The Search off-game

The cothold may as well have no name, though it likely does. Something like Forest’s Edge or Dawn’s Rest. A coastal hold, beholden technically to Nerat, but on that point of land that is considered part of Ista’s region (though such things are points of contention, of course). Started by a son of Keroon some generations back, it has expanded into a few devoted families. While not a usual spot for riders flying Search, times are demanding.

Late afternoon as the sun begins its descent in the west, everyone is about their work outside the hold itself. Fishing boats bob by the docks, the day’s catch offloaded. Aunties mind small children while most of the youth capable are helping with chores aplenty. The fish aren’t the only thing that needs to be seen to. There are the gardens, dinner, the herds. While it’s a bustle of activity, it’s not chaotic. There is a rote cadence to everything; everyone where they should be at any given time.

Tavia – young, but old enough that talk has turned from chores and learning the skills of home management – is handling some washing. She’s off in a side yard, flat stones still paving it. A well is in the center and the various boxes of herbs flanking a door indicate it to be near the kitchens, most like. But at the moment, the redhead is working with a basin and frames to hang washing to dry. She’s in a pale blue shift, brown skirts over it.. And little else. Slippers sit off to the side and atop them the cropped jacket and bodice meant to be worn over the shift. It’s mildly scandalous but at the same time: considering her upper half is about soaked through (which is entirely scandalous), potentially the best idea. She’s entirely alone out there and only women from the kitchens are likely (on a normal day) to come by.

She’s humming one of the teaching songs to herself as she pulls a fresh bucket of water up from the well.

Normally, search is reserved to those holds closer to the weyr. It’s less trouble, and those holds tend to have at least a little more respect for the weyr. If only because of the work the weyr does for them. But K’rai has other ideas. And has been going from hold to hold, hunting for someone specific. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, bet he knows he hasn’t been happy with the other women that were brought in for the golden egg on the sands.

The golden egg that came as a welcome surprise. Even moreso that it had survived through the dangerous early stages of hardening. And now Ista stood a chance to gain a Junior Weyrwoman, after turns of only one queen.

The bronzerider appears from between above the hold, flying a low pass while he examines his options for landing. Unfortunately, this hold is small, and he only really has one choice. The fallow field near the kitchen courtyard. He signals Harikoth down to land, and they drop in, the field only just large enough for the bronze to manage the landing, with the surrounding fruit trees. “Alright, Harikoth, wait here. I’m going to go find their holder.”

The rider is dressed in well worn leathers. Nothing showy, but well kept and neatly mended in the few spots where they have been damaged. He heads around the hold’s walls towards the front, out of easy sight of the girl in the courtyard. Harikoth however does have clear vision into the courtyard, and looks that way curiously.

It won’t be difficult for K’rai to find someone in charge. Whether it’s the Holder themselves… that’s harder to say. In the main courtyard, there is a woman – not quite past childbearing age, but close, healthy and strong still – that is directing most of the work. Down by the small docks is a man close to her age, overseeing things there… but with a somewhat more laid back demeanor.

Neither take notice of the new arrival. A young boy, however, does. One too small to be helping with the main work, so he’s preparing vegetables for dinner with the aunties. Or ought to be. Instead, he’s tugging at one’s sleeve: “Look! Look!” Too young to fully verbalize what he’s seeing and the auntie – either in a mood or just not a fan of kids – ignores him.

In the side yard, Tavia continues to work: wholly unaware of the dragon watching her. The bucket comes up and as she reaches out to grab it, a good portion splashes on her. She yelps in surprise, even though this has clearly happened several times before. While she’s healthy enough with curves that will make any future husband happy… she’s still young and a bucket full of water a but unwieldy. But she gets it in hand and hauls it to where the large basin for washing is, dumping it in.

Hair tied back in a braid has many loose strands, some curling rebelliously and most just sticking to her neck and what’s visible of her shoulders by the wide neckline of the shift. She brushes her forehead with the back of her hand and kneels to get to work, adding soapsand to the water and clothes that were already in the basin: starting the scrubbing process anew while other things dry on their racks and lines around her. Bed linens, clothes, and whatnot. She’s in a maze of fabric, visible as a flash of red hair among the neutrals.

The rider scans the main courtyard, and spots the woman. Seeing nobody else close to hand that fits what he’s looking for, and recognizing someone with authority of one kind or another, he walks briskly towards her, raising his hand in greeting. “Hello!” he calls, when he’s reasonably close. His hair is a dark brown, nearly black and close cropped, his face and arms tanned and a touch weathered. He obviously stays very fit, his flight leathers fighting snugly over his well-muscled form.

Harikoth hears the activity in the courtyard, and having nothing better to do, ambles his way closer, so he can more easily see the entire courtyard and watch what’s going on. For now, he makes no effort to draw attention to himself, but he is a large bronze dragon and isn’t terribly easy to hide.

The woman is in the middle of directing some of the older children to take a specific selection of fish to the kitchens and waves them off as the stranger approaches. Her hair is a dark auburn and she dresses simply, but well. Everything about her is put together. Nothing fancy or overstated, just… put together. Her hair is in a braid that’s been wrapped into a neat bun. Her clothes are all pressed, neat, and nothing out of place. She looks K’rai up and down, hands on her hips as her gaze lands on his knot.

“What can we do for the Weyr?” She speaks loudly still, authoritative yet, but also wary. As she speaks the question, the aunties start herding the children inside: telling them they’ll finish their tasks in the kitchen. The others continue at their work: better disciplined, yes, but also using it as an excuse to be able to watch what happens.

Only the same little boy that had originally spotted K’rai sees the looming Harikoth, shouting “Look!” again as he’s dragged along by the hand into the hold proper.

Tavia remains clueless and at her work. One linen washed, she gets to her feet and moves to an empty line to hang and pin it in place.

K’rai gives the woman a friendly nod. “Good afternoon. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything urgent. I’m here looking for someone. And I was hoping I could meet some of the members of your hold, and see if they’re who I’m looking for.” He speaks with a comfortable assurance, having given much the same speech at several holds through the day.

The small boy pointing at Harikoth is noticed by the dragon, whose eyes whirl faster in amusement. But then his attention is drawn again. Something seems to be fascinating him about the girl in the courtyard, and he moves closer yet, sitting down as he reaches the wall, and simply looming there, watching her go about her work, his head tilting occasionally as he considers her. His tail occasionally thumps on the ground as it twitches in thought.

<< Are you done yet? >> comes the question to K’rai, who carefully controls his expression while responding, not wanting to disturb the holder woman. Not yet. You know this takes time. You’re normally the patient one.

The woman’s eyes narrow slightly as she considers the rider’s request. “I don’t even know your name.” It’s a statement of fact and she’s not moving anywhere yet. Nor is she summoning anyone out. “When you say members…”

“We’ve heard the stories,” she continues, still staring hard at his knot. “Riders disappearing with peoples’ younguns, never to be seen again.” She’s not said no, but she’s clearly expecting answers if not reassurances.

It’s on a tail thump that Tavia realizes she’s being watched. She looks up and up. She drops the shift she’d been about to hang on a rack. She remains that way, mouth agape, for at least a minute. When she finally comes to herself, she quickly crouches and grabs up the shift to start her work again: head ducked as if to keep the bronze out of sight.

It’s been a long day, but K’rai smiles in as friendly a manner as he can. “My apologies. I am K’rai, rider of bronze Harikoth.” He considers her attitude for a moment, and decides to be straightforward. “And yes, I’m riding on search. There is a new clutch, and I’m hoping to find just the right person to stand for impression. I promise that if they don’t impress, and wish to return to the hold, I will bring them back personally.”

Now spotted, Harikoth chuffs softly in amusement as he watches her still. He appears impressed. Perhaps that she didn’t choose to run away from his inspection. Perhaps because he thinks the arrangement of clothes on the washing lines is pleasing. << I think you’ll like this one. >>

Though her mouth draws in the thin line of consideration, the woman finally nods. “I am Mirrai. My husband-” a nod toward the docks, “cares only about his boats, so the decision would be mine.” She looks to the various faces watching from around corners. The youth who linger to find out why a rider has come to their small home. Others have circled around to get a better look at Harikoth, having only seen dragons from afar as they fly past, previously.

Tavia is trembling still yet and the next article to come out of the basin is hung with shaking hands, the pins dropped twice before getting them in place. She works, but she is fearful: avoiding looking directly at the bronze, but still trying to keep him at least marginally in her line of sight. Like one might a territorial dog. Her fear of not getting her tasks done perhaps greater.

Once that is finally in place to dry, Tavia tips the basin to empty it of its used, murky water. The last of the laundry is dropped into it and she carries the bucket back to the well: lowering it down once more. And then back to where we began: her drawing up the bucket steadily.

K’rai nods, glancing towards the docks when she does, then turning back to her. “Well met, Mirrai. I know this is a small holding, and you need many hands. I am only looking for one candidate, and…” he takes a breath, uncertain of how she’ll handle the next part. Reactions vary, and you never know what views a particular hold might have. “I am looking for a girl for the gold egg. We have need of strong weyrwomen.”

I will meet her as soon as I’m allowed. Let me concentrate, is sent quickly back to Harikoth. The bronze humphs audibly, and continues to keep an eye on the girl he considers so promising. No escaping his gaze. Unless you go indoors, of course. That would be annoying, but he has the patience to simply wait outside for you to emerge.

Mirrai gives a long, considering look to the rider and then another to the faces gathered. She waves a hand toward them. “Vanta, Sirrel, come over here.” And then to another lad, she points toward the hold proper: “Go fetch Deena from the kitchens.”

Back to K’rai, she gives a strained smile at the two come over. They both look to be in their late teens, one perhaps nearing on twenty. Each one giving him big smiles, even preening a bit. Mirrai looks… annoyed, but with a hesitant sense of.. hope? Relief?

“I believe these two and- ah, there she is, Deena,” another in a similar range, but more dour, sullen. “would be your best bets. Strong-willed, the lot of them. Haven’t found any marriage prospects here, maybe the Weyr would suit them better.” Only one has the decency to wince under it being put so bluntly.

Tavia does not flee inside, though she would very much like to. She just continues bringing up that new bucket of water. And again, fumbles to draw it near to her. She gets her hands on it and starts to lift it toward her… only to be startled by the ‘humph’ coming off of the dragon. Girl and bucket both end up on the ground, the contents of the latter soaking her through anew.

Though she yelps as she falls, she just sits there in a sullen silence for several seconds.

K’rai lifts an eyebrow as the three girls are presented. The preening and smiles don’t appear to impress the bronze rider. He takes in their general attitudes, and the clues in what Mirrai says, and sighs, shaking his head in firm rejection of the lot, before turning back to the older woman.

“So, is she your daughter then?” He doesn’t specify who he’s talking about, but it doesn’t seem to be any of the group she assembled. He crosses his arms. “I need a strong weyrwoman. Someone who can learn to lead, and guide her dragon. Not…” he gestures at the three. “That. we have plenty like that already.” He glances over at them once more, shaking his head at the dour expression of Deena. “Would you put them in charge of anything important? I think you’re smarter than that.”

Harikoth croons in apology as she falls, pulling back a little, his eyes whirling a little faster in concern. But he stays on his side of the wall, watching with mild worry.

“None of them are my daughter,” Mirrai answers, eyes narrowing by a small measure as she regard K’rai. “I am Vasrin’s second wife. I have bore him only sons.” She sends the girls back off with a gesture, two moping as they go while Deena seems eager enough to return to her work.

“Those three are nearly past age to marry and they’ve no prospects. You’d have been doing me a favor.”

Tavia holds the empty bucket to herself for a moment, almost as if to cover herself for she’s soaked through enough that the shift has become sheer. She looks up at the bronze, fearfully, but doesn’t run. Not yet. She seems as if she may, however. Instead, she gets slowly to her feet and creeps back toward the well; always glancing back warily.

Well. Maybe that will make this easier. “Hmm. Bad guess on my part then.” He points towards the back of the hold, where the walled courtyard is. “There’s another, there.” He smiles thinly, and shrugs. “My dragon can see her in the courtyard. And he thinks she may have potential.”

It won’t be the first girl that Harikoth has thought had potential. But none of them have been bad… just not what K’rai was looking for. “I don’t blame you… for wanting them off your hands.” He eyes the batch of girls, and shrugs slightly. “If you wish, I can suggest other riders on search look here. I can’t promise anything, but…” Another shrug. And then he turns towards the courtyard.

“Now, I believe I see a door leading to that courtyard, just there. And I should go make sure that Harikoth isn’t terrifying the girl.” And with that, he steps away, moving with purpose. Harikoth looks up from the girl towards the front of the hold, and hums a little with relief.

There is just a small flash of panic in the woman’s eyes and she gathers up her skirts to follow after K’rai. “She’s promised to one of Lord Nerat’s sons,” she says swiftly, already a touch out of breath. “The next Gather, they’re to be wed. The dowry alone-“ But she knows stubborn when she sees it and curses quietly to herself, turning to head instead for the docks: shouting her husband’s name as she goes.

Tavia is just lowering the bucket again when Harikoth hums. She releases the rope a bit more quickly than intended as she jumps, startled. Every sound the bronze makes is new, different, and very startling. She looks back at him and this time, there’s some admonishment in the look from the girl.

“Could you stop?” she hisses toward him. “I’ve got just those last few and then I’m done. And I’d be done if you didn’t keep all that noise up.”

This earns a bemused blink from the bronze, and a chuff of amusement. Then her, the door to the courtyard opens and K’rai strides in, scanning the area and spotting her immediately. He walks her direction, slowing his pace slightly, to not appear to be a threat. Or at least no more of a threat than any dragon rider may appear to be, to a sheltered holder.

He looks up to Harikoth, and lifts an eyebrow. “Back off a little, Hari. You’re spooking her.” Or, at least he assumed that’s what was going on… but as he takes in the scene a little further, his lips curl up in a true smile.

“Good afternoon,” he says, nodding to her politely, ignoring her odd state of dress, and how wet everything is. “I’m K’rai, and that’s Harikoth. I hope he didn’t bother you too much.” The bronze huffs again in tolerant amusement. “What’s your name?” Did Mirrai follow him? He isn’t paying any attention.

Already, Tavia is pulling up another bucket of water. She trusted Harikoth to behave… or at least hoped he would. She did not expect a rider to follow soon after. Mirrai is not on his heels: she’s up at the top of the hill, shouting down at her husband and frantically waving for him to come up.

When K’rai speaks, she freezes. The bucket can be heard hitting the side wall of the well, some of the water splashing out. She sighs and just leans into rest her forehead against the well. But exactly who this is hits home and she quickly turns and executes a curtsey to K’rai. One that’s proper, but ruined by her state of dress.

“My apologies, rider. I am Tavia and I’m just, we are..” she looks around, still in a bit of a panick. “I do not think the meal will be for several hours, but if you hunger, I am sure I can dig something up for you.”

K’rai ignores his dragon’s noises, focussing on the girl. He smiles slowly as he absorbs her reactions. “No apologies needed, Tavia. Not from you anyway. And I don’t plan to be staying for a meal…” not if the yelling for support he hears in the background is any indication.

He moves ahead to the important bit. “I’m here on Search, for the queen egg in our clutch. Mirrai offered me three others as possible candidates.” He makes a throwing away gesture, and lifts an eyebrow at Tavia. “But you’re the one I’m looking for. So… which sounds better? A marriage to that old man in Nerrat… or a gold dragon of your own to ride?”

He gives her a challenging look. “I know which I’d choose.” The bronze makes an indignant chuffing sound, causing K’rai’s smile to flash for a second. “Okay, maybe not exactly the same choice. But close enough.”

Tavia can only blink a few times as it’s all laid out. She looks past K’rai, as if expecting her father to appear at any second. There’s still shouting in the distance, so there is time yet. Never mind the bronze dragon that could act as quite the barrier if he wanted.

“I…” but that’s all she manages to get out before she turns back to the well and retrieves the bucket at last. This one she manages to secure with minimal splashing, padding her way over to the wash basin, which she empties the bucket into.

“They’d never let me,” she says finally, after she’s knelt to start work on the last few linens needing washed. “I’m to be married at the Gather and that’s that. I’m not dragon rider material-“ there’s a laugh: the kind one makes when they’re trying to convince themselves of something. Trying to stop the dream before it can even form. “Let alone goldrider material.”

This draws a snort. “Think they can stop me, if I say I’m taking you with me?” He shakes his head at the rest, flatly refusing to accept it. And Harikoth has turned his attention towards the commotion down the hill. A silent confirmation sends him stalking around the hold, to park himself in the main yard, where he stretches out to relax in the sun.

Meanwhile, K’rai crosses his arms as he watches her. “Harikoth says you’ve got potential. And having met you now, I agree with him. You’re arguing with a bronzerider, for one thing. For another, you were willing to chastise Hari. That’s not something many people have the nerve for.”

He considers her a moment longer, not taking too much time, “Will you let them force you into something that you don’t want? When you have another path open to you?” A path with a dragon potentially waiting at the end of it.

Tavia chews at the inside of her cheek. A bad habit, likely, but habit all the same. She doesn’t look to K’rai, but there is a brief glance as Harikoth lumbers off. A thoughtful glance. A glance that says ‘could I really be partnered to one of those someday?’

Hands still in the wash basin, mechanically going through the motions by rote, she shakes her head briefly to clear it. “I have a duty,” she says, quietly: more to herself than the rider. “To marry well, to secure a future for my family…”

There’s finally a quick look over her shoulder toward K’rai. “And if I say no? If I turn you down, then what?’

Harikoth slits one eye open to watch the approach of the group returning up the hill. One very unconcerned eye, especially when they catch sight of him and stop. For now. << You are running out of time. >> he informs his rider.

K’rai frowns in frustration, eyeing her. Trying to gauge what it is that she’s thinking, and why. Finally he snorts, and shakes his head. “Be that way then.” He glances around, spots the jacket she’s not wearing and grabs it, walking to her with a touch of frustration, but also the same purpose that’s been behind his decisions so far.

“I hope I don’t regret this.” He pulls her away from the washing, and pushes the jacket over one of her arms, and onto her shoulders. “You’ll want this… it’s cold between.” And then he closes his hand firmly around her upper arm. Not tight enough to hurt, but his grip is solid. “I’m done playing games, and I’m not letting the future of Pern get derailed by you refusing to see the opportunity I’m giving you.”

He starts toward the gate back out to where Harikoth is now waiting, pulling her firmly.

Opportunity it may be, but Tavia has been on a very specific path thus far in life. Learn the ways of managing a home to be a good wife for whomsoever your family finds. It’s hard for her to think outside of that: to make decisions for herself. She needs that nudge… or in this case, pull.

She stumbles the first few steps and starts to pull away from K’rai as they go, but only so she can grab her shoes as well. Mere lady’s slippers, but like the jacket: better than nothing. She’s a little too stunned (and a little too used to just doing what she’s told and going where she’s led) to really try to get away, so she just hops a few times to get them onto her feet.

Chiding a dragon and talking back to a strange man is one thing. Those are low stakes. Just words. They don’t mean she’s- oh. Because there’s Mirrai, her father, and a couple of her brothers coming up the hill now. Wary of Harikoth, the lot of them, but they look upset. Mirrai most of all.

Tavia shrinks closer to K’rai’s side, even as she stumbles a couple of steps to keep up with his longer stride. “Ohhh I’m gonna be on midden duties for a month,” she moans to herself.

He does slow slightly so she can get the slippers on, agreeing that they would be a good addition. But then they’re up to his dragon, and he glances towards the group. There’s a moment of consideration given, but he eyes their attitudes, and shrugs to himself. “Up we go.” Harikoth shifts, extending his nearer leg to serve as a good step.

K’rai gauges things for a moment, including her stature and grins a bit. “I guess if I’m doing this, I might as well do it properly… Do try not to struggle too much.” He ducks, and with no more warning than that, scoops her up into a fireman’s carry, and then steps up his dragon’s leg, getting positioned to where he can stand securely.

And then he’s doing his best to get her back off his shoulder, and onto Harikoth’s back. If she cooperates, that will go relatively smoothly, and he’ll soon have her strapped in. “I would stay and say goodbye to your family… but I don’t think they’re very happy with me.” He’s not giving too much thought to the issues he may have with Lord Nerat for this.

Tavia is too distracted between the scale of Harikoth up close and her family shouting her name to even consider struggling. Until she’s being hauled up onto a dragon in a very unflattering way, that is.

That’s when she yells and reflexively squirms. At least at the outset. But soon enough the novelty of it takes over and she’s more readily manipulated into place, staring at the straps that secure her and the bronze hide now beneath her.

“Tavia, you get down here right this instant!” Mirrai, of course. Her two brothers ranging to the front of Harikoth, though warily so. One looks to the other in a ‘what do we do?’ sort of way, receiving a shrug in answer. Her father just stares on, thin-lipped: upset, but perhaps not in the same way as his wife. Or at least not the same extent.

“You would doom your family? Your home? What if we don’t make it through the next winter?” Tavia finds herself clinging to the rider. “I never asked for this,” she says: voice barely above a whisper. Something he’d strain to hear. Words likely left unsaid many times.

K’rai manages to get her into position despite the brief struggles, quickly securing her straps, and then settling himself in front of her. Her arms clinging to him draw a smile, although it’s tempered by the antics of her family. The two brothers ranging in front of Harikoth earn an amused rumble from the bronze, who stopped pretending to be dozing when his rider arrived with Tavia in tow.

K’rai shakes his head at their complaints. “Ista winters aren’t harsh,” he calls back. “And you’ll have one less mouth to feed now. And if Lord Nerat wants to quibble with someone, you tell him Ista Weyr is claiming this one. You’re in our territory, not his.”

Whether he hears Tavia’s quiet protests or not, he ignores them. Maybe he thinks they’re aimed at the holders. Maybe he thinks they’re aimed at him. Does even she know? But with all the conversation that’s going to happen done, he slaps Harikoth’s neck, and the bronze rumbles, standing fully now, and calmly turning to walk back to the field where he landed. If the boys try to get in his way, he just carefully steps around them, and keeps going.

And once to the field, he crouches, spreading his wings. “Hold on!” calls K’rai, and then the dragon leaps into the sky, leaving behind the small hold and the protests of those who tried to get between the rider and his chosen candidate. Calling back over his shoulder, loud to be heard over the wind, “Just a little higher, and then we’ll be between. Three breaths. You’ll be safe.”

The silence from Tavia is one of mute horror, but also a healthy dose of awe. She’s on a dragon. A rider from the Weyr just swept her away: claiming her for the clutch on the Sands. All things that she and the others would laugh and play at as children, but that’s all it ever was. Play. They grew older and such things got put aside.

She got taught to do the things a woman (girl, really) is expected to know. Educated about what to expect. Tavia had already resigned herself to a life as wife to one of Nerat’s sons, much older than she and not heir to the ancient man’s title. A lofty place for a girl from a cothold like herself, but one that would never see her doing anything other than bearing and raising children.

Then came rider and his bronze dragon. (Literally) sweeping her away to the Weyr to Stand for… the gold egg? Tavia shuddered, holding even tighter to the man. She’d never been on dragonback before and it was just about terrifying. She dared not even open her eyes. Nor does she open them when there is the absence of all else: of sound, of feel, of… everything. Three breaths is plenty for her to begin to panic and when they come out of between, her face is still buried against K’rai’s back as she trembles.

K’rai will certainly pay for some of his actions throughout, but he’s convinced this is the best path forward. As they emerge from between and he feels her trembling against his back, he reaches up to put a hand over one of hers where she’s clinging to him, in silent reassurance.

Harikoth drops down into the weyr, past the deserted Star Stones. K’rai is thinking fast, trying to decide what to do next. Finally, he signals Harikoth to land at their weyr for the moment. It’s midway up the wall of the bowl, with a large ledge and lots of space around it.

Before dismounting, K’rai twists a bit, to look back at Tavia. “It’s a few days until the hatching, probably. I’ll sleep with Hari, and let you use my living chambers.” Yes, he just told her that he’s keeping her in his cave. It’s all the worst rumors about riders coming true. “I’ll help you down, then go see about fetching us some dinner, and some more clothes for you.”

When it becomes clear that she will be kept here, so high off the ground, Tavia freezes. She doesn’t dare look at K’rai and even releases her hold on him like one might an animal they’d suddenly realized may go feral on them. Hands unfurl, arms go loose and open just wide enough for her to slowly withdraw and lean back, away. She looks off toward the bowl proper, toward all the other ledges pockmarking the caldera. Some empty. Some with dragons. Takeoffs, landings, and all of it so far above the ground.

There’s a small, strangled sound in the back of her throat. It is, indeed, the stories come true. The ones whispered about. The threats given to young children to make them behave. ‘If you don’t come inside when you’re told, a dragonrider may come and scoop you up.’

In a building panic of ‘what have I done?!’ Tavia goes not catatonic, not quite, but certainly lost in her own inner world. She ultimately does allow K’rai to help her down from Harikoth and just steps blindly further into the weyr: not out of curiosity or anything of the like. Just because it was the direction she was facing and it’s ‘away’ from the bronze who she wants to be nowhere near when he takes off again.

The reaction draws a subtle wince from K’rai. He quickly dismounts and helps her down, nudging her into the weyr, where she heads all to willingly. Then for a moment, he hesitates, before he quickly hops back up on Harikoth and they drop to the ground by the living cavern. He ducks inside, and collects some food, then ducks into storage as well to grab some clothes for the girl. This earns him some odd looks from the staff there, but it’s not unusual enough that anyone comments. Plenty of riders have brought holder girls back for a night or two after all…

With the items collected, he returns to the weyr. It’s not very long, but it probably feels like a lot longer to her. The inside of his weyr is a neat organized place for the most part, although a desk in one corner of the cavern he seems to use for his main living/work area is a very disorganized. The bathing chamber past them is reasonably tidy, and has towels and soapstone on hand.

Once he returns, K’rai calls out that he’s back, and walks in ahead of Harikoth, who moves off to curl up on his couch. K’rai heads for the living chamber, setting the food down on the table, and the bundle of clothes on a nearby chair, glancing at her to try and gauge her mood.

Initially, when the bronze pair left, Tavia just stood frozen in place. Afraid to move around, as if doing so might send her right off that ledge. But time enough passed that she found herself needing to move and so she did, arms crossed for warmth against a chill that was more remembered than felt: her first trip between existing more in sense-memory than anything else. A mere blip in a whirlwind, but one that settles deep in her more primal subconscious. Something to be teased out later.

Right now, she must explore her prison, her confinement. For that appears to be the purpose of it: a place she can only depart through a freefall that she is unlikely to survive.

When K’rai returns, she is near the desk; carefully prodding at papers and the like. Unknowing of what they mean; not because she cannot read, but because the work of a dragonrider is just that foreign to her. She turns away when he calls out, moving to meet him. There is still a wariness about her, but the arrival of food is of greater importance and she angles for the table with a laser focus. Food is food, after all, and it is not so different here than home.

Somewhat relieved to find that she had started to move about and investigate a little, he quickly sets out the food. A small basket of rolls, some meats and cheeses, including what seems to be fresh roast wherry. A few sweetrolls, and a large bottle of what turns out to be redfruit juice, along with a couple sturdy earthenware bugs. “That should do for now… if we eat it all, I’ll go back later for more.”

He smiles at her, trying for reassuring, despite the situation. “Sorry for the manhandling. I don’t normally… but I needed you to be here for the hatching. And if I waited much longer, they were going to make things much more difficult.” He collects a roll for himself, pulling it open and slipping a slice of meat and cheese inside before he moves to sit in one of the chairs.

“I’m sure you have questions…” he notes, eyeing her. “And I owe you some answers. Ask them.”

Grabbing at a few things, Tavia is already settling into a chair and focusing on eating. It’s something grounding, something familiar. Everyone can find commonality in eating: it’s why it’s so often used in matters of diplomacy and gatherings in general.

She slows, however, when he circles back to the heart of the thing. Tavia sits back in the chair she’s chosen and slows down as she chews, staring down at the rest of the roll. A roll she’s chosen to stuff with just meat at the moment. Picking at it, she doesn’t look up, but does start to speak slowly. Carefully.

“What happens if I fail?” Because to her, surely it must be a matter of her success or failure for that is how things work in her world. “If you return me there… I can’t even think what they’ll do to me.”

The question asked, looking to the future, gets a thin smile from K’rai. At least she’s looking the right direction. He absently takes a bite of his roll, and gives it serious consideration. “That depends on you mostly. But… I don’t think you’ll fail.” He glances towards Harikoth with an affectionate smile. A softer expression than any she’s seen on him yet. “Hari is a talented search dragon. I don’t believe we’ve ever brought in a candidate who didn’t impress. If not in the first clutch, then always by the second.”

He turns back to her then, “But, if you don’t impress, you can either stay here as a candidate for the next clutch, or we can find you somewhere better to live, if you don’t want to live here.” He hesitates for a moment, then glances around as if realizing something. “Oh, and you won’t have to stay here the whole time. This is just because the candidate barracks are mostly full, and a bit… rowdy at times.”

Harikoth snorts from where he’s half dozing, in agreement with that statement, his tail twitching. “I assume you didn’t really want to marry whichever of Nerat’s sons it was. You didn’t sound excited by the idea.” Conversation is good, and can help him learn more about her, and let her start to realx. Hopefully. He pours himself a mug of the juice, and offers to pour one for her as well.

Tavia nods to his offer, accepting the mug. She holds it in one hand and the roll in the other. She spends a moment staring at them both as if uncertain what either is for. Finally, a sip is taken of the juice and the mug set down. She returns to her roll and eventually finishes it, having given herself enough time to think.

If not order her thoughts.

“I wasn’t,” she says finally, voice low. “But it was my duty.” Tavia swallows as she reaches for some of the wherry. “Our… the… we’re having a harder time these days. And Veran,” one of Nerat’s sons, ‘younger,’ but still in his late forties if not fifties: well older than she, “chose me after his wife passed.” She says it in a near sing-song, like someone who has been told time and again what an honor it is… but still doesn’t believe it.

“The dowry alone would have been good. And there was talk of expanding on our cothold for…” here she blanches, every bit for a moment the teenage girl she is and not the woman her family was intent upon being a wife, “…our family.” Just because one is of marrying age does not mean one is ready to be a mother. To have a family.

Tavia stares down at the wherry. “I don’t think I can go back.”

K’rai listens, and nods as she explains. Once she’s done, he sits back to absently sip at his juice for a moment to compose his own thoughts. The need to push through and make things happen has passed for the moment, and he’s clearly now willing to spend some time to try and reassure her. “Then you won’t go back,” he says, with a shrug. “As I said, there’s options, if somehow Hari is wrong this time.”

He considers further, taking a bite of his roll. “I can certainly promise that you’ll never be handfasted to one of Nerat’s get.” He grimaces. “If you wish, I can see whether anything can be done to help your family’s hold. I can’t make promises about that. But the weyr does have some friends.” Not many… and far less influential than in the past.

“I’m surprised you aren’t asking about the hatching…” he notes, as he finishes his roll, and thoughtfully eyes the basket with more, but opts not to get another right now. “But is there anything else?”

She does wish, but she also does not know how to ask. Or what to ask. So Tavia just gives a small nod to all of that as she eats the wherry. Fingers become stained with grease, but she ignores them for now and just follows it up by grabbing a sweetroll. If it is there, she will eat it. There is a certain enjoyment to doing so that implies while not underfed at home, there were few such treats.

“I don’t know what to ask,” she ventures, finally daring to look up at K’rai. It is a fleeting glance, but at least she’s not staring at the ground and avoiding his gaze altogether. Tiny steps. A shuffle, really, but it’s forward momentum nonetheless. “No one I know nor anyone they know has ever witnessed one and you are the first rider I’ve ever heard of to stop at our hold…” She tears off another bit from the sweet roll to eat before giving a small shrug. “I suppose… I just wish to know… everything I need to know?”

This is paired with an apologetic sort of grimace as she picks up her mug and looks at him over the rim, pale eyes big.

He nods, and files a mental note to see what he can do about helping her hold. Once he weathers the inevitable storm of fallout from this. But one mountain at a time. He smiles gently back, and nods slightly. “That’s… unfortunately true. Riders are far rarer than we should be…” he grimaces at some unspoken concern, but then turns back to her actual question.

“As for everything you need to know…” he blows out some breath, and gives a soft laugh. “Well, at least you’ve covered everything with that question.” He thinks how to continue, and then shrugs slightly. “The first thing to remember, is that when the eggs hatch… they’re confused babies. They’re figuring out how to move, and what’s around them. Be careful not to get in their way if they’re flailing.”

He smiles fondly at a memory, glancing over at Harikoth. “This one tripped and somersalted just before we impressed.” He thinks a little more, and shrugs slightly. “Beyond that, just do your best to be calm.” He holds up a hand. “I know… that’s easier said than done. But you’ll be just fine. Me and Harikoth will be there watching.” And so will the rest of the weyr…

Tavia flushes a bright pink that contrasts starkly with her hair as he comments on how broad her question is. She takes a hurried sip of her juice before setting the mug down. When he speaks of flailing dragons, however, the flush disappears as she pales. She looks toward the bronze. The big bronze.

“How can I possibly stay calm?” The words escape her just barely above a whisper, said mostly to herself, but audible to the man sitting at the table with her. She shivers again, though not from cold this time. Another sweet roll is picked up and eaten. More quickly than the last.

“What do I do? When the… the gold hatches? Just… stay out of her way like the others?”

He chuckles quietly. “I know… even I was nervous on the sands. It’s okay to be nervous. But don’t panic or freeze. Stay alert, and be careful.” He considers, frowning as he thinks about her life, and whether he can make any useful comparisons, but shrugs at last.

“And for what you do: Watch her, and stay out of the way if she’s flailing about. But if she’s acting like she wants to approach you, let her. And treat her like a small child or a toddler. That’s what they are…” Then he realizes something. “Oh, and… she’ll probably only be about this high…” he holds his hand up a foot or two off the ground. “Nowhere near his size… until she grows up.”

He is of course ignoring the possibility that she might impress a fighting dragon, or not at all. He takes a sweetroll now that she’s had a couple and absently takes a bite. “You’ll do fine.” There’s a hint to his tone of a man who is speaking what he wants to be true, even if he isn’t perfectly confident that it is.

There is silence for a time as Tavia goes from looking where he held up his hand to Harikoth and back, her brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps trying to make sense of the two vastly different sizes in her head.

After a time, she just sits back in her chair, scowling into her mug. “You’ll do fine, he says,” she mutters to herself. There is a folding into herself there, tucking legs up against herself. But before long, the juice is gone and she’s eaten enough to fill a stomach already full of knots. Unfurling enough to set down the mug, she dares give only a brief glance to K’rai and asks quietly: “Is there a place I may bathe?”

K’rai watches her, finishing his own sweetroll. He has started to move past the initial worries about getting her here for the hatching, and away from her family at the cothold, and is now noticing her. And liking what he sees.

Her mutter about his comment draws a grin, but he doesn’t reply. When she asks about somewhere to bath, he nods, and gestures to the small tunnel off the back of his living area. “That leads to a room with a pool filled by a hotspring, and a necessary. I brought some clean clothes, and some extra supplies…” he gestures to the bag in the other chair. “I will go sit with Harikoth. Or even leave with him for a while if you prefer.”

She’s young. Old enough to be wed off, of course. And at least a couple Turns past when some begin apprenticeships, but still young. Still, there’s a stubborn sort of fire to her. A rebellious streak that, if Lord Nerat’s son was anything like his father, he was looking forward to stamping out.

Tavia looks to the tunnel, then grabs up the bag in the same motion she stands from the chair. At his offer, she hesitates and stares, awkward, at K’rai for a moment. Deciding there’s no right response to that, she just darts off for the bathing chamber to go through the bag and supplies, to get out of her laundering clothes, and wash off the day’s excitement.

K’rai watches her indecision with more amusement then shrugs as she darts off. He takes the last sweetroll and refills his mug of juice, then just moves to his desk, where he frowns and starts writing a report. With the moment passed, he’s now realizing that he’s probably created some problems for himself. But he’ll stand by his decision.

He occasionally glances towards the wash room, where he can faintly hear her occasionally, curious. But he doesn’t make any move in that direction. From his couch Harikoth snorts softly. << Just admit you’re interested in her. >>

Even if I am, she’s for the sands, and will be unavailable for a turn when she impresses.

<< Maybe, but you still have time now. >>

K’rai gives his dragon a repressive look, and turns back to working on his reports. Occasionally he takes a bite of the sweetroll, or a sip of the juice.

At first, Tavia paces the small cavern. She dropped the bag, considered the bathing pool… and paced. There was plenty of talking to herself, some of which filtered out in bits and pieces.

“… now …. .. … ….. here, … Faranth knows … …..”

“…. . rather …….. rider, though … quite …….. I have .. ……”

Finally she stops herself and kneels to go through the bag. A fresh outfit and some things for bathing are removed and set out. She works her way out of her clothes and sets them aside. The supplies had a decent oil among them and this she leans against the pool to add.

Were someone to look in, they’d see the pale white lines cross-crossing her back that are the tell-tale signs of someone who has been whipped for punishment. Rescue was likely, indeed, warranted.

The report about the incident on search is long done, and K’rai has begun going through reports from his wing. Most of the weyr roll their eyes at his insistence on training them so hard. At his drills and expectations. And his wing is under strength even for these times, with only a few riders who either don’t mind the extra work, or who have come to share his beliefs.

Nothing unexpected in the reports today, and he neatens the pile, then rises to store them on the shelf next to the desk. With a glance towards the bathing room, curious about how long she’ll be, the rider instead goes to his dragon, picking up a cloth and a pot of thick oil, lightly scented with something vaguely herbal.

The next time is spent caring for his dragon, something that has become almost a meditation for him, a chance to relax and escape from his worries. And in his weyr, he can become so lost in the process that he loses track of time. If Tavia returns now, she will find him gently spreading oil over the areas that carried straps, or inspecting Harikoth’s wings, his hands running over them carefully.

Time was taken to soak in the spring-fed pool. Bathing such was not a luxury afforded at the cothold. Yes, they had baths, but in the more traditional way of heating water and filling them: she was not often the first to the bath to have the pleasure of hot water. Certainly not oils or the soaps with their own pleasant scents. To Tavia, taking full advantage of it was a bit of a thumbing of her nose at the Weyr and the situation she found herself in.

And a bit of indulgence she could not resist as a teenage girl.

In the clothing brought, she found a proper skirt and blouse, with a bodice to layer over it. Nothing fancy, muted colors. The stockings don’t quite stay put, but the skirts make that less a worry if they slouch or roll down.

As she pads back out into the main chamber of the weyr, damp hair in loose waves down her back, Tavia stops and pauses to watch K’rai tend to Harikoth in silence.

Wrapped up as he is, K’rai doesn’t notice for a couple minutes, focussed on making sure his dragon is happy and in good health. Harikoth notices almost immediately, but the only indication is one eye focusing on her, and his tail twitching slightly in amusement at times. His contented rumble at being oiled doesn’t shift.

Finally, K’rai steps back, and starts to turn, finally noticing Tavia. He stops in surprise. First at the fact she was there watching. And then he takes her in, noticing the washed hair and the shift into the now clothes. He finally shifts to put the oil pot away, and wipes his hands off on a handy towel, before coming over towards her. “It looks like you enjoyed the bath. I’m glad.”

He remembers hold life and the way bathing worked there, so he smiles with a wry amusement. “I’m sure that was better than the hold had… I know it was better than Ista Hold had, when I was young.” He considers her, and shakes his head with a slow smile. “You would have been wasted on that lordling.”

Bright eyes track Harikoth once Tavia realizes he’s watching her and that tail twitch is very likely due to her as well. She just waits – stockinged feet shifting against the floor now and again – hands clasped before her. When K’rai does turn to see her, there is a flush at his regard. The color is bright on her cheeks and she looks off and away, mildly ashamed at her obvious enjoyment of the bath.

“You are from the Hol-” but her question stops when he says the last. Tavia doesn’t know what to say to that, looking up at the taller bronzerider instead, lips slightly parted in surprise. Surely she misunderstood the intent of that. Right? Self-consciously, she forces herself to look away; to look down, instead, as she smooths her skirts. “I haven’t the slightest what you mean by that, Rider.”

Surely he just meant about the fact that she’ll be better as a weyrwoman… but his gaze is very appreciative. “I was, yes. Born at Ista Hold. Father was farmer. Had small cothold just outside the main hold, growing tubers.” He rolls his eyes. “Not a fun life. But he was still disappointed that I got searched.”

He watches her reaction to his comments, and steps forward to tip her head back up with one finger on her chin. “Hmm. Then you should make more use of the mirror. You’re lovely.” He stays that way for a moment, meeting her gaze, then steps back away, and takes a seat back at his desk. “Did you want more to eat?” He glances at what he brought earlier. There’s a little left… but not much.

There’s some surprise evident in Tavia’s features to learn that the bronzerider was from a cothold, albeit one in closer proximity to the Hold it paid fealty to. She would have assumed most riders – especially one so… comfortable to the life as he – came from the Weyr itself. That, at least, was how it was told through her childhood.

But it’s what follows that has her standing frozen, eyes wide. As if she’s afraid to move, staring back into his dark eyes. The flush only deepens and her fingers tighten in their lacing at her waist. When K’rai steps back, Tavia gives a whole-bodied shiver, the spell broken as her shoulders drop. Like a string has been severed and she is no longer held taut. Her eyes flicker briefly toward the table and she gives a quick shake of her head. “N-no, thank you. I am good for now.”

He nods, and sighs, relaxing back into his chair. “Alright. If I decide to drop down for some more later, I can get some… or I guess you could come along.” He shrugs. It’s getting later into the evening now, and he glances out towards the entrance, gauging the light level. “Before long I should probably curl up with Hari and get some sleep.”

He glances back to her, grimacing apologetically. “Sorry you have to stay here for tonight. I’ll try and arrange things better tomorrow.” The bronze rumbles softly, not at all bothered that he’ll have a companion on his couch tonight. He can be careful and avoid hurting his rider.

“More…” Tavia hesitates, uncertain about making a request when he’s provided so much already. She’s still uncertain whether she’s guest or prisoner. All the stories would say the latter, but he’s behaving as if she’s the former. “…more of the juice, please?” There is some lilt of hope in her tone: redfruit juice can be a treat that is not terribly common for someone like her.

“And maybe the sweetrolls.”

The second ask is accompanied with a flush. The admission of someone young and in possession of a sweet tooth. She welcomes the distraction in the form of a rumbling dragon, looking his way with a small, brief smile. She doesn’t know what to say in answer to the bronzerider: it is terribly awkward, yes, but the Weyr is also large and full of unfamiliar (and oh so different) people. So in the end, she looks back to K’rai and just nods.

His eyes dance. “The kitchen does cook a very good sweetroll. Alright, some juice and sweetrolls.” He eyes Harikoth. “Am I going to be able to get you to shift your lazy bones? If I’m going to get some more, I should do it now, and then I can settle in for the night.”

And it will give Tavia another few minutes to be alone and allow her to adjust further to the situation. The bronze dragons snorts, and rises. K’rai grabs a lighter set of straps than the ones he used earlier, and quickly throws them on, before grabbing the cloth bags he brought the previous snacks in. “Be right back…”

He ducks out, Harikoth following at his own pace, but soon there’s a swirl of wind that penetrates into the outer chamber of the weyr, and the bulk of the dragon is gone. This time K’rai isn’t gone as long, and returns quickly with a fresh collection of the sweetrolls, and another container of the juice. He sets them on the table, and then pulls the straps back off Harikoth, so the dragon can rest comfortably. “There we go. Midnight snacks.”

In those few minutes, Tavia returns to the bathing chamber and gathers up her own clothes. She folds them neat as she may and takes them out to the main room, folding them neatly on the chair where the bag with the other things K’rai had brought up is also hung once again. Her boots set by the chair. She steps back to stare at the small collection, lips pursed a bit.

And when he returns, he’ll find her still there: one arm crossed just below her bust, supporting the other, which in turn rests against her chin and cheek. One finger absently taps at the apple of her cheek, just below her eye. Silent contemplation that is just a few shades shy of brooding.

The return of rider and dragon aren’t terribly subtle… and he walks in with another jug of the juice and a pack of sweetrolls, setting them down on his small table. “There… sweetrolls and juice.” He glances at her, eyes lingering on her face, and the borderline brooding expression.

“Come have another sweetroll. It’ll help. They’re still warm from the oven.” He sits down in the chair closest to Harikoth, and watches her for a moment longer, before he focuses on eating his own for the moment. After a time, he speaks without looking at her. “I realize I’ve kind of forced things. But I hope you’ll come to see that this isn’t such a terrible fate.”

Tavia doesn’t move until the last, having come to a point where it was difficult to do so. She had things she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. However, she couldn’t move without saying something. K’rai, however, said it first. Perhaps not the thing she needed to say, but he laid the heart of the matter out on the table between them. She sighs, deflating.

The stack of clothes are moved from the chair to set atop her boots and Tavia takes their place. She reaches for a sweetroll and nudges her cup from earlier toward the juice in silent request. A piece of the roll is torn off and she chews on it slowly. “It is… unexpected more than anything,” she says finally, daring to look up and at him. “I am just… realizing I had only the clothes I was wearing, but when I try to think of what I had… none of it is really important at all.”

There is a sort of ache to her words. A small, dawning realization that comes paired with the weight of only just realizing how little a mark one made.

K’rai happily pours a mug of the juice, only taking a little for himself. He listens quietly to her response, and those who know him would notice that he relaxes at what she says. At the lack of anger at him. He nods slowly, and absently takes a bite of his own sweetroll while he considers her words. “Well, if you do need anything, we can go visit the assistant headwoman tomorrow, and she can get you whatever you need.”

He considers her expression, and shrugs ever so slightly. “And… I like to think that what we riders do is important. Or will be.” He grimaces, letting a little of his own frustration and concern leak. It’s been a long day, and he’s trying to gain some of her trust, after stealing her away from her home, and so he lets a little more of himself through. “And you may… will… be a part of that.” He hopes.

“I… do not know what I need,” Tavia admits. And who could blame her? It’s all a whirlwind right now. And he did provide the immediate necessities for her: the rest will come in time as her new reality sinks in. It’s not as if she’s too young to be away from home: there are those younger than she who have gone to craft, to Impress…

Taking up her cup, Tavia does shift her chair a bit closer to K’rai’s. He is her only source of information – of company – at the moment. She takes a sip, then another. A third rounds it out before she sets it back on the table, alongside a second sweetroll that she’s only had a nibble of now. Instead, she clasps her hands before her, forearms braced on her knees as she leans forward, toward him. Her fingers twist about themselves.

“How are you so certain?” Icy blue eyes lift, searching for reassurance in his. “I know nothing of dragons and… from what I hear, you lot do little beside take the tithe from the Holds.” There’s no malice in her words: just a girl speaking the truth as she knows it.

The bronzerider smiles slightly as she scoots closer to him, but then returns his attention to the question at hand. He considers her for a long moment, then seems to decide something, and shrugs slightly. “The problem is that I’m not certain. At least, not certain that thread is gone for good. Something isn’t right. And the dragons seem to sense it.” He glances over at Harikoth, who is watching with eyes showing flickers of yellow.

“Most riders think it’s just… bad dreams? Or something like that. But I trust Hari. And so I’m doing what I can to try and prepare. But I’m just one wingleader. Maybe someday…” he glances towards Hari again, “If he can catch the queen…” Then back to Tavia. “And part of that, is making sure our next queen dragon has a rider with the strength to help push us through, and recover our strength.”

He stops, and takes a sip of his juice. “Right now, yes, the weyr is not good for much. We do some work with helping move goods around, but not as much as we should, probably. The plague didn’t help.” His eyes go a bit dark at the mention of the plague. Something that barely affected most of Pern, but left deep marks on the weyrs.

That is a lot to take in. A lot. The plague, it’s true, had little effect on cotholds like hers. And a positive effect, to hear it told, on Holds in general as it meant a smaller tithe (and to hear some tell it: was a portent that the dragons were a relic of a time past and would soon be gone).

But Thread is a different story. There’s none alive who remember it. None alive who experienced it. It’s all just stories from what records still survive. Even so, Tavia shivers at the mention of it and hint of its return, shivering in the otherwise warm weyr.

She’s back to picking at her sweet roll and focuses on it, instead. “If th…” it’s difficult to even speak of. Tavia takes a moment to finish the roll and wash it down with her juice, all to steady herself before turning back to K’rai, looking up at him. “If Thread is, indeed, returning… wouldn’t you want someone who has… grown up here? to be the next queenrider?”

He snorts quietly at that. “Grown up in the heart of the people who have all accepted that our fate is to just fade away?” His tone carries the resentment of somebody who has been mocked for his beliefs. “To use our dragons merely as transport and beasts of burden?” He takes a calming breath, then continues. “Don’t get me wrong… during an interval, that makes sense. And we can help out in ways nobody else can. But if I’m right, and a pass is coming? We’ll be needed for that.”

He sighs, and looks over at her, shaking his head. “No. We need someone with fresh eyes, who isn’t afraid to ask why things are done a certain way. And how we could do them better. And who will be able to support and guide her dragon, to help us rebuild and be ready.” So… no pressure.

And he seems to realize the scale of what he’s saying, and smiles faintly at her. “And you were willing to chastise Hirakoth for making sounds. You’ve got the heart for it. And Harikoth likes you.” The bronze has calmed, his eyes returning to peaceful blue, and he rumbles soft agreement.

Tavia looks to the bronze, passive in his relaxation. She’s been quiet through everything K’rai says, though there’s been several searching looks of his features at the resentment that comes through in his words. But now she regards the bronze.

There is a small shrug, in the end, before she looks back to the rider. “He had startled me and I dumped a bucket of water. It’s not easy to haul those up, you know.” While she presents the words as if the whole thing was nothing, there’s something slightly sheepish to her tone.

She didn’t process that she’d chided a dragon until well after the fact. To her, being praised for it is awkward at best.

After another period of quiet contemplation, Tavia does reach out to place a hand lightly on K’rai’s arm, meeting his gaze. “I… don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for, but…” She takes in a sharp breath. “I will try.”

K’rai grins. “Oh, I know. I’ve hauled buckets out of a well… although it’s been a long time.” He grins over at something the bronze must have said to him. “And Harikoth apologizes that he made you drop it. He didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Her thoughtful silence followed by reaching out to touch his arm, causes him to go very still. He looks up at her face as she commits to trying, and there’s a visible wash of relief. “We’re already in a better position then.” He smiles at her, and reaches up to put his hand over hers.

“We’ll get you ready for the sands… and I’m positive you’ll be what the gold is looking for. Thank you.” He squeezes her hand gently, and then takes a deep breath, continuing his relaxation now that he has her promise of cooperation. “The next few turns are going to be… very interesting.”