0001-03-07 - Probably definitely not a wherry.

It's hard to stay close as siblings in a world without easy technology. Letters take time to reach their destinations, and - even with a bronze dragon to blink across the globe in an instant - it's not easy to find the time. Or the sibling. While L'marin was whiling away the turns at Fort Weyr, Miya was profiting off the ease of Interval life. She had taken dear old dad's craft and turned it into a cottage industry, transporting weird fruits and vegetables (and whatever else fell into her path) from the Igen region back to the Fort region. There was always some new possibility, some new bit of fortune just waiting to be seized, and while she never got rich? She never got broke, either.

It meant a lot of years where they might exchange a few letters, perhaps manage to cross paths once or twice, but there were long gaps in life when they simply fell out of step with each other, him off doing bronzerider stuff, her off doing trader stuff. But it was always easy to reunite. Whether it was over their shared black sheepness - their parents never will get over L'marin abandoning the craft for bronzeriding, and there's plenty of resentment for Miya turning honest work into something that really seems sketchy somehow - or just the simple fact that they were inseparable as children, the divides between them have never been as vast as the bridges.

In recent weeks, however, those gaps have fallen off entirely.

L'marin made his transfer to Igen, where Miya has been floating around with a skiff, restricting her trade to local waters only since Thread's returned. What used to be an infrequent interception has now become commonplace. She doesn't live at the Weyr, technically, but she's here at least weekly now, so having her tap L'marin on the shoulder at the breakfast hour in the living cavern shouldn't shake him to his very core. The fact that she plops down next to him and asks, "Are you busy today?" Well, it's up to L'marin whether that shakes him a bit. She's commonly a self-sufficient person, not one to asks for favors, certainly he can count on zero hands the number of times she's pestered him for anything more than a willingness to vouch for her wares.

But the smile she stretches right now clearly wants something.

Though the years may have passed with infrequent communication, they've fallen into something of an easy pattern these last few weeks. L'marin's had very little appreciation for his transfer to Igen Weyr - dissatisfaction with the decision is far too nice a word - but the ability to see his sister on something of a regular basis is the closest thing to a silver lining that he's found. So no, there's no jumping out of his skin when he's tapped on the shoulder in the midst of drinking his cup of klah, but the question she presents when she plops down beside him earns a climb of his brow.

"For you? Yes," he replies solemnly, soberly, but there's a twitch of a wry grin that he hides in another gulp of his drink. Miya knows the truth, of course - he's never too busy for her, except when he is, and considering he is here in the moment and not up there fighting Thread? He's certainly not today.

After a contemplative narrow of her eyes, like she's giving this one a good think, Miya suggests, "This might be for both of us." The squint persists while she looks through him drinking his klah, thoughts a thousand miles away before her smile refocuses back on him. "It's really weird." The smile stretches a little farther than it needs to, taking on an edge best summarized as eek.

Another request she has never made in all the long years since his Impression is a ride anywhere. In fact, excepting a handful of occasions at Fort when it was best to tag-team a trip back to the seahold, she's never really gone anywhere adragonback, certainly not sought the favor. "I'll meet you and Brunuth in the bowl in a minute?" With a totally casual dart of her eyes at all the people in the cavern for breakfast, she tacks on, "I'll explain once we're, y'know, by ourselves."

The contemplative narrowing of eyes is reflected back at her, though his turn to thin slits as she does that thousand-yard stare. The longest pause ever happens between her ask and his answer, until he's finished draining his cup of klah and shoving what's left of his breakfast into his mouth. Then, and only then, does he start getting out of his seat. "Only because you said it's really weird," he decides, grabbing another meatroll from wherever those things are laying around to tuck into on the road. "I'll even give you two minutes," he offers oh-so-generously, before he goes about his business to saunter off into the bowl, not waiting around to see if she follows.

Of course, it doesn't matter if it's two minutes or ten - he'll be at the bowl already atop Brunuth when she comes along. The bronze seems more than a bit restless to get this show on the road, but it's not something that's shared by his rider. "Brunuth wants to know how weird is really weird," L'marin shares with Miya when she happens to arrive, though whether it's truly Brunuth that wants to know or L'marin is anybody's guess.

Miya taps her foot ten billion times during that long pause, but otherwise! She suffers it with excessive patience, so whatever it is she wants? She really must want it, enough to brighten, bob off a cheery nod about how it's really weird, and promise, "Just the one." Minute. She is about sixty seconds behind him, having stopped to nab a jacket and a pack that she's still dragging over her shoulder in the process of jogging after him.

Her survey of the dragon remains wary to this day. Not that she doesn't trust him but a) he was part of the conspiracy to kidnap her brother, b) he's giant and she's probably crunchy, and c) the psychic-talking thing is creepy. So L'marin gets a look for what the bronze wants to know, but see above re: really wants his help! "I found - well, I'm sticking with the term 'deformed wherry' for now. We need to go out over the ocean between Nabol and Keroon." She says like it's that easy.

"There's an island. How do I do this?" Get on board this dragon, she means, reaching a hand up. Getting hauled aboard won't be awesome for her dignity, but whatever.

The large bronze - who is definitely a giant and absolutely thinks Miya is crunchy - starts to rumble. "No, I'm not going to let you eat a deformed wherry," L'marin is probably not speaking to Miya, unless she's particularly hungry and this whole mission is to just get a snack. But the brief unfocusing of his eyes suggests the conversation is not meant for her, particularly when there's a laugh that huffs out of him immediately thereafter at a joke that she isn't privy to. With a shake of his head, his attention returns to Miya - no apology given, just a rough hand that comes to grab her and haul her right atop the dragon.

"Like that," is how she does this. There's no further conversation - no warning, no 'better hold on!'. There's just a sudden /lurch/ of the giant dragon that spreads it's wings, and up into the air they go. Has she ever gone in between? 'Cuz she's about to. Hopefully he knows where he's going - the ocean between Nabol and Keroon is probably a pretty big place.

The hand that Miya pairs to the one she's trying to get used to haul her up is about a foot apart when Miya qualifies, "A really small deformed wherry. Tell him it would hardly be worth his effort." In case Brunuth is deaf or something. It doesn't help that a private joke follows, earns L'marin a really?! look before he hauls her atop the dragon without warning.

"Was that really necessary," is the tooth-chattering question she tells her darling brother on the other side of between, the whole experience clearly not one she's going to be eager to reproduce. Even if it means arriving on the other side of an idyllic view, where we're just going to hand-wave the ease of getting to approximately the right location. It could have been a big pain in the ass of hopping here and there, but skip all that because it'd be boring. Instead, they perch high in a midday blue sky to the east of Igen, with the ocean all dazzling below them.

The subtropics mean everything is all green and lush, even the tiny specks of islands clinging to bits of foliage. One island looks like enough to another, most of them so small that they're hardly worth notice, just a rock sticking up out of the sea, maybe a tree or something. A few of them are a bit larger, and Miya - after some aerial maneuvers ("Can you please turn him more that way? Portside? Left, for crying out loud," all shouted over the howl of the wind at altitude, but at least it's warm up here!) - indicates one far below them.

"You should probably land on the beach," but feel free to not listen to her sage advice and land wherever.

Little more than a single large hill with a tongue-like beach, most of the island is rugged, steep jungle terrain. There's enough room at the top of the central hill for a conscientious dragon to effect a landing amid all the shrubs and sharp, volcanic rock, but then it's a hundred-yard hike down a path-less cliff to get to the beach below. Up in the rocks, there's little more than sherry nests and snakes and rodents skittering among the thorny foliage. The north-facing side of the island ends in a steep, sheer cliff that crashes down to frothy rocks in the dark ocean, tumbling into deep waters that boast a reasonable return for pearl divers.

Down the steep slope on the south side of the island, there's a narrow strip of beach freckled with about three dozen palm trees and a healthy band of deep, dark brush. Pale sand forms a narrow strip of pristine beach sloping gently toward generally calm waters, partially protected by the curve of the island behind it. At the base of the hill, where a small stream of fresh water bubbles out of the dark rock and trickles to a pool before dribbling into the sea, there's a shallow cave that was - years and years ago - an improved structure. The stone still bears evidence of being worked, though the exterior wall was probably made of wood and has long-since vanished, so now it's no more than a large, slightly-improved cave to get out of the weather.

Was all that really necessary? "Ab-so-lutely," insists L'marin in a shout once they pop into the air above the ocean, a look over his shoulder reminiscent of when they were children and he'd pull her hair or play a trick on her - a wide, childish grin before he's leaning back towards Brunuth's neck, craning his own to admire the view from on-high. "Bet you don't get a view like this on your boats," he remarks as loudly - and proudly - as possible to be heard over the shrill whistle of wind, while she's behind him shouting aerial maneuvers. Portside? He turns right, just to be a dick. They'll eventually get where they are going.

"I'll land exactly where I want to land!" it's more than a little childish. But Brunuth circles and circles, drifts and sweeps, until finally .... they land on the beach, exactly where Miya advised. "Down you go," he doesn't so much as /shove/ her off the dragon as he hauls her off exactly as he hauled her on: unceremoniously and without warning. He'll come off afterward, adjusting his leathers while taking in the scenery, following the base of the hill until it leads to the structure that leaves him staring, eyes squinted. "Did you bring me all the way out here to see a... what is that? A house?"

Disapprovingly, Miya points out, "You're being very smug." And sniffs tries to pretend the view from up here isn't sooooo much better, right up to the point that she's getting dumped onto the sand. With her feet back on solid ground, she's much more willing to give L'marin a dull look. "Do you think that qualifies as really weird? No, genius, I didn't bring you out here to look at someone's old abandoned shack. C'mere."

Hopefully, this time, he follows her, 'cause she starts off toward the curve of the beach, shading her eyes and jogging off ahead of L'marin toward a cluster of stones beneath a crooked-growing palm tree above the high-tide mark. Well before coming upon the spot, L'marin should be able to glimpse the hollow in the sand, with a half-dozen small, slightly mottled eggs therein. They could be wherry eggs, or maybe some sort of gull, but L'marin's seen many a dragon egg in his day, and these look a lot like those.

Except really small.

"Me? Smug? Well I never!" There's going to be a whole lot of scoffing the entire way down, but once they are back on solid ground? L'marin does, in fact, look very smug indeed. Her dull look is answered with a shrug of wide shoulders, his hands going up helplessly. "It would certainly be very weird if you did," have him bring her all the way out here to investigate somebody's old, abandoned shack. But after flashing her a big grin, he gives Brunuth a light pat-pat and goes trudging after her on the beach.

There's a squint against the sun when he sees it, the hollow in the sand. What was a steady jog to follow her slows into careful, more precise steps the closer they get - smug smiles turn to thoughtful, contemplative frowns. "Those are not wherry eggs," he says with the utmost confidence once they come upon the nest, tipping onto the tips of his toes to peeeeer into the hollow. Confidence turns quickly to uncertainty though as he frowns further, like if he STARES hard enough, the eggs will tell him the answer. "Probably. Definitely. I mean, I'm mostly certain. If I didn't know better..." he trails off with a curious shake of his head.

Standing off to the side of the little clutch of what are probably definitely not wherry eggs, hands folded to fists on her hips, Miya's shadow bisects the little hollow, so half of it is in shadow and half getting the sun that's probably the very reason it's out here. There's nothing to protect it, really, so any bird flying overhead could see it easily and make a meal out of the eggs. "Yeah, that was sort of my thinking, too?" She crouches down next to the clutch, hovering a hand but not quite willing to make contact with the mostly-ivory shells.

"Plus." From this vantage point, squinting up with the sun behind her, she has a better view back toward the treeline than L'marin does, so her brow is the first to crumple in response to the glimpse of small, glowing eyes peering out of the shadowy foliage at the two of them. "There's that." She points to said glowing eyes, otherwise staying still; they're a good twenty yards away, and it's glaringly bright sun overhead on a pale sand beach, so it's impossible to see exactly what's staring at them other than it seems to be about the size of a seagull, shadowy, greenish, and has glowing orange eyes.

"Hu-uh," L'marin is not the smart one of this pairing, he's only of average wits, which leaves him scratching at his jawline while he stares hard at the eggs, trying to will them to tell him what they are. "This is really weird," he gives her, following her into a low crotch by the eggs, perhaps to get a better vantage point from which to stare. But the point of her finger has him sweeping his eyes up to the pair of glowing eyes in the shadow. There's no real /fear/, just a healthy amount of concern, as strange things on weird beaches deserve. He doesn't yet reach for his knife, but he keeps his eyes steady on the glowing, orange eyes in the distance.

"And what the fuck do you think that is?"

Distractedly, Miya touches the end of her nose and points at L'marin, on-the-nose with calling it really weird. That's before they're staring at the orange eyes, though. Once that happens, other than the point she uses to call his attention to it, she stays fixed in this exact spot, holding her breath and everything. It exhales when he asks that eloquent question, and she answers in a whisper, "Probably definitely not a wherry."

The thing doesn't move so long as they don't move. It just peers at them, eyes whirling through shades or warning orange with flickers of green. Brunuth can vaguely detect the smallest, most minute pings of warning against the two over there by the eggs, but it's a bit like dealing with a watchwher: the communication is really low-fidelity, not organized, coming from the little creature in the treeline, though. He can inform L'marin that she is panicky, but that's as much use as they're getting out of the dragon in all this.

On the other side fo the half-second in which that transpired, Miya asks, "What do you think it is?"

L'marin's head tips to the side, eyes momentarily glazing over in that unfocused sort of way that happens, before he's clearing the look with a quick shake of his head at Miya. "I think ..." he starts, slowly climbing to his feet. "... it might be whatever laid these. Brunuth said she's panicked," he tells her in a low voice, before he takes two giant steps away from the hollow where the eggs are. It puts him off to the side, a safe distance from the eggs and no closer to the orange eyes in the distance.

"I think we're making her nervous. Miya, I - this is really weird," he's giving her something of a credit there, the words carrying some weight of respect at her findings. "I'm going to try to see if I can't get a closer look," he tells her with a chin tip in the direction of the creature in the treeline. Then, he eases forward, taking each step slow and cautiously, so as to not freak the thing out. Yet.

"What if it's not - " Miya clips off the objection, though, hearing her voice raise too high when L'marin gets up. Maybe it's the sound of her voice, or maybe it's just him moving toward it, but he thing disappears instantly. There's no moment when they watch it go anywhere; one second, the eyes are there, whirling warning colors at the two of them, and the next second, they're gone.

L'marin is left moving toward an empty, dark space beneath the foliage. The thing is already freaked out, it's too late. Still crouched by the eggs, his sister clicks her mouth shut with an audible clack of her teeth.

This is what he gets for being a smug bastard, isn't it? He stops short when the eyes blink out of existence, standing there like a dumbass all crouched forward like he's a giant sneak-thief trying to steal some strange creature in the night. All at once, his shoulders sag and he breathes out a heavy, disappointed sigh. "I think you scared it off," he accuses, turning back to her to frown in her direction. But he trudges back to the hollow after, putting his hands on his hips as he once more admires the eggs.

"We probably shouldn't move them," right? She's the smart one. "But you know... they kinda do look like tiny dragon eggs. Maybe..." He's going to crouch down and touch one unless she stops him.

A sound leaves Miya, scoffing and agitated, but she's too flabbergasted to retaliate verbally. Between the creature disappearing and L'marin blaming her for it, she just stares for a few seconds in dumbfounded silence. Finally, "Yeah, and the thing I saw?" She tosses her chin toward the trees where the creature vanished, pulling an extra frown that she pins on L'marin. They both know who's to blame here! "I mean, not the one you lumbered at just know."

She straightens while he crouches, keeping an eye on the eggs but trusting him not to go all Lenny on the entire clutch. "The one I saw the other day looked like a tiny dragon? But then I thought it must have been the sun, it was probably just a deformed wherry." She glances back over her shoulder, at the big ol' dragon that brought them out here, and finds her way back to eyeing L'marin with a hapless shrug, "No offense."

The egg that L'marin touches is still sliiiightly soft. The shell isn't leathery anymore, but it isn't all the way hard, either. Pale in appearance with a faint mottling, mostly creams and ambers and speckles of gray, he could probably fit one, maybe two in the palm of his hand. There are six of them in a shallow well of sand. "Just out here on the beach, exposed, for all the predators in the world. So whatever it is can't be very smart."

There's a frown as he runs his hand over the sliiiightly soft shell of the egg, being as careful as he can with these ham hands of his. But then he retreats, rising to his feet again and shielding his eyes from the sun, looking about this little strip of sand. "Maybe whatever that was, the thing watching. Maybe she'll come back," but there's a frown as he says it, a note of uncertainty in the words. "Let's head over there," he tips his chin to the rocks, where they can sit relatively out of the way but still keep the hollow in their sights. "We'll just watch for awhile, see what happens."

There's a pause before he smirks over to her. "I brought dice. You can lose a few games to me while we wait." Just like old times!

Deadpan, "Gosh, can I." Miya follows with reluctance, chewing on her thumbnail while they put some distance between themselves and the eggs.

No matter how many times L'marin cheats wins at dice, the creature doesn't return, and they while away a parched afternoon. A few non-deformed wherries fly overhead now and then, and fish jump out in the ocean, and there are the occasional shrill cries of birds from the sparse foliage, but nothing interesting happens. They'll have to come back another time, dun dun duuuuun.