Post by kevna on Sept 22, 2018 19:56:10 GMT -5
Not long after his run-in with Karredy: Clicky
Tak'ril - Bronze Agureyth
His Bronze dragon had been a little moody ever since having to wait while he finished with the Senior Weyrwoman.
I have not. The dragonet’s voice was heated, and Tak’ril sent soothing waves of calm toward his beloved, while grabbing the bucket full of oil. He was using the basic psychic bond training they had gone over in depth the last seven day. He could sense the increase in strength between their already strong bond and made a mental note to practice more.
“Okay, get comfortable, where do you want me to start first?”
His dragon bunkered down wiggling. Neck, Mine! The left neck ridge itches most.
Tak’ril chuckled at the anticipation that overwhelmed the moodiness Agureyth had been feeling just moments before. He slathered oil along the neck ridge, studying his bonded. He was getting so big, had to be at least almost twice the length that Tak’ril was tall, and was ever growing.
He felt a swell of pride in his chest. His bonded was the largest in the clutch, excepting his sister queen Riyobith who exceeded him at least 5 extra feet. He had noticed just how much length and bulk his bronze had gained during the first swim in the lake for all the weyrlings. His bonded had dwarfed all the other hatchlings. He couldn’t wait to see what his dragonet would grow to, but judging by his current size, he would be a giant among most dragons.
“Turn a little Agureyth.”
His bonded complied. Mine, remember last training?
Yes. His response peaked with curiosity. He cupped more oil and moved to get the eye ridges of the hatchling, better able to meet his dragon’s own curious gaze.
Why spend so much time piling rocks?
Piling rocks? Tak’ril raked his memory, trying to understand. Oh. You mean the firestone sorting and bagging? That is for you to chew and make fire.
Why?
To fight thread.
What’s thread?
It was hard to remember that his little dragon had such a short memory, and since he wasn’t in the thick of things to fight thread, he often forgot. Instead of using words to explain, he used pictures in his mind of dragons fighting the organism eating creatures that fell from the sky, devouring every living thing in its path. He felt his dragon intently studying the pictures of memory.
“Someday, when you are all grown, you will probably be a wingleader in the fight.”
He felt confusion and pride warring in his bronze’s mind, and finally the confusion won out.
What is a wingleader?
“A Wingleader is a dragon and rider that leads and directs a wing of dragons in formation to kill Thread.”
Why will we probably be a wingleader?
“Because you are a bronze dragon, a natural born leader.”
Like Mine. His dragon's swirled blue and green, and he leaned into the oily scratching.
“I am not like you.. I'm not a leader. I can barely talk with people... Let alone girls." He grimaced, thinking about his experience with Senior Weyrwoman Karredy. Thinking about being a leader seemed impossible.
You can do anything, Mine, because you are Mine, and Mine is strong and good. Tak'ril, who had just finished his dragonet's forelimbs, looked up, unsure what he had ever done to deserve such an amazing bondmate. The absolute faith and love in the thought warmed him, but it didn't overshadow Tak'ril's doubts. How in the world had he been chosen to stand for a dragon, and impress Agureyth, a bronze, of all colors?
While he was surprised, there was one thing he did know. He was Agureyth's and he had to meet up to the expectations of a bronze rider. A leader. He wouldn't let his dragon down.
