Suicidal Tendencies [Relief Caravan//Open]

[Avu]

Because that’s not suicidal at all, Corinth observed, tail flicking mildly as he watched T’rid make his way slowly towards the jumble of caravans sprawled across the grassy stretch. It was huge; gaily painted banners proclaiming a caravan’s loyalty to Blossom Hold were distinctly visible in the Weyrling Training field, and an abundance of runners grazed on picket lines. But more impressive than the runners and caravans was the sheer number of people. Children giggled and swarmed; adults watched them indulgently. Crafters and Holders alike, with knots ranging from Drudge’s knots to Masters’: All eager to help the Weyr that would defend them come Threadfall. Corinth found it extremely amusing to watch the young ones – the hatchlings, as the bronze called them – running to and fro, the bronze curled upon the ledge just above the temporary Infirmary’s mouth, looking down on them. At the moment, it was not the “hatchlings” that he was focused on, however, and in all likelihood, it would be a while before he did return his attention to the children. He had a suicidal Rider to attend to, please and thank you.

I didn’t ask you, the bronzerider objected. Oh, yes, Corinth had seen that one coming. Just because you didn’t ask doesn’t mean I won’t /say/ anything, the dragon countered neatly, curling up on the sun-warmed ledge, one eye squinting at T’rid warily. The bronzerider’s arm was still wrapped, in a cast, and currently in a sling. Said sling was also the home of Stupid, who was delighted at having his own little world. The pain of the cracked ribs had mostly faded – or at least, it wasn’t registered due to the much more obvious pain of his arm – and while he was hardly fit to enter a marathon, he’d convinced the Healers to let him out. After all, it was his arm he’d broken, not his leg, and the pain wasn’t unbearable. He’d probably just gotten used to it. Conspiracy was riding on his right shoulder, claws clutching at the fabric of the bronzerider’s shirt. His broken wing was still splinted, and the chances of his being able to fly was only slightly greater than nil.

T’rid wasn’t even really sure what he was going to do. The Relief Caravan wasn’t there for entertainment purposes like the previous caravan had been for, and he didn’t have to make sure no wine was being sold (that was K’roi’s job, and anyway, he doubted there was poison running around) – he didn’t have anything to do. Except wander around. He might very well bump into someone he knew, since it seemed a good portion of the caravans had come from Selenitas Hold, his erstwhile home, but there was nobody he really remembered liking or had good reason to seek out. His excuse had been exactly that: An excuse. He’d just wanted to leave the crowded weyr that was the temporary Infirmary; it was horrible in there. The only sleep he’d gotten of late was from fellis; otherwise, he mostly just drowsed. Too much noise. The sound of other people shifting endlessly distracted him.

The sound of giggling was audible, and T’rid automatically looked up from an absentminded contemplation of the ground. A little girl was what had caught his attention, but his gaze slipped over her – directly to the stick-thin woman behind the girl. Selenitas Hold, proclaimed the banner that waved on top of the caravan in which she sat, but T’rid didn’t need that to recognize it as being from “his” Hold; the woman was one he distinctly recognized. One of the higher-ranking Drudges, she was. Ironically, he probably wouldn’t remember any of the Holdbrats he had qualified as “friends” (read: partners in crime that he could drop in an instant’s notice), but T’rid had a memory for grudges, and the woman had been one who had nearly constantly been on his case. As she caught his eye and frowned, T’rid waved at her, an ironic little salute – the effect of which was ruined by Conspiracy’s loud hissing on his shoulder.

“Thank you…thank you very much,” he told the firelizard seriously (and perhaps a bit more loudly than was strictly necessary), still wandering aimlessly.

I hope you're as grateful to a rock when it trips you and you break your neck.

[nightingale]

Oh! Oh, the small green must be careful! Arune giggled, adjusting her grip on the young goose and snuggling her face against it’s glossy back feathers. The goose in question seemed to have very little problem with being snuggled, and while the girl was holding her in a rather loose and haphazard sort of way she was careful to be gentle. Lamb seemed to be the only injured party, and was circling overhead, warbling her anxiety. Oh, where was her Rascal? She needed his help! Oh, Hers had TOLD his little green clutchsister to be careful with their baby! Why was she not being careful?!

Hugging Love against her chest, the little girl plopped herself down on an unattended sack of grain and turned her brown eyes skyward to watch the dragons circling overhead. She had seen dragons before –search dragons and messengers and the like- but she had never seen so many in one place before. She toyed with a pale braid, imagining herself riding one of them. She would be a goldrider of course, because if Ke’rin was a bronzerider that she could easily handle a gold. Her dragon would have a really long, pretty name like…Sendarinieth…and she would have a spot in the shape of a beautiful flower right between her eyes!

Lamb fluted weakly, landing on a nearby wagon to try and catch her breath as her charge sat down for what she hoped would be a long rest. The meek little creature was turning out to be a terrible babysitter, and should the girl ever get the idea to do wander out of line- “Hey mister rider? What do your knots say?” Lamb chirruped in alarm, yellow eyes spinning as she turned them first on the place where Arune had sat moments ago, then to the place where she currently stood, tugging on T'rid's sleeve. She was short for an eleven year old, and was only a little more than half of the bronzerider’s height.

The green flitter chirruped pitifully and tucked herself into a small, trembling circle. Oh now what was she supposed to do?

[Avu]

Tug, tug.

Instinctively assuming that Stupid had decided to try to get his attention, the bronzerider reached for the source of the tugging on his sleeve. Conspiracy’s startled chirrup informed him that it was not Stupid, just as T’rid’s hand circled Arune’s wrist – and just as her question reached him. T’rid stopped, blinking down at the little girl. A distinctly bemused expression flickered across his face – he knew he was tall, but there were taller – as he stared at Arune for a moment, blinking as he tried to regain composure. Were all Holdbrats this…forthright? He didn’t think so…weren’t Holdbrats supposed to be meek and all? He was quite sure this little girl was not Weyrbred; he’d have seen her before, especially since Selenitas’s ranks had been so notably depleted. She was short, too. Very small. T’rid resisted the urge to crouch – children were very touchy, weren’t they? – and merely shrugged one shoulder, automatically glancing down at his own knots.

Not that they’d changed.

“Bronzerider,” and he pointed at the bronze-dyed thread twisted around the one dyed with Selenitas colors, releasing Arune in the same movement, “and Wingleader.” Normally, T’rid would have been quite petulant at even having to explain – what were they teaching the Holdbrats nowadays? – but at present moment, he was actually in a somewhat good mood – surprisingly. It was, he decided, the ability to get out of the Infirmary – poor fools who had been hamstrung or had their legs broken; it would have driven him absolutely batty. And he was also hoping that the girl would ask him how a man with a broken arm could possibly hope to lead a wing, because he didn’t know. Even if his arm wasn’t broken, he’d have a heck of a time even so much as putting Corinth’s straps on, due to the nerve damage in his left hand; his right was his dominant hand (which was why his left arm had been the sacrifice during the Siege), but he still needed his left, and the damage had, while the numbness had receded to the very tips of his ring and middle fingers, it was still new enough to cause awkwardness.

Conspiracy, meanwhile, had resigned himself to peering curiously down at Arune; the feline-patterned brown spread his wings with a soft squawk, poking T’rid in the cheek just as Corinth’s head came up and around, the bronze clearly interested. Is it a hatchling, Mine? Tell her our names, please; be polite or the hatchling will be offended. Offended hatchlings are not as entertaining as the happy ones, you know. They’re inconsolable, usually, the bronze added, more dryly. He hadn’t missed the ‘hatchlings’ sobbing over little things – sometimes even without reason (or so it seemed) – and he did not want a sobbing hatchling on His, because then T’rid would be either agitated or annoyed, and that did not make for a good time, especially not for Corinth, who was fully aware (unlike Conspiracy, who doted on the bronzerider) of his, T’rid’s, foolishness when it came to being nice.

“That’s Corinth over there,” the bronzerider commented, half-absently, obediently, pointing at the bronze dragon. Sprawled on the riverbank, Corinth looked rather bigger than he truly was, an illusion he dismissed by sliding fluidly into a seated position, arching his neck curiously over the tops of the caravans to see Arune. A lovely hatchling, the bronze commented, with mock solemnity. “This is Conspiracy, and Stupid’s sleeping in my sling, and I’m T’rid. Is that your flitter?” Then he paused, doing a double-take as he peered at the little bundle of feathers in the girl’s arms. “And your…uh, goose?” Holders didn’t have pet geese, as far as he knew. Geese were actually tithe-items, sometimes – usually dead, because living geese didn’t do well around dragons – but geese as pets to little girls? That was just…odd. And speaking of which, since when did Selenitas Hold distribute flitter eggs to ten-Turn-old children?

[nightingale]

Pausing a moment to readjust her grip on Love –who was getting restless and difficult to hold onto- Arune blinked her dark eyes innocently at the bronzerider, and turned to follow his gesture as Corinth appeared on the far side of the courtyard. They widened for an instant, then a pair of blonde eyebrows slipped down to brush her eyelashes. “He’s a bronze? He looks kinda small.” This was an observation based purely on the fact that the only other bronze dragon she had seen in her life was Jaymith, and though the weyrling had yet to fill out his impressive frame, he was still a veritable monster where bronze dragons were concerned. “He’s pretty.” She added, not for the sake of politeness but because she truly was charmed by the way the sunlight glinted off of his hide. Maybe she would be a bronzerider when she grew up...


Her attention returned T'rid, then went to Conspiracy and the arm sling containing Stupid in quick succession. “You sure name things funny.” She mused, pouting slightly as she shifted Love once again. “But I guess if my arm got itself busted, then I’d call it Stupid too.” As Lamb heard herself being brought into the conversation, she took it upon herself to glide down and light upon the little blonde’s head. Warbling as she balanced herself precariously, she pressed an image of Ke’rin into the wingleader's mind. Oh, no! This was Hers! The tiny greenchild belonged to him, and the baby was her Love! “Nope.” Arune offered simply, giggling as she leaned her head back and tried to catch a glimpse of the little green creature on her head. “They’re my brother’s. He’s a bronzerider too, ‘cept his dragon is still a baby.” Love quacked her annoyance at having her feather’s ruffled by her captor’s movement, and the girl took a moment to tuck her securely under one arm.

“So those Bendens gotcha, right T’rid?” She grinned, finding the idea of talking to someone who had been at the battle very exciting. Kei had been rather hesitant to explain the details of the fight to her, and that had been frustrating. What was the point of having big adventures if you didn’t bother telling people about them? That was the reason she had been sent to ‘walk his goose’- several of the other patients in the infirmary had been less than pleased to have a little girl turning their pain, suffering and dead comrades into a bedtime story. “Did you kill a bunch of them?” She asked, dark eyes sparkling with excitement. “Did you and Corinth get to flame any of the bad dragons? It that what busted your arm?” Lamb warbled from her shoulder, timid and embarrassed.

[Avu]

What? He looked small? Well, he was small. T’rid glanced at Corinth, almost as if to check – again – whether or not the bronze really was small. For a bronze, Corinth was positively miniature; the Weyrlingmaster what’s-his-name’s brown was his same size, and their ‘second, Ruskeath, not much smaller. But – because of course he wasn’t biased – T’rid thought that Corinth had the best of both words. His wings were large enough (especially in proportion to his body; the bronze’s wings were huge then – a good-sized bronze could probably borrow his wings and fly perfectly, never mind a brown-sized bronze) that he could last an entire Threadfall without trouble, and he was small enough and slender enough that he could match, if not surpass, the agility of some of the browns. And greens, apparently, preferred the smaller male colors – which assisted Corinth, and irked T’rid because it assisted Corinth. But still – a Holdbred little girl – particularly one as small as Arune was – oughtn’t she think Corinth big? Hmm. Well, anyway, pretty was good enough.

Tell the hatchling I thank her, and that sometimes being small is an advantage, Corinth answered with perfect solemnity, sounding amused. Yes, amused. T’rid wondered vaguely if the bronze was really insane – if it was possible for dragons to be insane, that was…he shrugged his right shoulder. “He says thanks. For the pretty, I mean. And he says sometimes being small can be an advantage. Saves him getting Threaded sometimes,” the bronzerider added, shrugging. Because, yes: Being agile during Threadfall was definitely an advantage, especially in the upper wings. He was rapidly getting bored of the conversation, and it showed in the way his gaze flickered away from the little girl, towards the caravans beyond her and to Corinth. Little children simply could not hope to hold his attention for long.

He blinked back down at her at her comment. He – what? Named things funny? “I didn’t name Conspiracy,” he corrected her. Actually, Stupid had. He’d said the word, and then Stupid had positively thrown it at the newly Hatched firelizard – and it had stuck. But – “Stupid isn’t my – “ At that moment, as if on cue, T’rid’s “arm” decided to pipe up; a dark brown head stuck out of his sling, the Salamandyr’s tongue flicking against his Minepet’s arm. Issa Stupid, he introduced himself, blinking curiously at the girl. She…who was she? Greenie? T’rid shifted the sling pointedly, the movement slight enough not to send a pang through his arm, and Stupid trilled in alarm as the folds of cloth nearly sent him sliding backwards. “He’s my Salamandyr,” T’rid finished dryly. ’Mandyr Stupid, the brown agreed, intent on inserting his opinion.

Lamb’s imaging helped T’rid much more than Arune’s words did – though the words would have been enough; there was only one baby bronze at the moment – and that was Jaymith. Aberath and His had been killed in the Siege of Selenitas, and, a fact which made the bronze quite memorable, Jaymith was Corinth’s offspring. A half-smirk of amusement crossed the Wingleader’s face, and he bit his lip lightly before he commented, “Ke’rin. Jaymith. Jaymith’s Corinth’s get.” Ironically, he almost preferred to forget that Corinth had ever Caught Aslath, but when it came to bragging rights about his dragon, that he had sired Jaymith was indeed something to be proud of. After all, Jaymith was huge, and both Aslath and Corinth had been relatively small. But hey, T’rid wasn’t complaining.

The little girl’s interest in the Siege, however, had him even more rapidly loosing interest in her. The Siege – that was what everyone was talking about today. Motives, the poisoning, everything. He’d chat about it with Corinth – they already had and had eventually come to the conclusion that Benden was either completely messed up in the logic department or that something else, or rather, someone else, had been in there as well – but he was less than interested in explaining it to Arune. “Yes, yes, no, yes,” he answered, hardly even looking at Arune by then. “Yes, they broke my arm; yes, I killed some; no, Corinth didn’t flame because he didn’t have firestone and couldn’t get into the air because the Bendenites had taken over the air – won’t someone miss you?” Miss you stupid?

[nightingale]

The girl’s head tilted ever so slightly to one side, drawing a chirrup of alarm from Lamb, who was having quite a time keeping herself upright. “Oh…well I guess not getting threaded is good…but how’s he gonna catch the queens when he’s so little?” When Arune imagined bronze dragons, she rarely pictured them fighting thread. The bronze dragons of her imagination were always great towering creatures who sat regally alongside their queen and a magnificent clutch of eggs. Now that she thought about it though, maybe there was a reason why other dragons were so small –if the bronze dragons were always getting scored, then there had to be someone to protect the holds.

Upon catching sight of Stupid, the girl froze instantly. Her eyes widened, and a moment later she clamped a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to keep a river of giggles from spilling out. “He’s so cute!” She squealed emphatically, accidentally squashing Love a little too tightly and earning herself a plaintive quack. “Is he friendly? Can I pet him?” Without waiting for permission, she decided to extend her hand toward the little mandyr to test his reaction. She didn’t know very much about salamandyrs -save for Ke’rin’s brief explanation that they were a lot like small, loud, useless flitters- and this was her first time actually seeing one up close. Lamb trilled her displeasure, half-flaring her wings as some half-forgotten memory of the brown triggered her flight reflex.

Arune quirked an eyebrow, offering T’rid a brief and uninterested smile as her older cousin and Jaymith were mentioned. “Yeah, that’s my big brother.” She explained simply, returning her attention to his mindpet. “Whatcha mean when you say he’s Corinth’s get? I thought Kei was the only one who could make him get stuff.” She grinned at Stupid, inviting him to climb onto her hand with a small twitch of her fingers. “Nope, I’ve just gotta be back inside by suppertime. Does Corinth need a bath? I bet it must be hard to wash him with your arm busted and stuff. Lamb and me are going to the river, so we could help you wash him if you want.”

[Avu]

The little green firelizard was going to fall off sooner or later, T’rid noted with some dry amusement, if the girl didn’t stop tilting her head. Conspiracy twittered to her from T’rid’s shoulder, the brown flaring one wing as his tail tightened around his Bonded’s neck to balance himself. It was hard to balance with only one working wing, it was. T’rid automatically reached up his left hand, stabilizing his brown before he bit his tongue hard to keep from any comments that would offend Arune. Catch queens indeed! Corinth already had Caught a queen (though due to the size of both Millieth and Hepaticath, T’rid doubted he would again), and anyway, he didn’t want Corinth to catch another queen – because that would instantly elevate him to either Junior or Senior Weyrleader depending on the gold. “That never stopped him before,” he said dryly.

He could almost feel Corinth’s rumble of amusement; rather than be offended by the girl’s temerity, her assuming that simply because of size he couldn’t catch a queen, the bronze was amused. He was very much so; T’rid thought the bronze would practically preen in pride soon. His logic was rather…roundabout; if such a small girl assumed that he couldn’t Catch a queen, and he had, didn’t that mean he’d exceeded expectations? T’rid informed him very sarcastically that he had indeed exceeded expectations – he’d never expected Corinth to be such an arrogant brat. Not that it did much except elicit a serene croon from the bronze; just because he wasn’t openly arrogant didn’t mean the bronze wasn’t.

Arune’s squeal of delight over Stupid startled the Salamandyr, and Conspiracy twittered with soft confusion in T’rid’s ear. What – what? Stupid was cute? The Salamandyr purred uncertainly, recognizing the compliment when he heard it, and T’rid shrugged, resignedly letting Stupid scurry out of his sling onto the palm of his hand. Pet him, pet him, the brown purred encouragingly, his tongue flickering out to touch Arune’s fingertips; he nuzzled her lightly before arching his back, inviting her touch; Stupid liked attention, did the brown – and positive attention all too rarely came; T’rid did admit to being fond of the Salamandyr, but physical attention was usually only given to Conspiracy – Conspiracy never Chased firelizards or Salamandyrs or dragons; Conspiracy was constantly the sweetest thing in T’rid’s weyr – Conspiracy got the attention.

“I mean that Corinth’s his father. He’s Caught a queen before.” Was there slight triumph there? Probably so; T’rid’s eyebrow rose slightly: Stupid was literally preening at the attention, and he chirruped sweetly at Arune, shamelessly hopping onto her palm and then curled up there, peeping cheerfully at her. Nice bronzepet, pet him pet him~ The Salamandyr nudged Arune’s wrist absently with his muzzle, and then trilled at Lamb; what was she doing up there…? And why was there a goose? Funny goose; funny…the brown wobbled unsteadily over Arune’s arm and stopped a distance away from Love; his head tilted and he displayed at the young goose. Issa /what/? It had feathers – like Dinner; Stupid remembered Dinner, and he still didn’t like her. Deserter, she was! Running off during the Siege! (Manifestly untrue, but the chicken’s body had gone unnoticed during the clean-up – or at least, nobody had seen fit to list her on the list of the dead.)

T’rid shrugged his shoulder, Conspiracy’s claws flexing into his shirt automatically at the movement. “I don’t need to wash him,” the bronzerider countered. “There are Weyrlings and Candidates who take care of the dragons with injured Riders.” And anyway, he didn’t think Corinth would approve of his even trying to wash the bronze; dragon hide was remarkably slippery when covered in soap (surprise, surprise?) and with only one arm to wash and latch onto Corinth, T’rid would almost certainly end up in the River, cast and all. He knew that, and Corinth knew he knew it. See, you do have some sense, observed the bronze. Why don’t you bring the hatchling over? I would like to meet her, I’m sure – Stupid likes her very much. Do you think she’s old enough to Stand? No. – “Corinth says he wants to meet you, though…”

Trust Corinth to like hatchlings…even human ones.

[nightingale]

Arune was positively delighted with Stupid. The little girl was more than willing to run her fingers over his back and face adoringly. He was just so little! She had never seen such a tiny animal before, and the fact that he could talk made him all the more precious. “Who’s a pretty fella?” She crooned, carefully stroking his eye ridges with the side of her finger. “Such a nice little guy! He oughta call you ‘Nice’ instead of ‘Stupid’.”

Lamb seemed far less pleased to be sharing space with the brown salamandyrs, and a few pale orange streaks flickered across her yellow eyes as she watched him from atophe girl's head. That was her BABY. She pressed the word into Stupid’s mind, flashing an image of Rascal, Love and herself that reinforced the idea that they were a family. She was her HATCHLING. The large brown thing would not hurt her! Or…oh…oh, she would be SO upset with him! And she would call Rascal! She would! Andandand her Rascal would eat him up!

Arune's dark eyes flicked upward as T’rid explained Corinth’s parental status to the Christmas Weyrlings. “He’s Jaymith’s papa?” She asked incredulously, her expression dumbfounded as she tried to wrap her mind around the idea. Corinth was just so small! He looked more like Jaymith’s younger brother than his father…though now that she took a second look at him, the older bonze was definitely less awkward looking than Jaymith was. His muscles were more defined, and he was more sure in his movements than her cousin's bronze was. Perhaps he was impressive after all...

“Oh, I’m gonna be a candidate when I’m older!” She explained eagerly, her attention returning to T'rid as she shifted Love to make petting Stupid easier. Lamb trilled unhappily, but her complains went unheeded by the youngster. “Momma says anybody can be a candidate, so I wanna practice now so that when I do get searched I’m really good at stuff like dragon washing.” Her eyes were bright and egger as she spoke. Arune was sure in the innocent and whole-hearted way only children could be sure that she was destined to be a dragon rider –maybe even a gold rider-and they only grew brighter when he suggested that she go over to meet Corinth.

“He wants to see me? Really? Should I bring him a present?” She mused briefly over what sort of present you would bring a dragon. A herdbeast? No, they ate herdbeasts all the time...maybe a runner? She wasn't sure that eating a runner would be at all pleasant but the girl was quick to remind herself that she wasn't a dragon.

[Avu]

Stupid was preening by that point, crooning as he nuzzled Arune, his entire body rubbing along her fingers, both wings splayed out to keep his balance. Claws were carefully tucked inwards as not to poke the girl – Stupid wasn’t stupid (despite what his name might suggest) – hurt humans did not tend to give affection very well to the cause of said pain. He’d figured that one out quite early on when he’d literally managed to topple a trash can and land it squarely on one of the Drudges’ feet. The resulting shrieking had been very intimidating, and the Drudge had fumed for the rest of the time she’d had to clean T’rid’s weyr. Nice pretty Stupid, the brown crooned, flicking out his frill for Arune’s inspection. Bigger best, see? Did she see his frill? It was pretty, wasn’t it? T’rid watched the Salamandyr, his eyes unreadable. His arrogance was clearly rubbing off on Stupid; he’d have to fix that…somehow…he doubted it was possible, though.

“He can be a brat.”
Stupidmine not speak.
“See?”

The bronzerider sniffed, glancing askew at Lamb; from the impressions T’rid was receiving from Stupid, the green was…under the illusion that the duck was…her, uh, baby, as it were. Well, why not? Stupid thought himself worthy to mate with green dragons (how was that even possible, physically?) – so sure. Delusional green firelizard – surprisingly common, probably. The Salamandyr, however, hissed disapprovingly at Lamb, his frill stiffening defiantly at the green. /Not/, he stated, emphatically. Bronze wingy babies has – you not. He bounced slightly on Arune’s palm, and then flicked out his tongue to touch the girl’s wrist lightly. Is Mine now, he added, preening a bit more. He liked this one, he did. Could he keep her…?

T’rid smirked slightly at the girl’s incredulous expression. Was the idea of Corinth having fathered a clutch really so hard to comprehend…? The names of the Weyrleader – and former Weyrleaders; you could bet that most people would recognize S’rei and Ka’rys’s names, as well as his and K’roi’s – should be remembered by everybody; there was simply no way to explain a child not knowing. Ignorant little girl, was Arune…? Admittedly, Corinth was small, and yes, he was almost feminine in build in his slenderness, but – a bronze was a bronze; queens even occasionally mated to browns, and Corinth did manage to outsize most of them – albeit only barely. He nodded, glancing sideways at Conspiracy and quirking one eyebrow in slight amusement as the brown peeped quietly down at Arune, clearly rather upset that Corinth’s having sired a clutch – and such a short time previously, too – had gone unmentioned. The brown really only hero-worshipped T’rid, but, by default, some of that loyalty was given to Corinth, too.

“Are you,” T’rid muttered, at the girl’s proclamation of being a Candidate. It was tempting to point out that people very rarely became Candidates unless a dragon Searched them out, because it was very rare that dragons missed a Candidate on Search, considering the very small number of Holds that Selenitas covered (legally, anyway; there were oftentimes a few illegal Searches in the North). Dragons were simply too sensitive for that anyway, especially the greens and blues that were sent on Search more often than bronzes and browns. He refrained from doing so even as he turned towards the River, trusting that Arune would follow him and not just stand and chatter to midair. “You should see if you can wash Calistoth; I bet she’d be okay with that.” Either the green would be okay with it, or she’d eat Arune. T’rid wasn’t quite sure which he wanted – the girl to actually comprehend how much of a dragon, even a green, there was to wash, or to see that all dragons really weren’t nice.

“No presents. Please don’t,” he added, glancing backwards at Arune and crinkling his nose disapprovingly at the thought. “He’d only get more egotistical. And anyway, he doesn’t really need or want anything.” Actually, Corinth wanted him to get better, but since he didn’t think Arune could magically heal a broken arm, he’d have to deal with nothing at all. My ego would /not/ inflate. Please don’t confuse you and I, Mine – we are most decidedly /not/ alike. The bronze’s amusement came in a wave, and T’rid sniffed slightly at the dragon’s comment. And I don’t see why I can’t be bathed. I like being bathed; it feels nice, and she /wants to/… Brat.