See their shadows wandering off [kireon]

[lee]

Nothing good came of asking questions.

Lenticuth gloomily contemplated this fact as he climbed his way up the Weyr bowl, finding footholds for talons where T'yer certainly couldn’t see any and moving in smooth, flowing progress on his way up to a ledge near where he thought his mother might be. ‘Mother’ had been the root of it. When T'yer had been tuning a harp purchased from an apprentice at the Gather, a face had flickered in his mind, and his mindmate had caught it and recognized it because T'yer thought of her often, though fleetingly. As usual, the face had faded almost at once, but this time, rather than let it slide as he had been, Lenticuth had mulled it over. It felt, in some ways, like how he felt for his sisters, but somehow more deferential, as though perhaps for a queen. T'yer had in turn caught some of this, and laughed, lowering the harp to face up at the rapidly growing Viridian. "Nae quite a queen, Lenticuth. But nae a sister either. She was m’mum. Like Wenth. Y’know?"

Lenticuth had been puzzled. He realized—with some guilt, which he suspected stemmed from T'yer's strong emotions about mothers—he hadn't really given his mother much thought. It was easy to think of her, to summon up the large, creamy-tan head licking his sister Arcuth clean. He just…hadn't. He thought about her now though, mulling her image in his mind, until T'yer, amused, prodded. "Well, you love 'er, right?"

Lenticuth thought about this, head resting on his forelegs as his eyes swirled in serious contemplation. Like the prior question, he hadn’t really thought about it much. Amused at how seriously the question was being taken, T’yer grinned and waited for the verdict. She kept me warm.

[/color] Lenticuth offered up at last. Until idiot Asperath woke me up.[/color]

And safe, T’yer thought but didn’t share, though he chuckled at the answer. "That’s a start." Idly leaning against the deep colored hide, T'yer had shot a sidelong glance at the growing dragon and suggested, ever so mildly, "You should go talk with her." Suspicious, Lenticuth's eyes went from contemplative to wary. He didn't really think you sidled up to a sub-queen just to chat, even if she was your mother. T'yer, forever a talker, didn’t say another word in response to the unasked but clearly communicated question of ‘why, exactly?’, and simply passed along a memory of the tan clutchmother's pleading request that the newly Impressed Weyrlings take care of her children, the strange, slightly haunting sadness that laced it muddled with T'yer's own memories of his mother and the knowledge that Lenticuth still had his, still had the opportunity, while T'yer did not.

And that, Lenticuth thought with a grumble, was why he was climbing the Weyrbowl, looking for Wenth even though he had no idea what to even say and certainly no idea what he was supposed to feel about all of this.

Clouds? T'yer supplied almost immediately from his spot down below. I think—I remember she liked clouds.

This was not helpful. What about clouds?

The viridian felt his bonded shrug. I dunno. That bunch over there looks like a bowl of moldy tubers. You could ask her what she thinks.

I’m not going to ask if she thinks that cloud looks like a moldy bowl of tubers.

Why not?

Because!

Well, but it does. And that’s bowl OF moldy tubers, not moldy bowl of—

It does NOT look like a bowl of moldy tubers!

T'yer sniffed. Well fine then. What does it look like?

Lenticuth thought about this before snapping back waspishly, A cloud?

T'yer clucked his tongue and tried not to laugh, shaking his head. You're not very good at this.

And he wasn't. As Lenticuth rather suddenly arrived in view of the dragon who had put him of the Sands, he felt abruptly and woefully inept. A skittery panic the cool hatchling wasn't used to shivered from nose to tail and he found himself wanting to bolt, rather than risk upsetting—or worse, somehow disappointing—the older dragon, who suddenly loomed in his mind as an immensely important figure, shades of T'yer's lost kin coloring his perception and making her precious, though he was suddenly unsure if it was T’yer at all, or his own, buried because she was a tan, and he knew, or feared, what that meant for him. For them. He and his hatchsiblings alike. Lenticuth resisted the urge to squirm like a child, the only outward indication of his sudden discomfort the way he rather folded himself around his legs like a cat, head low as T'yer encouraged him quietly from below. S'okay, she's nice. Say hi.

But Lenticuth didn't. He was afraid if he did she would ask who he was, and belonging, though he had never voiced it and never would, was so very important to him. Maybe he could just...start a conversation, and she wouldn't ask, and he wouldn't have to know, not for sure, if she knew him or not. As long as she didn't ask, he could hope for what T'yer hoped for, and keep the quiet lie to himself. So instead, in as polite a voice was he could muster—and that was very, for despite his squeamynes, the viridian was the sort to project calm under pressure—he offered quietly, and as not-lamely as he could considering how completely lame what he was about to say was, to the sub-queen on the next ledge, The clouds look….nice today, do you think?
[/size][/blockquote]

[kireon]

True to Wenth's echoing words, the tan's infamously poor memory manifested itself a scant two days after the hatchlings had gone on to Impress their Candidates-turned-Weyrlings and moved into the safety of the barracks that would be their homes for the next several seasons. It had started with a slip of colors and numbers, and had finally gone out with the last image of a cracked shell and a squeal of terrified but frightened dragonets racing towards the Candidates. All that had remained, for the third day, was a sense of comfortable knowing that she had done something right, and a sorrow that she couldn't explain. By the time a sennight had passed, the sorrow had faded, though the tan still had moments where that something was just within her mind's reach before it slipped away, elusive, like someone trying to grab a fistful of her beloved clouds.

While Aylina tried to figure out a good balance between helping her poor darling remember, as she'd promised her that day on the sands, and risking overloading and confusing her at the same time, the dragonets themselves had been growing closer to their bondeds, and growing not only into their budding personalities, but into their bodies as well. Watching them being led to the feeding grounds was one of the ways Aylina'd figured on reintroducing the babies to their dam, at least, by name and sight if nothing else. Each time they were available, Aylina pointed them out and recited the names she'd gotten from the Weyrlingmaster- that'd been a kinda uncomfortable conversation. Names, somehow, were easier on the tan when put to an actual face.

One such face was making its way up to the ledge on which she lay, sunning herself and her broad wings between shadows that moved across her body from the skies her eyes always seemed fixed on. She knew this face from the many times her patient Pretty had shown her from her own memory; everything from the moment he had come forth from the shell on the sands to the instant he'd Impressed in his own knowing manner to the one who had needed him the most. Still, though she knew he was coming, it was entirely different when he reached the ledge she had subtly moved herself closer to the opposite edge of, making room enough for him to sit, or sprawl out, comfortably without feeling crowded by her own incredible bulk.

It was a light touch of her beloved Aylina's mind that brought forth the memories again, along with a wealth of patient kindness and understanding that flooded through the tan's own mind. Yes, this was one of her eggs, as Aylina proved, and his name was Lenticuth. He was not cloud-marked, like Cirruth, but he was rather like his sire in some way that she could not quite fathom or put words to. Whether that was important or not wasn't something she was going to worry about too much, all she needed to know was that he had been one of hers;

and that T'yer was keeping his promise to her.

His anxiety didn't go unnoticed, though true to Wenth's nature, she did not press, nor did she make comment or raise awareness of such a fact. She saw all the things, even if she did not understand all of the things her vision captured. She remained content, body language the same at ease as it had been with wings unfurled just enough to get the most light against their lightly colored membranes. At the touch of his mind, hesitant and fragile as it were, Wenth's facets transitioned from the green they had been towards blue, momentarily lingering just an instant or two on a color in-between the two that looked rather suspiciously like an attempt to match her viridian child's hide.They are good clouds today, yes... they are...[/i] She confirmed the young dragonet's question with a reassuring answer in her eternally dreamy, distracted manner.

In some regards, she was still that figure from her hatchling's memory; the one who had kept them on the sands until it was time for them to go to the arms of the ones their souls fit with. In others, she was as much a hatchling as the rest of them in heart, as well as in mind. Life was simplicity in Wenth's eyes. There was good, there was bad, and there were clouds- which were always better than good, just like Aylina. An odd, contridictory set of traits, wisdom and childlike mindsets, but the tan somehow managed to get them in a sort of balance to where, while strange, it was oddly sensible in its own way.

Not that the word sensible could be applied to tans without a good deal of eyebrow raising and truth stretching the grand majority of the time.

Her eyes continued to deepen in color, shading most certainly towards the deeper, relaxed tones of blue the longer the littler viridian remained around. Perhaps, in her mind, she was showing she was at ease so that he could be at ease as well. It was a good deal of time that passed before Wenth, nudged gently by Aylina to remember that her child was making an effort, and thus should be paid attention to more so than the clouds, turned her great head away from the serenity of the sky to face him. Bigger than he was when she had seen him, that was her first impression of Lenticuth and she blinked once in surprise, interest filtering in slowly in her mind's voice. You are growing fast, yes... you are...[/i] It wasn't the best of starts, and even the tan knew that much, reaching for something else to talk about.

He sure got up there real quick, say somethin' 'bout that, maybe? Aylina encouraged.

That... might work, her head moved away, temporarily, to stare at the distance from the ground below- she blinked again at T'yer's small form from where she was perched- and then back to her deeply colored viridian child. You climb very well, yes... you do... you must have good balance... was it difficult?[/i] There, that would be good to start.[/size]

[lee]

Lentigith didn't mind the silence. He liked the quiet. Of course, he liked listening too, to Altostrath’s cheerfulness or hisOwn's tendency to ramble his thoughts aloud, though the quick, critical comments he occasionally provided the latter with would suggest otherwise. T'yer knew better, and Lenticuth held his tongue in the case of the pretty little cyan, because there was nothing to criticize there.

It was...pleasant, being curled on Wenth's ledge, where he did not take up much space and could feel the sun and be warmed by it and proximity to the other dragon alike. He thought, perhaps, it would be nice to stay there for a bit. If Wenth didn't mind, which she didn't seem to, but he felt, rather guiltily, that she was too kind to send him away even if she did, and he was feeling just selfish enough to take advantage of that, for now, for a few moments. You know. For T’yer’s sake.

Not sure what to say, Lenticuth tried not to cringe as he offered the only bit he could think of. MineOwn says they sometimes look like things. The clouds. He didn’t feel like admitting his own failure to see anything but what they were. But the spaces between them, where it was the pale blue sky framed in white, he thought maybe he could see Altostrath’s shape there. Or, over there, a triangle that was as mathematical as Noctiluth could hope for. He left it at that, going quiet once again.

He watched Wenth as she watched the clouds, and the pace of his eyes calmed. He might have hummed, because he like to, and a melody floated through his head he thought rather suited his mother and the scene she watched with endless patience and appreciation. T'yer heard a snatch of it, before his bonded hid it from him—sometimes, rarely, he would let T'yer hear him, but he didn't press when the viridian kept his music to himself—and his fingers plucked the chords on the harp he'd been holding, and he thought too that it was a good tune for clouds, for patience. For, even if Lenticuth wouldn’t admit it yet, someone gently beloved. He didn't know what to say. He was growing fast, though it was mightily apparent he would be far smaller than his paler brother, smaller even then some of the purple dragons. Secure in his ability to outmaneuver any of them, Lenticuth’s confidence was such that he wasn't bothered by this, but ‘Well, I’m eating a lot,' didn't really make for good conversation. So he thought. It didn't go unnoticed that she remembered him, and the little viridian eased, eyes at last sinking into a color of deep calm, the last jitteriness fading. The very, very tip of his tail flopped ever so lightly as she spoke again, commenting on his climb.

I guess. Lenticuth said, with the too-casual tone of someone who was secretly (or not-so secretly) extremely pleased to have been complimented. He did his best to act old and responsible—and in some ways, he very much was—but in others, particularly squabbles with his brother (play fights or real), he was still a hatchling, and the gentle praise from his clutchmother brought a warmth to his swirling eyes. I like to climb. He finally offered. He might have left it at that, but T’yer, like Aylina, gently prodded him to continue, and he guessed it felt okay to tell her what he probably wouldn't bring up otherwise. He lowered his head to rest on his forelegs, tail coming to curl around him and not doing much to dissipate the feline-like appearance. I like flying even better. He tilted is chin so it pointed upwards, still resting, but looking at the sky. He liked the sky. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder if it was in his bones to do so, to like the sky because Wenth seemed to. We don’t fly much yet, but I’m good at it when we do. he tried to say this without arrogance, because it was true, and if he didn’t quite succeed he didn’t quite fail either. I’m gonna be great some day. His swirling eyes sped up, as he considered this. Lenticuth was cautious. He was careful. He didn’t make claims he didn’t plan for, and he meant this one. Was as sure of it as he had been his choice of rider.

Prompted once again by that rider, Lenticuth lowered his head from the sky to look back at the creamy tan, and realized he didn’t know much about her, except that she was his mother, and she had kept him warm and kept him safe, and kind in the sort of way that made way on ledges and colored her eyes the same as his hide. Do…well, d’you like to fly?