98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed [Dmitri]

[rii]

"Do it again."

Quintrell sat cross-legged beside his newly bonded (of two days) brown wher–whose hide came off more as black in the night; except for the few patches of lighter brown and dark red, catching in the low light to give the young wher a lovely, if dark appeal. Yes, very good-looking. If Trel could have stolen the brown, he would of attempted just that. And if anyone really asked, he'd prattle off a tale of an egg he planned to sell only to have it hatch one night during his trip to the nearby Hold. Of course, Quintrell puzzled, he didn't know who he'd tell that far-fetched story to, no one in the Weyr would ever believe it. Hm, he'd have to think of a better tale–to share with any search candidates that came in the future.

It was still a bit unsettling, on a deeper level, to think the Wher would always be with him. Trel didn't care much for being.. attached to something. Materialistic items could be taken, lost, sold–he never cared about something so meaningless. But Quintresk was like a.. friend. A very good friend, that had always been a part of his life but only now they had just met in person. Very strange. Aside from his family, Quintrell had never bothered with any sort of closeness with another being. And between him and Quintresk, close was not a proper description. Two different minds and bodies, but together they were one. So very strange.

"Pleaaase~" The thief leaned against the quiet creature, beaming at the brown which currently gave him a curious look in return. Not knowing what he had done to amuse His so greatly. All he had done was show him an image of how he saw the area around them, detailed and as bright as 'day'. His bonded eyes were sharp, but fairly useless and clearly inferior in the dark, so Quintresk had loaned him a better glimpse. This he repeated, much to the pleasure of the short blonde.

"Don't look at me like that." Quintrell sniffled dramatically. What? "That look!" The brown was only looking, he didn't think he was looking in an specific way. "I'm not use to, to.. others talking in my head. And you don't even talk—yes, I know you don't need to talk, but you do realize I am not Weyr-bred. I'm not even Hold-bred. What? It doesn't matter? Sure it does. Maybe it's normal for you but it's kind of odd for me to be sort of reading your mind. You don't even talk in words yet I know what you are saying. It's weird, okay!?" The thief crossed his arms high, squaring them in a purposely poor attempt at looking upset. This earned a light head butt from the brown: Enough.

"Eee! You're like two days old—So? What do you mean so? I'm seventeen turns old. It's odd to be taking advice—No. You're not odd, it's the concept that—stop interupting me—Yes I realize that I don't stop talking. Regardless! It will take time for me to get use to all this!" Quintrell threw his hands up into the air, as if it would help make a point. The Wherling was well aware of the fact he looked the part of a madman ranting to himself in the middle of the Weyr. Perhaps knowing that made it worse.

The brown idly curled his tail around his claws, completely unconcerned toward Quintrell's behavior. His had already accepted and loved him, this he felt and knew without question. But they were wasting time, there were many things Quintresk wanted to see around the Weyr. He rose in one smooth, arching motion not unlike that of a feline, and softly padding into the darkness. His tail curved around his bonded, urging the thief to follow–which Quintrell did without question where they were going, he already knew. The thief quickened their pace, turning it into a slow, easy lope. The differences in their motions coming through, while both had a sense of balance and inner grace, Quintrell's was more of a bounce while the brown wher seemed to glide over the ground.

Quintrell didn't slow, even though he could not see. At least not on his own. Quintresk supplied a near constant visual of their surroundings, almost to the point where Trel was basically seeing out of the brown's eyes. Ooh~ Quintrell grinned, very amused at the opportunities now within his grasp. They must explore those possibilities for mischief. It would be a crime not to..

[Requiem]

Kind of weird. The notes faltered, barely a whispering of air on top of the wind and, in that faltering, revealed their truth as unnatural. A light tug. Focus. Feel. Eyes barely slittled fully closed once more, Dmitri forcing himself to relax and stop fighting it. Normally this wasn't difficult, but he could feel the foreign consciousness sliding against his, touching briefly, just as lightly as the notes stepped on the soft, nighttime wind ruffling the leaves. It was a creepy sensation, truly, but the sort of alien that draws rather than drives away.

Like a Terran syren call.

Home. Dmitri twitched at the single impression, quickly followed by a stab of impatience. Dmisk eyed him placidly, the only outward indication of his displeasure a slight narrowing of the eyes. Try again. Relax. The boy bit his lip, but he tried. Feeling without judging the feeling, just being, and again the notes came naturally. Home. Impressions, memories rose languidly, building. Sights and scents and sounds, a great hall devoted completely to music and learning. The wher's satisfaction was palpable. Good.

The faint, ghostly impressions written against the back of his eyelids suddenly flared into life, and there he saw the boulders along the edge of the water, a slender figure perched on one, playing something, curls teased outward on the breeze...Him? That realization, and he saw the figure lose hold of the pipes, his instrument falling through his fingers and the lighted night world crumbling again. Dmisk settled onto his belly. "Don't give me that," Dmitri grumbled irritably, retrieving the instrument and securing it carefully into the wide band of his belt. "You startled me."

His was subconsciously connected but, much to Dmisk's annoyance, the boy fought him at every turn on a conscious level, keeping his mind apart as best he could. He wasn't much interested in pursuing this any further tonight, either, though. Many more nights to train the young human, and he tired easily.

The sound of running, in the night. Wher and human. His head came up, nostrils flaring. Which...? Clutchsibling, but he was not so good at differentiating scents yet to be certain which of his brothers and sisters this was. Neither of the shiny, immature wherries, though, he knew that much. Mentally prodding Dmitri, he moved a small ways from the water, glancing back to encourage the boy to follow.

His pale hide gleamed faintly in the darkness, like blue moonlight seen through the haze of fog, the hatchling moving with more grace than any wher hatched just two nights past had a right to. Predatory grace, unlike the slender figure trailing tentatively in his wake. Demi cursed the root that caught his toe, stumbling after Dmisk. This wandering around at night thing was going to take some definite getting used to.

The blue wher pulled up suddenly on a rise, prominent against the backdrop of inky darkness. He reached down and touched Quintresk's mind in polite welcoming, the brush devoid of all emotion, all shreds and taints of other meanings. To the point, Dmisk was. For what purpose did Quintresk and His run?

[rii]

They heard music. Or rather, Quintresk heard it first and happened to translate it to his bonded. The thief took in the information and quickly stuffed it aside. Mind moving a dozen different directions all at once. It was almost too much for the brown to decipher. According to His, there were so many things to do and get done and so little time. No wonder the thief couldn't sit still. Patience. One thing at a time. More efficient.

Quintrell wrinkled his nose at the sensation, his pace slowed as the foreign feeling soothed his antsy nerves. That's when they saw the blue wher up on the rise. No, not true, Quintresk knew his sibling was about with his chosen. Why didn't he tell His? It wasn't of any importance. Trel skidded to a halt, almost as if he heard the greeting through the brown's mind–being as tightly connected as they had during their run, it was quite possible. Quintresk came to much smoother stop than his bonded, sitting back on haunches and lifting his head to return the greeting with equal politeness. Simple answer: His enjoyed running.

Who was this? Quintrell's peered curiously at the bright creature, even with his own poor nightvision the shiny wher appeared to glow. Much different than the brown, who without the add of a wher's eyes appeared nothing more than a sleek black creature, part of the shadows, eyes reflecting out from the darkness. An image appeared in his head, the sight of his clutchbrother walking by with the tall, long-haired boy. The thief grinned, dimples flashing as he waggled his fingers at the young wher in greeting. "Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?"

So the crazy queen rider was bonded to the blue? Yes. Where was he? Beyond.

Not waiting for a proper meeting, Quintrell scrambled up the rise and peered into the darkness beyond Dmisk. Here he had to squint and try to use his own eyesight until his brown could 'lighten' things up. Quintresk observed His for a moment, then turned to calmly walk into the trees and up the side of the mound.

"Heeeey!" Quintrell hopped over to the harper. "You're alive! Shards guy, I thought you were going to die the other night when you jumped on the queen like that! What were you thinking? You're so lucky she didn't maul you!" An image of the tall youth before him came through, so detailed, all those little details. Quintrell stepped forward, taking the harpers hand (the other hand coming up to touch against the boy's elbow) in a firm shake, pumping the other's arm energetically. "I'm Quintrell by the way, got here just a couple sevendays ago, already impressed. Crazy that! Kind of changes my plans a bit. So what's your name?"

[Requiem]

Dmisk always, as ever, silent, dipped his body slightly in what could only be interpreted as a sort of bow of the head. As good a reason as any, he communicated to his clutchbrother in typical direct fashion. Thus far, he approved of the brown, if only because Quintresk wasn't acting the fool. Power struggles between wherlings only a couple of days old - wherlings who couldn't figure out their own feet, no less - was nothing short of pathetic. In a short while they would all rule the night. Didn't the shiny ones realize that? His eyes remained focused on the brown. Quintresk and His were welcome to join him and the music maker, if they so desired.

He glanced over at the Noisy One. A good choice his clutchbrother had made. He wasn't right for Dmisk, but he was still a lot closer than the others had been...just a bit too busy in the mind to suit the blue. Straightening, he turned slightly, glancing back to seek out His, who had gotten that long hair caught up in a branch and was only now emerging near Dmisk. The hair would have to go one of these nights, if this was to become a frequent problem.

Unaware of such thoughts - or even the brownpair not far away - Dmitri jumped at the sudden greeting, his arm captured instantly by the hyperactive little bouncer. The harper could really only make out the bob of near-white hair in this lighting. He glanced at the blue, but there was no help coming from that direction, the boy's face resolving itself into what was clearly a nervous smile. He wasn't that familiar with people pouncing him like this. Cursing him, insulting him, throwing him around, swinging at him...yes. Not so much instant happy hi greetings.

But then, he wouldn't have been the crazy gold-wher riding harper if he didn't recover himself swiftly. "Dmitri," he responded mildly. "And she seemed far more interested in making a couch out of me than anything else. Whers are heavy. She wasn't supposed to roll like that, you know, just be a good wher and let me watch the hatching. I'm not big on leeches you see." Dmisk glanced at the boy, but he either didn't notice or ignored the blue. "They didn't say anything at Harper Hall or in lessons about whers manhandling you. Quite an oversight, I'd say. This one has been dragging me around and generally abusing me since the moment he hatched."

Dmitri pulled a dramatic face. "Quintrell, then. Where you from, Quin?" He extracted his hand from the enthusiastic handshake, glancing around. "And where'd your own special leech get off to?" The foreign mind that he still wasn't accustomed to invaded. Right off in the trees. Too dark for the boy to see, of course. He didn't glow like Dmisk did. Though the thoughts were without inflection or emotion, Dmitri's eyes narrowed. Was that bragging he detected? Most certainly not. One could not control with which hide they were hatched, as it were. Dmitri snorted. Such an uptight wher he was bonded to.

[rii]

"If you're goin' to short'n it, call me Trel 'cause he's Quintresk. Don't wanna get confused." The youth winked, aware that the gesture was lost in the dark but doing it anyway. He gave Dmitri's hand one last squeeze before the harper could escape, the pressure done with purpose.. so when their hands were apart, the harper wouldn't notice the full loss of pressure.. and that Trel thumbed a new ring down to join his collection.

Quintresk, noticing this–not seeing anything, but sensing the smug satisfaction in his bonded's mind, send a questioning to the thief; probing almost in an obsessive manner to figure out why. Quintrell absently thumbed the piece of jewelry: that. Why? The thief may have answered, but found himself easily distracted by the piece of web that seemed to clinging to his other hand (the one once touching Dmitri's elbow). Yuck spiders! Flailing would properly describe his next action. Off off! Apparently it had gotten snagged by the rings on that hand. Bleh! Quintrell swiped with his free hand to knock the web away..

.. only to realize that piece of webbing was connected to Dmitri's head, and that the 'web' was a piece of hair instead. A sheepish, apologetic grin spread over his boyish features. "Ahaha.. uh.. sorry? Thought it was.. yeah.." Quintrell carefully plucked the piece of hair away from where it had snared around one of the gemmed rings. "That's some long hair you've got friend. Why do you wear it like that? If I had hair that long I'd likely always be stuck in my rings or probably trip over it.."

The brown silently came up, near Dmisk but not enough to crowd. Quintresk did not show it, but he was a bit put off that he didn't understand why His had taken something belonging to the music maker. Again he brushed at his bonded's mind. A mental shrug from the blonde: because he could? Quintrell gave a side glance toward the shadows in where he felt his quiet companion. It's a game, to see how long it takes for them to notice. Hm, Quintresk would have to closely watch this further to understand. For the moment, he sent a friendly questioning to his cluchbrother: How was he, and how did he fair with his chosen? Behind the words also came the polite compliment about the music they had heard. Both the questioning and compliment neatly wrapped together, yet separate in a one single delivery.

"I'm sure what she was suppose to do is spill your guts out over the sand. I'm glad all she did was treat you like a couch. She's okay in my book!" The theif folded his arms behind his back and began to rock, heel to toe, bobbing up and down to some internal rhythm he just couldn't seem to stop. "As for my leech, he's over by your leech, probably talking about leechy things and sharing leechy secrets. Gotta say though, this seein' in the dark thing is fun. Although it does kind of put a hamper on having a social life. I mean, how many people do you meet wanderin' around in the dark? Most people that do you don't want to run into."

The brown gently reminded the thief of the question Dmitri had asked, since Trel's mind had gotten side-tracked by.. many things. "I'm from everywhere! Oh yes. Travelin' since I was but a babe sucking at mother's teat. Been all over the north, sailed the sea, trekked the jungles of the south. But er.. guess I'm kind of stuck here though, eh?" the last part carried a tinge of sadness, but Quintrell recovered quickly, grin doubling in size. "Quintresk wanted to see more of the Weyr, wanna come along?"

[Requiem]

"Yeah, I can see how that would be a bother," Dmitri responded. "Trell it is." Which actually was probably better, given the name sounded remarkably close to 'trill,' and the bluehandler could only be reminded of a lot of pretty fluff when talking to the kid. (Nevermind that the 'kid' was pretty close to Demi's age and it probably was ridiculous to think of him in that manner.) Quintrell definitely had a habit of talking excessively. Or was that just nervousness at meeting someone else, or excitement or something, and this wasn't the norm? Being fairly talkative himself, he found it quite odd that this one was decidedly more locquacious than he. How absolutely unusual.

His expression went decidedly annoyed as the other began tugging on his head. He didn't say anything, however, simply waiting for the boy to get a clue, and...ah, there it was. Realization. You could almost see the candle lighting over Quintrell's head (and, truly, a candle would have been most convenient at this time. He couldn't see a thing.) "I don't wear it like anything," Dmitri returned, the faint irritation clear in his tone. "I simply don't cut it. And it's not that long unless you hunch and crouch or something. I can't just randomly trip on it." Yes, the hair could be annoying, but he mainly wore it that way because men didn't wear it that way up north, and he didn't want to do anything those people did. Particularly the dragonriders.

Dmisk turned his head to regard the approaching brown placidly, his tail shifting slightly at the approach...but that was the extent of his reaction to the other's presence. His response was equally polite - and a bit more distant. Mostly because emotion and warmth never mixed with his communication. For all anyone knew (and it might well be true) he didn't feel emotion at all. The picture of Demi's failed attempt at sharing his eyes wove in neatly with Dmisk's response that the boy was slow to take to their bond. Another picture of him having to blood the harper himself. He was sure, however, that the music maker would learn. He was most intelligent, just as Quintresk's was. How did the brown manage so much energy, though? Even Dmisk's wasn't that bouncy.

He couldn't resist. Dmitri began to rock opposite of Trell, only half-listening to the little thief. Not that he was at all aware of his missing rings just yet, no. The harper was still quite oblivious, though how long that would last was up for debate. He did have a rather bothersome habit of twisting the ring around on his finger in a show of nervous energy fairly often. "I imagine she was probably waiting until her little hatchlings wouldn't trip on slimy innards and bash their heads open," Dmitri commented, just half-serious. "Either that or she knew it would be more torturous to be used as a couch and then claimed by one of her leeches. I'm convinced she's merely sadistic."

Glancing at Trell fully, he stopped rocking, a soft frown flitting over his lips. The brownhandler was already seeing in the dark? How did he do that so quickly? Dmitri wasn't sure if he was actually jealous...or simply bemused. Seemed awfully quick, it did. He'd felt faintly nauseous during that brief flash, he had. A glance toward Dmisk showed that yes, there was a dark shadow near him. Hm. "I'd like to have seen as many places," he commented quietly. "But they only just let me out of Harper Hall, and now I'm stuck too." He sounded just a bit petulant there, that he did. The thought of exploring, though, immediately made him perk up.

He had to ask, though. "Do you know if...umm...the wherries eat...people?"

[rii]

"That's the problem friend, you don't wear it like anythin'." Smiling, as Quintrell was nothing but friendly unless he chose to be nasty, the thief held a section of Dmitri's hair and flapped it through the air (not tugging on it) to demonstrate the nothingness of the style. "Ever think of tyin' it back? Or braid'nit?" The thief promptly ceased rocking, hands rummaged through numerous pockets until a leather tie was produced–obviously not for his short, near white hair. Where he got the items he toted around was always up for question, but he usually did have various knick-knacks on him; never know when they might come in useful.

The tie was held up, not for Dmitri to see, but more out to the side for Dmisk to view. It was dark out, and Quintrell didn't know how well the tall youth could see. His sight came from Quintresk so he assumed the same for Dmitri (the differing angles were odd, but after a while his mind wrapped around them easily enough. Quintrell was a very adaptable creature). "No, I meant me if my hair was that long. It's nearly as long as I am tall." Slight exaggeration, but who was going to actually measure? A gallant shrug followed the words. None of his business how the other wore his hair. He didn't care, just speaking his mind.

If Dmisk's quiet ways and lack of inflection were cause for concern, Quintresk didn't seem to notice. He hadn't had much interaction with his clutchsiblings–aside from Anzask, whose constant energy was almost too much to tolerate paired with his bonded's bounciness. Then there had been his bronze brother, getting upset over nothing at the hatching. Quintresk could no longer remember what it had been about, but was sure it had been pointless. His may be.. all over the place.. but at least he didn't get irrationally emotional over anything. Dmisk was a welcomed change to Anzask's constant wanting to play. An agreement was sent to the blue, indeed the music maker would learn, Quintresk was confident in his clutchbrother's ability to teach.

To answer the question, an impression was shared–coming in a translation of dark blues and deep violets, shifting back and forth between the peaceful hues. It was a very calm center, unaffected by it's surroundings. Emotions were but small slivers of other colors, dealt with in a quick, calculated manner. It was a mystery how something he could sense inside of Quintrell came out in such a strange show of excessive energy. A very curious thing. Quintresk would figure it out. Just as quickly the colorful interpretation vanished, leaving something dark in it's wake. Dmisk's too was a bit of a puzzle–and from Quintresk, this came as a compliment.

"I suppose she coulda been an evil glittery mastermind–" a faint scolding came from the young brown who sensed the heavy sarcasm behind the words (but showed little, if at all, in the tone itself). Quintrell ignored it, musing that he didn't think whers were stupid. And that was their mother, he should be more respectful. "–but even so. I can't imagine life without Quintresk. It feels like he has always been there. So to have him actually by my side. Iunno–" Quintrell slurred the word a bit as he again shrugged. "It just feels right." The thief went from quietly thoughtful to suddenly leaping foward–hands upraised and clawed like he was an attacking monster. "That–" he roared the single word. "–or their leechiness works like brain washing. We are but slaves to their whims~!"

Quintrell nimbly hopped back, recrossing his arms behind him; spinning the new ring around his finger. It was a bit too big so he could spin it. The frown didn't go unnoticed, but that was more due to Quitnresk's rapt observation than his own. The images in Trel's head actually seemed to put more emphasis on the subtle changes. Something he had said or done? Trel made no show of noticing–just continued to grin in an unshakable cheeriness. His eyes suddenly light up, interested. "So that's why they call you music maker. Met a few harpers in my travels. Fun sort to traverse the roads with. Silver-tongued sly canines your lot. Pipe and sing the panties right off the ladies, eh?"

He winked. The trick of wooing women into the furs was the only part that truly interested the thief. Music was nice and all, but Quintrell was something of a vouyer and a teenage male. "Can't imagine we have to stay 'ere and if we leave we'll die or be in some sort of agony. I'd like to still do some travelin', even if it's done only at night. As long as Quintresk has shelter during the day and we can find food, no one can tell us no. It might not be as comfy as livin' snuggly in a Weyr, but that's part of what travelin' is."

Wherries.. eat people? Quintrell snickered while turning to lead the way–Quintresk excused himself and quickly moved forward to travel alongside his bonded; guiding him through the darkness.

"Wary Wherry
So contrary
What will you seek today?
A lizard's nest,
or a snakey pest?
Or will you just soar away?"

The thief chortled again, amused at the verse of a rhyme fit for a babe suckling at the breast. He reached out and snapped off a low hanging branch, brandishing it about as he spoke. "They're awfully skittish, more so in the North than here, but they ain't nothin' but scavengers. I've run into them a few times, think they expect to be fed or snitch your food while you're not lookin'. But I've always just–" Here again he threw up his arms over his head. Think big scary monster. Stomp stomp! "–Act like I'm going to eat them and they always fly off. I'm sure if they were in a pack they might get brave.. but we got a pack of our own going on. They ain't gonna mess with us."

[Requiem]

Demi regarded Trell narrowly. No. Of course not. He was only fifteen, of course he'd never thought of braiding or tying the hair back. He sniffed mildly. His hair was worn long really for one reason and one reason only; dragonriders didn't do it. Some might have long hair, but they all bound it up somehow if they wore it long enough to be a nuisance. He might be the son of dragonriders, but he never wanted to be mistaken for one...and besides which, until just recently he'd spent most of his time indoors, so getting it tangled on things was mostly not a concern.

Accepting the colorful impression in thoughtful silence, Dmisk digested it for a moment. He didn't see Quintresk's in quite the same manner, but it was close enough to be recognizable as the same person. No, his impression of the boy was a curious mingling of scents, emotions and traces of places and people all coming together into a rich fabric that was exotic and so multi-faceted it would take hours just to analyze it all. Dmisk shared this with his clutchbrother, adding to it Dmitri's more singular scent. Did Quintresk see where some of the flavorings matched?

He glanced at the tie that Quintresk's held up, gaze flicking away almost instantly. It mattered little to him how Dmitri chose to present himself so long as it didn't get in the way of lessons. And the hair was a convenient way to keep the harper under control when such things were needed. The blue instead continued the quiet conversation with his clutchbrother. It was clear, wasn't it, that Theirs were the best?

Dmitri snorted outright at Quintrell's 'he makes me whole' crap. "Sappy much?" he muttered, his lips quirking into a smirk as he regarded the other wherhandler. The sudden movement, however, caused the harper to jump and take a step back, the retreat halted when his back came to rest firmly against a tree. He grunted softly at the impact, eyes narrowing into a tempramental glare at Trell. What was the kid doing, trying to shock him into an early grave?

"This is, of course, assuming that there is a brain to take over." The words were soft enough, but not so soft that it made it seem as if he was trying to say it out of the brownhandler's healing. Bothersome person, this Quintrell.

And there he continued, babbling on about sly canines and panties. Dmitri ran a hand over his face and didn't even bother to grace that one with a comment. (Really, though, did it look like he'd gotten a lot of action? General rule of thumb, females didn't tend to fancy men who were pretty enough to cause jealousy. Just didn't happen.) "Dmisk wouldn't let us leave," Dmitri responded simply. No, the blue didn't care to go anywhere that wasn't within easy walking distance of Selenitas. They had a purpose here, they did. Not that the harper really cared to argue much; he didn't think he'd have much luck wandering on his lonesome.

Setting off after Quintrell, Dmitri set to twisting his hair nervously, Dmisk padding over near His to at least give him mental warnings since the boy seemed incapable of sharing his eyes. Wherries weren't things to be joking about! He'd had one trailing him for the better part of an hour...just one. "Are you absolutely positive about that?" Because Quintrell really didn't look all that scary stomping around in his monster impression. (Really shouldn't be singing the wherry song. Now they were sure to come, summoned by the irreverance.)

[rii]

Dust of the road, Quintresk commented to Dmisk with a abstract of imagery and impression of feet traveling over roads, bit and pieces of areas and people of what Quintresk could see from Trel's memories. But the trails and faces were so many, snaking around a world much bigger than their little Weyr. All of it became what His refered to as dust of the road, clings to traveler. This the the brown shared. Not much a mystery to figure out, but he had more time around his bonded already, so anything Quintresk had been curious about.. he had delved until he had earned an acceptable answer.

Yes, he answered simply to the question of flavors, turning his head around to view the harper–Quintrell too, turned his head, mindlessly mirroring the actions of his wher since they were sharing one set of eyes. He followed the motion of images as if he himself had decided to turn his head and glance back at the bluepair. The brown soon looked back forward, not responding further, at least at first. He was thinking about all the other handlers before he decided if theirs were best. Pride told him yes, their were best, but the brown still took a moment to debate. Yes. Again just a simple answer. If not best, theirs were more interesting than any of the others. That made them better choices.

If Dmitri had said much, Quintrell didn't hear most of it, or just didn't care. Too busy swinging the stick about in what might look a child at play with a wooden sword. Really he was knocking away bits of spider web and other various objects hanging down in the path they wove through the trees. He made a step to quicken the pace, but a gentle reminder of company made him falter and almost trip over a risen root. Right, company that failed at seeing in the dark–the brown lightly scolded his thought, not all were as willing to adapt to the bond. The music maker would learn. Stubborn, but would learn.

Quintrell snorted to himself, before smirking at the image of Dmitri twisting a piece of hair. Nervous, he told Quintresk, who had shared the image with a faint questioning about what the gesture meant. "Unless yer as easy to kill as a tunnelsnake, ya, we're fine. Hey!" He spun around, stick set against the ground like a walking cane. "Let's go find one n' I'll show ya. They're prolly roosting now, but they can prolly sniff 'em out."

No, Quintresk wrapped his tail around Trel's wrist and tugged the thief along. "Yeesh tresk, I wasn't serious." Shards, the harper would probably piss himself. Maybe, he did seem overly jumpy–if the thief's fright at him had been anything to judge by. Not being able to see did boost the fear factor. "Ye jump onto wild queen whers, but yer worried about a wherry?"