Like sentinels, Fivrith and Al’jan stood at the entrance to their kin’s weyr, eyes wild with fear, backs ramrod-straight as they stood vigil over the pair. The only person who dared pass them were the healer and dragon-healer, both looking worried.
Near dawn, Arosambyth raised her head and opened her eyes. Shaking, she nosed at Jhetarya. <<She sleeps, Fivrith. She sleeps so deeply that I can barely follow,>> the gold said huskily, all traces of vinegar gone from her voice. The bitter-sweet of myrrh dampened the exotic fragrance of saffron, and Fivrith looked at his sister in alarm.
<<She will be well, she will be well,>> the brown reassured anxiously, his earthy tones high with distress. <<Eat, sister, and get well, I beg of you.>>
<<But Jhetarya,>> murmured Arosambyth. <<I cannot leave Jhetarya, I won’t, I won’t!>>
Fivrith’s eyes whirled yellow and blue. <<I will bring you food, Ambyth, you stay here and guard Jhetarya.>> With a whipcrack of his klah-dark tail, the brown sprang into the air, wings flailing frantically.
Fivrith wasted no time at the Feeding Pens. He stooped on the uneasy beasts like an avenging falcon, breaking their necks with a blow of his fisted hands. Straining against the load, he dragged them through the sky back to the dark and silent groundweyr.
<<Eat, Arosambyth,>> he commanded. Listlessly, the gold tore at his offered meal, downing only half of one herdbeast before her head drooped and she once again curled protectively around her rider. Her eyes moved restlessly beneath their lids.
Al’jan embraced his lifemate as well as he could, body wound around one sturdy foreleg. “She’ll make it, Fivrith,” he said wearily. “She has to make it. Poor Jheta’s missed the graduation, but she won’t miss much more of her life as a real rider. Oh, Fivrith, she can’t…”
In Arosambyth’s arms, Jhetarya coughed and coughed and coughed…
To be Continued…
Candidates Jhetarya & Aljheran II Impression of Arosambyth & Fivrith Weyrling Al'jan Fivrith Chasing
Viresa patiently spreads a paddleful of oil onto Aro's dull hide and begins rubbing it in, glancing occasionally at the mouth of the queen's weyr.
A long, lanky figure in scuffed leathers hoves into view, head tilted in curiosity. Al'jan, followed by Fivrith, heads wearily toward the lake. That curiously appealing broken-cliff face splits in an astonished smile as he sees that someone is taking care of Arosambyth, and cornflower-blue eyes lose a bit of their dead cast. Fivrith whispers in Viresa's mind, deliberately, sincerely, <<Thank you from the bottom of my heart, lady, for this kindness to my sister.>>
Viresa jumps slightly at the voice. She looks around and sees Fivrith. <<Did....did you speak to me?>> she asks tentatively, thinking in the brown's direction. Fivrith, nor any other dragon, had ever spoken to her.
<<Who else is there who lends a hand so willingly?>> the brown asks, puzzled, and the fragrance of crushed rosemary is a ghostly caress across her mind.
Viresa nodded slowly and turned back to Arosambyth. She carefully worked her way along the golden length until the dragon's hide was gleaming; although a few patches were still slightly discolored
Al'jan smiles what he considers to be his 'charming' smile, bright and warm and, in this case, full of relief. "Fivrith's a bit blunt, m'lady, but I think he got the point across. I can't believe that--" he eyes her knot, "someone who isn't a candidate would even /consider/ undertaking such a task. I'm Al'jan, that lunk's rider, and the cousin of yon glorious gold's rider." He offers a hand, tentatively. Oil doesn't /really/ matter. It'll wash off.
Viresa looked at him silently for a moment, trying to shake the oil off her hands before taking the offered hand. "Viresa, Journeywoman Weaver. And *someone* has to take care of theses dragons."
Al'jan's full mouth pulls wryly as he glances at his poor, neglected Fivrith. "Amazing how people at the Weyr seem to forget that." His handclasp is warm and assured, his eyes intent upon her face. "Are you our new Weaver, then? We could use some better stuff, that's for sure." <</Al'jan/ could use some better stuff, he means,>> whispers Fivrith in a shiver of thyme-scented mental breath.
"Yes, I am." she answered, then caught the brown's comment and grinned.
"Cotholder Fivrith is certainly far more outspoken than usual. I'm inclined to believe it might have something to do with the excellent care he's been receiving from a kind-hearted Weyrweaver." He grins shyly. "Amazing...you think that your lifemate has approximately the social graces of a rock, and then he comes up with something like /this/." Sadly, Al'jan looks at Arosambyth. "I'm sure she appreciates it too. She's just got...other things on her mind." He cocks his head. "You know Jheta's ill?"
Viresa looks startled. "No, I didn't. I thought she'd been....abandoned...." she blushes slightly, remembering her earlier thoughts about whoever let their dragon deteriorate like that.....
Al'jan looks stricken. "Faranth forbid. She's been close, my dear Viresa, but I think she's improving...her name is Jhetarya, and that's her gold Arosambyth. Jheta's got that awful cough that goes around...I /wish/ they would let us take classes together." He caresses Fivrith, as if to soothe the brown's lapse into brooding. "I've tried to get her to take care of herself properly, but Ambyth /won't/ eat more than a few bites, and her oiling slipped my mind...Jheta's took a turn for the worse for a bit.”
Viresa nodded sympathetically. "I hope she'll get better, for her dragon's sake, if not her own. Good day, brownrider." She said, with a small smile, "I must be getting back to my dyes."
"If you insist, m'lady. Know that there's always a market for your wares right here," and Al'jan thumps himself on the chest. "And thanks from all of us, again, especially from Jhetarya. I'll see you around?"
Viresa smiles again. "I'll remember that. And you're very welcome."
And slowly, slowly, Arosambyth moves, first-lidding her eyes and crooning softly at Viresa. Her eyes whirl a dull blue as she whuffs the Weaver gently, careful of her own golden bulk.
Viresa reaches out and hesitantly strokes the dragoness's eyeridges gently.
Arosambyth rumbles firmly, and Fivrith joins in her deep thrum as she thanks the Weaver in her own way.
Viresa smiles, genuinely happy.