Gathering Eggs [Search?]

[Micarst]

Jayce finished padding his basket with some freshly-pulled grass, stifling an unfeminine yawn. It was about half an hour before dawn, and he was regretting volunteering to gather the fowl eggs this morning. If the only other person willing to perform the chore this particular morning hadn't been a heavy-handed accident-prone oldster, he would have been just as glad to sleep in a little. Beauty sleep was necessary for good luck. He hadn't even finished putting the powders on his face yet, just the basic layer and a line of charcoal to darken his eyelids.

His own egg was nestled safely in its ceramic jar, warm against his hip where its heat radiated through the belt pouch. He resolved to keep his mind off of it for now, much as he wanted to hold it and croon with delight at random points.

The fowl in their rows were a little broody, and in spite of his care, the pale-haired man was pecked several times. There weren't as many eggs as what he expected for the number of hens, but it wasn't bad. The basket was more than half full; at least three dozen eggs to deliver to the kitchen. He was guaranteed to get a hot cup of something, he mused. All he had to do was act injured. Shards, they'd probably put the numbweed on his hand for him. Anything to win the affections of a woman, except that he wasn't one.

Life was so much fun when you could pretend to be the person you wished you were.

He gathered up his basket and tugged the breast-strap down a little. One would think that after wearing it repeatedly for so long, he would have figured out the best way to wrap it, but they were so irritating. One loose hair caught in the fabric, and you were set up for a whole day of furtive itching. He turned to leave the fowl yard, finally letting loose that yawn, and stopped in his tracks.

Who was that handsome individual!?

[Tarra]

Opheriath had wandered off alone. It was a rare occurrence for the usually gregarious green, much preferring as she did the company of her rider and others. So rare, in fact, that there was usually only one explanation for it; an explanation that C'cao had come to accept and take pride in within the turn since she first wandered from him and came upon a young woman on a strange island. So whenever it did happen, as it did now, her rider would sigh and jog to keep up with her before she embarrassed them both by inadvertently sitting on some poor confused youngster, as she had nearly done once with Aryna.

The day was young yet. C'cao had woken early, after his usual custom, and taken the liberty of giving Opheriath her bath and oiling at the lake shore before the hive of Weyr activity descended on them. Once done the dragon usually stayed sprawled on the sandy beach, her wings spread and head raised to catch the first rays of Rukbat on her pale hide while her rider made busy with packing the various cleaning and oiling tools back into their buckets.

Today however, she had stayed that way for only five minutes before a sudden scratching and scrapping of sand told C'cao his green had risen and was padding off. At speed too - by the time he turned she was already eight metres away and widening the gap rapidly. And when his questioning pulse of thought was met with an urgent sense of questing, he merely sighed and snatched everything up in his arms to scamper after her.

The green's path took her toward the Beastcraft Complex, where her pace slowed to a gentle meandering path that made it easy for C'cao to catch up despite his burdened state. He managed to tip and scuffle a few more brushes from an open palm into the slung bucket at one arm, thinking wistfully of the tunic he had left by the lake as he did so. He rarely oiled Opheriath in more than a pair of leggings, recalling always the first time he had done so as a weyrling and spoilt one of his most functional tunics as a result. He would have to go back for the tunic later, and hope that whoever the green was onto this time didn't mind being confronted suddenly by the sight of a half-naked dark-skinned fellow, hair scruffy and hands oily, asking him or her to please attend him in the Candidate barracks within the day...

Opheriath halted, and C'cao nearly ran into her shoulder. He stopped just in time as she extended her head at someone ahead of her and hissed, softly. It was a peaceful gesture, one that denoted cordiality and greeting despite how threatening it might seem to someone unfamiliar with dragons. If the green could she would have warbled, but as she had no ability to do so she usually hissed instead, or whickered.

C'cao stepped hastily around her towards the young woman on the path, lest the girl (or at least, what seemed like a girl) think the green was hissing a threat at her.

"Greetings," he said, halting a little way off and trying not think how absurb he must look in the current state, "I'm C'cao and this is Opheriath. You're...from the Ocean Star, aren't you?"

Because he did recognise her - dimly, if nothing else. But then there was little about the night of the pirates' sudden call at Smugglers' Drop that he didn't recall, shocking and frightening as it had been. The incident had ended relatively well given what might have happened otherwise, but it had also resulted in a number of former pirates assimilating into the Weyr; a result he didn't really think much good of, though some of the potential candidates amongst them would probably make good riders. Good riders for the specific circumstances of South Run Weyr, at any rate.