A-Hunting We Will Go [OPEN]

[Zen]

A'zael :: Bronze Fath

MMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!

The young Bronze bugled his joy to the Weyr as he dove toward the beast pens. The herd of bovines he was aiming for scattered, screaming in terror as the large predator descended on them. A’zael watched a dragonlength from that very pen as his dragon swooped down upon his chosen meal, his great talons gripping the screaming beast until he ended its life with a swift bite and carried it off to a ledge to devour further.

Fath, you haven’t changed at all since the day you hatched, he told his lifemate, looking up to where the Bronze now perched happily with his ‘meat’.

Haven’t? Why not? Not at all? I don’t know. I have meat, Mine.

A’zael laughed, Indeed you do… and I guess you’ve gotten bigger, but other than that.

Other than what, Mine? Bigger than what? Can I have more?

A’zael sighed and looked over the beast pens before him. They seemed so… empty. This bovine was to be the last part of Fath's rations for the week. No Fath, you’ve had your rations. We’ve got to conserve the rest….

Why? I want more. I’m still hungry, Mine.

A frown worked its way onto A’zael’s face. All the dragons were underfed from the past turn. Their riders weren’t faring much better either. But with Mirran back in semi-good graces with trading, maybe things would get a little better. It was quite clear to everyone, the reluctance with which the Mirranese had agreed to Mavros’s trading suggestion, but those red wood trees seemed mighty important to the Mirranese and Mavros needed supplies and transfers like no tomorrow. Not like the trees meant much to the Mavrosites anyway, no one on Mavros was trained to harvest the red woods so they weren’t of any use other than normal… tree… purposes. A’zael was quite certain Mavros was getting the better end of the deal. A few trees in exchange for riders and food? How did they not come up with this deal earlier?

I’m sorry Fath. Maybe you’ll be able to have more soon, but for now this is all you get.

The Bronze finished off his bovine and spread his wings, leaping from his ledge and gliding down to where his rider awaited him. If you say so, Mine.

He sounded a bit disheartened but there wasn’t much A’zael could do about their food situation currently… except maybe…. Would you like to go hunting, Fath?

Fath raised his head and looked to his rider with keen interest, Hunting?

Yes, you could eat as much as you could catch, well, to an extent. We could go to one of the surrounding islands and see what’s running wild there.

The long bronze tail whipped back and forth in his happiness, much like some great canine, Yesyes, Iwannahunt A’zael, Iwannahunt. Iwantmoremeat!

A’zael climbed atop his dragon and patted the side of his neck, Ask if anyone else wants to come with. Ask if anyone wants to go hunting.

Fath let out another bugle and broadcasted his message to the Weyr at large, his excitement jumbling his words together in an almost incomprehensible manner, MineandIaregoinghunting, formeat, moremeat, anythingyouwant, cancatch, allofit! Wanttohunt? Wantmeat?

Whether any other dragon would be able to divine the meaning in those mashed together words, or if they could, would want to join the overtalkative and frankly rather annoying Fath in a hunt, is questionable at best. Though perhaps the scarcity of their rations would drive some to take the risk.

[Hiko]

Pickings are slim, T'rel. Why do you even have me bother with these gamey beasts?
Because, heart, T'rel began, rubbing at his face from the dragon's ledge, it's all we have.
The dragon scoffed within the lad's mind, and T'rel couldn't blame the brown for his frustration.
The tithes were slim at the best of seasons, lately, and the Hold itself likely had to barter for most of what they sent to the Weyr.
At least there weren't as many to feed these days, T'rel thought, his expression darkening. Iskeloth caught his lifemate's mental tone and dove toward a stringy buck with more force than would ever be necessary. The brown, it seemed, wasn't pleased with the sour train of thoughts.
We should be hunting elsewhere, T'rel. We're wasting the meals that could be used toward feeding your kind, when there are more than enough hunting grounds in other territories.

The thought had occurred to the young man, but he'd thought against hunting outside of Mavros, for sheer concern of dealing with the wrath of whoever might catch them. However, Iskeloth's agitation wasn't something he wanted to live with, either, and the dragon was right. The meals within the Weyr had been growing thin, as well, and if even a few of the beasts in the pens could be saved for another day –
Fath's broadcasted announcement caused Iskeloth to laugh as he swooped back onto his own weyrledge.
We're going with them, T'rel. I'm not about to waste more time with these creatures.
You sure you want to? You don't exactly care for Fath.
I'd entertain Nyanth, if it meant better feeding.
Glutton.

T'rel entered the main cavern of his weyr, not for the first time glad that he'd transferred to a more private quarter. While it was true that the rooms were hardly half as large as when he shared a double-cavern with Sarin, the brown rider was grateful for the privacy. He could come and go as he pleased, with no one to question his whereabouts – or his intentions, he added in afterthought, considering what he and Iskeloth were about to do.
Iskeloth didn't bother to mask his reply to the bronze, and because of this, T'rel was privileged to hear half of a conversation – something Iskeloth knew he despised. The brown was goading him into moving faster, was he? T'rel took his time to buckle himself onto the dragon.
Would you be quick about it? Fath! We're coming along.