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Blood and Gold


Date:  September 24, 2004
Place:  Telgar Weyr's Central Bowl and Feeding Grounds
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:  As with the past few classes, mentors are allowed to 
teach their mentees the first hunting lesson outright, and Kassi 
takes advantage of that to pass her dubious wisdom along to V'lano 
while Lysseth treats Volath to a more claws-on demonstration. ;)  
This was a blast!  Lots of dragon interplay as well as posing RP.
I do recommend, though, that those who are easily grossed out by 
gory eating poses give this one a skip. ;)

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The Log:

Volath comes out of the weyrling barracks.

V'lano comes out of the weyrling barracks.

Lysseth backwings for a landing.

Kassima lounges against the fence that separates the Bowl proper from the
Feeding Grounds, not looking towards the Lake from whence her lifemate
comes. Her hand still rises, though, just as Lysseth backwings to as
delicate a landing as dragon-size will allow, finding that green muzzle to
caress almost as easily as she'd find her own hand. "I *told* you the fish
wouldn't be enough," she chides, amusement giving her voice yet more of a
lilt.

Approaching footfalls presage the approach of two beings: on speedy but
unstrained legs comes V'lano out in front, more than three-quarters of the
way through a late trip around the Bowl. Volath, loping much more lazily a
safe distance behind, barely even trots, the length of his legs plenty by
now to overtake his rider if he carelessly nudged up the pace. Instead he
slows, raising a curious nose in the direction of the landing green. A low,
soft-throated whurble suffices for an unintrusive greeting.

Lysseth's wings furl and unfurl with an impatience echoed in the spastic
lashing of tail's end, and her eyes have taken on tiny flecks of hungry
red, but the warble with which she greets the younger and still-smaller
bronze is melodious for all of that; she even settles into peace. Briefly.
It is not something destined to last. "V'lano and Volath," Kassima likewise
greets with pleasure. "Now this is timing--or did the lady call you? Her
Sky-Rulership is of a mind t'hunt, y'see, and that has the potential t'be
serendipitous. Have Is and Tear or one of their assistants already provided
that lesson?"

Volath makes another of his rare sounds, this one a sharp series of
clickish noises that roll together into a growl, lilting up at the end in
mimicry of human questioning. V'lano, nearly all the way past before his
lifemate's remark and Kassima's greeting register in his ears, skids to a
stop, then reverses and jogs closer to the wingleader. "I don't know," the
young man admits. "Did she call you?" A sparkling-dark gaze is flicked
toward Volath, but the young bronze just eyes the green with unrestrained
interest, craning his neck upward to attempt a level or downward look at
Lysseth despite her extra stature. V'lano's attention follows his
dragonet's. "Hungry," he figures upon considering Kassima's lifemate, a
hint of a question in it. "No, not yet. Volath's only just starting to eat
properly instead of snacking three, four times in a daytime." The human and
dragon whuff almost simultaneously, one in affectionate derision and the
other in indifferent dismissal.

Kassima's head takes on an inquisitive tilt at that sound; if Lysseth can
serve as interpreter, she isn't. Perhaps she's preoccupied by ensuring that
her own posture is drawn up enough that while Volath may be permitted a
level look into red-sparked blue facets, 'downward' will simply not, yet,
be possible. "Don't you get enough of that sort of thing with Daikoth?" the
rider murmurs, receiving absolutely no response whatsoever. "She is," she
confirms. "Is he, or has he eaten? We're--mentors--allowed by the
Weyrlingmaster t'teach this one lesson. If'n he'd like t'learn--" A sudden
grin. "Or if'n you'd like t'stop having t'fuss over food. There's a certain
independence in it for the dragons, when they can take care of that
particular need with their only resort t'you being as the person who mops
blood from their hide after."

"What kind of thing?" V'lano grins wryly at the ranking rider, lifting a
hand to smooth hairs at the back of his regularly-cropped curls while the
smile turns a little less brash than it started out to be. "He's a bit.
I've tried to keep him off from feeding since morning - some of the others
started whole carcasses a sevenday or more ago and I - well, I worry." Or
someone's told him to worry. The hand slides around the side of his neck
and consciously down the side of his jacket, fingertips lingering
momentarily over the Icemelt patch before dusting back down to his side. "I
think it'd do him good." Volath affords his rider a long, solemn look from
one deep-blue eye, the edges of which are only beginning to tease with
swirls of red. Hungry all day indeed.

"Status games. Daikoth has apparently gotten the notion somewhere that he
was born to be superior to m'lady, an idea," Kassi admits, not without some
pride and fondness, "that she'll stand for from nay anyone. Particularly
nay when the main argument is one of size." Lysseth snorts--indeed
not!--and turns her gaze back towards the milling beasts just beyond, her
tail taking up that pattern again. Flick. Flick. Flick. "I shouldn't think
'tis a cause for worry. He'll start when he's ready; 'twould be
ill-advised," and now her green eyes move to study the young bronze,
thoughtful, "for him t'do it if'n *he* feels he isn't." Now she addresses
the dragon directly: "Volath, would you like t'hunt? If'n you find you're
nay of a mind t'finish eating a kill, I assure you, we can deal with that.
And if'n you'd rather wait, nay worries there either." If there's a hint of
a smile for the patch, for the touch of it, her tone remains a serious one.

Volath has no recollection of a certain yawning, bronze maw looming over
V'lano's head; even if the experience was shared, he'd have forgotten it by
now. Still, there's something reminiscent of that moment in the young
bronze's thoughtful contemplation of Kassima, followed by an opening of his
mouth in a casual, off-the-cuff display. On show: teeth, obviously capable
of rending. Throat, clearly of capacity to swallow large chunks of beast.
Jaw, flexible and powerful enough to joint a carcass without a butcher's
help. A low squeak escapes that mouth before it closes again and the
dragonet blinks a few times, just the inner eyelids. The idea is enough to
pique his interest, and his head lowers, eyes reddening by the moment. "He
thinks so," V'lano needlessly interprets. "I don't know about the whole
thing... we'll see." His lifemate ignores the skepticism.

There can be no doubt that Kassima has seen many dragon fangs in her life;
no doubt, indeed, that many of those displays were performed by her
lifemate, who's prompt in flashing her own long and most capable fangs.
There's no threat in the gesture. He's showing his, so she's showing hers.
"Put the teeth *away*, Lyss. He does look able--naught wrong with his
physical capability as best I can tell. Good fangs. Good claws. Good
flying--so, aye, we'll see." She pushes away from that fence, her posture
becoming just that degree less casual: this is business now. "Here's how
'twill go. Lyss will leap over this fence and circle the herd a time or
two, select a beast, make her kill--*neatly* and without *playing with the
food*, because she knows that's hazardous for an inexperienced hunter.
*Won't* she." Impassive rumble. Lysseth promises nothing. "He should circle
a bit above while she does, and watch. Then, if'n he feels ready, he should
make a kill of his own; if'n he doesn't, she'll demonstrate again. All clear?"

Kassima adds almost as afterthought, "She'll talk him through it too, most
likely, t'explain what she's doing and what nay t'do and all. This is a
lesson she can better deliver than me, since while I've certes killed and
gutted things--as, I imagine, have you--I haven't often used bare teeth and
nails t'do it." Amusement there.

"Wait a tick - " V'lano grins, again sheepish, and clears his throat.
Finally he has Volath's full attention, who even turns some of his body
toward the young man to attend to the relay of instructions with additional
imagery of the desired process for clarity's sake. Just as the bronzeriding
weyrling remarks, "I think we're ready," the dragonet turns his
increasingly intent and increasingly red-hued gaze upon Lysseth, no longer
struggling to keep his neck high and eyes low. After a second, he looks
past her at the herd beyond, flicking his wings outward just enough to
flicker the sails in the late light. "Very ready," V'lano sighs patiently.
"You're making him hungry."

Kassima flashes him a grin in return, understanding: "Nay worries. And so I
see--all right, then! You can go now, lump," which is all the cue Lysseth
needs, and the green is aloft almost before her rider finishes speaking,
clearing the fence with nimble ease.

Lysseth springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence and into the
feeding grounds, where she settles again.

"You call her lump and get away with it?" V'lano chortles, his shoulders
easing a bit as Volath backs up for a kickoff, wings spreading as he lifts
higher to watch Lysseth's form and method from above. The butcher's son
watches the young bronze ascend, then steps up toward the fence to lean a
hand on it. "I wouldn't dare say that to Volath - at least not out loud.
Not with someone listening," he muses.

Volath springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence and into the
feeding grounds, where he settles again.

In the Feeding Grounds, Lysseth swings into a wide, almost lazy circle
above the grounds with the same ease and grace with which she lept, all the
blue leaving her eyes as she surveys those bellowing beasts below--already
scattering, all-too-aware in that dim bestial way of what a dragon's shadow
across the moonlight may mean for their future longevity. Her path follows
the stampede from above through an arc of that first circle--by the second,
she's made her choice, and begins flying lower to drive that one away from
its herd-minded herdmates.

In the Feeding Grounds, Volath's wings loft him with slow but powerful
beats until he's a good, safe bluelength above the hunt below. Flying
uneven, shapeless circles, he cranes his head downward as best he can,
watching with interest as the herd scatters. A question strikes up in his
mind, a flash of light in smooth darkness. << How do you choose one? Does
it look... most good to eat? >> Sudden but not impatient, the query is not
pressing, almost apologetic after the fact for such distraction.

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth reaches to touch your mind. It's not an
ungentle touch, though her mental pattern is a thing of spiked crystals
edged by hunger, and the copper-red of bloodlust and anticipation has
washed over her normally cool colors. << What you hunt, >> she says, her
voice much like her rider's save that it is lower and almost entirely free
of a certain lilt, << should depend on your hunger; the humans do not like
waste. If you are not very hungry, a wherry or caprine should suffice. I am
*very* hungry and will be hunting the larger beasts. >> A flickered image
follows, of the large bovine male she pursues. << With these you must watch
for their hooves and their horns, if they have them. Those can do you harm.
Since my rider has so pointedly requested it, I'll make the kill
quick--watch close. >>

"You don't want t'hear what *she* calls *me* sometimes when I do," Kassima
says, eyes dancing. "Nay, I tease. 'Tis m'nickname for her from when she
was very little, though she *prefers* 'Sky-Lady' and 'Her Magnificence' and
all the rest. For some strange reason." She's leaning on the fence again,
though this time with both elbows to watch the dragons fly. "He does seem
rather proud. Flying well, too--your practices have gone smoothly?"

In the Feeding Grounds, Lysseth continues to fly lower--lower--until she's
almost on top of the running bull, and when the dust that flies from his
hide threatens to catch on hers, her foreclaws lash out to catch him and
her wings snap in to bring both her and the snared beast to the ground in a
sudden drop. Though gouged, the bull still lives until the green rakes her
claws across his throat, almost tearing his head clean off with the force
of the blow. His struggles stop abruptly then. Satisfied, she snarls once
and lowers her head to his belly, nudging aside stilled legs almost
contemptuously to clear the way for the first tearing bite.

Dragon> Volath bespoke Lysseth with << Ah, not wasteful. I will have to
learn how hungry I can be. >> It ripples with amused self-satisfaction. 
<< I watch. >>

In the Feeding Grounds, Circling lazily in a thankfully uncluttered sky,
Volath makes yet another vocalization: a low rumble of appreciation for
such hunger. He's beginning to learn the potential for a deeper
satisfaction, that of a truly empty belly being filled rather than
constantly appeased with little tidbits. His wings shiver in the evening
wind, shoulder-muscles trembling in anticipation.

"He's the leader in this game. He... " The weyrling shakes his head,
transfering his lean from the palm of his hand to an elbow on the fence,
turned sideways to half-attend to the hunt and half-attend to his mentor.
"He's driven. Competitive, even. I'm learning from him. I wouldn't have
thought I had it in me." More reflection is interrupted by a wince at the
attack upon the bovine, and V'lano watches in mute wonder as the pair, prey
and predator, tangle to the ground.

In the Feeding Grounds, Above, the young bronze watches too, his wings
twitching out, then in while the work of flight is carried by a soaring
updraft. His rear legs also test movements much like Lysseth's, a practice
stretch to catch imagined supper on horrified, fleet feet below.

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth's mind is flooded anew with crimson,
and some of the scent of recently-living hide, the sweet-salt taste of the
flesh, and the feel of thick liver sliding down the throat are all carried
in her sending. If there's concern over whether he's hungry enough for a
full beast, she's certainly willing to do her part to help. << They will
take what meat they can if you leave some. Certainly there are
small-cousins in plenty to eat--that is what my rider meant, saying that a
half-eaten beast could be tended to. But it is better when you can eat your
fill and no more. >> A long pause while she eats, the blood-hue turning
darker and richer with her satisfaction. << When you fill yourself, you
will *need* to eat less often. But you are still growing and will need to
hunt more than I would. The meat in the belly is some of the best--you saw
what I did? There are several ways to kill, but taking out the throat is
one of the fastest. It is safest not to eat until they are dead or at least
too weak to struggle, lest they manage to kick you. >>

Kassima mutters in response to something inaudible, "As if'n you wait until
they're dead even half the time, terrible creature." Yet even such awful
eating habits are spoken of with wry affection; this is her partner, and
she is as she is. "Impression changes almost everyone soon or late. Have
you seen it in others? I'm very, very little like the person 'twas a'fore
she found me, and much of it's her doing, if'n nay all. He'll learn from
you, too. 'Tis part of growing together into a pair." She doesn't seem too
fazed by the scene of carnage. Even now, though, her nose wrinkles slightly
as her dragon slurps up a string of intestine. "I doubt 'twill be a problem
with you, by the by, but if'n watching him makes you feel nauseated at all,
don't be ashamed t'look away. You'd certes nay be the first."

In the Feeding Grounds, Lysseth makes fairly neat work of her kill, biting
off choice parts and downing them, not even lingering too long over the
heart, head, or flank. Her jaws are well-able to pulverize bone, and do.
When she's finished there's little more than a splash of blood against the
dark ground, even that soon to fade into one more of Turns of such stains,
and she rocks back on her haunches to look up to the young dragon still in
the sky. Her rumble is half-imperative, half-encouragement: ready? Because
it's his turn.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Volath's mind ripples with the effect of that
bloody sending, appreciating, then reflecting the hunger and satisfaction
as if shuddered on the surface of a river. << If I leave some. >> A pause,
then, illumination: << To butcher! They would use the rest. But you are -
very hungry. This time, you will help. >> There's gratitude in this.

In the Feeding Grounds, For no reason, high above, the young bronze wheels
and pauses in midair, making a lazy and slow effort at a novice backwinging
to free up his form for a better look one way, then the other. No other
dragon watches, no other dragon listens, so Volath emits a low, gracious
croon. His thank-you made, he wings up into the sky, then renews his
approach toward the ground, his evening-camoflauged shadow sending the
bovines running. Away from them he wheels, arcing with one wing low and one
high toward a cluster of caprines shocked into wakefulness by the late
hunt. Their narrow hooves strike mud up as several scatter. The dragonet
veers first one way, then another, making up an indecisive mind.

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth sends confirmation in fleeting gold: 
<< Precisely--and yes, >> with amusement now, gleaming through all that
scarlet. With the sharpest edge of her hunger gone, jewel-tones of
amethyst, sapphire, and emerald have begun to appear, though they still
have small part to play under the reign of ruby and garnet. << I will
finish if you need. It's no hardship, I can promise you. >> And because she
still watches, << You do not have to dither in the choosing--if one looks
good to you, take it! >>

"Well, I don't have any idea about you," V'lano grins sidelong. A brow
raises as the black-meat is consumed along with the clean, but the
butcher's boy doesn't look away. Low laughter makes his primary reply to
his mentor's solicitousness to his pride. "I... could do a cleaner job of
it myself." It has the character of something decided on at the last
moment, as if he might have almost said something else. "But I guess that's
not my place now. I'll be mopping his mouth off by midnight."

"Try and imagine me as a fourteen-Turn-old Holder lass in skirts," Kassima
suggests, a laughing glint in the eyes that flick towards him. "Sometimes
with flowers in her hair, blushing every other breath, bowing always
t'dragons. That'll tell you some of it." She shifts back into
teaching-mode, though still casual. "The bones are useful to 'em, y'know;
like milk for us as I understand it, keeping *their* bones strong. What
purpose the rest serves I'm nay precisely sure. But he'll process all he
takes, and you--unlike lucky me--will get t'clean up the result." Her right
brow twitches upwards as if to wonder whether there was a something else
and what it might have been, but vocally she doesn't question. Instead she
agrees, "Aye, and mayhaps more of him, depending. Lysseth sometimes gets it
all over herself. She doesn't really leave them alive *that* often, but
she's... ah... she enjoys eating very much and tends t'revel more in it
when I haven't told her t'behave."

In the Feeding Grounds, Lysseth flicks out her tongue to catch what of the
blood on her muzzle she can. It's an absent gesture, since most of her
attention remains on this one she's teaching--and a soft, rich rumble
answers his croon. Any beasts that threaten to come near *her* are easily
made to veer away by a sharp flash of bloodstained talon.

In the Feeding Grounds, So assured the excess won't go to waste, a
round-bellied caprine of just more than a Turn's maturity emerges as the
fleeing beast of choice. Volath spreads his wings low and wide, gliding
lower and lower hot on the little goatling's upflicked tail. A hillside
ahead of the creature changes his plans - unwilling to run upward toward
the sky, domain of death, the caprine turns sideways to flee. It's a
desperate gambit, and serves only to delay the inevitable: the young bronze
turns aside as well, the abruptness causing his outward wing to graze the
weedy pasture. An angry rumble punctuates Volath's next action - the
barely-practiced flash forward of his rear legs, all but meeting the
outstretched foretalons, all four trying to find purchase on the caprine's
back at once. The animal twists and falls with a squeal, kicking for dear
life. Volath yanks his wings in to save them from further clumsiness and
leans heavily into one leg, pinning the beast so he can free up a forepaw
and mimic Lysseth's slash. With enthusiasm, he opens the creature's throat,
silencing any other complaints it might have made.

"I'm trying," laughs V'lano, squinting at the greenrider as his spare hand
finds his hip. He leans heavier into the fence and turns his gaze back
toward the hunt when Kassima turns the conversation back that way. "Or like
bonemeal for - " His elbow jerks up off of the fence as Volath's wingspar
touches the grassy ground, and the young man sucks in a breath of surprise
more than pain, silenced again to watch the proceedings.

"Good!" Kassima exclaims when the kill's been made, for all her wince at
the wingtip-brush, and Lysseth's decidedly approving rumble echoes that
sentiment. "That's a good way t'do it, catching with all legs. Once he's
sure of himself, his technique, and his weight, he can break their backs
that way too--land on 'em just so; snap the spine just so. And some dragons
favor lifting 'em up and then letting them fall. He does well. Is the
wingspar injured?" Her eyes stay mostly on the bronze and his wing in
question, but she spares a grin at rider, too, and adds, "Picture the hair
down while you're at it; might make it easier. Only waist-length or so
then, though. 'Twas really quite a silly lass."

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth agrees with her rider's assessment. 
<< Excellent kill, well-made. You'll master those veering maneuvers in 
time. They can come in useful for other things, >> other kinds of hunt, 
other kinds of quarry, though she won't speak of those to one still so 
young. << As my rider tells yours, there are other ways of killing too; 
you'll have plenty of chance to practice. >>

In the Feeding Grounds, Lysseth now cleans blood from between her talons as
fastidiously as any feline. The nearest cluster of frightened, shocked
animals is given a hunter's stare, but... no. She seems content to wait and
see first whether Volath can finish his meal.

"I don't... think so." V'lano rubs at the elbow with tentative fingertips,
testing for real pain. "It feels scraped. It'll need salve, but I don't
think anything broken or very deep." Frank amazement turns his expression
blank, jaw slack, as he watches the bronze begin the meal; a slight twitch
of a threatened smile curves the corner of his mouth nearest the
greenrider, and he steals a short look at her despite his distraction,
perhaps imagining her with flowing, flower-laden tumblefree locks.

Kassima nods to this, evidently satisfied. "Make sure one of the
Weyrlingmaster team sees it, so they know what happened and in case they
think a Dragonhealer should look at it, but I doubt too 'tis aught major.
The scrapes and bumps do happen--probably at least one of his clutchmates
had the same thing. They get better at this with practice, same as
everything else." She turns her head enough to give him a grin that's
almost impish. "And he will get the practice! But believe it or nay, at his
full growth, given that it should be considerable, he shouldn't need t'eat
very often at all. Once every few days. Once a sevenday; perhaps less,
perhaps more, depending on what he's been doing. But when he does eat he
might kill several beasts a'fore his stomach's full."

Dragon> Volath bespoke Lysseth with << I am not in pain. >> Flustered,
driven, and heated, the young dragon's thoughts are the ruddied ones now,
the light-on-darkness rippling on a flow of fresh-spilled meat-blood. The
notion of other things goes right past him, so distracted is the
usually-attentive dragonet. << Now what - >>

In the Feeding Grounds, Now that he has the beast, the young bronze isn't
entirely sure what to do with it. He has the one forepaw still clutched
over the draining throat, becoming bloodied as the arterial spurts weaken
into a steady flow. The hindleg's still pinning the animal at its
now-lifeless back, forcing Volath into an oddly twisted position over the
prey. His head cocks a bit, 'listening' in his fashion to his elder's
advice, and as he formulates a reply his nostrils flare and he inhales a
deep, dragony breath. That's enough: the smell of meat, of fresh blood. He
extracts both sets of talons from the caprine and backs a step away from
it, then bends his head to sink bared fangs into the beast's soft hide and
tear out a first, random bite of whatever comes out of the animal's middle.

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth rides the blood-river with him, sending
wordless encouragement with just a bare touch of ferocity in it--directed
at the beast, the dead thing, the *prey*, not him. << Yes, >> she says as
he eats, the word slightly hissed. << Just so. It's like eating the
half-carcasses my own says have been given, except warmer--fresher-- >>
Yes, she's definitely still hungry. << Crunch the bone well, and be sure to
try the heart. I think you will find it delectable. >>

In the Feeding Grounds, Lysseth's rumble this time is half-growl but all
encouragement, as much so as if she were an overbearing but well-meaning
mother: eat, eat, eat! Save that such mothers would probably warble and
chirp sooner than growl at all. Say rather then that she is a
fellow-predator pleased by the destruction and consumption of prey, and
you'll be more on the mark even if that mentorial manner is present too.

In the Feeding Grounds, Obedient after crunching down a strange bite of
lower rib and upper digestive organs, the pancreases a slightly-chewy but
new experience for the young dragon so far raised on only the bits V'lano
saw fit to feed him, Volath peers toward the lounging green, then back
toward the fenceline. After a jerk of confusion, the bronze's human laughs
sharply and unleans from the fence, lifting a hand to thump at the middle
of his chest. So instructed, Volath bends again to his feast, this time
tearing a mouthful out of the region most likely to contain the caprine's
stilled heart.

"She loves the heart," Kassima comments with a low laugh, interpreting that
gesture. "Trust her t'be recommending it. How's he finding it? He seemed
t'enjoy the hunting part well enough--"

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Volath is, after a moment's chewing on this
second, instructive bite, pleased to report in glinting, blood-stained
talon-whip hues, << Yes. >> The heart is firm, good for a little chewing
yet possessed of meaty texture instead of crunchiness, and the taste is
gamey but sweet. << My V'lano would not let me fill my mouth so full! >>
Exhorting the ability to talk while eating, without thinking of it quite
that way, he smugs also, << I should have tried this sooner. >> Gratitude,
for making it so at last.

"Oh, he's happy enough," V'lano grins, but his gaze shifts sidelong onto
the greenrider as he lowers both palms to the fence once more. Shoulders
hunching forward to convey interest in his lifemate's experience, he
swallows - hard - to send off some of those associations of eating meat raw
before asking, more lowly, "It's really all right for him to eat the gut?
Unwashed?" A pause. "Should I be... tending to how much he stuffs himself?"

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth sends laughter to him, but not of the
mocking variety--shared pleasure rather in hunt and prey, blood and heart,
kill and meal. << Fresh, this way, the blood tastes finer, >> she offers as
opinion, << and meat is far better warm than cold. So long as you chew
still, >> not really a caution; she trusts him to be old enough to have
better sense, << and do not eat more than fills you, there is no reason you
cannot fill your mouth as you want and eat as you please. Now you will
always be able to do this, so long as you are healthy. You will not need to
be brought dead bits again. >> She accepts that gratitude, shines back a
gleam of pride. He does well. She is glad to claim his teaching.

Kassima grins back. "Had a feeling," she tells him. With Volath eating and
Lysseth watching, she seems more willing to turn her eyes away to look
back; they dip as her chin does when she nods. "It's nay a very tasteful
thought for the likes of you or me," she admits, "but it doesn't hurt them.
Most predators I know of seem t'like the guts, right down t'fish. Easy
t'swallow, I suppose. This time and the first couple of times after, you
might want t'watch him and be sure he doesn't overdo--get caught up in the
experience--but instinct should guide him, now that he's older, so that you
won't have t'worry *so* much about overeating and thicktail. Soon he'll be
able t'eat when he wills without your even having t'watch, which should
free up a little more of your time. Nay that Is and his crew won't find
uses for it."

Dragon> Volath bespoke Lysseth with << That is exactly it! >> The young
dragon's mind flashes bright hot upon epiphany. << It is not dead bits. It
tastes alive. >> Triumphant to have grasped this level of understanding, he
shares a moment of relatively unrestrained adoration for such a clever
instructor, such a -presence- of note. << All food should be this way. >>

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth is warmed by the adoration--as who
wouldn't be?--and all the colors of her normal mindscape assert themselves
in a dazzle of crystal: purple, green, blue; silver lightning within, red
far beneath, and a thread of fire-gold at the heart of the blood-river. All
sparkle and flash her pleasure in the compliment and approval of him, and
her opinion that he is, particularly for a young one, quite clever and
discerning--perhaps not even only for his opinion of her. << When it still
lives when you bite into it, >> she shares, << then the blood runs hotter
and faster, but... it is more risky, that; and it is cruel. They say that
it is better to kill first. Often I do. Early on, at least, you should.
When you have more hunger, you can try the other meats--the ones that walk
on two legs taste different, >> with the image of wherries, << and the
larger beasts on four. All is good. >>

In the Feeding Grounds, Savoured, the heart is swallowed along with the
various parts that came along for the ride in that meaty bite. Volath bends
again to have another mouthful, nearly as much as he can manage, chewing as
much as necessary with a wary look at the green, swallowing after a couple
of last pointed chomps.

The eating continues, the good-natured and - for the moment, gracious -
bronze moving around to different parts of his kill to try this portion,
then that with an abstract interest in the different tastes and textures.
V'lano shakes his head at his lifemate's exploration and focuses instead on
the wingleader. "But I can see eating a fish whole - oh, you mean predatory
fish." The young man's mouth gives in to that twitchy smile, the curve
coming out lopsided on his lips. "So tell me how you came from being this
flower-bedecked long-haired lass to being Lysseth's primary insulter," he
dares.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Volath ponders this notion for a time, then
dapples agreement upon the possible superiority of blood still hot and
flowing, muscle-meat still pulsing in the mouth. Agreement is also
flickered upon for the risk of such a mealtime, the recent memory of the
small but sharp hooves of the caprine beneath him flailing every which way
in desperation toward the end of the animal's life conveyed as supporting
evidence. << I want this bite, >> he remarks on a tangential note, before a
particular gnawing of flank fills his young mouth with the lean meat he's a
little more accustomed to his rider hand-picking. Chewing with
satisfaction, he observes, << There is a lot left. Are you ready? >>

Lysseth's tail has begun to flick again as she gives serious thought to
making another kill, although the glance Kassi throws dissuades her at
least momentarily. "I don't actually want her t'fill," she confides to
V'lano by way of explanation. "In case Avrieth should want a demonstration
too." So Volath's query of the dragon is indeed well-timed. The green
abandons her post to walk to the other's kill, though she'll wait as is
only polite for him to move away before setting teeth to it. "Right," Kassi
meanwhile confirms, flicking a glance towards the Lake. "D'you fish much?
The entrails of other fish make excellent bait, the moreso since you don't
have t'dig for 'em and wouldn't eat 'em anyway. Oh, Faranth." She groans,
but there's laughter beneath it. "Ramoth's green children alone know the
whole truth of it, but 'twill try. I always had the knives. I've been
throwing since 'twas eleven and fighting--less well--since 'twas eight. The
only change there is that I wear 'em more openly. Some of the rest was
sheer necessity--trousers and leathers are so much more *practical* than
skirts," and she plucks at the leg of her trous by demonstration. "Y'know
already why I couldn't leave m'hair flying around loose. Or are you meaning
you want the story of Search and Impression?"

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth sends her own recent recall of larger,
sharper, stronger bovine hooves as a caution, and a dimmer
memory--rider-supported, perhaps--of wherries' claws. All have their
perils. << I am, >> she asserts, deep burgundy stealing to the fore. << If
you are certain you are finished? >>

Volath rises up and backs a few steps, then dips his head and lowers his
shoulders on bent forelegs before continuing his retreat from the kill, the
sum of the gesture echoing a candidate's bow on the sands or, at least, an
indication of respect of some kind. His rider meanwhile shakes his head,
his dragon's full belly and company with Lysseth allowing V'lano a moment
to have an actual human conversation. "I don't very well. Maybe it's tricks
like that I don't know that make me bad at it. - I get the idea your knives
and mine aren't for the same purpose, but - I wouldn't engage you, how's
that?" He chuckles and ducks his head in self-admonishment. "I think,
really, I'd like the story. But maybe I shouldn't quite now. I don't have
any way to take notes," a wink suggests possible foul play afoot there,
"And I think I should mop him down before bed."

Dragon> Volath bespoke Lysseth with << Quite so. >> The last bite, in fact,
is still being chewed - pleasantly, but with a very definite awareness that
it's going to be the last one. << I am... sticky. >> This noticed as the
young bronze backs a few more steps from his kill and finds his toes
wanting to clump together as the blood between them cools. Rippling with
faint pride and abashment, regardless of what was said earlier about
selecting an animal for size rather than flavor: << Tell me if I chose a
good one? >>

In the Feeding Grounds, Lysseth doesn't bow in return, but she does incline
her head to him: a nod of acknowledgment, and there's respect in it too,
that of one predator for one who is now--officially--another. When her head
dips again it's to take a sharp bite of the carcass, tearing muscle and
snapping bone. "I took fishing...." Kassima pauses. "Fishing of the usual
kind up as a hobby nay long after I left home, though I didn't get
t'practice much until Lyss was old enough and free enough to take us
places. If'n you want t'learn, there's a river at Bitra that's fair for it
if'n you don't mind the occasional shoe on your line--well, *some* of the
knives might be." Now her grin is definitely impish. "I often wear a
wherry-skewer. I'm nay that fearsome a fighter, either. But 'twill nay call
you out, nay worries. Though... wasn't it you and Claret who expressed
interest in learning the throwing, someday? Mayhaps at a later time." She
nods her understanding. "'Tis bloody late, with nay pun intended there.
Morning comes *early* for Weyrlings. Another time if'n you want? I'll be
around. With Thread gone, I can even say that without the least impulse
towards a caveat."

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth's first taste of the caprine has plenty
of bone in it, but there's enough meat for her to roll it about in her
mouth, testing the palate to form an opinion. << Yes, I think so--young
enough to be juicy, and much fat. The older ones are a bit stringier,
you'll find, but some of them have much muscle and that's good eating in a
different way. >> The crunching that underlies her eating also sounds
faintly through her sending, echoing and re-echoing. << If the blood dries
on you it will be more difficult to get it off. A swim after a meal is
good--or, >> amusement, << a washing by your rider, better yet. >>

"Could have been T'bay, but if it was before the Hatching - I've no idea."
V'lano seems unperplexed, even expectant to be confused with his holdmate
who was, at least until weyrlinghood, his opposite in form and feature.
He's quiet a moment, then, reflecting on the Thunderbolt leader's closing
remark. Cautiously, though through a grin, he agrees, "And I don't have to
extract from you some promise to come back whole, either."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Volath again shivers pleasure at what he takes,
anyway, to be a compliment upon his newfound skills. Upon needing washing,
he notes, << The water in the sleep-cavern is more fun. >> An image
accompanying this explains: the water in the sleep-cavern is more likely to
rouse other dragonets and riders with the splashing sounds of bathing, thus
inspiring a late-night water party of sorts, with splash-fights and
soap-sand sharing in abundance.

Kassima admits with rue, "I really don't know. It might nay even have been
Claret. Enough people make the comment that sometimes they slip m'mind if'n
they never bring it up again." Her shoulders roll in a helpless but rather
sheepish short of shrug, broken off by her amused snort. "Aye, and I don't
have t'come up with an excuse t'refuse t'promise! *How* many Threadfalls
without a 'score? But then I vow t'come back uninjured and low and
behold... methinks I jinxed m'self."

In the Feeding Grounds, Having completed this innocent oversharing, the
young bronze watches one last of the larger green's bites of the remains of
his kill, then turns and trots smugly across the pasture. Perhaps he gets a
little bit of a thrill out of the way the bovines carefully remain out of
his path, but the minor discomfort of bloodied talons inspires him to hop
into the air. A flap or two take him well over the gate and back down into
the bowl, whereat he lowers his head to breathe impatience in hot dragon
breath into V'lano's hair.

Volath comes here from the direction of the feeding grounds.

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth ripples laughter again, now deep blue
with silvery glints with much of her hunger satiated. No pity for those
sleeping dragons in her, at least not now; talk to her again when she's
trying to sleep and she might feel differently. << That works, >> she
agrees, << so long as it is none of the teaching dragons you rouse! >>

"But you came back. I'll let you off easy." As if it's his business to do
the letting off, but V'lano cocks his head slantwise a bit and smirks a
grin of merriment to soften the irreverence. His eyes roll upward as his
curls are tousled by his lifemate's breath. "Especially considering that I
have pressing business with umpteen me-lengths of dragon who's just
cavorted in his food." The smirk turns to an apologetic but pleased, easy
smile, and the weyrling very, /very/ belatedly adds a salute to the mix.
"Thank you, mentor," he says by way of farewell, finally finding something
comfortable to call the wingleader other than the name forbidden him by
current status. "We really appreciate it."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Volath flashes on a brightly-lit image of
Taralyth, accompanied by a light-on-dark effort at the bronze's glimmery
blue mental presence. Resolved: not to wake him up.

Judging by Kassi's laugh, the irreverence amuses her anyway. "Good show,
Volath," she tells the dragon warmly now that he's arrived. "--Indeed. Some
things wait upon naught, and dragons are oft enough one of them--oh, you're
welcome. Truly." Her return of the salute is very casual. "We enjoy the
teaching; Lyss certes enjoys the *eating*. Our pleasure. I checked with one
of the assistants, too--seems 'twas wrong about something, earlier. You're
m'mentee: you *can* use m'name, because of that."

Lysseth> Volath senses that Lysseth appreciates the image, even spends a
moment to admire it: she is fond of that bronze, it would seem, and of his
presence both mental and physical. But she seconds in amusement that waking
him might just be a bad idea. If for no other reason than his own *might*
decide that if Weyrlings are up so early as this, perhaps they're ready for
their day to begin.

The weyrling's half-turned on this, but turns back to grin at the
compliment for his lifemate and further remarks. "Ah, but should I," V'lano
laughs. "Maybe I'll reserve it for singing events until graduation." One
brow twitches, desperate to waggle but schooled almost still, the strain
showing up mostly as brilliant merriment in the young man's dark eyes. At
least, until Volath gets a little closer and breathes just /so/, again.
"But I'll keep it in mind." After lifting a hand to touch the meat-smeared
muzzle of his life's companion, at last both members of the pair turn
toward the barracks, bathtime, and bed.

"I fear t'think what singing events a'fore then there might be," Kassima
teases with laugh and grin both; then, "G'night, g'night, both of you, and
fair dreaming!"

Volath enters through the big entrance into the Weyrling Barracks.

V'lano walks through the entrance into the Weyrling Barracks.