Who: Many of Ista and beyond
What: After a storm there's a gathering to clean up. N'lon hunts weyrlings.



Ista's Beach (#1552J)
Rolling sand lines the surf, marred by footprints and dragonprints alike. Lush tropical greenery hems the beach like a gem necklace, with the peaks of Ista weyr rising majestically in the background. A sudden rise in the landscape leads to a plateau above - the only fallen section of those peaks - where the feeding pens reside.
It is summer.
You see Jsanth, Colchith, Zhoreth, Sephiroth, Kyraceth, Fanneth, and Tenzinth here.
Q'luin, Rh'iad, S'tao, Tia, G'dal, and M'cay are here.
Obvious exits:
Plateau South Beach SAndy Beach Pier Ocean Runner Trail

It's daytime, really. Early afternoon, actually, and as humid as N'lon's midsummer armpits. It smells that bad too, with all the dead beached fish that is presently being buried under the black sands. There are four glorious piles of jungle wreckage, and a small army of people from all over Pern that came to help with the cleanup. --- A tiny woman with a /big/ attitude stands amongst all of it, fists buried in the abundant flesh of her hips as she /loudly/ directs the oddly organized chaos. To locals, she's called simply: Roscoe. Not a very feminine name, for not a very feminine woman. Short, squat, and a virtual ball of fire; she gets the job done, and done well, so people listen. "Don't pile it so high you olf! How are you going to get to the stuff on top to work on your raft?!" she bellows, whipping the stack of debris with a twitch she earlier picked out of it. Nothing like an armed tyrant to fire things up.

Tenzinth wings down to land a short distance from the main group, lifting his head to observe the goings on. M'cay slides down the bronze dragon's side, boots hitting the sand with a thud. The Weyrlingmaster strides towards the piles, looking curious.

And then to G'dal she explains the rules: "Good timing, oldtimer!," Roscoe chimes, stepping toward G'dal and nearly disappearing in his shadow. "You can teach these scamps how to build a good old fashioned raft." A stubby wrinkled fingers stabs at the piles, "The rules are you must use the stuff from the piles, or what's onya, nothing more! Then we'll have a race to see if any float." A wicked, almost toothless grin shows her delight at the thought that none will. "You up to it old fart?" A little ribbing goes a long way toward revving people up in most cases, and it's this woman's patent mode of existing.

It's a disaster waiting to happen of course. And Tia? Right in disaster's path as usual. "Oh shards..." Yep, she dives out of the way right in the nick of time! Onto hot, smelly, black sand. "Ptooie." Her dragon is of absolutely no use, either - it's patently obvious by the slightly dropped jaw and chuffing noises that Kyraceth finds the situation -hilarious-. And, oh yes, getting up brings her face to face with M'cay. "Uh.. Hi, Weyrlingmaster."

Q'luin stands behind G'dal watching as the whole mess comes tumbling down, and of course, Rh'iad is at the heart of it. "Some things never change," he murmurs to himself, chuckling. Home is where the heart is, and right now, that's right here. For the rest of the day, and possibly week, he will grin every time he flashes on the sight of the young man surfing on a pile of crap. "Hey, Tia, G'dal," comes a friendly greeting, and then he's off to wash his hands of the fish while a group of riders cover up the hole full of rotten stinking fish.

B'roughs walks in.

M'cay grins and reaches down a hand to Tia, "Need help, there?" he offers with a chuckle.

G'dal works steadily, calling a greeting over to Q'luin as he does. "Heya, youngin." He doesn't remember the man's name. Fanneth chuffs toward the other dragons, including a little more of a recognizant rumble toward Tenzinth. Fanneth sort of remembers working with him. G'dal does. "M'cay." He calls, nodding respectfully, and in the process, notices the mess on his leg. "Aww, Fan, why didn't ya tell me?" He steps toward the water, sticking the offending leg in, letting the stench wash away with the waves.

N'lon and said armpits carry themselves hence on foot. This would be the first time visiting the storm-tossed beaches though already he's abreast of the situation naturally. In the stead of Wingleaders and ingrates the Weyrleader is accompanied by a canine giant called Riz, and a little boy who's taking it upon himself that the hunting hound should be as rideable as any pony. "Any of that tolerable?" Probing Roscoe about fish. "I can't think of an easier way to put food on the tables."

Rh'iad leaps over Tia's prone body like one of those Cats he so desperately wants to kill and skin. Poetic, really. Landing on the sand, he looks back at Tia as if to ask her if she needs help, only to see M'cay there. "G'evening, sir," he quickly chimes in. "That was my bad." The fall. But now things are loosened up and easily accessed for raft building! Yeah! Old timers fiddling with things deserve some attention though, and the teen wanders towards G'dal. "What's that?" You know, the obvious makings of a raft he is gesturing at.

R'ish walks in.

Theresana walks in.

Tia clears her throat and grasps the offered hand from M'cay to help pull herself upright just after Rhik leaps over her so daintily. "I'd really like to be able to hate you for that grace." she mumbles, but also flashes both a grateful smile. "The help is appreciated, thanks." Q'luin's greeting is returned with a wave before she commences trying to brush herself off. "So... we're building rafts?"

M'cay grins and gives Tia a nod before he, too, catches wind of a familiar voice. "G'dal, sir! How nice to see you again. How's things?" "Hello, Rh'iad, that was a beautiful slide."

B'roughs returns to the mian beach with several good pieces of wood for his own project. He rocks back on his heels and chuckles as he sees he's a bit far behind, and grabs an empty patch of sand starting to unload his project. He nods to the person next to him, one of the weyrlings if he remembers correctly (though that's not a guarentee either.)

Roscoe squints up at the tall Weyrleader, crape-paper flesh crinkling like a sheet out of an old book. "That's there in the pots," she points toward three pots standing in the shade off to the side, waiting for their moment in the 'sun'. "That there in the pits have been dead too long, though I 'spose you could feed em to your oversized tunnelsnake eaters," the little/big woman returns while adjusting her point to his canines.

"S'a raft." Duh. G'dal steps back toward the pile of logs, turning them over and over, trying to see how they fit together best. Finally, he sees the best way, and starts wrapping the vine around the first log, tearing the shirt into strips to fit between the logs. He frowns and eyes the pile. "Aw, we're good." G'dal's terse reply is lost in his harrumph as he tightens the vine, wrapping it around the next log. The process continues until shirt and vine run out, and he tromps toward the pile, or what's left of it, looking for more, this time, guffawing at a warning rumbled his direction /not/ to step on anymore of those nasty fruits.

Rh'iad is being spoken to, and so that deserves a spin about, long braid of hair whipping about like a scythe to cut down anyone who just happens to be in its way. Obviously in excellent spirits, the teen flashes a white and toothy smile. "Not that much different than surfing. You should try it. The waves at that beach down to the south are prefect. But I hear they do that in the mountains around 'Reaches when there is snow. I want to try that too. Can you imagine? Sliding down an entire /mountain/." That look fairly well means he does fully plan on doing that some time. His attention flickers back to G'dal though, and his vine wrapping. As the oldster wanders back to the pile, the greenrider drops to a crouch, curious fingers already reaching out to try to pluck at that wound vine in G'dal's raft. "How do you weave..."

There are three piles of jungle wreckage from the storm, and one flattened pile, care of Ista's own Stormrider, Rh'iad. Tia is in the mix of the collapse, while G'dal and M'cay are nearby. Roscoe and N'lon are off a bit to the side, and Q'luin is just strolling back from the water in an abnormal quiet state of mind.

R'ish is in the surrounding crowd, dressed for the heat of Ista.. Sleeveless shirt.. short pants, all that. Nggh.. She hates the heat here but.. She came to help recover from the storm.. so she's here.. Drinking from a mug of ale as she watches those building.. build. "Oi! you gotta tie it together tighter'n that!" She calls out.. though to who?... Who knows.

Thought to be quite vain it may be a jolt to see the Weyrleader's wavy hair shorn as short as velour. "There's a good man." Responsive to Roscoe's display of industry. "Bah, might as well fatten the porcines with those carcasses." When her hair is yanked by its roots Riz twists her neck around to admonish Apollyon like any one of her pups. N'lon's looking astray at raft construction, paying little or no heed to what must be a son. Black boots make martial steps towards Weyrlingmaster M'cay, promoting, "just how far are they sailing to and when can they leave?"

S'tao is the one hiding (ie sleeping) behind a bronze dragon far up the beach, in a small zone clear of debris. Apparently that is as much work as the rider put in before skittering out of sight to nap. Luckily his dragon makes for excellent cover, just another largely inanimate object out of the way.

M'cay shrugs at N'lon with a quick smile, "No idea, N'lon. Just got here myself. I'm not in charge of this scheme, I assure you."

G'dal finds more vine and something else made of old cloth. This appears to be a lady's though, as it's a violent shade of pink. Gun doesn't seem to care; he takes it back to the raft. "Greenie." Barked to Rh'iad. "Like this. See?" He wraps it tightly around the second log, and then moves on to the third, ripping the nightdress or whatever the thing was. It wasn't useful for its original purpose, so it's getting recycled. "Y' stick th' stuff b'tween..." He does so, reiterating his call. "See? Then, ya yank on it, until it's tight." He frowns, thinking about how to keep the vines in place. "How sticky's that fruit stuff?" He calls to no one in particular. He's not thinking ... Yes, yes, he is.

Theresana strolls down to the beach, and takes a seat along the edge, half hidden in the greenery. Easier to watch, especially when you have no one to build with. She watches the raft-builders, looking at each raft.

B'roughs rocks back on his heels, seemingly unaware that he's not supposed to be using anything other than the piles to build his raft. He stands and moves perpousfully towards Rh'iad. "Mind if I pick through this for a few pieces?" Though it's likely to have been quite picked through already.

Roscoe just stares slack-jawed as she is called a man. Can't complain much though, since she was complimented by the Weyrleader. With a shrug she stomps over and points at the sand that has just recently been shoveled into the pit of fish and orders, "Now unbury it; Weyrleader says so." Never hurts to put the blame on someone else. The group groans and begins to reverse their actions. Q'luin stays clean away from that mess, altering his course around the pile to B'roughs. "Wingleader," comes the brief greeting from the recently missing dragonhealer.

Rh'iad is fascinated by this process. Absolutely fascinated. So it is with G'dal's teaching words that the teen drops to his knees, cushioned by the dark beach sands. Curious green-irised eyes watch as the older rider creates his raft, long fingers tracing the vines and plucking here and there at the things pressed between. "Will this take us to Nerat? I've always wanted to go to Nerat. Maybe if we find a set of Bella's drawers in that pile, we could hoist it up like a sail. That would get us there, right? I heard she lost her laundry." Hopefully dear Bella isn't on the beach right now to hear that. "Sailing to Nerat would be famous. Maybe if we got some more vines and made a harness for a couple of shipfish, could get there even faster. Although Bella's drawers would be a mighty thing." As he babbles, fingers find the vines again, plucking and possibly loosening things.

"Why I'll be Bitran." N'lon's baritone bleeds vacuous sarcasm at the formation of those rafts. Content that the Weyr porcines will see their protein he leaves M'cay's company to lope further down the beach where Rh'iad and G'dal are occupied. His shadow precedes him, not so ample warning.

B'roughs looks down at Rh'iad and chuckles. "If you need a navigator to Nerat, I grew up there and have done some sailing." Though he usually prefered his feet. He nods courteously to Q'luin. "Bronzerider. I'm afraid I'm better with faces than names?" He extends the other all due courtesy, almost instinctively.

Obviously having been distracted by whatever Kyraceth was doing way over there... somewhere, Tia's attention returns to raft building. And the young greenrider appears to be yanking some vines and palm fronds away from splintered and piled wood in an effort to be useful. "Well, I think this takes care of the day's workout. Kyra - get your ass over here to help instead of laughing!"

M'cay meanders back to Tenzinth, mounting up and flying off with a wave of farewell to the hard workers on the beach. Too smelly for him.

M'cay swings up to Tenzinth's neck, settling between two neckridges, and smiles down to his lifemate.

Tenzinth wings upwards, scattering sand about.

"Q'luin," the bronzerider supplies with a faint smile, but in the next instant starts to drift, as he's prone to doing these days. This time he banks toward R'ish, curious about an unfamiliar face.

"Kid!" That's moments of work you're messing up there. G'dal frowns at the greenrider, but can't keep a straight face as the teen continues on. He guffaws loudly as Rh'iad mentions Bella's drawers. "Bella's..." Now, he's pretty sure he doesn't know Bella, but every Weyr has its share of women who would fit the example, and the drawers, probably. "Now as I was sayin... S'that fruit mess sticky enough t' stay in th' water? Mebbe if we gooed enouugh on n' let em dry..." Who knows. It's probably a poor glue, but it's what he can find. He'll tie the vines off, too, but they need just a little more help. The Weyrleader is spotted, and G'dal nods, not moving from his bent over position, because it takes too long.

R'ish sighs and shakes her head as she finishes off her ale, and sets the mug aside... heading over towards that Pile of Rubble that B'roughs is near. "Need help, old man?" R'ish asks the Istan with an insufferable smirk. Though the unfamiliar bronze rider approaching her catches her attention and she offers an arched eyebrow and a nod of her head in greeting.... hi....

Torcoth looks relaxed after spending some time on the quiet South Beach.

Dia swings one leg over the ridge in front of her and slides gracefully down Torcoth's foreleg to land on solid ground.

Rh'iad glances up at B'rough's words, "Oh, that might be a good idea. Seeing as I've never been there. I'd probably end up on the eastern ring islands and have to set up with the renegades there." You know, forget the whole draconic partner thing 'n all. "Maybe we should make this raft bigger. So more people can fit on it." Because obviously Rhik just helped himself to G'dal's raft and is inviting along the rest of the locals on a sabbatical. At G'dal's yell though, his hands still and lift up in an 'innocent' gesture. "What'd I do? Sorry." Oh yeah, the fruit. "Oh, let me go get some." The greenrider bounces to his feet in one smooth movement, turning about and nearly running head-first into N'lon.

Q'luin isn't much of a knot reader, but he gives it a good attempt. "Fortian, glad to have your hands," and those hands are actually gazed at briefly before the rider looks back up and smiles. Presently it's hard to tell where he is from, since he wears nothing but shorts, and obviously no knots, but the tan tells that it is somewhere hot and sunny, while the accent is pure Igen. As a matter of fact, the accent has grown quite thick over the past few months, so one might be inclined to believe that is his homebase. The truth of the matter will come with inquiry. "You buildin' a raft?"

Finally yanking free some vines, Tia makes a face at Kyraceth and then trudges over to Rh'iad and G'dal. "This should help, right?" she wonders, looking quite pleased with herself. Not for long, likely, as her lifemate starts splashing in the waoter and making rather a nice mess. "You've already made such progress. Raft-building isn't something they tought us growing up. Or during weyrlinghood, alas. Right Rhik?"

B'roughs chuckles at R'ish, "Grab some wood and see if you can find something to tie it down with. I'm saving the rope for the sail." He nods to q'luin, "Well met. And this is R'ish. Long ago she was Istan, back when /I/ Impressed." Then Back to R'ish as he starts picking through the wood. "How's Brandt?"

"Someone flame your tail?" N'lon has already partially contracted, tucked in muscles and his arm from a forced encounter with Rh'iad. His eyes crease slightly as if he anticipates seeing everything clearly. His canine up on shore is finding an enterprise with bloated fish while her four-Turn-old substitute handler follows her example.

"Naw? Seriously?" The old man looks nonplussed at Tia's words. "Aw, our old master woulda had our head if we didn't know how t' survive in all sorts'a stuff. "Thankya." The old man does appreciate the gesture of the vines. "Lookie, Fan." He calls to his brown, who turns around and examines the offering. "Them's got thorns on 'em. Mebbe we can use 'em for somethin'." The redheaded greenrider gets a long guffaw as he nearly runs into N'lon. "Watch out, youngin..." And speaking of youngins. "Yer tyke messin with th' fish over there?" He notes, swiveling to return to work, catching the toddler at his. Retightening the vines already in place, he attaches some of the new bunch to them, attempting to strengthen the hold.

Rh'iad's eyes track over to Tia, and his smile grows once more. "They should though. I mean, this is an island. What if it... became flooded. Sure, I know how to swim now, but if we ever had to abandon island, I'd much rather do it on a raft." Beat. "With shipfish pulling it." Because that right there is made of all kinds of win. Far more attractive than giant undies as a sail. "I need the smelly fruit," is the simple explanation to N'lon. Its all clear now, isn't it? So focused upon the task at hand, all fancy-knotted personages are just sorta banished to bare existence. He looks to try to dance around the rider, hoping to save any fruit that isn't on the bottom of Kyra's paws.

R'ish nods again to Q'luin, smiling softly. "So am I." She offers with a small laugh.. She's glad to have her hands too. And she offers one hand out to Q'luin for a shake. She nods to B'roughs's introduction. "well met." She says to the man.. And turns to start gathering wood and sifting through the rubble.. pulling out various bits of twine and cloth. "I was a kid when I lived here." And caused no end of headaches she's quite proud of that fact. "Right about the time B'roughs impressed.. yep.. so /quite/ some time ago." She smirks as for the question of their child.. "He's good! He's.. Around here somewhere.." She lifts her head up to peer around curiously... "Probably got dragged off by some of the kids around..." A smirk.. "Or found a girl." heh.. That's a very.. that's my boy smirk there.

Ambling down the beach, the brown with his trademark swagger and the woman with her--more usual as of late--stalk. There's something going on down at this beach and Torcoth--the inquisitive beast--wants to get 'in on the action'. "You get bored too easily, brat," Dia grumbles to her brown as they draw in closer on the beach group. Oh look, familiar faces. Leaning against her--now motionless--dragon, she watches the goings-on to pick up where the two of them would be best suited to help.

Q'luin echoes B'roughs', "Well met," but splits it in half to cover R'ish as well. His caramelized hand slides over her's to finish off the greeting, and then he falls silent to watch as the raft building apparently coalesces onto a singular unit. Hopefully it's a big sturdy one.

If there's any smelly fruit left that didn't get on Kyra's paws, well, it's certainly not for her lack of trying! "Perhaps we should suggest sea survival for the next group of weyrlings." Tia decides, after listening to both G'dal and Rh'iad. "Shipfish are rather helpful aren't they. I wonder.. hmm." she murmurs to herself, after handing off the thorny vines and going back to the soaked smelly debris piles for more.

"Hopefully no more grandchildren for a while..." B'roughs shakes his head at that. He's having enough trouble with his youngest /daughter/'s antics. He pulls a few pieces of wood free and cocks his head at q'luin, "Care to help with the raft? I"ve got a style in mind from back home.." He's not sure he can pull it off though.

If the smell of sun-baked fish offends anyone it doesn't have the appearance of being N'lon. Of Rh'iad, "what Wing have you been sorted into, weyrling?" The raft gains a long look for its cheap durability. He is glad not to be the one entrusting security over open ocean. "Who's dim idea was it to make rafts, anyway?" G'dal's prompt brings his eyes over shoulder where Pol is chasing an older girl with a dead fish. "His mother has him later." Let Kezia confront the reek of decomposing flesh.

[Ista] Dia takes a moment to say, as much as I love N'lon, I'm /so/ glad I don't have his children. ;)
[Ista] Rh'iad laughs.
[Ista] Lyna: One day, Dia? ;)
[Ista] Dia chokes. Please don't jinx me, Lyna... ^.^
[Ista] N'lon winkies winkies.
[Ista] Q'luin: I'm more in the boat of -- glad I'm not his child.

Rh'iad has returned with fruit. Smelly fruit. Bruised fruit. Burst open fruit of the sticky and sickly sweet variety. But yes, fruit. They drop to the sand, squishing and overly ripe for G'dal's raft-building enjoyment. With a now orange-soiled shirt, the teen looks back towards N'lon. "None." Oh look. Weyrleader. "Sir." Beat. "None yet."

[Ista] B'roughs is in the "I'm glad I'm not his father" catagory.
[Ista] Dia is glad for you there, Qi. Save on therapy bills, but...if you were /having/ his child, I'd really have to worry. :)
[Ista] Q'luin: Then I'd really need therapy.
[Ista] Dia laughs! This is true.
[Ista] B'roughs: Q'luin already needs therapy
[Ista] Tia has borne Qi spawn. At the very least that deserves some sympathy. And therapy. :)
[Ista] S'tao: More therapy.
[Ista] Dia blinks. She /has/???
[Ista] Dia: Qi, who /haven't/ you knocked up?
[Ista] Rh'iad: Me.
[Ista] Q'luin rattles Dia. The twins, about 6 months ago? ;) They're 2.
[Ista] N'lon: My mom.
[Ista] Q'luin: Kezia!
[Ista] Q'luin: Sure tried though.
[Ista] Dia girds her loins.

R'ish laughs. "Lets hope.. /I'm/ Not ready to be a grandmother just yet." Buuut... She hasn't exactly been telling him not to have his fun. "How're your other children?" R'ish will ask as she winds her hand around a bit of... something stringy down in the pile.. and gives it a pull... It doesn't come up easily and she's forced to hold onto it and lean back with all her weight to try and pull it out.

Theresana continues to sit and watch, listening to conversations, and offering small nods of greeting, of sorts, to those she recognises. She gets up, walking among the edge, to gett a better look at the rafts and their builders' strategies.

G'dal finishes with the wood he's got, and eyes the size of the raft. "Aw, now that's jest fine." He shrugs his shoulders at the Weyrleader's question. "Ain't mine, sir. Jest showed up t' help, and Fan says, why don't ya see if y' can show them youngin's a thing er two about buildin..." The desert-born rider must've had a very inventive Weyrlingmaster to teach them how to build /rafts./ He scoops up one of the smelly fruit, and carols. "Aw, Fan, lookee. Stinky as can be." Fanneth sniffs at it, and chuffs out, trying to get the horrid smell out of his nose. The man looks down at the fruit, a disgusted expression on his face. " Aw, it's worth a try." Scooping out some of the degrading meat of the fruit, he slaps it on to the first log, right on the vines. " 'is momma needs more stink, does she?" Just a polite query with upraised eyebrows. He doesn't know who the kid's mom is, and doesn't really care, actually. The newly arrived brown gets Fanneth's attention, and he turns toward him, drumbeats soft in his mindvoice as he offers an otherwise loud mental greeting. That's the one who doesn't like his drums.

"Sure," Q'luin offers to B'rough's invite, "Just point me at it and give direct supervision. I don't want you to drown on my account." It's a Wingleader, and you can bet the man could really care less. One down, only makes one less to have to deal with later. Wind-whipped, sea-salted black hair is unconsciously raked back into place, allowing the curls to tumble well down the tan muscled back. He patiently waits through the banter between obvious exlovers, and meanwhile looks over at the exchange between Rh'iad and the Weyrleader. There's a slow blink as N'lon's hair is noticed, and for a whole moment, that's all he has attention for.

Ah! There's a familiar mind for Tor and a set of familiar face/s/ for Dia. Isn't this worth leaving the weyr? "Maybe," Dia grumbles, making a beeline for R'ish and Q'luin even as Torcoth returns Fanneth's greeting with a rush of adrenaline and a casing of leather armor. "Hey, R'ish," the rider offers with a muted version of her typical saucy grin, then nodding a 'hullo' to Q'luin as well, though she studies his faraway look for several minutes. "What's the news from home, R'ish?"

"Well find me three or four more about this length," B'roughs says easily to Q'luin's offer. "And Rishi, if you could find another long one like this?" B'roughs drags himself back to business. He reaches up to pat R'ish's shoulder sympathetically. If only Q'luin knew... if only Q'luin knew... "Other than Aeroulyne they're all doing well. I'm not sure how sh'es doing." Largely becuase it's subject to change without notice.

N'lon isn't inane enough to be found here for much longer. Atsuth's rider is visually scoured with blue-eyed efficiency. "Good. And name another greenrider of your clutch who is preferrably within about three dragonlengths." G'dal's choice of adhesive only spurs the man to further hierarchs of impatience. "If not, she soon will..." The blonde-haired child tries to stuff the fish into a gap between raft pieces once the girl outran him.

R'ish turns her head to look at Dia as she approaches, squinting her eyes at the woman.. and then just grinning at her. "Hey!" heh heh.. Ahem. Back to work.. "Sure thing.. Soon as I get this blasted twine out of here!" TUG TUG.. NgGGGH LEAAAAN. She's fighting with it.. it's probably attached to something huge.. underneath the whole pile. The pat on the shoulder is eyed briefly. "You know something I don't?" She is of course talking about grandchildren. "Ahhs.. doesn't keep in contact much?"

Rh'iad's attention draws after G'dal and the fruit, and then his dragon sniffing the fruit. He just held it, he sure as Thread wasn't about to shove his nose into it and take a strong whiff. Although, it now is seeped into that poor and abused shirt. The teen tucks a stray lock of hair behind an ear, belatedly noting the familiar presence of Dia further along. As N'lon speaks though, the teen looks briefly confuzzled at his words, head tilting a tad to the side. "Another greenrider... Tia?" Because she is right there too.

As for news from home... "Well.. things are about the same.. we got T'jano back though.. so that's good." R'ish adds in to Dia

The other greenrider in question has been busy tugging at awkward pieces of wood - and is currently nursing a splinter on her finger by glaring at it angrily. "Hrm?" Looking up, Tia's expression is puzzled. "Who me? Yes?... I swear I didn't do it."

Q'luin nods in return to Dia once he's managed to tear his disbelieving eyes away from N'lon's new haircut, only to repeat the action toward B'roughs. Turning back from whence he came, steps are taken to the pile to collect three or four of whatever the wingleader wanted him to collect. Unsure of what that was, four random items are tugged free and carried to the start of the raft and dropped. Helpful? Probably not.

There's a quite snork, the sound of someone's sleep breaking in the direction of the large lump down the beach. S'tao emerges brushing sand off of himself and walks on over towards the rampant activity of raft building. Drawing up near some of the more enthusiastic, he rubs an eye to clear it. "Why... rafts?" In the event of a water landing, a dragon can be used as a floatation device.

G'dal grunts at R'ish's news. That's really good for the old man to hear. That bothered him greatly. However, his attention is on the stinky fruit mush that he's slathered all over the vines. "Aw, Fan, Dunno if it's gonna do any good." He eyes the toddler with the fish. "Naw, Fish oil'd keep it dry, but not sticky enough." Oh, well. "Y'got any ideas?" He asks his greenriding helpers. And anyone else that wants to answer.

"Did you now?" Dia is mildly impressed now. "How'd that come about? I was pretty sure Thadd wouldn't let him within a klick of the place until we'd hit the next /Interval/." She has a wry grin on her face. Her brothers' discord is no secret. The greeting earns the other brownrider a slightly darker smirk, but no words pass. Dia has /some/ tact, though it may be Taini's had to beat it into her, no one is quite sure.

One of N'lon's bare forearms is rubbed across his abdomen. "Then Sardonyx is to have you as of now. And Tia!" Calling the other greenrider out just before she incriminates her identity by speaking up to Rh'iad. "And you too. Congratulations," not even simulating excitement as he marches on up the vague incline. Pol finds his father mid-run, reaching for a pantleg. N'lon shudders aside from the contamination of those reeking hands. "Riz!" The child names the long-legged canine to draw her in.

Rh'iad blinks at N'lon. Its one of those artful blinks that dashes cinnamon lashes against a tanned cheek, agonizingly slow with disbelief and then opening again to reveal wide and very jade-green eyes. "Sardonyx," is the word that is emphasized and echoed. But he is speaking to air, or possibly Tia. "Did we just become full wingriders?" His head turns, chin dropping a tad as eyes lock onto his fellow clutch and wingrider. Rafts and smelly and sticking things are all fine and dandy, but so is becoming a wingrider.

Tia blinks kinda slowly at first, glancing over at Rhik to meet his gaze before splitting out into a full fledged gleeful smile. Kyra's not so quiet about things though, trumpeting out a happy bugle just before the rider replies verbally. "I... think that's a yes. /And/ that it deserves a few extra drinks around the bonfire tonight." she decides, looking for any excuse to party - hand held up in the air for a high five. "Whoo!"

"Ah... no. Got involved with Marryn..." B'roughs isn't really sure what to make of that relationship. He turns his attention to the wood to avoid the subject of his daughter, at least for the moment.

"Riz, here!" Pol's thin voice gives another blast. N'lon intercepts Roscoe for a last brief conversation ending in a slim two sentences. His canine's state of obedience is garnered with a last swooping glance behind him and lasts long enough to catch Q'luin's eye on the way back up the hill to central Weyr zone.

S'tao glances over at the whooping and eyes his cousin, stepping on over. Catching the tail end of the occurrence he first blinks then breaks into a grin. "Well now, congrats you two." he offers his lucky clutchmates there, voice a little sleep laden but gradually waking up. Scanning the beach, he eyes the others of their group as the weyrleader walks off with his smelly offspring.

Q'luin missed completely what excited Tia, but manages a supportive smile for whatever it is anyway whilst looking her direction. It's at this point he realizes the Weyrleader has vacated the beach, which causes the smiling lips to quirk instead into a grin. "Not one for crowds." The slate colored gaze follows the line toward the Weyr and catches N'lon's at just the right moment, and a salute is sailed his direction.

Above, Elsveth blinks in from ::between::!

Xanth pops into view just over the edge of the Plateau, and is soon on the black sands of the ocean beach.

Above, Elsveth glides southwards over the beach.