Lost and Found (Muta and.... others?)

[kysseh]

I swear, if Shadow hid that thing somewhere, I'll.... Savitri thought angrily, dropping carefully to her knees to survey the underside of her former bunk. The weyrling had been irritated when, upon unpacking her few personal items in her new room at the weyrling barracks, she noticed that one of her most prized, if less practical, possessions had gone missing. She had a small bag that she kept some of her more sentimental little items in, and the carved wooden whistle was conspicuously absent when she looked in the bag at the weyrling barracks. It had been present when she moved into the candidate barracks, and she had not opened the bag in the short time between moving in and moving out. She figured the whistle must have fallen out somewhere, here, in the candidate barracks, but she could not find it.

You would not to hurt Shadow... Hepaticath said sleepily, curled up and close to sleep on her couch in their room in the weyrling barracks. She knew Hers was very upset about the little trinket, but she could not understand why. It was not useful, and it was not food.

Not finding it under the bed or anywhere amongst the mattress, Savitri turned to rummaging through the now-empty trunk. Both she and her bunkmate had Impressed, so the little trunk was now empty. She had hoped to find the whistle lying innocently in the bottom where it had mistakenly fallen from the bag, but it was not present. She sat back on her heels, grimacing at the pain in her torso. The wounds were healing but not fast enough for Savitri's busy lifestyle. The bandages were gone from her left arm, and her sleeveless tunic revealed the pink scars running across the upper part of her arm. They were still sore, but she massaged and treated them several times a day, confident that they would cease to bother her soon. She cared little for scars... whether on her face or any other part of her body... unless they severely hampered her lifestyle. These scars did not.

The vertically-challenged weyrling got to her feet and dusted herself off, planting her hands on her hips and glancing up and down the row of bunks. Where had that whistle gotten to?! If she had been properly functional when she packed, she would not have gotten into this situation, so she blamed herself as much as anything. Still, it should have been near her former bunk. "Somebody better not have taken it..." she huffed softly aloud, well and truly peeved. That little thing had meant quite a bit to her, and losing it was hurtful.

[reqqy]

Sometimes he really hated being the 'senior' candidate. Make that all of the time. Mutasim sighed quietly, acknowledging Jabari's questioning trill with a good rubbing. He'd just come in from a long run when one of the young female candidates pulled him aside, wringing her hands as she spoke of an angry girl tearing through the third floor. He seriously considered telling her that 1) it wasn't his problem, and 2) even if he had any inclination to confront a woman on a rampage, he wasn't really supposed to be going through the girls' bunks. Of course, neither of those were expressly valid protestations. Having the girls upset was sure to annoy him. High-pitched voices generally did, and he liked his quiet. As for the issue of being on the third floor at all? Well, he'd broken that rule plenty enough times that his conscience, at least, would not allow him to use that as an excuse. Sharding conscience.

On his less than happy way up to the third floor, Mutasim stopped by his own bunk to kick off his boots and strip off his shirt, pulling on something that wasn't soaked in sweat. A quick stop at the washbasin later, he stood by the stairwell, simply staring at the stout healer who'd managed to Impress the gold last hatching. Savitri and Hepaticath. Yes. He tended to keep track of people, even when generally making himself scarce. It was always good to know from which direction a potential enemy might come. Or so he told himself.

Seemed like she was looking for something. Mutasim tried to remember if he'd taken anything of hers, but, in the end, it was rather impossible to know; he collected quite a bit each time the barracks cleared out. Coming to lean against the frame of the door, the small young man crossed his arms over his chest and continued to silently bear witness to her search. The boy was about seventeen turns of age now, by his own reckoning, but his stature suggested eleven - if you were to ignore the broadening span of young shoulders and the facial hair lining his jaw.

She seemed to be moving stiffly, this one. Only when she came to her feet and cast another glance down the line of bunks did Muta step forward, something about his gait giving warning to those nearby although it seemed casual enough at a glance. "You're scaring some of the younger ones," he commented drolly, knowing full-well how strange that sounded coming from the lips of a midget. Oh well. His lips twitched up into a wry grin. "And they're bothering me. So if you'd tell me what you're looking for, we can make everyone happy, and I won't have to bother with anyone else for the rest of the day. If I'm lucky."

Mutasim was actually feeling in something of a good mood, as evidenced by his unusually verbiose intrusion. He always felt more relaxed after a good long run. The candidate indulged himself by allowing his bare toes to bury into the carpet, enjoying the feel. You could definitely tell these silly weyrs catered to goldriders. Sure, they kept the line going, but they were next to useless in Threadfall, and why should every potential goldrider be pandered to above a blue, brown or bronze? Or green, in some cases. Surely in Dayan's case. Mutasim wrinkled his nose as he thought of his strange bunkmate, the boy who dressed and honestly looked like a girl. He also acted like a girl constantly in the worst phase of her cycle.

[kysseh]

Savitri's mood had almost dictated that someone would appear to inquire about her search, and while she had wished it had been someone with half a brain, she was less than pleased to see that the newcomer was the same one who had sauntered in late to the candidate lesson. She could scarcely remember his name, never having been introduced, and his was not a face she saw often. She pursed her lips slightly, debating whether or not to actually inquire for help.

He was a strange one. His height suggested pre-puberty, but the aging of his build and the darkening around his jaw made her suspect he was a few Turns older than he looked, perhaps only a few Turns her junior. She paid enough attention to note that he was not to be trifled with. A healer could tell a lot by a person's gait, old wounds that they carried or their present state of mind. His was warning, danger. Unfortunately for him--or her, perhaps--she did not scare easily, and she was not about to be instigated into a useless fight.

"Scaring or just disturbing their comfortable lifestyle?" Her tone implied that it was strict rhetorical. She had only been searching through her open old bunk, after all. "The highstrung idiots could use a bit of maturing as it is." The expression he gave her implied that he was less than amused with the situation. He thought he was in charge, and he wanted her out. Savitri would have obliged if it were not for the fact that her whistle was still missing. However, knowing how annoying the high-pitched voices of a bunch of skittish adolescent girls could be, she opted to take pity on both him and herself and get this necessary trip over with as soon as possible.

"I'm looking for something of mine that got lost when I moved out. It probably should have been here in the trunk, but it's not. Whistle carved out of dark driftwood... small enough to fit in my hand. Has someone picked it up by mistake?" She was not sure which irritated her more, the fact that she could not find the desired object of her search or the fact that he seemed to be looking down his metaphorical nose at her. Savitri hated being spoke down to, though unless he continued to push her buttons, she was not going to react. Technically, she was above him in the social standings of the weyr, she supposed, but unless he made a move to act like a complete snob--or bully--she was not about to lord that over him. She could only imagine the heartache of being passed over by all the hatchlings.

[reqqy]

Mutasim snorted at her comment about a 'comfortable lifestyle', making it painfully obvious which of the two he thought was the truth. This girl had a tongue, and perhaps a brain somewhere behind the green eyes. Maybe not all goldriders were complete idiots. Shmee certainly was. And Kaegan? Naive, though how she could be so after having been more or less the captive sex slave of Benden was anyone's guess. She was naive and gutless. Of course he'd assumed that Savitri must be just as defective. Well, no sense in letting the cynicism go just yet; there must be something wrong with her if she Impressed gold. Although now there might be a chance that it was one of those forgiveable flaws. Possibly. To say that Mutasim had a poor opinion of goldriders in general would have been an understatement.

Ah, there we go. She was seeing reason. He didn't much relish listening to more high-pitched, breathless tales of the evil girl going on a rampage. From what he'd seen, she was just looking through where she used to be quartered. None of the other cots looked disturbed. Really, these children blew everything way out of proportion.

At her description of the missing item, however, the amusement behind his dark eyes stilled. Mutasim reached a hand into his trousers and casually began to finger his newest project. He spent much of his time carving, outside of lessons and chores and the daily runs, enjoying simply being out alone in the woods and away from everyone else with something to occupy his hands. He'd gotten rather good at it, too, if the reactions of those few who'd seen his work - if only accidentally - could be trusted. The whistle that he turned over in his fingers was a crude copy of a crude original, but it worked all right, and that pleased him. Most of the things he stumbled across in the barracks once the weyrlings left would hardly be remembered, but he did remember that whistle.

Strange, but Savitri was the first in two turns to actually return to the barracks after leaving something here. It must have been left by accident. He was not particularly stupid, either. That whistle was not a craftsman's work, unless maybe an apprentice's. What sort of sentimental value was attached to it? Though he was curious, the boy didn't want to hear a long, drawn-out sob story, and held his tongue.

About that, anyway. "I wouldn't say accidentally," he replied ruefully, a small smile touching one corner of his mouth. Jabari chirped in some form of punctuation, his tail sliding from around Mutasim's neck and coming to dangle. "You'd be surprised how much gets left behind each time all of you weyrlings go off to play with your new lifemates. Can't even keep it all in the barracks anymore." The boy shrugged eloquently. If there was a touch of bitterness in his comment about 'you weyrlings,' it was a well-concealed one; amusement still played on the edges of his words.

Mutasim must be in an unusually good mood. Probably the lack of too many candidates to bother him day in and day out. Or maybe it was just him coming out of the depression Z'hin's death had left him in, which made everything seem just a little brighter. Regardless of the reason, he paused on his way down to the lower floor, a small smirk on his face. "Well. Are you coming, goldrider?"

[kysseh]

The way he reacted to her statement made it patently clear exactly what he thought of those flighty candidates, and she could not help but be heartened by the fact that she was not the only creature disgusted by their high-volume antics. She had never been fond of them as a candidate, and the fact that a few of them had Impressed alongside her was not going to bode well for her getting along with all of her fellow weyrlings. Savitri could be very patient, by her very nature, but there were some things she would not stand for.

Suddenly, he did not look quite so amused by the incident, and Savitri made the intuitive leap that he had remembered something like her missing, treasured possession. Ire rose in her at first. He had taken it?! If she had been in a worse mood, she might have just demanded he hand it back over, but as it was, she was not going to throw a fit at him until he confirmed that he had taken it. Unfortunately for him, the rueful smile spoke more than his words, and she set her mouth in a thin line, obviously displeased by where her possession had disappeared off to.

With only a brief glance toward the brown flit perched on the boy, she opted to wait until he was done talking to inquire as to its whereabouts, glad when he seemed to be volunteering it without her having to push. Maybe he was not that attached to it, to just give it back without any fuss. She did not want to pull rank on him unless she had to, and the statement he made about 'you weyrlings' made her sympathize just a bit. To be left standing for--what seemed like--not the first time had to be difficult, and she could not rub that in his face unless he gave her prolonged attitude. It would accomplish nothing except to irritate and infuriate them both. His attitude was annoying, but she opted to just ignore it so she could get that whistle back and move on.

She noticed he was moving and quickly strode after him, throwing him a slightly annoyed look at his name for her. 'Goldrider'... he made it sound like such an expletive. "Oh, I'm coming. And it's Savitri, by the way." The way so many people referred to her as 'goldrider' or 'goldweyrling' or other such honorary terms was starting to rankle just a bit. She did not want reverence or useless honoraries; she wanted respect. And, as with most desirable things, that had to be earned. "Don't call me 'goldrider' unless you want something out of me," she added with a roll of her eyes, exceedingly annoyed with people's fawning ways.

She glanced again at the flit on his shoulders as she followed, realizing she had no idea who he, or his pet, was. That did not bode well for future meetings. "What's his name... and yours? I don't remember meeting you before."

[reqqy]

The older girl seemed to be building up to an angry episode until he'd made it clear that he was willing to return the whistle. Mutasim couldn't bring himself to be bothered. Two turns, and no one had missed anything, so why should he have thought this whistle would be any different? It was just fortunate for her that he'd taken an interest in it earlier, or he wouldn't have known he had it. The candidate very rarely acted on 'possibilities'. Especially after having just come in from the forest. Quite a pain to have to go out there again if he wasn't sure.

At her glare, the little smirk deepened slightly. It was still lopsided, but distinctly less mocking. "I think I can manage that, Savitri. Must be worse than I thought if you don't want to claim the rank," he added flippantly. Muta obviously wasn't worried about his words getting back to the Weyrwoman. In fact, he took it a step further. "Can't imagine what it would be like to actually have to deal with her. I almost feel sorry for you." Almost. She had Hepaticath, and while Jabari was a good companion - the two really couldn't be compared. Oh, the candidate knew that he'd probably get himself kicked out if he ever had to be in the same room with Shmee; Muta's tolerance for idiocy was terribly, terribly low.

The short young man stopped to move to his own cot before coninuing down to the first floor, sliding his boots on with a little effort. Were they actually beginning to get tight? He frowned. It was hard enough finding a size that would fit him the first time around. "Oh, yes," he replied, much of the amusement leaving his face and voice. In fact, a distinct neutrality had stolen over him, though Jabari crooned quietly and nuzzled his humanpet. "I wasn't around much." Understatement. He'd completely skipped out on lessons, other than that one. After three times, it seemed rather superfluous. Apparently the candidatemaster believed so, too; he was never approached about it. Not that he'd been particularly approachable, spending most of his time in the forest as he had.

In the end, he decided to qualify that statement, though that wasn't something he usually did. But he was missing having someone to talk to, and Savitri hadn't yet shown herself to be a fool. Silly reason. Yet his mouth opened anyway. "I stood with one of the dragonriders that went with Salenth...when they went looking for Shmee." That same shrug. Everyone in the weyr knew by now that none of those riders had returned. And, if Savitri knew the clutch records, she'd know that there was only one group of hatchlings he was likely talking about. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care if she knew how complete his failure truly was. It was probably mentioned with his name, anyway. He was a rather unusual candidate, honestly, and he was pretty sure he held the record for failed Standings thus far.

Nothing about his friendship with Z'hin. Nothing about the complete lack of desire to do much. If she wasn't smart enough to figure that out, he didn't really need her to listen to him anyway. "Anyway, this one's Jabari," he stated, unable to fully suppress the melancholic smile. He'd been with Z'hin at Jabari's Impression. In fact, he'd had a broken ankle, and the then brownweyrling had carried him to the main hall so they could both get something to eat. It was pure happenstance that Z'hin Impressed Hrorek and Mutasim Impressed Jabari, but it remained one of his fondest memories.

Stepping out into the sunlight, he turned his face upwards, visibly basking in the rays. How he'd come to love the southern sun. "And I'm Mutasim," the boy concluded, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "We're going to need to get a boat; my stash is a couple leagues into the forest on the west bank."

[kysseh]

His expression changed, and Savitri was under the distinct impression that he was not being quite so patronizing as before. Maybe he was revising his obviously low opinion of her, though Savitri minded very, very little. As long as he was cooperative and nonaggressive, she could tolerate his snobbery if it meant getting her whistle back. At least he was referring to her by name, now, which she appreciated and gifted him at least a polite nod of acknowledgment for. Of course, he then had to open his mouth and continue, and Savitri just could not keep silent.

"When I'm a fully-fledged rider, then you can call me that, if you'd like to. Until then, I prefer to go by name." All right, so she could not fully blame him for his comments about the weyrwoman. After having met the woman and gotten an unwanted glimpse into her personal life via Shadow and Hepaticath's seemingly endless pools of insight as to what was going on, she was starting to wonder what her weyrlinghood and special 'lessons' with the woman would be like. The woman seemed.... less than stable, maturity-wise. Good-intentioned and intelligent, yes, but not the most sensible. Savitri prized sense over most other attributes, and she was not sure how much of it she had seen demonstrated in the weyrwoman thus far. Matter of fact, the weyrwoman seemed to be very rarely seen outside of her own quarters. Did she even know what was going on in the weyr?!

Though she said nothing to the younger teen about the topic of the weyrwoman, she did make a silent vow to at least be more accessible than the infrequently-seen figure of the senior weyrwoman. The weyrwoman was not a figurehead or decoration. She had a job to do, and unless she knew her weyr, how could she accomplish anything? It also would give her a smug bit of thrill to prove this boy's poor notions of goldriders as inaccurate. She was not an idiot, nor was she intolerable. Snappish and impatient at times, yes, but she was far from useless or idle.

As she watched him put on his boots, she noted that he was abruptly not so amused and wondered what she had said wrong. The flit seemed to be comforting his human, and Savitri jumped to the conclusion that she had brought up an unhappy conversation topic. She waited patiently as he explained, and though it took her a moment to click the pieces into place--she had not been present, but she had heard rumors and seen some of the records--she managed to look at him with not sympathy but empathy. Even if she could not completely understand his particular situation, she understood his upset at losing someone close. Regardless of death or simple loss of contact, it hurt... and it left scars. A person did not need to be a mindhealer to understand that simple fact.

She snorted softly as they finally emerged outside. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but it's more of a feeling of neutrality, bordering on contentment," she said honestly. She was not being rude, just candid. He was not the friendliest of fellows, after all, though he was at least making conversation. Mutasim... and Jabari. She needed to remember these names. Something told her that this would not be the last time she saw this candidate. His comment had her moving toward the two-person boat that she had brought with her when she came. She had brought along a weepy little girl candidate that could not properly figure out what the oars were for. Stupid creature.

"I think that dragonrider might be a little upset to know that you still won't put your back straight when you walk into the Sands," she pointed out on the thread of his earlier clarification, settling herself into the boat and waiting patiently for him to follow. She had watched him skulking around at the Touching. Oh, he might have wanted to Impress, but his heart did not seem to be in it. Having lived in Southern all her life, she was well used to it and not at all entranced by its warmth. She rarely ever tanned well, anyway. She supposed she would miss it were it absent, but it was never absent for long. "Don't suppose you'll help me row?" she inquired, picking up a pair of the oars as she patiently waited.

[reqqy]

Ah, and he'd thought her to be...worth wasting time on. Oh well. It wasn't all that surprising, after all. Goldriders had to be a certain type of person. Definitely not the type of person capable of Impressing anything else. To think, she thought to grow into the rank of goldrider. That meant one could expect her to gradually grow more foolish, emotional and spineless as time went on. A waste. They could have used someone with half a brain to stabilize the other two out, but if she was idolizing them...Mutasim suppressed a sigh and didn't respond to that comment. He must be overly optimistic today, if he'd thought she might react differently.

Of course, then she surprised him by not playing the polite game, and he actually chuckled. "Neutrality, huh? I guess that's a ditto." Which was about right. Sure, he was being his customary cynical self, but he hadn't decided one way or another on Savitri yet, as she didn't seem to be at the level of complete ludicrous degredation that the other two weyrwomen were. And she hadn't delivered up any foolish platitudes or apologized. Such responses were useless. Especially since Mutasim only meant the comment to provide the reason behind his general absence during the course of her candidacy.

That was when she truly opened her mouth, and the young man fully realized just how much he'd left his emotional guard down. The candidate flinched slightly, Jabari hissing in harmony to his sudden flare of anger. What did she know? What did she know? What did she know? Nothing at all. "Still?" he repeated, his tone having softened and become distinctly more dangerous in that softening. No, he rarely skulked. Once he'd been expelled from the Sands by Aslath - for Jabari - but he'd been expelled, nonetheless. The first standing he'd been absolutely certain he'd Impress - and equally certain that he wanted none of those wretched, deformed dragons. Most of the time he carried himself with confidence for whichever candidates had cleaved to him throughout the course of their residence. No, this was an exception to his usual behavior, and he didn't appreciate her implications.

Nor did she know a single thing about Z'hin, much less what he would have wanted. That rankled. Muta knew the brownrider, and yes, maybe Z'hin would have been upset to find out how affected his friend was, but did that really matter? He wasn't here. That was the point. And Mutasim had actually been able to go a few hours without dwelling on that truth before Savitri came along. Shard her.

He climbed into the boat after her, all the while wondering why he was even bothering to do so - even as he acknowledged the fact that if he got this out of the way now he wouldn't have to deal with her (at least on a one-on-one basis) ever again. Taking up the oars in silence, he lashed out at the river, punting off from the dock and setting a pace that would have challenged most grown men. The wiry muscles beneath the layer of skin on his arms bunched. Clearly, he was angry, the emotion expressed in the sheer brutal economy of movement with which he attacked the water. He could care less if she aided him, so long as she didn't slow him down. Mutasim wanted this finished and overwith as soon as possible.

Nevertheless, he couldn't resist voicing one of his thoughts. "I find it very interesting, how you presume to pass judgment on two people, one of which you've never met before in your life, while the other is someone you hardly know." Such was the hissing fury in his strokes and his words that Jabari abandoned the young man's shoulders and curled up near his feet, glaring at Savitri.

[kysseh]

The fact that he chuckled made Savitri arch an eyebrow. Oh, so he did have the capacity to be amused at something other than idiot candidates? Perhaps he was not as cynical and snobbish of a creature as she had originally thought. "Glad to hear we're on the same page." She hated false pleasantries. She forced herself to be polite with idiots of higher authority, usually, but other than that, if it wasn't a pleasure, she was not about to say so.

His flinch made her realize just how raw that emotional wound still was. She pursed her lips slightly in self-recrimination. Perhaps that had come across more harshly than she had intended. The point still stood, but she had put it poorly. "The two times I've seen you previously, before today, you seemed completely disinterested in anything having to do with Impression. I was trying to point out that if you stood with a friend, it would seem they would want similarly for you." Apparently, her explanation was not going to do a sharded bit of good when falling on deaf ears, and she only glanced at the hissing flit. Quite frankly, he had been the one to bring the topic up, but that was a moot point by now.

His sudden movements surprised her, and as she struggled to match his pace, hissing at the pull on her stitches, she noted that he seemed far more angry than she would have guessed. She would have let the silence continue on--since now her only priority was that sharding whistle since he was angry with her and obviously disinterested in being even civil--but he seemed to want to point out the flaw in her argument. She looked mildly thoughtful, not even pausing in her strokes as she gave that a ponder.

"You're right; I am making assumptions. And really, I don't know either person I'm 'passing judgment on'. One won't speak, and one can't. I'm left to judge actions and know that friends wish for the best for those they care about." It was part apology, part confession, and a smidgeon of honest admission of lack of knowledge, with a touch of wistfulness at the remembrance of friends long gone. Though honest regret flickered briefly over her face-- whether it was for angering Mutasim or for losing those people who meant so much was debatable--she resumed her normally neutral expression, green eyes flicking downward to watch the flit who regarded her with such an echo of his person's anger. Hmph. Anger... an emotion she was used to but rarely indulged in displaying, even when she was entitled to.

She felt a sudden touch on the back of her mind and was suddenly alert, her strokes pausing for a moment. Hepaticath?!

She felt more than heard the growl that the normally-calm weyrling broadcasted over their bond and wondered if, with the strength of that broadcast, Mutasim had heard it as well. It was enough to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up, just as it had when the boy's voice had dropped into that dangerous, soft tone. He is upsetting you. Hepaticath's voice no longer held any remnants of sleep, and the gold was fully set on protect, unable to distinguish what was memory and what was the present in Hers' mind. Savitri frowned faintly, disturbed at the sudden possessive protectiveness that the weyrling was displaying, even from a distance.

[reqqy]

Mutasim held onto his anger. To his great surprise, it was actually something of a struggle. Though she was not at all in the right - he refused to admit otherwise - the girl didn't seem to have meant to cause him pain. Why was he compelled to be so forgiving today? He didn't know. Couldn't know. But he did hold onto his anger, because it fueled his arms. It shouldn't matter if she meant to hurt him or not. She had. Normally that would have been enough to incite him against her for an indeterminate amount of time. Was it that what she said - shard her - still managed to be mostly true, even though it was all based on assumptions, and predominately faulty assumptions at that?

Now, the candidate usually neither recognized nor displayed emotions, but today was an odd day, it seemed. As the anger shifted toward himself rather than Savitri, he growled, "Stop rowing." She was throwing off his rhythm, the which he didn't at all appreciate. Not one bit. Or so he insisted to himself. But Mutasim had never been an inobservant person, and he saw clearly that Savitri's struggle was more than just the pace; she was injured. He remembered, then, that she'd been mauled at the Hatching. Muta had no intention of letting up. There was only one true solution to the problem, then. Savitri would have to stop rowing.

The young man froze, however, at the sound that reverberated through him, that swept over him. Growl. Frightening sound, one vaguely reminiscent of the same growl that had been turned against him, against Jabari. The brown screeched and flung himself at Muta, digging his claws in the candidate's chest and mewling pitifully. They both remembered that clearly. His wide eyes fell on Savitri, probing. He'd just told her to stop rowing. Why was she getting her dragon all upset? Hepaticath couldn't come out here - at least he hoped she couldn't - but it was still unnerving.

Momentary fear vanished immediately. He didn't want to give this goldweyrling any indication of how she might manipulate him, thus he refused to allow the gold's ire to effect him. His face fell into studied neutrality. So, she was already trying to find ways to control people, was that it? Just because he didn't care to afford her a respect she hadn't earned? That displeased him. No, it disappointed and frustrated him.

Soon enough, they had drawn up the bank, and he tied the boat to the dock without a pause. "It's this way," the lad stated brusquely, his sinuous frame stalking off into the trees with a predatory grace. Slightly unnerving, that manner of moving, in that it should have been beautiful but wasn't. Dark, dark eyes scanned the familiar lay of the trees. He wished he was carrying all his daggers. He'd forgotten the bandolier back at the barracks. Things could be dangerous in the jungles, though Mutasim had rarely encountered such beasts. Lucky him.

Some part of him insisted that he at least attempt to break the silence, as he would have in his younger days. "Is she often that disgruntled?"

[kysseh]

Savitri had immediately brought the oars into the boat and stopped rowing on his command, perhaps encouraged by the forceful anger in his body and tone. If he wanted to row alone, then fine, he could have it. She wondered if she had wounded his sensitive male pride by assisting or if he was just aggravated that she could not keep up. Either way, she let him have what she wanted, wishing fervently that she had regained enough mobility to be of more use. She hated sitting idle.

She was well aware that she was not the only one who heard the growl, for Savitri had not missed the fact that he froze at the sound of Hepaticath's enraged mental growl. The poor flit seemed distressed as well, and she immediately sent Hepaticath a gently recriminating thought to back down. Hush, love, you're scaring them! I should be. They can not hurt you, and they will not hurt you, or they will regret it! The vehemence in Hepaticath's tone was apparent, and though the boy continued to row, Savitri took the time to soothe her dragon's anger, try to keep her from doing anything unwise.

At his summons, she was up and moving after him, only glancing to make sure the boat was tied properly. Growing up in a seaside hold had made her wise to such things, and she was satisfied with the job he'd done. Trusting him to not get them lost or killed--which would require her to reach out through Hepaticath to get help--she followed quietly, still trying to placate her obviously-unhappy dragon. She was surprised by the force of the little gold's response. Hepaticath had never been this upset before, not even at the Hatching, and it made her wonder.

His query broke her from her thoughts, and she answered in the negative, shaking her head, brows drawn together in an obvious expression of confusion. "No, she isn't. She's normally very calm and in control. She feels threatened by you and the fact that she can't get to me," the young woman replied honestly, a touch worried by the force of her response. "She misinterpreted my memories as what I was seeing now, and she thought you were hurting me. I'm sorry that she was threatening to you." Truly, the girl was apologetic on that count. She had never felt Hepaticath react so suddenly and violently to anyone like that. Perhaps the little gold did have a side that was not so reserved.

Mutasim seemed to have given up on being mad at her for the moment, which she was grateful for. He did seem to be appropriately startled--and frightened, though she would not say that aloud--by Hepaticath's anger, and justifiably so. She decided to offer a delicately-worded truce. "Would you mind if I introduced you to her, sometime, so she could learn that you weren't out to slit my throat? Or if you were, that you didn't?" she asked dryly, picking her way through the trees behind him. Yes, let him think he was doing the favor for her. Maybe he would agree. Hepaticath would give him the evil eye until she decided to trust him, anyway, so it would be a win on both sides to introduce them.

[reqqy]

The candidate's movements grew distinctly less agitated as they continued deeper into the jungle. Mutasim found it hard to hold onto most emotions beneath these trees. It was probably why he came here so often. The young man tended to either ignore, explain away, or otherwise simply not acknowledge his emotions. This was a good place for him.

His steps slowing, Mutasim allowed himself to drift back to pace her, staying just a half-step or so ahead. He glanced up at the goldweyrling as she spoke. A mild frown touched his lips. Though he probably shouldn't be reading too deeply into it, there was the possibility that a dragon could somehow - sense - him. Weren't they capable of that at least to a limited extent? It seemed weird that Hepaticath apparently hadn't reacted to anyone else...Before he could allow the thought to deflate him, Muta shrugged it aside. So what if dragons naturally had an aversion to him? He didn't want anything having access to his memories or his thoughts 24/7 anyway. That would only make him have to face what he'd buried. And Mutasim was content to keep it buried.

Even Jabari didn't fully believe that assessment. The creature proceeded to loosen his grip on Muta's chest - something the candidate had largely ignored, as the brown typically made a pincushion out of him when the flit was distressed - and clawed his way back up to the young man's shoulder, crooning the entire time. A small touch of agitation still lingered in Mutasim's mind. "Don't worry," he whispered to the brown, stroking the creature lightly. "I'm not going to send you away this time. Promise." The first - and only - time he'd been cruel to his little brown was upon Aslath's raging at the two of them. Jabari absolutely refused to leave while his bonded was in danger. Mutasim could think of nothing else but to swear and shout at his bonded, and they'd both taken time to recover from that whole experience.

"It's all right," Muta finally replied. His gaze fixated on a point in the distance. "This one would do the same thing. Though I doubt he'd be as frightening." Oh, shards, he wasn't going to admit that. Too late now. The boy flashed a self-conscious smile at Savitri, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He'd have to get that cut again. No, this girl was hardly Z'hin, and could never replace him, but anyone who stuck around this long had to be one strong-willed person. He wasn't easy to get along with. And deliberately so. He could respect her tenacity, at the very least. Even if she was just here to get that whistle of hers, she hadn't been spatting with him, though he'd given her every opportunity.

The smile - and it was genuine, for all that it looked strange on a face that so rarely wore such an expression - faded at her next suggestion. Jabari chirped inquisitively. "You're asking if I want to meet a dragon who seems intent on tearing my throat out upon our first meeting?" Mutasim snorted. "Well, I don't see why not. Always wanted an interesting way to go." His nose wrinkled petulantly. They were barely halfway to their destination by this point, but now the trees were growing closer together, and the candidate took a moment to be sure of his course, lapsing into silence.

[kysseh]

Savitri was grateful when he slowed his pace a bit. She was normally much quicker on her feet, but the injuries had slowed her down far more than she would have liked. He seemed to be a bit unnerved by Hepaticath's sudden reaction, and she could scarcely blame him. She was rather bothered by it as well, though the receding anger pleased her. She touched lightly on her bonded's mind again. Are you all right now, or should I ask?

He was upsetting you, and I did not like it. He should not upset you like that. Hepaticath insisted, though it was obvious her immediate anger had passed. Now she was just disgruntled but rapidly calming, and Savitri could sense that the gold had been worried on her behalf. It made her smile. He won't hurt me, Cath. He isn't that terrible. I'll introduce you to him sometime. That thought was met by only discontented silence, but the weyrling seemed to have relented, for the moment.

She heard crooning and realized that the little flitter was trying to console himself and his bonded, and it made her smile a little more to see Mutasim attempting to comfort the creature. Not wanting to intrude on what was a private exchange, she kept her mouth shut, though it touched her to see that the boy had an obvious soft spot for his little companion. His sudden reply to her made her offer up a half-hearted shrug, a wry smile touching her lips. "Ohh, I've seen far more people come into the infirmary with damage from firelizards than from dragons. Though, Hepaticath does have the definite advantage of size," she admitted, enjoying the fact that he actually was offering a smile to her. She did not often rub well on people for first meetings, so this was a plus, especially considering he was less than fond of her to begin with. Her lack of tact had a role in that, she was sure.

His response had her rolling her eyes, and she made a noise of exasperation. "She wouldn't tear your throat out, not unless you aimed a fist or a knife at me." His dramatics were entertaining, if lacking in any real sense. She had convinced him to meet Hepaticath at least, and that was a victory. The gold needed reassuring that Mutasim had not intended any harm to Hers, and he would suffer no harm from getting on good terms with the weyrling. "And she wouldn't mind Jabari either. If she tolerates my Shadow, she could handle him easily."

[reqqy]

Raising a brow mildly at her comment, Mutasim at first didn't believe her. Those hatchlings sure managed to maul a person up nicely. But then he realized that, no, he hadn't really noticed any riders walking around with a dragon-sized bite taken out of them. Jabari certainly didn't leave him be, either, although Muta was so used to painful things that he hardly noticed the scratches and bites unless the brown was clearly in earnest. Even then, he tried not to. The flitter always got upset when Mutasim was in pain. Silly Jabari. The creature was so stupid he was endearing - not a nasty bone in his body, either.

Sensing the warm affection from his bonded, the flitter's croon turned into something reminiscent of a coo, wrapping himself loosely around the young man's shoulders and rubbing his head along the length of Muta's neck. Yes, Jabari was more or less the candidate's neck ornament. It had been that way...for pretty much since the little one hatched. Alone of all the creatures on this continent, the brown received Mutasim's unbridled affection. And he didn't much have to worry about anything happening to the flit; Muta would always be there to make sure Jabari was all right, after all.

The young man's smile returned, though it grew more and more lopsided as her words continued. He was aware that most dragons didn't kill people randomly. Northern dragons...maybe...but only because they'd been trained against their nature. Of course, he hadn't had all that much contact with southern dragons, but he'd carried Phremath - unwieldly as that was - at one point, and he knew F'lan's Wrenth, as well as Z'hin's more droll Jessereth. None of them were remotely aggressive unless Theirs were in danger. He just found it amusing to refer to Hepaticath's obvious dislike in that way - and, yes, she still scared him a tad. He'd rarely heard such an angry growl.

"Jabari," Muta repeated, suddenly thoughtful. His hand subconsciously went to the flitter's spine. "I don't know. He's terrified of golds. Aslath screamed at him when I didn't realize that flitters weren't allowed on the sands, and then he refused to leave because he was afraid she was going to eat me." The candidate chuckled, but it was a mirthless sound. "Might be best to just...not bring him near her." He stopped, then, pausing to run a hand along the bark of a tree, before changing course slightly and plunging into a thicker part of the jungle. "We're almost there, now," he told Savitri, his words soft.

[kysseh]

Jabari's obvious affection for Mutasim was touching, and Savitri could not help but offer up a smile in the creature's direction. He was adorable, and she wished Shadow would offer up some sort of affection that consistently instead of just in passing. Shadow was too often out spying, and rarely did he ever come to her to get pets and food. He was just an extra pair of eyes. Hepaticath was constantly affectionate, though, so she did have that. Still, to have something that fit on your shoulder and gifted you with such undenying devotion was something worthy of envy.

The smile was back, if a little crooked. Still, Savitri was not complaining. They seemed to be on decent footing, and the fact that he even seemed to be considering the idea was positive. Hepaticath would have a chance to calm down, and she would be far more reasonable by the time that she met the pair. Or, at least, Savitri hoped the gold would be. She had been warned that the queens tended to have long memories, but Hepaticath was normally so calm. Perhaps she could at least make an attempt at civility...

She was startled at his explanation of Jabari's fear of golds, and she frowned slightly, shaking her head and subconsciously straightening her tunic. The right upper portion of her chest was starting to ache, and she had a feeling the numbweed was no longer working... or starting to not. Shardit, but that wasn't good. "She's still pretty small, though, but if you think it's best, then don't. I don't want to upset him." Hepaticath could certainly look large to a small flit, though she was still incredibly small in comparison to the adult golds, or even the adult greens.

At his pause, she waited patiently for him to decide and then moved along after him, grimacing and pressing a hand to her chest near her right collarbone. She would need a new dose of numbweed when she got back to the barracks, and she was sure she would be screamed at by the infirmary staff if she managed to re-open her wounds. That would require a lot of painful stretching, though the rowing certainly had not been a wise idea, not at that pace. "Glad to hear it," she said, fighting to keep the pain out of her voice. "Not that your company hasn't been... enlightening." It certainly had been that, but she was still debating on 'pleasurable'. "And interesting. And a refreshing change, too."