Post by Taxx on Jul 21, 2020 23:31:01 GMT -5
Gonalden hadn’t been quite sure what to expect from Mavros; he’d never been, not even to visit, and what he’d heard from Kaldego hadn’t been much to go on. A small weyrhold that had broken off from Tidewalk some six Turns ago, staking their claim on a thus-far uninhabited island and building themselves a suitable home from nothing. At the very least, they sounded like the kind of people he could admire: those who made the best of what they had and pushed on to survive as best they could.
But, he’d realized, it wasn’t very big. Oh, the island itself was of impressive size, but there were so few people. Nothing like Castel. Of course, the dragons were new. Only whers stayed for any length of time at the Hold of his birth: as it should be, with their standing as Pern's -admittedly unofficial- Wherhall, and the help they gave to the miners there.
The dragons made up for it, he found quickly, as he stepped off the ship that had been his passage from Castel, a quiet sigh of relief for the solid earth underfoot. They were not as numerous as the people, but each was a member of the Weyr in their own way. Turning back to the ship, Gonalden looked at the wher huddled at the top of the gangplank, blocking anyone else from coming down. One front paw reached out to tap the two claws against the wooden ramp, testing its soundness.
It’s safe, Gonalden assured him. You went up it, remember?
Grumble grumble grumble, went the bronze, but his second forefoot joined the first and he inched his way along, ever so carefully making his way down until he was just five feet from the dock and then he jumped, landing surely but heavily on the walkway. It shuddered beneath him and Gonalden was nearly certain one plank had splintered- nothing broke outright, so that was one plus; but he’d have to talk to someone about it later. Faranth willing he remembered.
No more boat, Gonask commented, and belatedly the man realized his bronze was trotting away toward the shore. He lingered just long enough to confirm with a steward that he’d be housing in Mavros’ wherhandler quarters- everything had been cleared before he’d even left Castel- and to make sure nothing of his was left behind. Then he hurried after the bronze, because the last thing he needed was someone trying to pull rank on the wher and have blood spill before he’d been on Mavrosi soil for a half-hour passed.
He caught up to his wher quickly, and then for a moment both paused to take in the sights. Dragons! And people too, of course, but it was to the dragons that Gonalden’s eyes flickered: to the bright golds up on the Rim, to the various shades of bronze, brown, blue and green that lounged in the sun. One of them- he wasn’t really sure which, considering he’d never met the pair in person- belonged to the Mavros Weyrleader, and Gonalden knew he’d have to introduce himself to the bronzerider soon.
Ride dumb, was Gonask’s input, and Gonalden glanced at the bronze where he sat beside his handler, nose up and sniffing at the myriad of different smells.
I ride you, sometimes, he replied, and grinned at the look the bronze gave him through dark goggles.
Not same. Ride me, smart. Gonask keep feet on ground where belong. Ride dragon, dumb. Gonask’s not dumb.
Ah, a wher’s mind. No, they weren’t stupid creatures, even if their intelligence was far from what he’d heard of dragons, but neither were they known for deep thought and eloquence. Like a dog with a bone, was a favorite saying: once they got an idea in their heads it was hard to shake, and Gonask was no different. “Come on, you. Let’s get you settled and get those goggles off; they must be bothering you. Let me just find someone who can point me toward the whers’ quarters…”
After a second’s consideration, he reached out and called to someone as they passed, smiling and offering a slight bow of greeting.
But, he’d realized, it wasn’t very big. Oh, the island itself was of impressive size, but there were so few people. Nothing like Castel. Of course, the dragons were new. Only whers stayed for any length of time at the Hold of his birth: as it should be, with their standing as Pern's -admittedly unofficial- Wherhall, and the help they gave to the miners there.
The dragons made up for it, he found quickly, as he stepped off the ship that had been his passage from Castel, a quiet sigh of relief for the solid earth underfoot. They were not as numerous as the people, but each was a member of the Weyr in their own way. Turning back to the ship, Gonalden looked at the wher huddled at the top of the gangplank, blocking anyone else from coming down. One front paw reached out to tap the two claws against the wooden ramp, testing its soundness.
It’s safe, Gonalden assured him. You went up it, remember?
Grumble grumble grumble, went the bronze, but his second forefoot joined the first and he inched his way along, ever so carefully making his way down until he was just five feet from the dock and then he jumped, landing surely but heavily on the walkway. It shuddered beneath him and Gonalden was nearly certain one plank had splintered- nothing broke outright, so that was one plus; but he’d have to talk to someone about it later. Faranth willing he remembered.
No more boat, Gonask commented, and belatedly the man realized his bronze was trotting away toward the shore. He lingered just long enough to confirm with a steward that he’d be housing in Mavros’ wherhandler quarters- everything had been cleared before he’d even left Castel- and to make sure nothing of his was left behind. Then he hurried after the bronze, because the last thing he needed was someone trying to pull rank on the wher and have blood spill before he’d been on Mavrosi soil for a half-hour passed.
He caught up to his wher quickly, and then for a moment both paused to take in the sights. Dragons! And people too, of course, but it was to the dragons that Gonalden’s eyes flickered: to the bright golds up on the Rim, to the various shades of bronze, brown, blue and green that lounged in the sun. One of them- he wasn’t really sure which, considering he’d never met the pair in person- belonged to the Mavros Weyrleader, and Gonalden knew he’d have to introduce himself to the bronzerider soon.
Ride dumb, was Gonask’s input, and Gonalden glanced at the bronze where he sat beside his handler, nose up and sniffing at the myriad of different smells.
I ride you, sometimes, he replied, and grinned at the look the bronze gave him through dark goggles.
Not same. Ride me, smart. Gonask keep feet on ground where belong. Ride dragon, dumb. Gonask’s not dumb.
Ah, a wher’s mind. No, they weren’t stupid creatures, even if their intelligence was far from what he’d heard of dragons, but neither were they known for deep thought and eloquence. Like a dog with a bone, was a favorite saying: once they got an idea in their heads it was hard to shake, and Gonask was no different. “Come on, you. Let’s get you settled and get those goggles off; they must be bothering you. Let me just find someone who can point me toward the whers’ quarters…”
After a second’s consideration, he reached out and called to someone as they passed, smiling and offering a slight bow of greeting.