Watchwhers Watch Weyrs

[panther]

ooc||yeah, just for a bit of time lining, this thread is set, after the learning to ride thread in Caspian (called Throwing tradition out of the window) So, it may not make an enormous amount of sense to you guys who aren’t handlers (Yes I keep my handlers on tight leashes, and we all know the plots and shiz within the wherhold! xD) and before the hatching thread. Ohkay?gud>=D


It had been a peculiar few days for the handlers of the Wher hold of Caspian. Two new handlers had shown up, she had unintentionally shared her bed with one of them. The following morning, awkwardness ensued. They had gained their invite, having been told to come down for the hatching, and the feast would follow it. Danae had dutifully invited her handlers along to the festivities that were to be had. Both handlers had obliged. She silently prayed they would be tactful, respectful and well behaved, and not show her up. Shortly after that, Fyg had schooled them in how to ride their whers through their natural ability to run. It had been fantastic. Exhilirating.

A few nights had passed since then, Fyg, Fygesk, Alder and Aldesk joined Danae and Danask in their ride to the weyr. The movements, though odd, were becoming slowly natural to the two novice wher riders. It wasn’t to different to runner riding, though you have to be careful of appendages such as wings. And wher’s were faster. All muscle, and built for speed. Certainly.

As dusk had set, they had all been packed, and they ran on from the Wher hold, and off towards the Weyr, mainly trusting the vague joint orienteering skills of all three, and the strong noses of the Whers, all six of them made it to Caspian unharmed. Though, it was growing late into their time. Danae had settled her companion, and her handlers into their temporary rooms, the rooms in the lower dragon weyrs. The rooms wher spacious for a crafter, but for a Wher and Handler, hardly. Though they had ben thoughtfully prepared with blacking out hides over windows, or any creases where light might enter. Each of them had a cot for Wher, and a couch for themselves. And shells but she planed on retiring to it soon, the rays of the golden Rukbat were beginning to gleam over the horizon, when Danae’s golden partner, sauntered off down to the lower dragon weyrs, half scaring a drudge to death.

Danae sat, a rocky outcrop situated next to the entrance to her weyr. Looking out at the bowl, watching the sunrise. One leg bent under her, and one before her, arms draped about her knee, eyes distant, and thoughtful. So much had happened in so little time. Now she was here, in the Weyr, away from her home. In the company of only two people she knew, where she had virtually no authority, or sway that she was used to. She was a big fish, in a small pond back at home, and yet here? She was anonymous, save for the scars on her arm, and her wrist, denoting her as a wher handler.

She looked longingly out at the bowl, the place was serene, virtually silent. An enormous expanse, likely one that could fit the Wher hold within its midst with room to spare. She sighed. This place could never be her home.

Nerves kicked in, fire fueling in her stomach, using fear as fuel for its flames. She swallowed. Weyrwoman Christae, she would meet the woman for the first time at the feast. Her gut clenched at the thought. What if they didn’t get on? She didn’t want to risk Caspian’s standing with Dark Moon, simply because she didn’t get along with the weyrwoman. And, she especially didn’t want to behave herself, for Danask, Alder, Aldesk, Fyg or Fygwesk to go an spoil it. It wasn’t just the hatchlings looking to make a good impression here. Shards, she’d even had a dress, specially made, with a matching hair piece for the occasion. And she never wore a dress. It just wasn’t practical with Whers.

She was sore from the ride. Muscles stretched and used that she didn’t know she had, worried to the point of nearly being frantic about meeting Christae, tense for the action of the others, Trusting that they would remain peaceful.

For a girl who was a serial feeler of only a single emotion? She was doing pretty good not to be breaking down on the spot right about now. Instead she swallowed it down, but as she did so, an image of Alder arrived in her mind. Her head dropping between her arms, into the recess between her body, her arms and her leg. She groaned, dismayed at the possibility of even trying to think with all that inside her, when she was just so tired, she wanted to sleep. But, the turmoil within was causing a fit of insomnia, and she doubted she would get to sleep before midmorning, perhaps even midday. She sighed. Not wanting this to be like this. Not at all.


ooc||Sorry for the crappy pun! But it had to be done x.x
Other possible titles included:
A Wher to the Weyr ... Where?
Which Wher goes to What Weyr?
Where the Whers go to the Weyr.
Where Wher meets Weyr
It had to be done, I apologise.... profusely.
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[Shekru]

Where the ride of whers was awkward for her two novice riders, Fyg found the most pleasure and freedom in the run from Caspian to the Weyr. Hair left undone and whipping in the wind, the vicious woman seemed more at ease and almost child-like with the night as her only cover. Fygwesk's sounds of jubilation curled up into the trees, scaring bird and beast out of his path, and that of the other two. A strange sight, certainly, a brown leading a column of bronze and gold, but his know-how and trained instinct were his rod and shield.

After the run to the Weyr, Fyg took her place behind Danae and Danask, still grinning from the thrill of the travel, and staring wide-eyed about the Weyr, covered in night and dark. Fygwesk sniffed loudly and complained softly to his rider about the lack of holes in the earth for him to sleep in. Despite his complaint, he managed to settle into the guest weyr with little fanfare and, after a few words and thoughts about his distaste for moving around so frequently, he drifted off. Morning's light was curling up and over the Weyr's edge, and Fyg, too riled and excited from the travel and the feel of a new place, stepped from her temporary quarters.

A small piece of wood was in her hand, a set of carving tools on her belt, and her usual attire had been set aside for comfortable sleeping clothes. Knee-length, free-floating breeks were worn, their top hidden under the hem of a sleeveless tunic of drab gray. Her arms were visible for the first time, and they were positively littered with scars, some small, many of them longer than the average man's finger, and some of them traveled from elbow to shoulder joint. Whatever she had done prior to being a handler for Caspian, it obviously wasn't sewing.

She spotted the gold's handler. Having been fairly quiet, she went unnoticed, and debated with herself whether or not now would be a good time to talk to the woman. When Danae's head fell down to her arms, Fyg sighed and, tucking the carving into her pocket, strode - bare foot - toward her.

"Hard t'watch th'sunrise when yer stickin' yer head down like a wherry in the sand." She said casually. Without a care or worry for the woman's preference, Fyg hopped up on the rock beside her and sat. Far enough away that Danae's personal space was not being invaded, but close enough that an indoor voice would be sufficient for them to converse. The carving was withdrawn and Fyg began working on it. "S'on yer mind? Y'look like summat's buggin' ya."

[panther]

Danae flinched, head darting up, not having realized anyone had approached. Then she realized, the familiar dulcet tones of the Brown handler. She relaxed, her spine curving back a little, she leaned forward, pulling her knee to her as she rested her chin upon it. She didn’t feel too guarded around Fyg, fyg held no pretence, no expectations really. Least ways, if Fyg did, Danae was unaware of them.

“Ah, not much Fyg, just the every day wherryteeth that I’m expected to deal with around here.” She smiled, a gentle passive, thoughtless smile, that barely supported what she said. She sighed, rolled her shoulders and glanced over at Fyg. She’d not really expected the woman to show much compassions. Perhaps Fyg did have some feminine qualities. “But yes, watching the sunrise like that wouldn’t be best comfortable” Her smile displayed amusement. Yet she still didn’t feel particularly comfortable enough around the brown handler to relay what she was thinking about completely, but part of that was the fault of the fact she didn’t want to think about it. At all.

[Shekru]

The knife was utilized smoothly and quietly. Fyg's eyes were trained on the wood and her carving was a slow, methodical process. She listened to the redheaded woman quietly and sent a sideways glance her way when she finished speaking.

"I once made th'mistake of trustin' a runner's quiet an' stillness as a sign that he'd be good'n not budge while I threw a saddle on 'im. 'Ve come t'learn that quiet'n'still are either signs of plottin' or lyin'. Y'wanna sit there an' say your mopin' is over everyday things, s'your problem, but don' think I'm stupid. Y'got somethin' bigger on yer mind than the usual." She raised the carving and blew stray sawdust from it, brushing it with a hand until it had shed all of its excess. For all that Fyg did not seem to give two wits about most things that didn't involve her, she was perceptive. Her body language spoke of quiet distance, as though she were intentionally trying not to bombard Danae with her presence, but was simply there, like part of the scenary. Hunting tactics, perhaps, only with a different usage altogether when dealing with other people.

Another brush of her hand and Fyg returned to carving, tongue picking things out of her teeth as she spoke again. "Ain' like I got anyone to blab to, you wanna tell me what's got ya upset. S'one thing I learned ages ago. Sometimes just talkin' and lettin' it out of your head can help. So, feel free. I ain' gonna judge."

[panther]

Danae’s embarrassment rose. Shards. Was she that obvious? She let her shoulders fall. A defeated mannerism took hold as she looked at the fabric of her trousers, looking at the finesse of the weave, and appreciating the fabric, unlike most. She sighed, looking at Fyg. Fyg carved with a methodical logic that was flawless. Fyg also carved at Danae with a methodical logic that was flawless.

“I don’t mean to keep things from you.” Danae turned, eyes focusing – the growing light contorting her vision slightly, but, on Fyg’s arms, she seen scars. Many many scars. But then Fyg always carried knives. And she felt now was not the time to be raising anything about Fyg, not while the woman had a knife and a chunk of wood in her hand. “I’m worried...” She paused, not very used to divulging her inner workings to anyone, let alone Fyg.

“I’m worried as to what sort of an impression we’ll make. I’m worried as to what sort of an impression I’ve made with yourself and Alder,” Remaining a little vauge on the subject wouldn’t hurt. “I’m worried that Danask might eat their prize runner simply because he looked like a tasty geld.” She shook her head. “I’m petrified of meeting Christae too.” She paused, looking back to the sun rise. “What we say, what we do, can fortify, or jeopardise our standing with the Weyr. And not only our standing, but the standing of the hold, and our Lord holder, who’s generosity has been not withheld since our beginning.” She looked a little down, verbalizing her thoughts just made it all a reality. “And…” She paused, smiling over at the other handler, with a small amount of guilt and a little regret mixed into the wash.

“And I’m slightly worried, that if you two don’t do something, that it’ll be me.” She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and gave a laugh that was bordering on a hiccough. “I’ve even brought a dress along. I’m that concerned about making a good impression.” She looked a little bewildered at the idea.

[Shekru]

The dark haired woman continued to carve, brows deeply furrowed in the concentration it takes to not slip, or miss, or knick skin, or lose fingertips. Fyg's hobbies were either reckless or dangerous, but for all the world it looked like she knew what she was doing when she did them. She sat quietly and calmly, her presence was as stone, though there was a warmth coming from the woman that had not yet been revealed prior to that moment. She gave a shells, and that was slowly growing more and more obvious.

"Shouldn' be worried, but I know very well my sayin' that ain' gonna chase th'flitters out of yer stomach. Yer gonna worry, whether it's sensible or not. Because this matters to ya." Fyg said simply, yellowed eyes skirted up to look at the woman's face a moment. "But y'shouldn't. It's when y'worry about so much that y'make mistakes. Understand this. I mean no disrespect to Christae or her Weyr or whatever, but of th'people that currently matter to your life, she ain' one of them. Sure, she's a goldrider, but, in theory, so are you. Whers have equal importance to dragons, s'far as Pern is concerned right now. You come from a new hold with just a small number of handlers, but y'are the senior handler, so don't go gettin' yer knickers in a twist over some /woman/."

Again, dust and shavings were blown from the carving. Was Fyg actually giving Danae a compliment hidden in a pep talk? Probably. "No matter what sway cap'n Lady-killer thinks he has over you, you're in charge, an' if he don' like that he can haul his arse back home if he feels like disobeyin'."

The carving fell between her hands again, knife lovingly whispering over the wooden surface. "Y'prolly won't see me 'round all that often, an' if y'do, I'm liable t'keep my mouth shut. Don' much like big crowds. Will prolly be drinkin' with the stablehands." A moment later, she paused and looked at the woman, arms dangling over the tops of her own knees. "Y'want Alder to behave himself, give 'im an ultimatum or a promise. I dunno, like if he's good, y'give him what he wants from ya." She glanced back to the carving then slung her eyes sideways to look at Danae again. "Lie, of course, but it'll prolly make him behave."

[panther]

Fygs words, again cried out logic, logic that she should have, logic that the gold rider should see, perspective she was lacking. When she worried, as with any reasonable being, she made mistakes. Generally they were more royal than others, certainly in scale and magnitude. She smirked, Christae wasn’t one of the people who held matter in Danae’s life? “I suppose you’re right. You’re wise beyond what most would put you Fyg,” she complimented the female handler, she laughed though, “I do not hold her standing” Her refering to Christae of course. “Christae, is the bond of a dragon, creatures of grandeur, of use – even if that use is but rhumour now. Wher’s are constantly disregarded as useless, despite the fact that we know otherwise. Wher’s are ungracefull in every inch that dragon’s are wondrous. We lurk in the dark face of the moon, whilst the Riders linger in the light, it paints us a sullen picture. We are creatures of mystery, creatures of a darkened mystery such as ours, are rarely revered, they’re more likely to be rejected.” She shrugged, “We are not on par to the Riders, despite the fact they grow fat and lazy whilst we watch their weyrs, their holds, and save their miners from catastrophy.” She shook her head, “And they have the front to wear the hides of our creatures. Yet no one would be seen in dragon hide.” Danae shook her head. She had such moral problems with Riders, and yet here she was, in a Weyr. Trying to act peaceful with the Weyrwoman.

She took a deep breath, breathing it out through her nose, then Fyg broached the topic that was Alder. For indeed, he required a speech all of his own seemingly. She furiously fought the blush that threatened her features. Give Alder what he wanted? Hardly. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t, was more appropriate.
“Aye, I know where the power balance tips in favour of Fyg, As does he.” She warmed as Fyg spoke of her own company keeping with the stable hands. That would likely have been where Danae would keep company if she had the choice. Riders were snooty.

“I didn’t imagine you liked big crowds Fyg, that makes two of us, I would say it’s a common reoccurrence with Wher handlers, but, alas, Alder bucks the trend once again.” She was sarcastic too boot. “an ultimatum? A promise?” She repeated, “I’d have to lie. There would be no way I could do such a thing. I’m… to… I’m not sure, perhaps honest, I don’t think I have the mental capacity to uphold too many broad lies. I’m not good, I say mainly what is in my head. I can mask emotions quite well – most of the time, when I’m not approached unawares at least” She added, smirking over at Fyg. “Yet, I don’t want to force my hand either, I don’t want to force my control, I want to trust you both, and be at ease with both of you.” Danae shook her head. “I do worry too much….” She resolved.

[Shekru]

"As unglorious as it is, the dragonriders would be lost without those they step on." Fyg's twang had momentarily fled her again, her tone strict and powerful, but her volume had not changed in the slightest. "If stablehands did not tend their runners or their herdbeasts, their dragons would starve. If Whers did not guard them while they sleep, they would suffer things that come in the night. Where they are revered for doing absolutely nothing in our age, Danae, we are picking up their slack. What ride do they have to make us less? We -are- greater, and someday, they, too, will know it." Fyg spoke with passion, with anger, though her tone and body language were calm and even. Her carving, too, did not change.

A breath streamed out through her nose and she turned to look at the woman a moment later. "shells the Weyr, I say. Let them have their self-importance. /We/ are what make Pern churn and thrive, now. Do not forget that. Christae may have been bound to a dragon, but gold is gold, and you have rank." So act like it was not spoken, but her tone certainly implied it, if gently.

Her elbow gently leaned out and nudged the woman. "It's arright if you like him, just r'member to kick 'im in the trousers now'n'then. Men like t'think that they're above women, in their own way, an' Alder strikes me as th'type that'll use whatever he can to come out on top, when it comes to a power struggle." Her mention of being caught unawares drew out an unusually cheeky grin on the brown handler's lips. When she smiled, Fyg almost looked her age. "Toldja you worry too much. Just go with it. You're here, I'm here, our bonds are with us, an' there'll be somethin' to celebrate in no time. An' when it's over, we have our Hold, an' we have our night rides, an' the hunt is never ending." Another gentle nudge from Fyg's elbow and she offered, "So forget Christae's rank. Forget what y'know about th'difference b'tween dragons and whers, and remember you're just as important as any of those stuffy riders think they are. More so, in fact. We actually have purpose and reason for existing right now."

[panther]

“I know Fyg, it disgusts me almost as much as it disgusts you, however, without the Dragons, Pern would have been in a lot of danger from thread, if we are to believe the histories. We owe the Riders gratitude if nothing else.” Danae felt comfortable, perhaps a little wise, but, she felt like they were on a piece of unstable earth, that could move from their feet at any given moment, and send them falling down the sheer cliffs beneath.

She smiled, warmly, “Gold is gold.” She nodded, feeling a little more emboldened and determined as Fyg spoke to her. “I do, yet, I still do not have her following. Yet.” She smirked, “Yet I think my two handlers are worth more than all of her Riders.” She gave a thankful smile to her brown Handler. She owed the woman a lot. “So long as we remember, they may ride the winds of pern, but it is our breath that keeps the wind going. We are Pern’s own, they ride above it.” She thought, almost dreamily about their situation.

But her dreamy illusions were moot as Alder was resurrected. “I…” her lips tugged to the side, keeping their line all the while, an uncertain grimace, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I think of the bronze one.” Avoiding his name. “I’m comfortable around him, yet he makes me nervous like a brat…” She sighed shook her head. A gentle smile forming once more, dashing the uncertainty away, virtually forgotten. “I think your plan, Fyg – is a fantastic one. I’ll play it by ear, as the Harper says, I’m not sure on the hunts, But I’ll definitely Ride through the night with you.” Her thighs, calves and buttocks all gave a sharp contraction as though to remind her, wincing in pain a little, she added, “Well, when I can walk like a human being once more.” She grinned rather foolishly. She felt the strongest urge to hug her. To hug Fyg, just as a thanks. And before she realised, she was. Arms hugging about the bag of Fyg’s neck, embracing her fellow handler, and her friend.

“Thanks Fyg.” She pulled back, a little embarrassed at her impulsive move. But at very least it showed she was relaxed around the woman.

[Shekru]

"My respect goes for them that fought thread, not these lazy /children/." Fyg spat, features looking cross as her eyes skirted about the Weyr. For all the dragons' wings it held, there was little that the dark haired huntress could care for. ..well, maybe that guy that walked across the bowl early in the morning, but nothing else! Nothing. Fyg's eyes trained away from the man and back onto Danae's face. She looked stern when her dander was up, though even the lack of softened features made her angular face interesting.

"Following? Pff. You command hard working dare devils. Christae orchestrates children in aerial dances." Fyg scoffed again, the carving in her hands drawing her attention once again. When she began to speak of Alder, one side, luckily the side that was not facing the woman, of her lips curled up in an amused smirk. "Few cracks of the whip an' he'll hunker down like a good dog." So engaged in her own inner amusement was she that she didn't see the hug coming until it was upon her. Fyg froze, eyes popped wide and brows were at opposing heights, one cocked high above a golden eye while the other sunk low. O.o Slowly, as though she were unsure of what to do, a hand came up and gently patted Danae's upper arm as it was in front of Fyg's throat. A sort of acknowledgement.

"S'arright. Wher folk stick together. After a while we sorta take on traits of our bonds. I tend t'get all snarl-and-froth when sommat threatens my ilk. Just.. remember y'self, eh? Yer Dannae, Gold Danask's, an' you're too big t'let a thing like a place or another person make y'feel small." Despite obviously being unsettled by the hug, Fyg did not move, nor shift away. Her carving rose again and her knife began to pass over the surface.

[panther]

Danae scoffed her laughter at Fyg’s words, aerial dances? “Mmmm, they are little more than dances I guess if they serve no purpose, which, at the moment they certainly are not. Yet…” A small air of confession rousing, “I would like to fly sometimes, I know you showed us that the Whers can Glide while we ride, them, but it’s not the same as free flight now is it?” She marvelled at the thought. Though, wher’s wouldn’t look as graceful in the air as a dragon. Dragon’s had a line of grace, that was removed when they were made, but, it made them stronger for it. And over all increased their capabilities in comparison to a Dragon. Well, as far as Danae was concerned.

She giggled lightly, cao’ lady-killer, “I suppose he does love himself a little more than anything on Pern – perhaps except Aldesk, he seems fond of the Bronze one. But don’t worry, he knows that I am first and foremost a friend, but after that, I am the lead handler of the Wher hold, so,” She shrugged,” He’ll to the line where possible.” She smirked.

“And, you know Fyg, you weren’t obliged to come here, We wherfolk, we’re not the social gathering sorts, its not our strength, except for alder, even then he does better on a one on one ratio.” She shook her head, tutted and roled her eyes disapprovingly, partially for his antics, and partially for her inability to let the topic of Alder slide. “Aye, I know who I am, and I know I’m Danask’s… I could never forget.” She smiled, a fond, soft smile, She withdrew from Fyg, returning to her prior stance. “Yet, you know what Fyg? I am small, you’re even a few good inches taller than me.” She teased, playful air creeping in.