Dragonhealers Discuss Fellis

July 6th 2004
Logged by Wyn

Ista Main Beach
This long stretch of white sandy beach stands pristine among the beaches around Ista Island. The sand stretches off into the distance on either side of you, disappearing into the horizon. Several large uprooted trees dot the beach where they were most likely felled in a big storm. They look as if they'd make great benches, for people or firelizards alike. To the east, the crystal blue waters of the Hold cove roll up in gentle waves onto the beach, hissing softly as they ebb and flow. To the south, Ista Hold juts out of the cliff. Just west of here, a low bluff leads up to the grassy field that serves as the Hold's main gather grounds.
It is a spring afternoon.

Thick brown hair frames a heart-shaped face, falling in a gentle wave to just brush her shoulders. Grey eyes appraise the world calmly, although a dry humour often lurks in their depths. The woman is petite and athletically slender, height rising to a mere 5' 4. Her skin is a smooth shade of olive. While not one to make her presence unduly felt, she is possessed of a quiet and purposeful strength, manifest in every movement. Coiling irregularly about her right shoulder when the skin is exposed, the silvered flesh of an old scar tells the tale of the agony and adrenaline of flying Threadfall.
The styles of Fort have influenced Wyn's choices in swimwear, evidenced by the two-pieced bikini, middling brief, that clings to her lithe form in a rich shade of midnight black, strings at neck, mid-back and hips holding it firmly in place. A batik-patterened sarong in cromcoal with white patterns swirls lightly down to her knees and flutters in sea breezes, occasionally slipping to reveal a rather nice expanse of leg.
Double cording of midnight and jet twines into a triple loop knot bound with silver thread. A ribbon of blue denotes a lifemate, a ribbon of lavender speaks of Dragonhealing affiliations, and the entire ensemble identifies the Weyrsecond of High Reaches Weyr. Groovy.
She is a young adult of about 28.

G'deon appears at first glance to be quite calm and collected, though a mischievous gleam seems to tint his blue eyes from time to time. He has grown into a rather well built frame a few inches over six feet. Many Turns of hard work have helped his shoulders fill out considerably, along with his arms, hands and chest, though in the past fifteen Turns, he's lost some of the muscle mass he once had as a Smith. His legs however are still the wiry limbs of his youth, which he will likely never lose. His sandy blond hair is kept quite clean, but it is beginning to grow out a little on top managing to look a bit tousled at times, a golden frame for a lightly tanned face accented by his calm eyes of sapphire, clear and blue as the summer sky over High Reaches.
G'deon wears a dark blue, long sleeved shirt, with bits of white lace sewn on at the elbows and cuffs. A dark brown, slightly lightweight wherhide jacket that has obviously recently been brushed covers that. He is also wearing rather tight fitting pants a few shades darker blue than his shirt, tucked into black, knee-high, wherhide boots, recently shined and buffed. All in all, the outfit is simple and yet speaks of subdued quality.
Crimson wherhide encompasses G'deon in sleek brilliance, a close-fitting jacket of eye-catching fire. Soft fleece in contrasting cream peaks out from the high collar, the lining made especially warm for High Reaches' winters and the colder void of ::between::. Orange and gold flames lick up the long sleeves in tasteful embroidery: neither too flamboyant nor overly subtle, they match the flames which flicker over the Inferno Wing badge as well as the embroidered emblem on jacket's back, an exact replica of the wing's chevron-shaped insignia which rides high and proud on one crimson shoulder.
Unwavering shadows intertwine with the deep blue of a glacier's heart, delicate strands of elegant purple and snowy white woven together with a fine ribbon of shimmering bronze naming G'deon as both a dragonhealer and assistant weyrlingmaster of High Reaches.
He is an adult of about 36.

It hasn't taken very long at all for a certain sand dune with the best view of the bay to have become silently but firmly marked off as Wyn's territory. It's here that the weyrsecond of High Reaches lounges, a wood and canvas beach chair arranged to catch the most sun, and a little folding table beside it holding a bowl of dainties to nibble on, and a rum cocktail featuring fruit on a little stick. Sunbathing in a black bikini, but with a perfectly chic hat shading her features, Wyn is immersed in a research journal written in a hand not her own, and in perfecting the exact right shade of tan.

G'deon slides down from Nylanth's shoulders almost as soon as the bronze touches down. In fact, the sand is still swirling from those dark wings, causing G'deon to shield his face at first. Once the sand quickly settles, however, the rider shakes out the hand that had been covering his mouth and starts to mutter angrily. Nylanth cranes his neck around to peer at his rider, causing Gid to placate the big brute. "It's not your fault, Nyls," he can be heard to say, giving the bronze a couple pats on side before stalking up the beach towards the hold, on hand wrapped around the other. The dark look on the rider's face is definitely out of character. At a soft whuffle from his lifemate, however, G'deon stops short and looks towards the sand dune indicated by the dragon's dark muzzle. The rider changes his direction and starts climbing up the dune until he can see who it was Nylanth was pointing out. "Hiya, Wyn." Short and sweet usually works nicely.

Wyn turns a page in the notes, pursing her lips thoughtfully and reaching over to pick up her cocktail, but moving it to take a sip is arrested by a rumble from Vorkoroth, out swimming where the water's a deep blue to match his hide, and a few dolphins have gathered to dart playfully at him. "G'deon," she greets, and despite the quiet reserve, there's genuine pleasure in her tone, and a small smile to accompany it. "Another refugee from the 'Reaches cold?" she wonders, before looking wry. "Not that my vacation was -planned-, initially."

G'deon laughs quietly as he squints out to sea, but he shakes his head a little. "Nah. Just playing messenger boy again. My sister would like me to deliver a letter to someone in the Healer Hall. She's been a little… reluctant to visit herself, lately." Let's just say the little Weyrhealer isn't a great fan of politics. Gid peals off his riding gloves and studies one of them, which has a brand new rip, matching neatly to the ragged scrape down the outside of his hand. Aside from the mess, he doesn't seem to mind much. That done, the rider glances from Wyn and her tan to the notes in front of her. "Have you come across anything interesting yet?" he asks curiously, dropping down to sit cross-legged in the sand.

"Ah, the Fortian situation." Wyn deduces with a little nod. "Well, you can assure her it's safe again… while one of them, Xorvian, seems to be a complete and utter git, of the other two journeymen, Flynn is positively delightful, and Antonias is a touch of an intellectual snob, but quite enjoyable company." She lifts the lab journal to indicate that "Actually, despite my brother's misgivings about him, he's the one I've been working with on those studies into fellis toxicology that I mentioned to you. Some quite interesting results…"

G'deon nods a bit in reply to Wyn's deduction. "I think it's more that she feels nicely removed up at 'Reaches and doesn't want to risk getting pulled into anything," he comments quietly before giving a slight shrug. "As if there isn't enough going on at the Weyr, right?" He grins up at Wyn, then leans back a bit. "So… by interesting results, does that mean you've been able to use it on a 'snake without killing it?" the rider asks, sounding mildly hopeful.

"Oh, good Faranth, the Weyr." Wyn groans appreciatively, and takes a restorative sip of her rum before settling back in her beach chair and tilting her hat downwards to cover her face. "Honestly, M'nty couldn't have picked a second weyrsecond a moment sooner. I may actually be able to book some time for things beyond 'Eat. Sleep. Fly Drills and Fall. Meddle in Weyr Affairs.' she quips, before the sunhat shifts and Wyn emerges from under it again to hand over the book. "Actually, we have. The dosages are incredibly fractional, because tunnelsnakes do not have a lot of body mass in the scheme of things, but we've determined some tolerance patterns, and there -are- useful pharmacological effects."

"I know how that goes all too well," G'deon replies, sounding highly amused. He used to have M'nty's job, after all. Gid reaches up to take the notebook from Wyn and begins paging through them quickly, falling silent for the moment. "I wonder if tunnelsnakes can get addicted to it," the dragonhealer muses quietly, flipping through a few more pages towards the back. He settles on one of the last pages, blue eyes quickly scanning through the data. "It's a shame we can't do autopsies on firelizards or dragons. In case we could actually get one before it went between." He quickly stops that strain of thought, however, as an irritated rumble can be heard from the large bronze lump on the beach that is Nylanth. "Well, it would be helpful," Gid mutters more quietly, frowning as he hands back the notebook.

"I'll have to ask Antonias about that." Wyn muses. "Although since fellis addiction in humans usually has a certain psychological componant, I wonder if tunnelsnakes would get the full effect…" She trails off to snort soft amusement at Nylanth's thoughts on the subject, but ventures that "There always stillborn or sickly hatchlings in a firelizard clutch…"

G'deon nods quickly, still frowning at nothing in particular. "Yes, but how many people do you think would be okay with us carting off a dud hatchling to cut it open?" By his tone, it's obvious the blond haired guy has nothing against it. "Unless, of course, no one found out about it." That erases the frown for a moment. "If the firelizard and tunnelsnake anatomy had enough similarities, there might be cause to try the fellis on a flit someday." There we go, Gid. Progressive thinking. You can do it. "Speaking of fellis, I need to get going," G'deon adds, scrambling to his feet and brushing the sand from his riding gear, careful not to scatter it in Wyn's direction. "I told Ele I'd only be a few minutes. Hey, when you get back to the Weyr, tie me down some afternoon so we can go over all this in full."

"I have a gold firelizard, as well as a green," Wyn notes, quietly so as not to alarm a drudge wandering past. "And really, this is in the interest of something that could benefit a lot of people and dragons -and- firelizards, in the long run. So long as we're respectful in our handling…" A shrug of her shoulders, and then she returns to her rum. "Well, I shall look into it further. And I should introduce you to Antonias at some point. Do give Elehu my regards?"

"Ele and I both have a gold and green each. And I know she'd be okay with it," Gid replies, keeping his voice low as well. Not that the drudge would know what they're talking about with that little snippet anyway. "You know… I find it hard to believe no one's tried this before. If they have, where are the records? If there are no records, were they destroyed or hidden? Or never written?" Ah, the joys of philosophy, best taken with wine. Or rum, as the case may be? "Anyway… I'd be happy to pass on your regards. Give my own to Vorkoroth." With little ceremony, the rider then trots towards the hold and emerges a few minutes later to scramble back to Nylanth's shoulders. It doesn't take much longer before the bronze is airborne and winking into ::Between::.

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