into the maelstrom [g'tor]

[Avu]

Typically, T’rid was possibly the very worst patient any Healer could ever dream of: Restless, irritable, argumentative, and contrary for the sake of contrariness. Not that day. No: He was even more in the mood to be contrary than usual. At first, upon receiving the news, he’d been stunned into silence for a time; this had turned into silent fuming; and emerged, finally, in a black mood. It had been Corinth who passed the message to him: Wings had been completed, and they were Wingleaders. Maelstrom Wing, as before – he liked the name, but that was all he liked – and K’lir and Calistoth were still on his wing, and – argh. G’tor and Ruskeath as Seconds; K’von and Dohulth; Darya and Azrath; Saraina and Hokth; Dorava and Aonith – of the full list Corinth had provided him with, those were the only ones T’rid remembered, and he was upset. First, why was he still a Wingleader? Couldn’t they find anybody better than him? S’rei, or – ? He didn’t know the full list of deaths, but he was pretty sure S’rei was alive. And he’d been a horrible Weyrleader. He hadn’t tried, just to be sure that the next time Wingleader assignments rolled around, he’d been left out.

How well had that worked?

His second problem had a first name, as well as a nickname. Its first name was K’lir; its nickname was Calistoth. T’rid didn’t even want to think about the greenrider. And then there was Dorava and Aonith, too. They seemed to spend an awful lot of time grounded due to Aonith’s injuries, didn’t they? She’d be next to useless if Thread fell anytime soon – he hadn’t checked the charts for a while, so he wasn’t exactly sure – and of course, there were his own injuries. He couldn’t possibly be annoyed about Aonith’s without being a downright hypocrite, but that had never bothered T’rid in the least. But the truth was the truth: He couldn’t lead a wing with bandages spanning his chest, much less with his arm nearly snapped in two; he’d kill himself, and be even more useless in the air than grounded, if Corinth had to worry about his Rider dying before Thread ever fell. Graaaah.

So, fuming, he’d managed to roll himself of his bed and make his way, slowly and painfully, Conspiracy and Stupid both asleep in his sling, to the weyrledge, where he’d flopped tiredly on top of Corinth’s foreleg (it hurt to climb any higher, so, much to his frantic annoyance, he’d deigned to stay there as the bronze half-curled around him), and promptly lectured the bronze about his ‘off’ eating habits of late. The bronze hadn’t been eating for the first few days, but earlier that morning, he had obediently, to one of the Healer’s orders, flown off to feed and come back satiated, his metallic glow back, to curl up on the empty ‘ledge just above Aslath’s. It was fortunately a large one, so he could sprawl out if wanted, but he didn’t want to, and had ended up curled in one corner of the ‘ledge, the rest of it empty, spanning away from the small bronze. The only response T’rid got for his lecture was to be licked full in the face, which resulted in much sputtering and indignation.

And then the topic had gotten around to wings again, much to the bronzerider’s dismay. Corinth repeated the list of ‘riders, and he’d insisted on making T’rid form out a rough idea of the plans – T’rid liked putting his ‘second riding point, as usual, with the rest of the dragons spread out through the forward-V. It consisted mostly of him talking aloud to Corinth – “I can’t put Calistoth next to any of the greens – don’t you remember Reysalth? She’ll eat them…or they’ll eat her. One of the two. It seems pretty interchangeable, doesn’t it…? I’ll switch Dorava here,” and he dug a stick through the dirt to show Corinth what he meant, “and leave K’lir there, and put Tl’er and Rassorth here, see? No greens next to Calistoth. Problem solved. And they’re spread out, too…but Tl’er and Dorava can be moved around, but Dorava won’t be flying ‘cause of Aonith, and…and Corinth, this is hopeless; I’m going to forget all of this…”

Why would you forget? I’ll get someone to bring you something to write on. Corinth didn’t wait for a response before he threw his head skyward, the motion rippling through his entire body and drawing a wince from T’rid as his broken arm nudged the bronze’s shoulder in the movement. Ruskeath, Ruskeath – it’s Corinth. Is Yours available? Mine is trying to do a first draft of the Wing Patterns, and he would like Yours’ opinion and help – and if he could bring one of the writing-sticks and paper, it would be much appreciated. We are at the temporary Infirmary, Aslath's Weyr. Can you come? There is an empty ‘ledge just above us for landing.

[Rowana]

Ruskeath raised his head at Corinth's summons. He turned and nudged G'tor, who was napping on his back. The healer's may have let him out of the temporary infirmary, but he was far from healed yet. Tor-mine. Corinth's wishes to see you. G'tor blinked at his dragon wearily. "T'rid?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "What for?" To draft wing patterns. G'tor blinking confusion. "Wing patterns..." he repeated slowly.

Ruskeath nudged him again. You are his Second now. he reminded patiently. Had you forgotten? G'tor jumped up in surprise, then groaned and hunched over his stomach. Ruskeath crooned worriedly. "Sorry, Rusk. I did forget. I mean, a Second. Me? I thought it was a fellis induced dream." He chuckled, but stopped quickly as that pulled on his stitches too. Straightening, he settled on the brown's back once more. "Tell Corinth we're coming."

Ruskeath took off from the ledge and gently circled around to the one above Corinth. Mine is coming, Corinth. he told the bronze respectfully. He landed and G'tor slid carefully off his back. Corinth's also requests you bring paper and a writing stick. G'tor rolled his eyes. "Now you tell me." Smiling, he waved at made his way through the hallways. He could pick up the stuff on the way to Aslath's old weyr.

G'tor came up to T'rid ladened with writing tools. He looked his Wingleader over carefully. He looked grumpy, but no worse than the last time he had seen him. "How're you feeling?" he asked politely. G'tor felt more nervous today than he had felt in turns and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't such a big deal. He had talked to T'rid dozens of times before. Why should today be any different?

[Avu]

“…!”

Is something wrong? Corinth asked lazily, yawning as he rolled over, capsizing slowly, like some giant bronze inflatable raft that had been punctured, onto his side and carefully bringing T’rid along with him, dropping His onto his stomach and crooning loudly, the sound sending vibrations racing through his stomach. The bronzerider clung as well as he could with only one arm, sniffing indignantly at the dragon. “Something is potentially wrong, yes,” he agreed, pointedly nudging Corinth in the ribs with the heel of his right foot. “Why’d you call Ruskeath and G’tor? I could’ve – I mean – my right hand’s not broken, I can still write. We could’ve just gotten a Healer…and didn’t G’tor get hurt? Like, badly?” Scorch it, but was his entire wing going to end up crippled?! On the upside, it couldn’t possibly be just his wing; the casualties hadn’t been limited in any manner of the word – so his wing wouldn’t be the only one floundering. Which…was not really exceptionally reassuring, considering if all the wings were failing, Threadfall would be an absolute disaster.

The dragon squirmed, sprawled on his back with his oversized wings spread on either side of him, in something of a dust-bath; his eyes whirled slightly in shades that mixed confusion and amusement into one bright color: He was pleased that His was well enough to come outside, after all. Ruskeath says they are coming, so I assume that he is well enough, the bronze replied, tail switching lazily along the ground. He is bringing you the writing-stick, too, and paper, so you cannot protest about forgetting the wing patterns. Recall, now, where did you have Calistoth and Rassorth and Aonith…? And will Llayanth be rotating in for one of them? He was getting headaches; the mention of the four greenriders that made up his wing made T’rid want to throw up his hands in distressed frustration. “Can’t I wait for G’tor’s opinion? Seriously, Corinth. I can’t do it all on my own – look at our last patterns. It was okay, but I had to change things immediately.” One thing does not mean a failure, the bronze corrected, just as Ruskeath swooped in overhead to land, the dragon crooning a greeting.

Flat on his back, his Rider seated on his stomach; the meeting would be possibly the most informal of all time. And besides, it wasn’t like Corinth to be stiff and overtly polite to his Second. Hello, Ruskeath, the bronze stated pleasantly, I hope we didn’t disturb you or Yours from any matters of importance. His goal was not to alienate the members of his wing; his goal was to make them close. Wings were like family, typically, and Corinth wanted to emphasize that. He didn’t want a wing full of nervous, flighty dragons who couldn’t trust the rest of the wing, because that trust was necessary in Threadfall, and his Second he preferred to have on his side. And anyway, he liked Ruskeath. How is Yours faring, by the way? He was injured, was he not? Corinth remembered what he felt important, and at the moment, he vividly recalled (through T’rid’s eyes) the Siege of Selenitas. The hurt – and T’rid had just said Ruskeath’s had been hurt, hadn’t he?

As G’tor approached, T’rid nudged Corinth in the ribs with his foot again until the bronze huffed softly and let him slide to the ground, one wing coming underneath to cushion the pain that accompanied the landing for his Rider. The brownrider’s question was answered with a momentarily surprised look, and then one of wry amusement. “Better than I was when I was tied to a cot.” The answer was brief, almost dismissive; the bronzerider didn’t like the cap on his freedom, even if he’d have probably hurt himself worse otherwise. He was simply a flighty person, prone to vagueness when it came to his health, and erratic, unable to be depended on. Which made him quite a target for Healers, even though he’d insisted (rather petulantly) that it was his arm broken, not his leg, and he wasn’t an invalid.

“Anyway,” the bronzerider went on, “I’m assuming Corinth already let you know you’re my new Second – or K’roi and Gareth did – but – yeah. Since I can’t do anything even vaguely physical, Corinth’s ordered me to draw up the wing patterns…” He wrinkled his nose, shrugging as he reached up to tug a piece of paper and a stick of graphite from G’tor’s hands, flattening the paper against Corinth’s hide – and found himself utterly stuck. He couldn’t use his left hand to hold the paper down; it would require lifting his arm, and he couldn’t write and pin it down at the same time, either. “…uh, yeah…and I need help writing…”

Very smart. Very, very smart, Corinth observed dryly.


((Right, so, the NPCs I’ll be using are: V’ryan of brown Pyassorth; Z’yalt of blue Storyanth; C’trel of blue Woranelth; Tl’er of green Rassorth; and Amiysa of green Llayanth, in case G’tor wants to mention any of them~))

[Rowana]

Ruskeath twisted his head around his ledge so he could just see Corinth. We were only napping. he replied in a friendly matter. Mine is well enough, though he is too stubborn to admit it still causes him pain. I believe he is sorry he could not do more to help. Ruskeath's voice took on a note of concern. How is Yours? I heard his wounds were serious. Ruskeath considered nearly every dragon his friend and therefore their riders as well. He especially hated it when they had been hurt while he had not be able to protect them.

G'tor rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "It was mentioned to me," he said, not wanting to admit that he had in fact forgotten. As least T'rid looked much better. G'tor could completely sympathize with him. He had only been too happy to be released from the clutches of the healer's as soon as possible. Being stuck inside so much made him claustrophobic. G'tor smiled and shook his head at his Wingleader's attempts to write.

G'tor reached for the paper and stick. "I can write," he offered. "But I can't vouch for it being legible when we're done." He leaned against Corinth's side with an apoligetic glance at the bronze. With the paper ready, he turned to T'rid. "Who do you have so far?" G'tor's face twisted in concentration as he tried to remember who was on the wing now. They had lost some. P'nor for one, or G'tor knew he wouldn't be standing here. He wished he had paid more attention to who K'roi had put in their wing this time. He could only remember Calistoth was still with them. She would be a interesting to work with as usual.

[Avu]

Napping? – oops. Sleeping was important, wasn’t it? Corinth very rarely napped; the bronze tended to simply lie there, fully awake, and pass it off as resting. Even at night, he was a light sleeper and more often than not liked to drowse rather than fall completely asleep. The bronze would have apologized, but by the tone of his voice, Ruskeath clearly thought napping was not a matter of any importance, so the bronze merely crooned, curling up a little tighter, tail falling negligently around both G’tor and T’rid, his body forming almost a complete circle around the two Riders. Possessive, yes he was; T’rid was His, and G’tor was part of his wing. But…it still caused him pain? The bronze resisted the urge (barely) to nudge the brownrider to make sure he was okay, settling his head more firmly into a little dip in the ground. I’m sorry to hear it. If he’s well enough to walk – it was his leg was injured, yes? – then that’s good, but surely he can use numbweed or the poison painkiller? The “poison painkiller” – fellis. To consider it as thus was Corinth’s way of remembering never under any circumstances to get near the plant.

The question as to T’rid’s health, however, drew a huff from the bronze, sizes expanding as his tail tightened the circle, semiconsciously. He is…not as well as I should hope, the bronze admitted slowly. There is nerve damage in his left hand. It’s not as bad as it was at first; it’s faded – but what’s left may be permanent. And his arm was broken, and he cannot…use it, and it will take a good deal of time to heal, they say…the Healers, that is. In any case, he’s very unhappy trapped in the Infirmary. With a slightly apologetic croon, the bronze tilted his head, arching his neck so that his chin rested loosely on the ground, head sideways enough to watch Ruskeath. Yours may have to lead the wing during the Drills at first, if Mine is not capable, he admitted softly. Mine wants to try, because it gives him a reason to leave the Infirmary, but I won’t let him get hurt worse because he’s too stubborn to admit it.

Mentioned to him? By Corinth? T’rid would have asked the bronze, but he wouldn’t remember, so the bronzerider merely shrugged, allowing G’tor to take the paper. A half-smirk twitched T’rid’s mouth, twisting it into a dry sort of smile, at the brownrider’s comment. “You say it like you expect mine to come out legible,” he commented, shrugging. “It’s okay. As long as I have some sort of written record, Corinth can’t complain, and I’m pretty good at deciphering…stuff.” He’d had practice, anyway; his own handwriting looked rather like a head-on collision between chicken scratch and one endless scrawl. It had gotten even messier during his days as Weyrleader and Wingleader, to the point that even he had trouble trying to figure out what he was trying to write. He’d ended up getting a Drudge to scribe for him when he was addressing the Hold, and he’d just gotten better at reading his own handwriting when it came to personal notes.

The brownrider’s question made T’rid lean against Corinth, closing his eyes as the bronze crooned, a single high note, his head coming around to nudge G’tor’s shoulder lightly in what could only be described as gently amused. The apologetic glance had not been lost to the bronze. He made a good desk, didn’t he? “Forward vee pattern,” the bronzerider recited, pushing Corinth’s head out of the way, “Cor and I ride lead; I want Calistoth and K’lir first behind me on the left diagonal; and you’re riding left point. That’s for certain – I want Calistoth close so Corinth can keep her in check, and…well, purportedly you could ride right point, too…but we’ll get to that later. I want either Hokth and Saraina or Azrath and Darya riding first right diagonal, and the other one second left – I don’t want any greens near Calistoth. And Aonith is grounded, if you want to make a note of that…”

Seeee. He so could be serious when he wanted to be; he just didn’t think to be most of the time. You can’t glide through life on sheer arrogance and luck – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try, right? “That’s all I’ve got for sure,” he finished, one eyebrow quirking curiously at his ‘second. “Any…changes, suggestions…?”

[Rowana]

Ruskeath shifted to be more comfortable. Mine takes poison pain killer when the pain gets bad, but he does not like to complain. He believes others are hurt worse. Ruskeath crooned worriedly. Both G'tor and T'rid needed to take better care of themselves in his opinion. I am sorry Yours is not well, Corinth. Tor-mine and I will do our best to help. Yours should worry about getting well first. Ruskeath twisted to get a better look at T'rid. Why were their riders both so stubborn?

G'tor smiled at Corinth before turning back to his work. He drew a large V on the paper with "Cor" at the top in messy scrawl. "Lis" went down and left from that and "Rusk" at the end of the left tail. He wasn't bothered to be put at the end. It was more important for the two tails to be balanced. He screwed up his face as he considered the rest. "I heard Azrath was injured, but I'm not sure how bad. He and Darya might not be able to fly for a while either." He added "Aon" to the bottom of the paper and mark her "G" for grounded.

G'tor scratched his head. "The rest, I don't know. We could put Dohulth or Pyassorth on right point to balance Rusk. Then Llayanth and Rassorth just above. That gives us at least two males between Calistoth and the other greens. If we put the remaining brown on her side too and the larger blues opposite, it should stay fairly balanced." It wasn't perfect. Calistoth's personality made it tricky to keep the wing balanced, but it was a start. He glanced at T'rid to see what he thought. It was his call in the end and G'tor would record it when they were ready. From what Ruskeath was relaying from Corinth, it sounded like he might be explaining this to the wingriders himself. He'd better make sure he understood it.

[Avu]

Belatedly, Corinth wished to take back the “poison painkiller” – but Ruskeath understood it, so the bronze didn’t apologize – there was no need to do so when no offense had been taken, after all. The small bronze rumbled softly, his head swinging upwards, eyes gleaming in Ruskeath’s direction. He honestly liked the brown – one of the reasons he’d been agreeable to letting His choose G’tor as his Second. Corinth was polite to almost any dragon, but the dragons he actively liked were not a great number. Simply because others are hurt worse does not mean Yours ought to neglect himself, the bronze pointed out softly. There will always be someone less fortunate than oneself, but that doesn’t mean anything. He won’t heal – and Mine won’t, either, I know – if he refuses the proper treatment. The bronze’s tail lashed once in agitation, the dragon careful not to strike either of the two men. Hitting T’rid would prove potentially disastrous; the shattered bone in his forearm had literally snapped in two, piercing skin, and though they’d been (very painfully) realigned, it was still all too easily snapped. And as for G’tor…it simply would not be manners to hit another dragon’s Mine.

I’m afraid, the bronze added, a quite note of amusement in his tone as he crooned, affectionately, at T’rid, That he’s concentrating on everything but that. It’s quite boring in the Infirmary, so he tells me – and I suppose he’s right. There really isn’t much to do, and Stupid and Conspiracy can only amuse him so much. He’d complain if I told him not to do anything, and he won’t /stop/ complaining. Nobody liked to hear T’rid complain. Mostly because he was quite shameless about it, and he’d complain loudly. Very, very loudly, and very pointedly; more often than not, his complaints were barbed with insults, and it was enough to drive anyone up the wall. But – I suppose we’d better focus on the Wing Drills now. I don’t want him to complain because I didn’t help him enough. He’s got reason enough without me adding another on. His tail-tip flicked, lightly, making it clear that the statement was purely affection towards His – and colored by amusement.

What? Scorch it…Azrath, too? “Umm,” T’rid muttered halfheartedly, leaning against Corinth as he bit his lip distractedly, watching G’tor scrawl down the names – shortened versions, but obvious which was which, so that was okay. The bronzerider couldn’t help the soft curse as Corinth touched his mind lightly. Azrath may or may not be grounded at the time of Drills, depending on when we begin, the bronze informed him. Aonith is definitely grounded. Azrath and Aonith should be left out of the pattern for now. We can work them in later – probably as switching with Calistoth, Rassorth, or Llayanth. Aonith, and possibly Azrath – grounded. Two dragons that could not participate immediately in wing drills. It did not bode well, especially considering there were only twelve in the wing to begin with. The Tidal Weyrlings would graduate soon, thankfully, and though they would probably be assigned to the queen’s wing, the queen’s wing would have people switched out. He could request for someone…

“Pyassorth is bigger than Corinth,” he said, almost absently. “Put him on right point…” He didn’t know how big Dohulth was, exactly, but Pyassorth was huge for a brown. “Hmm…we can put Llayanth right above Pyassorth; she’s small enough to offset him and she can pick off what he can’t maneuver to get. And if we put Llayanth there, then if you’re okay with Rassorth being in front of you and Ruskeath…” I have an idea, Corinth commented unexpectedly. He was talking to Ruskeath as well as His, and there was an almost uncertain undertone in his voice. It will be…a very controversial idea, and may very well fail. Wings must be flexible, yes? Could we not have one of the blues or greens – put Woranelth in Llayanth’s place, and use Llayanth – simply fly without a single set position in the wing? It allows for freedom – flexibility. When we go /between/, the pair could stay directly behind me, at a level with Ruskeath and Pyassorth, as not to offset the diagonals, but when Thread actually falls, they stay just under the wing – and flame what we miss. The queens’ flamethrowers are not as good as dragons’ flame, and it would lessen their burden. Assuming the wing’s communication is as good as I hope it to be, it should not make a problem.

[Rowana]

Ruskeath rumbled in agreement. Humans are very stubborn. Especially Ours. It really was frustrating sometimes. Ruskeath sympathized with Corinth completely. Whereas His might not complain all that much, he still had an annoying habit of discounted his own worth. He always put the lives of others before his own. Ruskeath was afraid that was going to get him killed someday.

G'tor scribbled more notes on the paper. "Az" was put down as grounded as well and "Pyas" went on the right point. He was about to record Llayanth's position when Ruskeath relayed Corinth's idea. G'tor looked thoughtful. "That could work," he mused. "Especially given how short we are of wingriders. It'll require a lot of practice and coordination, though." That meant a lot of drills in the future, but they were going to need that anyway. If it worked, it would be worth it.

[Avu]

The look that Corinth appraised Ruskeath with was one of faint amusement – and surprise. He sounded as if His was incredibly stubborn, too. Perhaps so, but not nearly as suicidal as T’ridHis, Corinth was sure; the bronze had already had numerous times to prove this – starting with that ridiculous feline attack. So easy it would have been to leave Jessereth’s to take care of it, or send out another dragon for them. Did they have to go? Nope. And once he’d gotten himself torn up, he’d outright refused to stay in the Infirmary, too. And the Touching of the Christmas clutch – the eggs that he had sired – the argument and the yelling. And now this. Yes, Corinth was quite sure His was suicidal. But he didn’t comment; he’d already, after all, turned his mind to the Wing Drills, which was undeniably the more important right now. He could talk to Ruskeath later – perhaps when he went to feed – when he didn’t have to consider the wing’s dragons. Hmm.

T’rid paused, too, glance flickering questioningly at Corinth before he glanced at G’tor again, checking the man’s reaction even as he brooded over the concept himself. It was…brilliant, in its own way, especially coming from a dragon, but dragons had always had set places in a wing formation. This was…a new idea, and, as the bronze had already stated, would definitely be the point of much controversy. And, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he kind of liked being a Wingleader. The power, the respect – not to mention the higher pay. Aloud, he answered G’tor, thoughtfully. “Wing formations require a lot of coordination anyway, especially going in and out of between. As long as the dragons in our wing make sure everyone else is aware of where they’re planning to – to come out of between, and which piece of Thread they’re trying to get – it should work out okay. It…would work, wouldn’t it?”

The latter was directed, almost uncertainly, at Corinth, who flipped his tail thoughtfully. It would not be impossible, the bronze answered slowly. It would…require much practice. Many Wing Drills – and better simulations to Threadfall during the Drills to check. It’s quite a different thing to pretend to fight Thread and to actually have something to flame, you know. And…Mine. There may be collisions. His tail flipped again, this time in agitation. We would also have to contact Millieth and see if she approves, as it interferes directly with the queen’s wing. Not negatively – but it still affects them. The queen should know. Another pause, as the bronze crooned aloud. We can, perhaps, come up with two different formations, introduce them both, and see what the wing thinks? They are the ones who will fly the pattern, after all. He glanced at Ruskeath, questioningly; his second’s opinion did matter, it did.

“If Calistoth’s a problem,” T’rid muttered aloud, “I’m asking K’roi to have her switched onto a different wing…I mean, if Llayanth’s flying below her – it’s not exactly a fixed position, but…still…” He sighed, one hand passing over his face wearily. “Corinth can relay the pattern to both Millieth and Gareth, and see what they think; they – or rather, Kaegan and K’roi – might be able to pick out something that we overlooked.” His brain had turned into a pile of mush, after all. Thank you, Infirmary! “For now, we might as well work the pattern that way – just put Llayanth in the center of the diagonals – and then, if we have time” – he couldn’t see why they wouldn’t, but that was okay – “we could see about making a pattern without the…the free-flying dragon. Corinth,” he added, aware that Ruskeath had probably already passed it to G’tor, “thinks we should ask the wingriders about which they prefer to fly. They know their dragons’ limits better than I do.”

[Rowana]

G'tor ran his hand through his hair thoughtfully. "We'll be able to tell if Calistoth will be a problem after a few drills," he said. "If Llayanth flying below her bothers her, then we can talk to K'roi." He really didn't want to have to bother Weyrleader, but this new idea might warrant it. What do you think, Rusk? The brown finished relaying Corinth's thoughts and gave his own in response. I believe it is worth trying. We no longer have the numbers to rely on traditional wing patterns. This may help us to overcome that problem. It will also encourage our wingriders to communicate more closely with each other. Ruskeath thought this was a good thing. They needed to work closely as a team to fight their best and avoid causualites.

G'tor nodded and turned back to the paper and wrote "Llay" between "Rusk" and "Pyas" in the formation. Then he listed the rest of the dragons accordingly, keeping Rassorth as a reserve to keep the sides even. He passed the paper over to T'rid for inspection. "I can talk to K'roi and Kaegan if you need me to," he offered. He expected it would mostly be K'roi. Kaegan wasn't in good condition and already had the hatching to worry about, but it would be rude not to at least tell her. "Do you want to make a second pattern right now?" It probably wouldn't take long since it would just be a simpler version of what they already had.

[Avu]

T’rid neglected to point out that he’d do very nearly anything to get K’lir and Calistoth off of his wing, simply nodding at his ‘second. Not that he had anything specifically against Calistoth – it was K’lir who made him want to strangle someone – but she still didn’t work well with others; see Reysalth for further information. Technically, that was probably because Reysalth was a green, but still. She’d have to deal with greens whichever wing she was on, whatever position she flew. Part of him – some perverse, personal part of him – wanted her to flip out at Llayanth. After all, Llayanth would be okay; the green was a chipper dragon and seemed positively resilient to any insults, deliberate or otherwise. Too bad Corinth was fond of K’lir. T’rid was quite certain K’lir was not aware of this fondness – fortunately – and sadly enough, it wasn’t even inexplicable. The greenrider had been an excellent source of revenge for Corinth, he had. But…’I don’t like him’ was, unfortunately, not excuse enough to instantly teleport someone from one’s wing. More’s the pity…

As Corinth relayed what Ruskeath was saying, the bronze rumbled quietly. Then we try it, he said, his voice quietly matter-of-fact. It wouldn’t hurt to try – after all, nobody had ever tried if before or recorded attempts thereof, so how would they know it didn’t work? If they’d a wing of sixteen or so, T’rid would have protested it as unnecessary, but as for now…with two grounded Riders and only ten left to fly the pattern…it was necessary. “We try it,” the bronzerider agreed, nodding as G’tor wrote down (still in shorthand) the dragons in their appropriate pattern. T’rid leaned against Corinth again, head lolling backwards absently to rest along the curve of the bronze’s ribs, glancing at the sky for a minute. They’d have to find some way to better simulate Thread. They could always fall back on using ropes, and yet…Thread didn’t quite fall the same way as ropes. It was lighter, and kind of slithered.

He didn’t mention it to G’tor as he took the pattern, wordlessly. Scanning over it, he chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “Switch Calistoth,” he decided after due consideration. It would mean Corinth couldn’t keep as close an eye on the green, but that wouldn’t matter if the pattern didn’t work out anyway. Put Rassorth in here,” and he tapped the parchment lightly, “And move Calistoth right before Ruskeath…I guess you can try to keep ahold of her? Shouldn’t be too hard…” That was probably a blatant (and rather obvious) lie, but that was okay; if Ruskeath thought he could handle her…well, the confidence was the trick, wasn’t it? Corinth was confident enough, and you didn’t see greens arguing with him.

“Umm…” He handed the hide back to G’tor, and then shrugged. “If you want to talk to K’roi and Kaegan, it’s probably best you do it right away. They’ll just get busier, closer to Hatching.” Would he know? Yes. “All the Holders are probably clamoring to come and all…and if they approve this, we won’t have to make the second one unless it doesn’t work.” And he was trying to connive his way out of doing too much work, he was. Technically, it was the truth. It was good to have a backup pattern that the Riders were also drilled into, just in case, but that didn’t have to be immediate, and T’rid was procrastination incarnate. “I can have Corinth bespeak Gareth and ask about it, if you want…more formal, that way.” Since it was the Wingleader expected to meet with the Weyrleader about anything, not the ‘second. But he was indisposed, and…well, at least he could try to help G’tor a bit. It wasn’t the brownrider’s fault that Corinth was an overprotective crechemother sometimes.

[Rowana]

G'tor glanced up at Ruskeath for his opinion on Calistoth. I can handle her, he assured him and Corinth confidently. And it will be easier for me to watch in front of me, than for Corinth to have to watch behind. He must have eyes for the whole wing, not just one green. G'tor nodded with a small smile and switched Calistoth and Rassorth as T'rid pointed.

When he was done, G'tor rolled up the hide. "If Corinth talks to Gareth first that would probably help. He can tell Rusk when K'roi has time to look this over. Goodness knows I have time. They're not letting me do much right now. I can't even them to let me go fishing!" G'tor left "they" fairly vague, but he was looking pointedly at Ruskeath. You'd think once the Healers had released him and said he could do light work, the dragon would be satisfied. But apparently he wasn't going to be satisfied until G'tor was healthy enough for his standards.