L'shil's first flight with Piccath

June 12th 2008
Logged by L'shil

Training Grounds

Ash is just coming across the bowl from dinner… using her cane again as the weather seems to
want to turn bitterly cold at the drop of the hat, "Evening L'shil… oh I'm quite fine, just feeling autumn…" she grins as she approaches… "How is Piccath feeling this evening?"

Rhyath and Lani are over by the side of the grounds. Snuggling. "Hello," calls Lani, grinning and making much of her dragon.

L'shil chuckles. "Exceedingly chipper. He's been debating whether or not to dive into Rhyath's couch and save some favorite sock, or whatever. Silly."

Ash grins and decides to give the brown something else to think about in that case… "How's he looking on his daily flights?" she's got something in her hands…

L'shil shrugs. "Well, he's not done one of those tumbles again, and I'm still making him land in soft spots, but besides that, he's doing wonderfully. Even with that preference to buzz heads that he has."

Ash chuckles, "Um, yeah, I had heard about that…" she pauses… "So, look him over and we'll get him up… this time we'll get you up with him…" amazing how she sneaks that tid-bit into the conversation

L'shil is already busy getting poked in the nose by a wing-spar before she's finished her second sentance. "Hm? What? He looks good…"

Ash grins and waits for that comment to register, and her wool gloves uncurl to reveal another set of brown, kidskin and wool gloves, "Lesh?" she peers, still waiting…

L'shil's head pops up over Piccath's lowered neck. "Yes? Oooh, gloves! Who're they for?"

Ash chuckles, "You?"

L'shil blinks as he tugs the straps just a tad looser, so they fit the dragon better. "Me? But… You're going to let me fly with him? Already?" Disbelief and excitement mingle in adolescent voice, flipping from soprano to baritone and back again.

Ash chuckles, "Yeah… I think that's what I said anyway…" she winks… and hands the gloves over, "They won't be your only or your last pair, but your first is always kind of special…" and she walks steadily over to her own waiting blue lifemate… "MOUNT UP!" she yells as she puts her cane in the loop designed for it and pulls herself up the crouching blue's neck

Pavelth crouches calmly and turns shaded eyes on Ash as she uses the leather straps to climb up and settle between to navy blue neckridges.

L'shil does, with the quickness of long practice, though he fumbles with the fastenings of belt to straps and getting the gloves on. "Whenever you're ready, Ash!"

You climb up Piccath's neck and wriggle yourself between two neckridges.
Piccath [Training Grounds]
The piquant zip of spiced sienna zings along the quirky, compact build of this brick-brown dragonet, his stubby wings and short-coupled body built for barnstorming, not gliding flight. Copper rivets his poppy-peppered hide all along the ranks of 'ridges that march down his foreshortened neck and back, and those rusty motes also festoon the jiggery-pokery of his mettlesome muzzle. Thick-muscled, his abbreviated tail is a spitfire's guiding rudder to the intrepid irascibility that illuminates the spangled swirl of wide-set eyes.
Light, clear blue just shy of summer skies wraps Piccath in well-oiled comfort, plain copper buckles a gleaming accent to his hide's speckles. Despite their obvious sturdiness, the straps still give the appearance of being a mere decoration.

Hangin' out with Pavelth, Ash nods, giving the thumbs up… she's ready… "Stay on Pav's wing…!" she shouts, and the blue bunches and launches into the air… finding the rising currents that spiral him up and north

Pavelth coils and then bursts upwards into flight.

New wings or old, they work because suddenly you are airborne.
Above the Training Grounds
Weyrling pairs have trampled the ground below into the hard-packed training grounds: ash pits near the pens, targets on the walls, the occasional loose Weyrling out of control here in the gentle thermals. The Weyr curves north towards large ledges and the Hatching Grounds beyond, and south towards pens and lake. What ledges are occupied here are high above the noise and smel of the Weyrs' youngest riders.
It is an autumn evening.
Blue Pavelth is here.

Piccath stays on Pavelth's wing. Not quite literally, but close. Above and behind, to some degree.

Hangin' out with Pavelth, Ash looks back to make sure Piccath's take off was smooth… and with a nod she relaxes, trusting the dragons… Pav just spirals up and starts flying nearer 'Reaches most famous feature… the spires' heavens

Pavelth battles the thermals that brood and whirl about the Northern bowl.

Often shadowed, the Northern bowl's sky is wrought with vicious thermals and unkind winds.
Above the Northern Bowl
Spires' magnitude and towering presence looms over the northern aspect of the bowl's sky; the narrow nonuniformity of their perpendicular rise gives way to depict the overall spontanuity of the weyr. Seasonably unpredictable thermals keep you aloft with this portion of the sky, oft to be slightly tepid due to the ocean's close proximity. At this vantage rests the weyrs and ledges of the weyrleaders themselves. Meanwhile, a panoramic scene unfolds below: numerous dragons, riders, and weyrfolk often lounge below, despite the seasonaly changes from winter to summer, and visa versa. To the northwest, the perpetual warmth of the hatching sands provides an influx of inquisitive visitors and possible candidates, while the newness of the weyrling barracks resides to the east.
It is an autumn evening.
Blue Pavelth is here.

L'shil whoops. "He says he wants to do some of the flashy stuff… Is that a no-no?"

Hangin' out with Pavelth, Ash peers back again, "YES! Nice and easy…" no acrobatics, not flying on Ash's wing… she's land you in the groove of the spires themselves if she had to

Pavelth flies straight for the spires…seemingly knowing the winds here like the back of his wing… and as his twilight hide disappears into the shadows of the spires he banks, turning gradually as he follows the bowl wall…

Piccath revels in the feeling of just being there, in the sky, with his rider on his back and not on the ground. Pav is followed, carefully, but he somehow gives the impression of every wingbeat being an inutterable joy.

Pavelth banks tighter and heads out to fly a straight path out over the great Weyr cauldera itself… gaining altitude so that the bustle and business of post-dinner looks like a giant ant mound below

Pavelth glides south, out towards the central bowl and further.

South you go, gliding across the bowl.
Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's airspace, unusually smooth and bouyant - though oft to switch as the seasons shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is an autumn evening.
Gliding around is Belle.
Blue Pavelth is here.

L'shil beams from ear to ear, then happens to look barracks-ward. "Hey, isn't that Fallanth?" Distraction, that's the thing, keep Quirky's mind off sipping over heads with inches to spare.

Hangin' out with Pavelth, Ash nods… "We're a bit late to the lesson…" a wink you can't see and Pav climbs ever higher til the whole weyr lays below

Pavelth circles higher and higher still, up towards Star Stones and Spires.

Wind caresses wings and and pinions as you circle higher and higher up out of the caldera.
Above High Reaches
Quite, quite high, nothing braves these heights but stone and dragon and cloud; the Star Stones jut dutifully above the Weyr proper, flayed by the mountain winds that are consistant at this altitude whilst the rest spreads below, protected by its crown of jagged stone spires'-teeth.
It is an autumn evening.
Gliding around is Sidhe.
Blue Pavelth is here.

Piccath rushes through a cloud, a brief excursion away from that big blue wing, and skirls back looking pleased. "Hah! So we haven't turned purple after all!"

Hangin' out with Pavelth, Ash laughs… always enjoying the glee of new riders… and she points down… the fun is over…unfortunately…. and Pav spirals back down toward the training grounds and land

Pavelth drops lower into the Weyr's caldera.

You abandon the view from high above the bowl and circle lower, passing the Spires and Star Stones on the way down.
Above the Bowl
Blue Pavelth is here.

Pavelth risks it and heads towards the Weyrling Grounds.

Watch for flying Weyrlings! The training grounds are busy, dangerous airspace.
Above the Training Grounds
Blue Pavelth is here.

Pavelth drops towards the ground.

The earth really /is/ flat after all. At least the ground you drop towards.
Training Grounds
The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across the hard packed earth.
It is an autumn evening.
Blue Odeleth, gold Rhyath, and blue Pavelth are here.

You wiggle and push and otherwise act the contortionist to get yourself out from those ridges, and then slip off Piccath as though it all was easy as pie.

L'shil bounces experimentally. "You know, flying's better than jumping… Thanks for letting us go up, it was great!"

Hangin' out with Pavelth, Ash dismounts… grabbing her cane off the straps… and nods to Piccath, "Check him over Lesh… and congratulations…" a heart-felt salute accompanies that and she nods, "No need to thank me… you don't go up til you've earned it… so thank yourselves!" and with that she makes her way into the barracks

L'shil bounds off to the barracks, Quirky trailing reluctantly behind him.

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