While Winds Whip Whinging Wingriders

A light breeze fluttered in spurts, ruffling through dark hair.

The sun shone bright and unimpeded by clouds, reflecting in sparkles off the water and jumping up into hazel eyes.

Air laced with the scents of sea water and sweet grasses and underbrush filled a broad chest.

Anyone else would say the day was gorgeous.

"GAH! Kit! Watch where you're tossing that water! It's freezing out here."

Unfortunately, R'ven was in a sour mood.

The weather is pleasant. It is not nearly as cold as when we fly our rounds. Kitoth, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely in the more shallow water, dipping his head into the waves and dunking himself under the surface to come back up and shake.

"Yeah, but I'm usually wearing thicker clothes...and moving around more." R'ven adjusted his long-sleeve top so that the cool breeze couldn't sneak under the hem to get to his sensitive stomach.

Then move around more, the brown offered, though even he in all his patience did seem to be getting lightly irritated with his rider's whinging.

"Don't wanna..." R'ven pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and snuggling his back down further into the dry sand.

Kitoth grunted and R'ven could feel his bonded's equivalent of rolling his eyes, I do not understand humans. How can they complain, and yet not wish to do anything to fix what is bothering them?

"Because that would take effort, and humans are lazy."

The brown stopped mid stoop into a particularly large wave and raised his head, looking very confused indeed. If humans were so lazy, then how could they put such effort into building and creating the things they do? The creatures were just so contradictory it was enough to make his narrow head spin.

It could have been worse.

It could have been. A pause, then a reluctantly added, Tell Golly I said thanks.

Like it's a trial worthy of weyrlinghood to do so. Chemeth's tone was teasing though, and she was both careful and gentle when she nudged the bare back of her rider, even her exhale soft as her nose drifted past the thread-scored skin. It was healing steadily, thank the stars, and though the green dragon did not possess a far-sighted memory, there was enough instinct to her [and enough common sense attached to that] to know that Folara keeping her peace and allowing injury and sickness to heal within it's own limits was a Folara very worthy of being encouraged.

It was why Chemeth said little more past that gentle teasing on the matter, simply lifting her head and allowing a deep yawn to escape her delicate maw as she looked out over the water, and the scant few brave enough on a rough day such as this to chance bathing and swimming in such weather. A clear day, though the skies far to the east threatened rain, but cold, choppy surf and all. Even dragons could drown, if they were foolish enough.

Most of them out there look like ours. Typical.

If you mean by ours, those we have flown with for some time, then yes. Though there is one or two of the others. The faintly disapproving tone didn't bother to couch itself, a foil to the light sneer in the green rider's at the thought of the ones who had joined them from the North-- in recent times, at least. She couldn't look too far back, or that would grow a little uncomfortable.

Maurynneth's rider is from the North. Chemeth cocked her head back at Folara, before sliding her way sinuously into the water. And she seems to like some of them. Kitoth's, for example.

No, Riza was from the West. She actually has an idea of what it's really like around these parts. None of that romantic garbage.

Moraeth's rider is Western, too.

We can't have perfection everywhere -- there's a bitch in every batch. The salt water lapped against her wounds, eliciting a soft hiss from the green rider. There was nothing for it, though, and she dove in before Chemeth could utter another word...or let her think too suspiciously on why the green dragon was bringing up the name of a brown.

After another small dip, Kitoth surfaced to see a familiar green. His attention turning from his rider's grumpy state to the company of another dragon, the brown raised his wings and rumbled in greeting...though, with his neck arched like that he gave more of the appearance of a massive brown swan than a dragon. It lasted only a moment, however, and the wings were back down to enjoying the feel of the waves. Greetings, Folara's. Your rider appears braver than mine to join us in the waves.

R'ven's eyes snapped open, only to narrow in a scowl. Bastard dragon had opened that to him on purpose...wait, was his own dragon calling him a coward? I heard that...

Kitoth seemed not to notice.

The green dragon's movements were slow, enough so that for a moment, one would wonder if she'd paid the brown dragon any mind at all. But it became clear, after a moment, that it was only because she was mindful first of her rider, and once Folara was safely in the water with an arm upon a green forearm, Chemeth lifted her head to regard Kitoth with eyes that whirled a mite faster than slow...though nothing that indicated particular alarm or over enthusiasm for what was around her, other dragons included.

Salt water is as good for cleaning wounds as any, or so she says to me. Though hot water would likely be better...but it is hardly a lap of luxury to live here...which I've taken to mean that it is another way of saying it is hard here. The lithe dragoness lowered her muzzle to her rider, who was studiously and deliberately occupied only with fighting the pain that was the initial dip in the ocean, and then moving as far as she dared from her dragon whilst her ability to swim strongly was compromised.

He is probably smart to stay ashore, Yours is, if he is not confident enough for swimming. Chemeth cocked her head back upwards and to the side, rather tactfully changing the subject, as far as dragons went.

You spend a great deal of time with Mauryenneth. Or your rider does. Is it because he is interested in attempting to mate her? You came after they did, after all.

It is known, he began, though the feel and tone behind the words gave the sense that he was referring to the knowledge between him and his rider, that Mauryenneth's and Mine had known each other before coming here. That is not to say he is not interested in mating her, but that certainly is not his goal. There was a pause as a thought wormed its way through his draconic brain, head tilting slightly to the side in a gesture rather reminiscent of a human glancing to the corner of their eyes in thought before focusing back to the green before him, Particularly since Mauryenneth mated to Golgameth.

Chemeth's snort was eloquent. Either he does or he doesn't. Why must it be so complicated? I would be complimented if more than one male liked me so. Mine?

The last query was clearly meant for her rider too, who's head popped up from the water, softly hissing a little at the sting still pervading, in inquiry.

You look confused, pet.

I am. I do not understand why Kitoth's rider cannot decide if he would mate Maurynneth's or not, and why Kitoth suddenly is making such a face at the thought of Golgameth finding out. Golgameth has mated I in the past, and Maurynneth did not seem perturbed when she learned this.

It was painful, and certainly, the topic of sexual relations was never something Folara was one hundred percent comfortable with [not because she was hidebound, but the old hurts of childhood and betrayal lingered faintly even over the years] and certainly not the idea of being freer and open with so many in such a way. But she couldn't help but laugh at her lifemate's bewilderment, the sound carrying faintly over the rumble of the surf at what was, to be frank, completely sound, if simple logic.

That's because Maurynneth is the closest you'll get to a *sensible* winged broodmare. And who wouldn't like you? Folara stroked the slick green hide she was leaning on fondly, before ducking back under once more. Though indeed, even if she wouldn't admit it, there was truth to what was a rather snarky, derogative means of referring to the Queens -- the least favorite of her fellow riders, and for good reason. They were an unreasonable, possessive, egotistical bunch, and that had been proved doubly right by the utter shrew riding Moraeth. Her dragging them from their home in the South Isles for no truly good reason bar an ambiguous bullshit excuse of needing to stick together, which Folara knew full well was a cover up for the real fact -- like most given authority undeserved, Clarra could not see eye to eye with the idea of not having everybody underneath her eye that she felt she should. The bitch needed to be at least under the illusion of complete control, or she wouldn't sleep at night. If that took bullying a bronze into submission as she had Golgameth, then it was a necessary transgression.

Folara snorted derisively at the thought. It made it interesting, if nothing else...or entertaining, to imagine what it had cost to hand some power over to Riza, with their impending move back to the South Isles. Under the illusion of needing more dragons born, of course-- tch.

At least that one is sensible. Faranth only knows how she ended up on a gold.

I have been mated by Golgameth in the past, and Maurynneth had no bone to pick with me for it, though the face you're making is quite silly. For a moment, Chemeth almost looked to be smiling, her maw opened just enough to expose her sharp, grey fangs. But Mine says she is also sensible...or maybe. Maybe it is Golgameth you are concerned about?

I? Kitoth's neck arched slightly as his tone raised along with mental eyebrows. His thin head turned away with a pious air, giving a snort, It is not I that is concerned with Golgameth. It is the rider that Mine is concerned with.

The attitude dissipated as a consideration hit him, head tilting in thought once again, No, 'concerned' is not the term. Perhaps...'Respective'? 'Intimidated'? Kitoth gave a full body shake travelling from one end to the other of his brown form as he brought his mind back out from his ponderings, Either way, he has given the two a respectable distance despite his interest. And I must agree with you; the ideas humans place around mating are quite strange.

Kitoth swiveled his head to look back at the spot of sand R'ven had decided to nest in, pausing a moment before giving another snort, this one more amused. He is asleep.

...I don't think intimidated is much better. Possibly worse. It's Mine's least favorite word.

And yet, Folara was smirking, head tipped consideringly, from where she was once more leaning against her green, using the anchor Chemeth's hindquarters provided. Only a little smirk, but formed when the green relayed the gist of Kitoth's response in her ever polite desire not to leave others out of the loop...a desire her rider, unfortunately, was more than happy to occasionally take advantage of. An innocent gossip, that was Chemeth.

It still makes little sense. I don't see you saying you give Maurynneth and Golgameth a respectable distance. But I suppose it must be placed with all of the other odd things humans do with courtship. At least Golgameth's was polite enough not to harass her until Maurynneth Flew.

Which, of course, was perfectly polite etiquette in the mind of a dragon. Even a green.

Though I did tell him to tell His that he *could* have been a little *more* interested. He was lucky.

Do I tell T'skal to leave the brown rider be, or don't I tell...nope. Not telling.

Does Golgameth's tend not to make his interest known? Kitoth swiveled his head to look in the direction of his own bonded. Mine has little trouble with such things. Though most times it does not work well, for him.

Off in his sandbank bed, R'ven snoozed quietly, unaware of the current conversation.

My Folly just says it is what it is. I've come to assume that when she says that, she means that something or someone happens to just be that way and she or most people don't think it is too harmful to worry about. Chemeth seemed to shrug mentally, but for the first time, she actually turned some in the brown dragon's direction, showing more than a passingly polite interest in the conversation.

My rider has had bad, terrible things happen, though she does not let me see them clearly. Though that is not relevant to this discussion, bar my trusting in her judgment more than most, for she does not treat people lightly.

The lovely green head dipped, disappearing momentarily underneath the water. Chemeth rumbled softly in pleasure at the caress of the water over her hide. She was curious, and it radiated as such, about the last thing the brown dragon had said about his rider, but she was too polite to pry, and so did not ask outright.

"Bad" or "Terrible" are not what is to be used to describe what he goes through. He is simply far more blunt than a lot of human females prefer. He has also said in the past that it is often a matter of... Kitoth paused as he searched his mind for the exact phrasing his bonded had used, "bad timing." Though I will keep in mind what you have said about Yours. Truthfully, He added, now opening his part of the conversation to the sleeping R'ven, I am surprised he has not tried to court Yours, yet.

With the sudden voice in his head, R'ven startled awake. He gave a growl at the intrusion, sitting up as he resigned himself to his naplessness. You're not going to let me sleep, are you? Then, as Kitoth's words finally registered in his head: Hey! What's that supposed to mean?

You are being silly. Come, join me in the water.

I don't even know what that means. Courting. Chemeth briefly considered, as dragons did, putting the question of what wasn't understood to her rider, before discounting it. R'ven might have been a glutton for punishment, taking the bait-- or perhaps Kitoth was simply more impolite, or "blunt" himself, bothering his rider so, and so did not have the discerning propriety she did-- but Chemeth liked to be none of those things. An eccentric as far as the stereotypical Green went, almost making a point of being so in her delicate snobbery as far as attitudes went...and yet it worked well, as dragons did, with the prickly, survivalist nature of her rider. Some opposites didn't match, but in this case, it worked well.

Like now. She watched, but elected not to distract her rider, who had long (and finally) abandoned her cautious eye on the shore (and it's sole occupant on a day such as this) to watch (and try to entice back to Chemeth's bulk) her fire lizard. Dizzy was a dear creature, but rather daft about his safety even by chromatic standards-- more particularly, the fact that there were occasions where his disabilities could not be won over simply with ebullient stubbornness. Safe for the moment to wallow and bob like a sea bird while Chemeth took the brunt of the wind-driven waves (though she rather felt herself lifted from the sea bed here and there, to her slight discontent), but still.

What is 'courting', Kitoth? A type of human food?

R'ven glared at the brown dragon in the distance, then, since he couldn't seem to ever remain miffed at the beast for long, gave a resigned sigh and stood. The 'rider stretched, an action that was cut a little short by a wince as something in his back popped back into place, and then began the trek down the sands toward the bathing dragons.

Near the water's edge, he removed his boots and long-sleeve shirt, giving a shiver as the wind hit his now-bare skin while he did his best to fold the thing and set it atop the shoes. With a couple of torso-twists to warm up his cold muscles at least a little bit, R'ven waded his way into the waves.

Kitoth studied the green for a moment, briefly radiating a very light amusement before his more analytical mind took over. "Courting" is... He paused again, trying to find the best analogy he could, and finding it rather difficult, Well...perhaps like a mating flight, but much longer and drawn out and without as much of the energy, it seems.