Say What? (Ember, Open?)

[reqqy]

He'd quite deliberately learned her schedule so that this was possible. Muta sat cross-legged on a nice-sized rock by the edge of the river, within sight of the candidate barracks. The boy only left the river island that housed the barracks out of necessity, because that meant finding someone else to row him - with no guarantee that it would be so easy to get back - or to endure the pain in his foot as he pushed against the boat in order to power the oars. While he didn't mind walking so much, the rowing definitely was more than just a little uncomfortable. The cane that he was presently using to help him get around lay propped up against the boulder.

In something of a foul mood, Mutasim was tossing old, practically useless knives that barely even could be considered weapons at passing driftwood. He'd never rely on them for defense, and since no one else in the entirety of the weyr seemed to give the almost certainty that they'd be attacked again any mind, it wasn't as if anyone else would be using these blades, either. Idiots. One of these days, they'd be overrun, and Mutasim would die attempting to protect some of the helpless wherrybrains, although he supposed that was better than surviving under the leadership of one of the northern weyrs. In truth, he was just in a foul mood. A very, very foul mood.

And why not? It had been a month since the fight with Ka'rys, and though he could manage getting around mostly on his own now, the foot definitely wasn't healing as fast as he'd like. And he'd even been good about it, too, relatively speaking; he'd hardly left the boys' dormitories at all for the first two tendays. A couple times, yes, but not for very long. Mutasim hated being cooped up, and he hated being limited like this even more. Speed was one of his best assets. Now he'd fall flat on his face. Speed, accuracy, and a mind that seemed to have been specifically crafted for the sort of fast-paced, creative thinking that made a good fighter into something...almost untouchable.

But not completely. Obviously. Sharding foot.

The boy absolutely refused to acknowledge the other reason for his ill humor, though it was perhaps the more powerful of the two. He'd finished it. At this very moment, the box lay beside him, sanded and polished to an even shine, his own peculiar method of coloring - since he didn't have the materials the scrolls described - detailing a stylized etching of a young dragon in pale yellow. The box itself was merely a container, but he'd wanted something that wouldn't cheapen the gift itself, which now lay nestled, hidden - and unlikely ever to be given to her.

Mutasim couldn't stand the thought of being near Savitri. She knew; he was sure of it. Or at least suspected. And, even if she didn't, the goldweyrling had seen him panic. There were very few things that could prick his pride, but that was most definitely one of them. It wasn't just fear, either. No. He'd pled and thrashed and quite probably screamed, though he wasn't sure about that last. Complete terror. Just the thought of the scene he must have caused had the boy's face darkening, his darker skin-tone not proof against the sheer intensity of the blush. He was completely humiliated and it had to have happened in front of her.

So, in his built-up frustration, he was killing driftwood.

[Ember]

Ferneth sighed as he walked along the river, trying to sort out his thoughts. The days were long and filled with chores or lessons or both. It was similar but not quite the same as his family's cot hold. The amount of drama was the same though. So far the drama consisted of the first time he met Mutasim, Derrin, and Meira. All three had been weird in their own way. He was already somewhat avoiding two of them. He'd like to talk to Meira again but he was giving it some time first.

Unforunately for him, the person he least wanted to see was not far along the candidate's path. Ferneth didn't really have much warning either. One moment he'd been walking along, not really focused on anything, next he found himself staring at a smaller figure sitting on a boulder, tossing knives at passing debris in the river. He considered just continuing past Mutasim but suddenly he remembered Meira's idea. Should he? Was he be brave - or stupid? - enough to ask some knife wielding, smaller boy to give him a knife? Come to think of it Ferneth would do better to ask how to use the darn thing usefully.

He inhaled deeply before walking closer to Mutasim, clearing his throat as another knife left the boy's hand and embedded itself in some driftwood. Considering the fact that Mutasim was wastefully throwing them at harmless objects he figured that the other didn't care over much about them. Just how he'd start the conversation he didn't know. "You're very good at throwing those," Ferneth said awkwardly, voice tinged with wariness. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. Might give Mutasim decide to start sending them his way.

He cast about for a different thing to say but couldn't figure one out. Fine, he'd just get it off his chest and be ready to run like crazy. That would have to work. "Look, I know you don't really like me much but...could you teach me how to fight with a knife? I figure I need to be able to defend myself from the lot up North. Also..." Here's where he paused. It was rather rude to ask someone you barely knew for their items but he felt the need to have one. "I don't have one of my own. Perhaps I could borrow one from you until I could buy my own?"

The distraction of Mutasim was a very good one for taking his mind off things. He remained wary of the other boy's movements, ready to try and run if he thought he was about to be attacked. It wouldn't do him much good, of that Ferneth was more sure than anything else. What happened depended on what Mutasim did now. Hopefully Ferneth wouldn't end up as target practice as he expected.

[reqqy]

Mutasim made no acknowledgement of the tall boy walking down the river's bank, aside from a bitter thought about it being fortunate that Ferneth hadn't witnessed his meltdown, or he wouldn't be able to scare him off again - and Muta had no interest in killing candidates. Or anyone, really, unless they decided to try to harm or kill him. Amazing what having blades at hand could do for your nerves. He hadn't truly realized how - visceral - his reaction to being at the mercy of someone like K'von would be. It was sobering. Somehow, he'd thought that, while yes, he still was quick to get defensive, the fear was at a manageable level. It had been turns now. Apparently, he was wrong.

Well, he definitely wasn't going to say anything to Ferneth, because he was just in the right sort of mood to start carving the kid up just to prove to himself that he could do it if the other candidate decided to get snotty with him again. Arrogant twit. He'd rarely had to be so demonstrative as to actually showcase his accuracy to get someone to back down.

The only truly noticeable change in the candidate - one that Ferneth was unlikely to notice seeing as how Mutasim was generally aware of people coming into his presence long before most everyone else was - was the power behind the knives. They were virtually screaming now as they split the air in a steady rhythm. Fifteen seconds between each cast, precisely, no matter where his target happened to be upon the river. And this, truly, was something of a languid pace for Muta. He wasn't even trying. In fact, the boy was simply...venting.

His eyes flicked to Ferneth disdainfully when the older candidate cleared his throat. Idiot. As if he wouldn't notice such a monstrosity bumbling down the river. Mutasim went back to searching out targets, never breaking his rhythm. He only grunted in response to Ferneth's comment about his 'skill.' The young man would probably think himself lucky that he wasn't being openly threatened, but, truly, this was Muta at his most dangerous. He very much wanted to be left alone.

Not that anyone ever seemed to pick up on the obvious these days. The next words out of Ferneth's mouth, however, had a definite effect; Muta's arm, coming up for another throw, paused, then slowly lowered, his dark eyes swinging around to fix on Ferneth with a predatory sort of contemplation. Teach him? Then he bared his teeth in a completely unfriendly smile. So the kid couldn't even wield a blade, eh? Well, he could use someone else who might divert attention from him in the event of an attack on the barracks, that was for certain, and northerners were pre-conditioned to look for larger, more powerful-seeming men. No, there was nothing whatsoever altruistic in the snap decision he made.

Ferneth had just disqualified himself as a threat by openly admitting he didn't know how to fight with a blade. Which, truly, was somewhat fortunate in the long-run. Maybe not so much in the short-run, given Muta's mood.

Of his three hidden daggers - he'd left the belts of decent throwing knives in his chest because these ridiculous things would be just as good if anyone decided to test his patience, and he might be tempted to throw them as well once he ran out of these, and he'd much prefer to hang on to the good ones - he drew the one he rarely used. It was double-edged and a foot long - just two inches shorter than the dirk that was his favored weapon. Almost negligently, he flipped the long blade at Ferneth, smiling smugly as the blade buried itself between the boy's feet.

Mutasim slipped from the rock, the dirk appearing in his hand almost miraculously sometime between the moment he pushed off and when he hit the ground, his weight mostly on his left foot, though he balanced lightly on the ball of his right. "Pick it up," the candidate commanded brusquely. "If you truly want to do this. I'm warning you, though; I'm not likely to go easy on you."

[Ember]

Ferneth was both amused and slightly awed at the precision and timing of each throw. He was even more reassured that the first throw the other candidate made meant to hit a person would be the fatal one. That just made Ferneth more apprehensive to approach. The last 'demonstration' was more than enough for him to back down right away the next time, much as he disliked being pushed around by the smaller boy. Knives were definitely a good enough reason though.

So while he noticed speed and accuracy, he didn't noticed the power. If he had he'd probably have just walked away instead of approaching. That was either a lucky or unlucky thing for Ferneth. The look he received was almost enough to send him away anyways but he had decided to try. The grunt after his first comment made him grimace ever so slightly. He couldn't understand Mutasim at all. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Normally he'd pick good but...

He still barge on through, somewhat surprised at the reaction he got. The other paused in his driftwood genocide to look at him. Ferneth managed to refrain from showing his worry as he was watched. Then the smile. Faranth, what is he planning? he wondered at the expression. Maybe this was a bit how Mutasim had felt when he had seen Ferneth's own smile? Still, he'd been trying to be friendly instead of doing whatever dark deed Mutasim was planning.

Ferneth tried to remain calm as Mutasim pulled out a knife. So where was that one headed? He flinched as the weapon flew through the air and planted itself in something other than flesh. He looked at it for a moment before looking back at the thrower curiously. He looked pleased about where it had landed so Ferneth figured it hadn't been meant to hit him at all. That was definitely a good sign.

As Mutasim got off the big rock he told Ferneth to pick up the knife. He barely managed to suppress a grin as he picked up the blade, examining it carefully, looking back to Mutasim as he spoke. "I'm serious," Ferneth told him. He wasn't about to flake out now. He was aware he'd likely end up a little worse for ware, but he'd rather that than not learn at all. He held the blade in his right hand and took up a fighting stance. Then he waited, watching his tutor.

[reqqy]

Mutasim watched Ferny almost ravenously as the other candidate bent to retrieve the long dagger. Finally! Something to do other than carve items that would never, ever be used because he didn't have enough foresight to think about what he'd do with them after they were completed, or throwing knives at inanimate objects just for the heck of it. Not that there was anything wrong with casting at inanimate objects - it wasn't a bad training exercise in the slightest. It was just...well...the doing it for no reason part.

What the boy wanted to do was run. He hadn't been on one of his previously daily runs since the fight, and he could just feel his endurance and body turning to mush - even though, in all reality, he probably was still at a higher physical level than most of the dragonriders. It didn't matter. To Muta, his body was turning to mush, and he hated that. It meant that, even when he'd recovered enough to resume normal activities, he'd still be weaker. He'd never been more than lightly cut, truly, before coming to Selenitas. Mutasim would say he was losing his edge, but that wasn't really true. The broken foot was from a fall, and, since he didn't get it seen to, it had snapped easier than it should have. It was truly the first time, though, that Muta actually had to stay down for an extended period of time without much in the way of company - probably because he was avoiding Savitri, but hey. Whatever.

The intensity with which Mutasim regarded Ferneth sharpened and grew less personal, the boy falling into an easy stance designed to put more weight on his left foot. He wasn't very big, truly - maybe 120 pounds soaking wet - but for someone of Mutasim's stature, that said a lot about the hidden musculature beneath his clothing. "First rule: If possible, evade." He skipped forward in a shuffle that should have been awkward, but...wasn't. His body naturally accomodated for his injury. No, Muta wasn't as fast as normal, but unless he forgot himself, the broken appendage wasn't going to be too much of a hindrance.

The dirk slashed horizontally toward Ferny's chest. "Back out of the way." Still moving forward, he continued the slash, gradually picking up speed on the arm stroke as he felt this other candidate out. "Balls of your feet. Up on the balls! There you go. Don't anticipate. Back up only as you see my arm coming. There you go. See how much faster you can move when on the balls of your feet?" Muta suddenly feigned one direction, arresting the stab before bringing his arm across his chest in another horizontal slash. He smiled. "Nice. But the problem with evading this way is I can chase you around forever, and the person who wins is the person who tires last. Not a good way to fight."

Most of the frightening edge had left the small boy. This was his element. No, he may not be precisely happy in it, but he was comfortable, and that meant he was relaxing and reverting to a part of himself that had survived Bitra. The part that had led and looked after other orphans when being alone, when living isolated, meant death. "You can't really step aside too well, but slash at me like I have been at you." His dirk came up to catch the blade and thrust it away. "No. Don't hold it in a fist." He dropped the stance, moving in closer to Ferneth, and grasping the taller boy's hand. "Curl your last three fingers around, grip with your thumb, and use your forefinger to steady. See?" Muta arranged the hand the way he'd just described, also lifting his own dirk so that Ferny could get a good look.

"It works better that way, because it will help you absorb impact, and later - if you want more than just a few basics - it will allow you to change grips quickly, giving you a larger range of attacks and defenses." Pausing, he looked up at Ferneth and smiled again, the expression much more genuine this time, if somewhat wry. Muta pushed the hair from his forehead, briefly revealing the fairly new scar - somewhat jagged - he'd received from a knife wound a month ago. "Thank you. Shards, but I've been stagnating so long, I was about to explode."

[Ember]

Mutasim looking at him the way he was made Ferneth slightly uncomfortable but he felt safer with the knife in hand. So that was the power having a weapon had on someone's confidence. Had he known that before he'd have learned a long time ago. Better late than never right? He considered asking if they could set up regular training sessions or something but it wasn't long before Mutasim was ready to get the current one started.

Ferneth nodded in understanding. It didn't make sense to take a bunch of slices while trying to deal them to your opponent. Avoiding being hit while attempting to land blows was always the first rule of any type of fighting. It was learning how best to evade and then strike that was the most important. He waited for Muta's next command as the boy came towards him with blade in hand. It was interesting to watch him move. One could see how skilled Mutasim really was when they were on the receiving end.

Then again, Mutasim wasn't trying to actually hit him. He obediently moved back, watching the blade move. Startled at the command, Ferneth shifted the way he stood so that he was doing as Mutasim said to. The boy was right! By Faranth it was it easier to dodge when he was on the balls of his feet. He followed the other things Mutasim said too. Yes, regular lessons in knife fighting with Muta would be a really good idea. He'd get the chance afterwards. Until then... "Yes, I see your point." And Ferneth did. He was finding himself short of breath after even such a short mock fight. Looks like training up his body was also on the list of things to do.

Probably what was surprising Ferneth the most wasn't how good Mutasim was but rather how different from the person he'd met in the common room he was right now. It was interesting to see him in a different light and Ferneth was glad for the chance to. He wasn't fond of disliking someone and now that he'd seen this side of Mutasim he wouldn't have to. He didn't expect to be friends or anything but it had been proved the two could get along under the right circumstances. Odd that knife training would be those circumstances, but oh well.

Slash at Mutasim? Alright then. He stepped forward, swinging the blade at the boy, but to no avail. The thing was easily knocked away, leaving Ferneth amused at how easy it looked to Mutasim. His amusement was quickly replaced by confusion. If he wasn't supposed to hold it in a fist how else was he supposed to? He watched Mutasim rearrange the way he held the blade. He tested out how it felt. A bit different than he expected to hold one but it seemed right.

The explanation made sense, although that wasn't what caught Ferny's attention. It was the mention of more. Was that confirmation that Muta would be willing to teach him more? He hoped so. The second smile was just as surprising as the first. Pretty weird when a smile caught someone's attention more than a scar did, though the mark on Mutasim's forehead was indeed noticed. "I ought to be thanking you. Perhaps you could teach me more at some point?" Ferneth queried hopefully, offering the blade to Mutasim hilt first. The boy hadn't told him to keep it after all.

[reqqy]

Ferneth was certainly tractable. It always annoyed Mutasim when people seemed to think that their 'brand new' idea on how to do things was somehow something never before thought of and that their way was the best way. The candidate didn't mind a little experimentation, and he himself truly wasn't close-minded, but when people wouldn't listen to a point-by-point explanation for why a certain attack or defense was ineffective, assuming that they knew the best of it even though they were no more than a neophyte in the martial world, Muta got swiftly annoyed. On the other hand, he'd incorporated a handful of interesting ideas over the turns - usually with a twist, but that was only to be expected - so Mutasim generally encouraged that sort of thinking. It was that creativity, after all, that could win you some of the more difficult encounters.

Holding your knife in your fist, though, was much too limited to be anything other than a habit that needed to be broken quickly. Then again, Mutasim fought with single-edged blades, requiring more maneuvering and finesse than the double-edged dagger he'd loaned to Ferny. And the smaller candidate was, frankly, an accurate long-range fighter, which required a similar hold on the weapon. It wasn't expressly wrong to hold a dagger the way Ferneth had been holding it, however it was definitely better to be able to eventually wield it with a wider range of options.

Blinking, surprised to find the boy giving the knife back to him, Mutasim merely stood there for a moment. Ferneth was tired already? That wasn't a good sign. He thought about making a quip, but...In all honesty, his foot had begun to ache again, as it often did when he began to push it too far. A dull, localized ache. In fact, the ache had narrowed to two points nowadays, which he actually took as a good sign.

He shook his head mildly, drawing the long, curved dagger that was his preferred secondary. Shorter than the dagger Ferny held, about half of the eight-inch long weapon was devoted to the handle. "I've got my main blades, and, until I grow a third hand - which some may argue I might just because that would be completely typical of me - I won't be needing that dagger. Besides, you need to practice some on your own time." He flashed Ferneth a wry grin, then contemplated the boulder he'd been seated on just a moment ago. Dagger and dirk vanished into their hidden sheathes. The boy walked rather awkwardly back toward the rock, wincing a little, then stubbornly pulled himself up despite the fact that it wasn't easy without using his hurt foot.

He managed it, though. There were a couple reasons he preferred the rock. First, it gave him a good vantage point of anyone or anything who might try sneaking up on him. Secondly, though, and probably just as important, it kept Mutasim from moving around too much unless he had good reason; not exactly easy to get down from in his present condition. The boy glanced at Ferneth as he settled. "You're going to need to do something about that endurance, though," he stated bluntly. If Mutasim was outlasting him on a broken foot and a body that hadn't seen much in the way of activity for a month, that wasn't good. "Running, swimming. Both would be my suggestion, since they work different muscles. Then again, you've got a body frame that could probably go the power direction but, even so, having good endurance will just add more advantages for you."

Mutasim was small. Obviously. He was actually pretty solidly built - without being stocky - for someone his size, but that still meant that even someone as paper thin as Ka'rys could have power on him just because of that extra half a foot in height or so. The candidate stretched with a catlike suppleness and seriously considered taking a nap, even if it was exposed and in the open. The candidate barracks weren't exactly a safe haven, when it came to security. Maybe he was just used to the constant threat by now. His eyes flicked toward Ferneth, wondering if the boy intended to leave or not. Surprisingly, Mutasim would be fine either way. The boy decided not to analyze that.

[Ember]

The older candidate was already thinking that he was relatively weak, despite what his size might suggest, he didn't need Mutasim to tell him that. Ferneth was glad that he got no snarky remark from his tutor. He probably wouldn't have thought of holding the knife differently, but the balls of his feet would likely have come eventually. He was very glad that Mutasim had saved him that time. This lesson was over and now maybe he could try and get to know Muta a little better.

Ferneth nodded thankfully when Mutasim didn't take the blade from him, pulling the knife back to him. Practice would most definitely be needed. "If you happen to grow a third hand, let me know," he said, grinning in amusement. He watched Mutasim go back to the rock and he followed him slowly. The way he walked surprised Ferny. If he'd remembered Mutasim was hurt he wouldn't have been so afraid of approaching him. He was curious to know how Muta got injured in the first place. He supposed he could ask others to see if they knew but it would be better to hear it from his fellow candidate.

Ah, there it was. Mutasim finally commented on Ferny's endurance. He grimaced but already knew it was true. "Don't I know it," he said, leaving it at that. Swimming was more appealing than running. He'd probably do that early morning and then run later in the day. Ferny would whip himself into better shape, that was for sure. Doing it now would save him from being run ragged with weyrling training when - or if - he Impressed. "I doubt I'll be able to get as good as you anytime soon," he said offhandedly.

Ferny was still curious about something so he decided to stay for the time being. "I was wondering, how'd you hurt your foot?" he asked, looking at Mutasim as he spoke. He glanced at the aforementioned foot for a moment before looking out at the moving water as he waited for a reply.

[reqqy]

The barest hint of a smile touched one corner of his mouth at Ferneth's quip. "Sure thing." Although he had no idea what he'd do with a third hand. In a rare moment of fancy, he wondered where a third hand might sprout from. His chest? That could be helpful, if somewhat limited depending on where the elbow ended up. Why he was being followed, he wasn't sure, but he didn't dwell on it. Ferneth would have to be a complete fool to attack him, and now that Muta had taken his measure, there wasn't so much as a touch of apprehension. No, he could handle this one. It didn't matter that he could likely handle anyone, with a few possible exceptions, so long as he had a blade on hand; he knew Ferneth wasn't a true threat. Truly knowing something and simply suspecting it made a lot of difference.

He watched the other boy, a brow rising mildly. Oh. He'd forgotten. It was a testament to their new - if strange - relationship, what Mutasim did next. He lifted his shirt a little, the sheath for the dagger coming into view. This one, at least, belted around his abdomen and nestled against his left hip and thigh, the sheathe itself black as the boy's trousers, and just short enough to remain hidden beneath Muta's shirt most of the time. The candidate preferred the location of his weapons to be a secret, even though they couldn't be that much of a mystery given no one could very well conjure a blade out of thin air. He unbuckled the belt, the shirt falling back over his flat stomach, and then he tossed it casually to Ferneth. "Around your hips is easiest," he offered, before the other boy could ask. There were benefits to going around noticeably armed, after all.

He didn't truly acknowledge most of what Ferneth said, as it didn't seem directed at him. Simply grateful that this man-child wasn't too self-possessed to handle a comment that might be considered negative, he leaned back on his hands and stared out over the water. Mutasim was rarely loquacious, save when he was genuinely enraged and violence wasn't a good solution, or when he was in a good mood. Those were rare, though they seemed to be getting a little more frequent as of late. He wasn't exactly broody at the moment - more like simply existing. If any thoughts were going through his head, they traveled well beneath the surface.

His spine straightened the moment Ferneth asked about his injury, Muta's dark eyes finding his face and lingering there for a long moment. Then he cracked a small smile. "The first time, or this time? It's an old wound - I broke it about two turns ago when a blue buzzed the tree I'd decided to climb. Then I got into a fight with - someone - about a month ago. He kicked me and it rebroke." Mild shrug. The candidate decided not to go into any more detail than that. It didn't matter who won, or who he'd fought. At least, it didn't when it came to answering Ferneth's question. Whether or not the other candidate would ask for more detail was out of Muta's hands. It wasn't information he was likely to give out easily.

[Ember]

Ferneth considered the idea of a third hand but would much rather stay as he was. He didn't need any extra arms or legs and he really didn't need to be thought of as a mutant of some kind. It was a good thing people didn't grow extra body parts otherwise he'd be headed for the hills. He doubted Mutasim really wanted another hand either. Sure it would be useful but there was a reason they only had two. It was normal to have only two. Indeed, Ferny had a bit of trouble accepting abnormal things. Since Muta did not have a third arm Ferny was quite willing to hang around for as long as the other boy didn't mind.

He blinked in surprise as the hidden sheath came into view. Darn, Muta was good at hiding his knives. He looked back at the water as Mutasim unbuckled the belt but still watched out of the corner of his eye. When the belt came towards him he caught it easily, examining the black material. He glanced at the other candidate when he spoke. Ferneth smiled slightly. "I imagine so." He buckled it around his hips. The black matched well with his attire, not that it mattered much to him. Ferny slipped his new knife into the sheath and let the his shirt fall. It only covered the hilt a little, which suited him just fine really. "Thank you," he said, grinning slightly at Mutasim.

Ferny let the silence stretch on again, not really sure exactly what to talk about. Mutasim didn't really seem like one for small talk. Their conversation - if one could call it that - would likely be limited to fighting, blades, and injuries. So far that's all they'd talked about. He supposed he could mention Meira. She was known to both of them. Just the thought of the girl nearly made him blush. He quickly thought of something else. Flitters! That was a good topic. "Have you heard about the firelizard clutch? Do you plan on getting another one?" Ferneth asked, remembering the firelizard Mutasim had from their first encounter.

For a moment Ferny wondered if he'd said something wrong, but the smiled reassured him slightly and Mutasim answered the question. He'd broken it twice? That was interesting. He would have asked who exactly he got into a fight with but Muta wasn't exactly a friend of any sort, so he had no real right to ask. "I've heard of no deaths recently, so I guess that it was a draw," he commented quietly. No Selenitas deaths, that is. He was glad he didn't know anyone in the north or he would be constantly fretting for their safety.

[reqqy]

" 'Welcome." It wasn't so much that he didn't want to have anything to do with Ferneth outside the sparring. Mutasim genuinely just didn't know what to talk about. He definitely didn't get on as easily with men as he did with women. That was the simple truth. Even when he was being difficult, he was generally more open with the 'gentler' sex. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that Mutasim was northern-bred. No, he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself if a woman clearly was attempting to kill him (although he may be more inclined to fend her off unarmed than he would a male) but Muta genuinely couldn't imagine pulling a blade on a woman, much less striking her, simply out of wariness or anger. A man...that was definitely more likely. Thus when he was upset, he just tended to glare and bristle with males, and he actually argued with females.

He'd been lost in thought, and blinked rather blankly at Ferneth. Mutasim chuckled, clearly amused at the idea of another firelizard, although it wasn't a scornful laugh in the slightest. "I can only handle one of Jabari." Nevertheless, for the first time since they'd met, the boy's face was perfectly at ease. Thoughts of Jabari often softened the northern man-child. "It was an accident, Impressing him to begin with." Muta ran a hand through his hair, a sheepish smile touching his face. "The clutch was in the main hall on the way to the dining hall, and Z'hin and I just happened to be passing through. Jabari found me at the back of a crowd. He's...gotten bolder over the turns. Used to be he'd always be curled around my neck. He's still never far away, but, as you can see, he doesn't feel the need to be on top of me all the time anymore."

Drawing his right leg up, his hands laced around his knee as he regarded Ferneth curiously. "Why? Are you planning on trying to Impress a firelizard from Darling's clutch?" Kind of ironic, really. That was the day Jabari rose to chase Darling - chasing for the first time since he was hatched. Which would have been...bothersome...but little more, had not Mutasim currently been trying to change glows in C'lryn's weyr. It wasn't that he actually was overwhelmed by lust...hardly. Firelizards couldn't really do that to you. It had just been surprising, and that subtle attraction to the sort of man that Mutasim was already wary of didn't help. He'd fled as soon as he was able, which was why he snuck into Ka'rys's weyr to replace the glows (so the Headwoman would have one less thing to hate him over) at all, resulting in the...skirmish. No, even if he'd wanted another firelizard - and he was quite of the opinion that Jabari was more than he could ever ask for, so why press his luck? - he wouldn't want one of that clutch.

"That's what we called it, yes," the candidate responded, though something in his eyes and tone clearly indicated that Mutasim truly didn't consider it a draw at all. Technically, Ka'rys had never agreed when Muta offered him that olive branch, anyway. Simply put, Mutasim left with a broken foot, and Ka'rys...with a slashed artery. Not to mention the simple fact that Muta had the Weyrleader completely at his mercy. The bronzerider wasn't bad. Definitely northern-trained. But the south had to have softened him, and, frankly, Mutasim doubted he had much experience in death struggles like that. It didn't seem to suit the man's style. Even war-time couldn't prepare you the same way as struggling for survival day by day in the streets, where everyone was bigger and more dangerous than you. A boy either became just as frightening, took up with someone who was, or died. Simple. Violently, cruelly simple.

"Only opponent who gave me any trouble since I came here," the candidate added honestly.

[Ember]

Even if it meant being able to get along better with Mutasim, Ferneth would never want to be a woman. Especially not with the state of things in the world as they were. He'd be glad to know that Muta wouldn't think of attacking a girl though. Women had enough trouble in the north that it made up for the lack of oppression in the south. Ferny ended up just staring at the water rather blankly as the silence stretched on for a bit. He didn't really know what to talk about with a guy either, truthfully. He was so used to doing his chores back at his family's cot-hold and watching over his sisters that he didn't really interact with many guys. That was probably why he respected women a lot too.

Ferny looked at the other candidate curiously when he chuckled. He had an oddly relaxed expression on his face that was more interesting than his words. Alright, so it wasn't odd to a lot of people but considering his history with Mutasim it was a surprise to the youth. He nodded politely as Mutasim explained how he got Jabari. Accidentally Impressing a firelizard...interesting notion. He supposed it was just meant to be. Ferny imagined the reactions of the others who had meant to be at the hatching. They were probably a little annoyed...or disappointed. Or both. He grinned when Mutasim mentioned Jabari always being wrapped around him. Indeed, the firelizard wasn't around the candidate at all.

Ferneth smiled at the question. "Yeah, I am," he said cheerily. He always had wanted a firelizard. Runners and canines were nice but a tiny dragon on his shoulder? No way he could resist. It was a good thing he didn't have to buy an egg or be a friend of C'lryn. He had absolutely no marks. His father hadn't allowed the boy any and the weyr didn't pay him beyond lodging and meals. He certainly wasn't a friend of the bronzerider either. He didn't even know the guy. Ferny was starting to learn a lot of the names of people in the weyr. He'd occasionally look through the records when he was on archive duty, learning the names of others. He knew the names of most, if not all, of the high ranking riders. He added more to his statement a moment later. "I've wanted one for a while now."

Ferneth chuckled as the words spoken and the tone clashed. Sore loser? Or was it simply not a draw...Either way he decided not to pry. Mutasim wasn't likely to give a near stranger any details. It was obvious that the unnamed person had given the boy a bit of trouble since he had come out of that event with a somewhat severe injury. "Not too much trouble though. There are a lot worse injuries than a broken foot," Ferny replied with a bit of amusement. He still found the fact that Mutasim got into a fight a little weird though. A candidate with too serious an injury wasn't allowed to stand for hatchings. Perhaps he didn't really care?

[reqqy]

The topic of conversation had Mutasim loosening up a bit. "I hear C'lyrn's not too bad a sort, although I don't know him so well. Not that it matters much. The hatchlings won't care if you know or like the mindbonded of one of their parents." No, he wasn't even sure which flitters had produced Jabari. Nor had Jabari expressed any interest along those lines that he was aware of.

"They can be a handful," Mutasim added, quietly. He knew that firelizards weren't commonplace, at least outside of Selenitas weyr. They were practically nonexistant in the north, and he'd been quietly fascinated when he first arrived. "It's worth it, though. Nothing quite like being bonded with something, and at least firelizards don't seem to be nearly as aggravating as salamandyrs. I have absolutely no desire to align myself with one of those." For more than one reason, actually, but it was true enough that they all seemed to be difficult. He couldn't think of a single salamandyr that he'd seen which wasn't finding really inconvenient situations to put its bonded into - and that's if it wasn't downright ornery. Many of them seemed territorial and just a pain in the arse.

Mutasim didn't miss the appraising look, though he couldn't quite figure out what was behind it. The boy knew he acted differently than other people here. Some of it was the result of being a northern orphan raised on the streets. Some of it wasn't. But he still didn't understand completely the mentality of some of the people here, and though he knew his behavior was outside the norm, he didn't always know exactly how or why. Everything he did seemed perfectly natural to him. If someone is a threat to you - neutralize the threat. He preferred to just scare them off, really, but sometimes you had to be more pointed about it. Not everyone was a quick learner. And if someone was trying to kill you? Fight back. Really simple. He'd readily admit he was acting stupid this last time. He shouldn't have been where he was. No arguing that. Mutasim had been thrown off, pure and simple, and his usual good sense had momentarily deserted him. Whatever. He was paying for it now, and hopefully it would be a bothersome enough lesson that he didn't repeat such a mistake in the future.

"True enough," Mutasim agreed. A broken foot was annoying, but it generally wasn't a problem. Actually, the first break had been worse, as it had pierced an artery, and he could very well have gone unnoticed and bled out if Gina hadn't arrived. It was one of the only things he truly regretted about being so small. Bloodloss tended to effect him very swiftly. Fortunately, it was rare for him to take injury, so he almost never had to deal with that reality. "He gave me enough trouble, though, that I'd rather not repeat it. I'm not used to actually coming out of a fight like that with more than one or two light scratches." Actually, he hadn't been in a fight like that for turns. Mutasim favored long-range techniques, and he was deadly accurate; it was rare that he actually had to close to engage, even if he trained that way often enough.

In truth, it was strange how little trouble he'd gotten into at Selenitas. There was the candidate barracks and Lyam's men after the first hatching, the slaying of Trenlor, the little tussle with that silly weyrbrat, the weyrwide skirmish with the Benden invaders, and this last duel with Ka'rys. Five fights...and only three that he'd even call true engagements...in over two turns was negligible compared to what he was used to. Muta didn't mind it, though. He'd rather keep from fighting unless absolutely necessary, despite all appearances.

[Ember]

Ferneth had heard the same about the rider. "So Meira told me too," he said. Curiously he waited for a reaction of any kind to the name before continuing. "Hatchlings just care about food." The amusement in his voice was unmistakable. Dragons and their cousins were notorious for their appetites. Although dragons were a bit pickier as they had a stronger mental bond then firelizard owners described.

He grinned, not at all put off by the idea of a handful. "I imagine so. You're also not the first to think ill of the salamandyrs. The sound like they are quite the pain. They also don't have those outside this weyr I think. A Selenitas oddity I suppose," Ferny said, never having seen one before coming to the weyr. They likely weren't found in the north either. He would still choose a flitter over a 'mandyr if he had the choice. At this point he wouldn't mind any pet though.

Ferneth was one of the people who thought Mutasim was weird, simply because he couldn't understand what he could have possibly been through in the north, only that it was horrible up there and he never intended on going. He couldn't help but think if less people thought fighting back was the only option the war wouldn't be so bad. Then again, he lived the easier life in the south while the war was primarily focused in the north. Primarily. Benden did insist on bringing some of the fighting down to the southern weyr. Well, now Ferny could help defend his home. At his current skill level he doubted that he'd be much help, but he would improve and give those sharding Benden riders a reason not to involve Selenitas.

Ferneth chuckled slightly. "That's a good thing then. We don't need to be fighting each other. Better to save it for Benden, or Fort if they decide to attack," he said, really meaning it. Who knew when Fort would turn its eye on the still growing weyr. Ferny was honestly a short-range fighter. He liked to feel the adrenaline, even if it did put him in more danger. It was just in his nature to like that kind of competitive thing. He would never actively search for it though. When it did come to him he'd be ready thanks to Mutasim.

[reqqy]

Muta's eyes came around at mention of Meira, a small smile quirking one side of his mouth. Ah. The ca- no, wherhandler now. He was happy for her, truly, but...eh, he kind of wished she hadn't moved out of the barracks. That only left Mutasim, Raila and Zolten in their classes, which was more than just a little awkward. Raila and Mutasim did not get along, and Raila hung all over Zolten whenever she got a chance, although the other boy didn't seem to notice or care much. Just an uncomfortable bundle of relationships. Meira made everything easier there. Oh well. He could always sneak out after curfew and pay her a visit or two, yes? Of course. It wasn't as if he didn't break curfew all the time anyway. Thoughts of Meira dispelled with Ferny's joke, earning the other young man a wry grin.

"Well, it couldn't have been a sound character judgment as far as Jabari is concerned, anyway. Must have smelled like something savory," the boy responded, amusement in his voice. "No, they're definitely a nuisance confined purely to Selenitas. Daeluunya came from the same clutch Jabari did, and everyone was rather...surprised." That was something of an understatement. What was rather strange was the fact that Mutasim knew the creature's full name, but he was much better at finding information like that than he let on. "Then her clutch produced more of the little pests." He sighed quietly. "At least none seem to have taken to thieving from the candidate barracks yet."

Mutasim regarded Ferneth with an amusement that was quickly darkening into something a bit more macabre. "If?" He sniffed mildly. There definitely wasn't an 'if' involved. Every time Selenitas was attacked and repulsed the north, the southern weyr grew stronger. More wary. More willing to move toward the inevitable. There would be dragonriders trained in the art of war, and dragons, too. Openly. Before the turn was out, he was certain. If he were leading Fort or Benden, he'd want to neutralize the threat now before it became a monster in their backyard and took them by surprise. Oh, no, it definitely wasn't a question of 'if,' but 'when.'

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I really don't go out looking for trouble, Ferneth," Muta commented, wrinkling his nose. He'd never responded so well to patronizing behavior. The other candidate may not have meant it that way, but it did rather seem like a scolding. The younger of the two boys kicked his feet lightly against the rock he was sitting on and contemplated the driftwood again, but he found he had little desire to use it for target practice anymore. "I've only been in two fights that weren't absolutely necessary for me to involve myself in since I arrived." He shrugged mildly. That seemed like an infintesimal number to him compared to the fights he'd started in his Bitran days. It was hard to work up a reputation in a place where survivors were all pretty hardcore anyway. Make war to make peace and all that. The bigger the rep, the less people who messed with you.