>~< -- The Barracks

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Date Posted: 20:46:23 08/19/05 Fri
Author: L'andro & Sanoth
Subject: >~<

Finding a weyr isn't too hard; L'andro and Sanoth just take the first empty one they see. There's nothing wrong with it, and coming in this late, it's not surprising that all the best ones are occupied. Sanoth curls up neatly on the dragon couch, his compact brown body tucked together with such care that if it weren't for his floppy wings draped over top, he'd look very small indeed. He'll grow into the wings in time, and he's not really all that little, just constructed with maximum attention paid to efficiency and tidiness rather than imposing stature. When he has better-developed muscles, he'll actually be quite impressive. At some level, both rider and dragon know this, and whether it's L'andro's powers of observation and extrapolation, Sanoth's innate knowledge of his own body, or a combination of both, they neither know nor care. L'andro simply sits on his bed for a little while, admiring both his dragon's current appearance and the promise inherent in his future, while Sanoth gazes adoringly at his human. Then a gaggle of his fellow newly-Impressed pass by, dressed in Feast clothing and chattering with excitement, and the spell is broken.

"We should go to the Feast," L'andro realizes, then looks down at his white robe. "But I need to change first. I wonder...." His eyes drift towards the chest, and the black-skinned young man rises and circles around to lift the lid. There's a set of clothes inside - no, several sets of clothing, but only two are formalwear. One is a blue silk dress, and it takes him a moment to realize that the Headwoman couldn't have known who would even Impress, never mind who would take which weyr when they did so. Smiling in amusement and shaking his head, he sets it aside for the drudges to take out later, and digs out the male outfit instead. It's made of supple, well-tanned wherhide, tanned a dark wine-red and embroidered with yellow thread, and while it's cut in a size sure to fit all but the biggest wearers, at least it doesn't stretch across his broad shoulders when he puts it on. Turning towards his dragon, L'andro reaches out impulsively to scratch the brown's eyeridges. "Shall we go?"

A deep sigh of contentment rises from the depths of Sanoth's chest, but he stands, shakes himself to straighten out all the awkward bits, and rubs his head briefly against L'andro's hip before turning towards the door. You're hungry too, he notes with open concern. The only hunger the hatchling has experienced as yet is the ravening hunger of dragon birth, that seemed to tear at his stomach and try to claw its way up his throat, and he can't yet imagine that his human's hunger would be any less. Yes, let's go. And then he takes off at a pace that forces L'andro to run to catch up, anxious to feed the person who is at the center of his world.

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