Post by Wren on Feb 12, 2011 7:58:21 GMT -5
It had been one of those nights, the ones that made Dirigion glad when he saw the first light of dawn on the horizon and he was able to retire for the day back to the wher complex. Granted, that was pretty much every night, but that fact did not cheer the man up much as he trudged through the darkened hallways in the direction of the mess hall. He was used to the dark, living with Dirrisk for so many Turns had made sure of that, and indeed he rather liked it, but it did mean that, when he was tired and fed-up, he had to rely on the wher to guide him around.
They had spent that night, as with every other night, patrolling. As usual, absolutely nothing worthy of note had happened, though he had rather hoped that, after the trouble at the hatching, some people might have been worked up enough to try something. His hopes had been dashed, and now everything was back to the nightly grind. Ah well, better the enemy you know.
Eventually handler and wher made it to the wher mess hall, where, much to Dirigion’s pleasure, extremely low lighting had been provided so that he could at least see something. What he was particularly pleased to see was the food heaped on the tables, the drudges having anticipated the return of the handlers from their nightly duties and attended to their needs. There were already several handlers there, most alone, having left their beasts to their own meals, but a few, like Dirigion, had their whers with them. Dirigion found an empty table away from the others and sat in it, Dirrisk curling up beside him like an enthusiastic guard dog.
Dee, why everyone loud? The blue asked unexpectedly, and Dirigion looked down at him in surprise. It took the man a moment to realise that Dee was asking why there had been such an excitable atmosphere recently, and another to get his thoughts in order enough to answer. Dirrisk was patient though, and did not press.
Well, the dragon clutch hatched, and there were some odd-coloured babies in it. Greys, pinks, things like that. He explained. He had not been present at the hatching, he did not care for such things, and he hadn’t seen the weyrlings since, but he’d heard reports of the strange creatures. It was said that there was a yellow one the size of a bronze, and a little pale thing that shimmered and shone. At first he hadn’t given these stories credence, but now that they’d been repeated so often he found he had to believe it. It was strange he thought, in all his time as a handler he had never heard of that happening amongst whers, but personally he didn’t see why people were making such a fuss; so long as the things could fly and flame when they needed to, they were just like any other dragons. There’s also the fact that Zalmask has just clutched. That he did find interesting, if only because it meant there would soon be irritating wherlings to put up with.
Dirrisk seemed satisfied by these explanations and nodded contentedly, settling back down to guard. Dirigion ate quickly, hoping to have finished before necessity forced someone to join him at his table.
They had spent that night, as with every other night, patrolling. As usual, absolutely nothing worthy of note had happened, though he had rather hoped that, after the trouble at the hatching, some people might have been worked up enough to try something. His hopes had been dashed, and now everything was back to the nightly grind. Ah well, better the enemy you know.
Eventually handler and wher made it to the wher mess hall, where, much to Dirigion’s pleasure, extremely low lighting had been provided so that he could at least see something. What he was particularly pleased to see was the food heaped on the tables, the drudges having anticipated the return of the handlers from their nightly duties and attended to their needs. There were already several handlers there, most alone, having left their beasts to their own meals, but a few, like Dirigion, had their whers with them. Dirigion found an empty table away from the others and sat in it, Dirrisk curling up beside him like an enthusiastic guard dog.
Dee, why everyone loud? The blue asked unexpectedly, and Dirigion looked down at him in surprise. It took the man a moment to realise that Dee was asking why there had been such an excitable atmosphere recently, and another to get his thoughts in order enough to answer. Dirrisk was patient though, and did not press.
Well, the dragon clutch hatched, and there were some odd-coloured babies in it. Greys, pinks, things like that. He explained. He had not been present at the hatching, he did not care for such things, and he hadn’t seen the weyrlings since, but he’d heard reports of the strange creatures. It was said that there was a yellow one the size of a bronze, and a little pale thing that shimmered and shone. At first he hadn’t given these stories credence, but now that they’d been repeated so often he found he had to believe it. It was strange he thought, in all his time as a handler he had never heard of that happening amongst whers, but personally he didn’t see why people were making such a fuss; so long as the things could fly and flame when they needed to, they were just like any other dragons. There’s also the fact that Zalmask has just clutched. That he did find interesting, if only because it meant there would soon be irritating wherlings to put up with.
Dirrisk seemed satisfied by these explanations and nodded contentedly, settling back down to guard. Dirigion ate quickly, hoping to have finished before necessity forced someone to join him at his table.