigh is slightly
wistful. "Ah, well... but you mentioned names, a'fore you nearly killed me
from choking on snickers?"

"Done, trouble - _that's_ easy - other candidates, one of 'em's a girl
Taralyth knows from Fort, even - and names, names. I still like Kansin or
Katastrophai, you know," I'sai teases.

Kassima groans at the names, and pantomimes hitting him with something for
all that she has nothing--even that mint stick finally disappeared a time
ago, a testimony to its tastiness. "*Katastrophai*. If'n Lyss or Taralyth
had a P in their names, I *might* grant that since they had a claw in
things in a fashion, but without? Nay, nay, nay. And Kataklysm wouldn't
*quite* work either, would it?" She heaves a beleaguered sigh. "How we'll
ever decide, I don't know."

I'sai sighs - there, for proud Kataklysm; alas. Yet, "...Hmm. Throw darts?
Have your littles throw darts. Skip rocks and whichever bounces the most
wins. Tie them to ... something that floats and whichever floats best,
wins. Yell 'em out loud and whichever echoes the most wins. Sell tickets:
whoever spends the most marks gets to name the baby... out of names that
-we- provide, of course."

"Should I have them throw darts at you?" Kassi inquires, innocence and
mischief warring, and it's not hard to tell which will win out. "Well,
a'course out of names we provide. Otherwise we might end up with a son
named Tiffany. In more seriousness--have you any preferences, thoughts? I
don't think there'll be that much more time a'fore we need t'have decided."

"Y'think? Seems as if we should have at least a couple sevendays - three -
one - something - let's see." I'sai ticks off, "Actually sound like our
names, sorry Taralyth; multiple syllables, especially if it's a boy so it
can contract; start with the Fortunate Letter," and here he tips her a nod,
"...And have a particularly _memorable_ nickname."

Kassima murmurs, shaking her head slightly, "Mayhaps one sevenday,
*mayhaps* more, but 'twould be surprised." Folding her hands across her
abdomen, she nods along with each point. "Lyss will get over the
disappointment," is her dry agreement. "Memorable nickname. I hadn't
considered that, but it seems fitting, lest he or she fall behind his or
her siblings Ice and Ill."

I'sai eyes that abdomen, as if awaiting those hands' bouncing free from a
particularly gleeful kick; "...Couldn't have that," I'sai agrees, rather
smugly. "And -you-, I mention it to ahead of time. 'Kaisin' sounds too much
like those dried grapes outta Benden."

I'sai says "Barely."

Kassima's hands may indeed be nudged a bit by a kick or two, but kicked
off, no; it may be that she has a good idea of the wicked child's strength.
"Faranth forbid," she concurs with more amusement than smugness. "Well,
well, if'n we're having something memorable start with *K*, there aren't
that many things we can use. A'course, we could always stick K t'your
nickname and see how it turns out?" More amusement there. "Farath. The poor
lad would probably end up purple and wrinkled."

"Probably will anyway," I'sai teases. "Let's see. Kis? Kiss - like Kass,
but not - Kissi, Kisai, Kisbye, Kismai..."

Kassima makes a fist in mock threat. "Only if'n purple and wrinkled runs on
*your* side of the family, in which case 'twould have had t'have skipped
you--assuming we mean after he's been in the world a bit. Red and wrinkled
at first, now, that's just t'be expected." The Kalifornia Raisin, though,
he or she hopefully would not be. "Kiss. Faranth help her--or him--worse
if'n 'tis a him; a man named Kiss... still, there's something appealing
about the evil of it. Kisai, I like that for a lass. But *Kisbye*...." She
affects a loud, good-humored groan to make it clear what she thinks.

"Sort of like flutterby," I'sai teases, pretending to duck away from that
fist; "...And if I'm not careful, it'll be 'Kis-die.'"

"Now, now, we already agreed nay t'be naming the kidlet aught like
'Shard-you-I'sai,'" Kassi points out, not even bothering with a straight
face--or with the fist. She will, however, rumple his hair most mercilessly
if she can reach it before she ducks away. "Back t'business, evil creature,
at least long enough for us t'be finding a male name?"

"'Shard-me-Kasain'?" I'sai tries, attempting futilely to straighten his
heretofore immaculate braids; "Evilth. Kaisan. Kaispan. So On and So
Forth... wait, those must be twins."

Kassima tugs cheerfully at one of those once-perfect braids before
relenting and releasing. "'Shard-you-I'sai' or 'Shard-me-Kasain' could
always be a nickname," she sweetly suggests. "As much as I *like* Evilth,
methinks Kaisan would be m'choice of those; or Kisain, Kasain, Kisman...
Kiss-Man, there'd be a nickname for you. I don't think 'twill be obliging
you with twins, sadly."

"Maybe next time," I'sai teases without heat, the more so once he has his
scalp back in order - though he's not above rubbing it, for show - "Kisman.
The poor -lad-; let's not even get into whether that means kiss or be
kissed. That's an option. Kisain, Kasain, Kisain, Kasain. Hm. Which of the
two do you like better?"

Kassima flutters her lashes at him, putting on a momentary simper. "Oh,
*Is*, I'll look forward to getting a start on that next time with bated
breath and stilled heart." Her snicker is as much for his hair as for her
own performance; its mirth continues on in her voice. "Kasain lacks the
nickname, unless we called him Sain--which we *could*, only it might get
confusing with yours."

"Stilled heart, yeah, -that'd- be enticing," I'sai teases, not a little
admiration for her acting; and, "Besides. Would you really consider a son 
of mine sane?"

"Only if'n you're a necrophiliac," Kassima concedes, with a sigh of deep
disappointment. "Alas, alas, I doubt that you are, and so I can but dream."
She peeks through her forelock with woebegone eyes; how's her acting now?
"Probably nay. Any more than I'd consider a son of mine sane, with the
possible exception of Kris."

I'sai puffs a breezy breath towards that forelock - dream away! - and, with
interest as airy, "Does that mean that your daughters are, or aren't?"

Kassima manages, and do not ask her how, to *giggle* as her hair is
disarrayed. It's a rather un-Kassish sound, one she follows up with a more
honest snort of laughter. "You've met Kaylira," she points out to him.
"Can't you answer that question?"

There's a moment of wide-eyed marvelling... after which I'sai promptly
tries it again - puff! poof? - "Oh, but I wouldn't dream of -judging-," he
readily defers. "Your daughter, after all. Until you judged first, mind."

Kassima has to clear her throat first, but she manages another giggle and a
mock-shy peek at him. It's like the Pillsbury Dough Boy gone horribly
wrong. "You're a wise man," she grants him, one of those eyes giving up the
innocent appearance long enough to wink. "All right, all right--they've
really been distressingly sane, all told. At least Khari could be
considered eccentric, and Kimlyn's showing signs of being a plotter of
evil, but Kay's only borderline *insane*. Such a terrible pity."

"Give her time, give her time; who knows, maybe a hatchling'll help," I'sai
teases, and if that bun's about done - "Besides, you still have her birth
to write about before you can show it to me, right?"

"I'll hope so. 'Twould make her so *happy*," and in Kassi's voice and eyes
is that hope every mother has for the happiness of their children. "True
enough! I promise, though--'twill leave out the worst of the things I
called T'lar and men in general. Your tender ears are too young."

[Editor's Note:  At this point, Is had to idle, so I'm assuming that 
the chars continued chatting until Kassi dragged him off to the 
Infirmary. ;) ]