Post by arratra on May 31, 2009 2:49:17 GMT -5
Arratra sat down on one of the benches, reaching forward for the klah pot and upsetting the blue fire lizard that perched on his shoulder.
The hatchling hissed, and Arratra murmured to him soothingly, apologising for his mistake.
The little blue flicked his wings, catching Arratra a slight blow on the cheek, and settled back down.
He seemed to favour Arratra's right shoulder, which made eating, and pretty much everything else he did, difficult, as the candidate would upset the flit's balance if he moved his shoulder too much.
Reaching out with his left hand, he grabbed the pot, and clumsily began pouring the hot liquid into a clean mug.
A hand, a large, work-callused hand, steadied the pot before the klah could spill.
"Thanks, Matren," Arratra said with a smile.
"It's not a problem," Matren said, "Besides, I wouldn't want to see the tables stained would I?"
Arratra chuckled.
Matren sat down and poured himself some klah, then shoved a bowl of cereal in front of Arratra.
"So what are you going to name that little guy?" he asked, then sipped his klah.
Arratra stroked the short, neat beard he'd grown, "I was thinking Margras."
"Sounds good to me," Matren said, clapping Arratra on the shoulder and almost knocking him into his lap.
The newly christened Margras took exception to this and vanished.
"Oops..." Margras said, noting Arratra's sour expression.
"Next time, remember I have a fire lizard," Arratra said, rubbing his shoulder, "And that I'm not a Smithcrafter."
Margras reappeared, and landed on Arratra's head. His tail fell in the candidate's left eye.
"Margras, would you mind turning around, at least?" Arratra said to the flit, who chirped contritely, and manoeuvred himself so that he was facing forwards, and his tail fell down to Arratra's neck. Then he decided to clamber down to the candidate's left shoulder, which he did.
Arratra had to suppress a yelp when sharp claws grabbed his ear.
"Margras," he said quietly, "Don't grab that. That's my ear."
Margras, now sitting on Arratra's left shoulder, made a low, descending whistle.
Arratra gently brushed the flit's eye ridge, and he started humming.
Finally free to go to his breakfast, Arratra picked up his spoon and dug it into his cereal.
The hatchling hissed, and Arratra murmured to him soothingly, apologising for his mistake.
The little blue flicked his wings, catching Arratra a slight blow on the cheek, and settled back down.
He seemed to favour Arratra's right shoulder, which made eating, and pretty much everything else he did, difficult, as the candidate would upset the flit's balance if he moved his shoulder too much.
Reaching out with his left hand, he grabbed the pot, and clumsily began pouring the hot liquid into a clean mug.
A hand, a large, work-callused hand, steadied the pot before the klah could spill.
"Thanks, Matren," Arratra said with a smile.
"It's not a problem," Matren said, "Besides, I wouldn't want to see the tables stained would I?"
Arratra chuckled.
Matren sat down and poured himself some klah, then shoved a bowl of cereal in front of Arratra.
"So what are you going to name that little guy?" he asked, then sipped his klah.
Arratra stroked the short, neat beard he'd grown, "I was thinking Margras."
"Sounds good to me," Matren said, clapping Arratra on the shoulder and almost knocking him into his lap.
The newly christened Margras took exception to this and vanished.
"Oops..." Margras said, noting Arratra's sour expression.
"Next time, remember I have a fire lizard," Arratra said, rubbing his shoulder, "And that I'm not a Smithcrafter."
Margras reappeared, and landed on Arratra's head. His tail fell in the candidate's left eye.
"Margras, would you mind turning around, at least?" Arratra said to the flit, who chirped contritely, and manoeuvred himself so that he was facing forwards, and his tail fell down to Arratra's neck. Then he decided to clamber down to the candidate's left shoulder, which he did.
Arratra had to suppress a yelp when sharp claws grabbed his ear.
"Margras," he said quietly, "Don't grab that. That's my ear."
Margras, now sitting on Arratra's left shoulder, made a low, descending whistle.
Arratra gently brushed the flit's eye ridge, and he started humming.
Finally free to go to his breakfast, Arratra picked up his spoon and dug it into his cereal.