0001-03-09 - Checking In

It's midday when Sreyoth descends on the feeding pens, the first time she's seen fit to eat since arriving to their new home. She's a precise, deliberate hunter, and her prey doesn't suffer more than a few moments of totally normal, natural terror before all is peaceful again. Lanelle is here, but she's not watching her lifemate settle over her food. Instead the young blonde is leaning against the fence and picking at the dirt that found its way under her nails at some point during the course of her day so far.

Zhareth descends not long after the young gold’s arrival. Coincidence? Maybe. But likely not. He lets his rider down near the fence, careful to keep enough of a distance from Lanelle so she isn’t on the receiving end of a large gust of wind. The bronze doesn’t immediately take off again to chase down his own meal; he’s giving Sreyoth her room, too. He stays crouched there like the predator he is, biding his time.

J’rias saunters right on over, calling out in a friendly way, “Hey there. How’s it going? Settling in?”

Sreyoth pays no attention to the bronze as he lands. She's hungry, distracted, and her sire is just not very interesting as bronzes go.

Lanelle looks up, though, tracking J'rias' sauntering as he invites himself over to join her. She offers a brief smile of acknowledgement as she turns to rest her arms against the fence, lifting one foot onto the lowest rail. "Well enough," she assures him, slightly rehearsed in the way of someone who has probably been asked questions along those lines a lot recently. "You're probably doing fine with a whole wing of familiar faces, hm?"

J’rias stands a few feet distant, back against the fence, elbows resting on the top rail, and head turned towards Lanelle when he answers her. “Well. Change isn’t ever easy, and you can bet that not everyone’s thrilled about it. At least we didn’t arrive in dead summer. I’d have an uprising on my hands.” His tone’s easy, but wry. “I don’t expect you thought you’d get traded away so soon.”

Lanelle's attention stays focused on the bronzerider, head turned mostly in his direction even if she's looking at some middle distance rather than directly at him. "No," she agrees with a half-hearted shrug about whatever expectations she'd had. If she'd had any at all. "Have you been here during summer before? Is it really that bad?"

J’rias looks off to the pens then, watching Sreyoth feed. “A few times. Honestly, I’ll take the dry heat over humidity. Ista’s great in the winter, but summers...” Lanelle can fill in the rest. “Never lived anywhere but Fort, though. Born and raised in that Weyr. Never thought we’d leave.” He says it calmly enough, whatever he might feel about tucked away beneath his affable exterior.

"It never really felt like home," Lanelle admits, glancing out toward Sreyoth in turn. "Lived in Fort Hold most of my life, and that didn't really feel like home, either. She feels like home." She can even say it while wrinkling her nose at the current sight of the young gold in all her feeding glory, crunching contentedly on a weight-bearing bone. "I'm sorry your wing got caught up in all of it." Of course she feels responsible, why wouldn't she?

Zhareth finally lifts off the ground, as sudden as a dragon of his size can be. He makes for the far end of the pens, giving Sreyoth a wide berth before he dives in for the kill.

“We’ll be fine. It’s easier for a wing, I think. It must be harder for you, when it’s just you and your queen.” J’rias glances over again, thoughtful in his regard of this much younger woman. “Hopefully this place will become a home for you, in time. You do have us, those of us who came with you. And you’ve got a few clutchmates, at least. I made sure the wing still had a few of you before we left.”

The bronze in what are basically her feeding pens right now does draw Sreyoth's attention away from her kill for several moments, but his presence must be acceptable because she doesn't even rumble at him before she's back on task.

"Assuming they don't trade me to High Reaches," presumably the worst place Lanelle can think of off hand, "before the turn is over." She doesn't sound bitter so much as helpless, and she seems to realize it a few moments after she's said it. "Sorry. Thank you. Really. I do appreciate that they're here." Whether they appreciate it or not is another matter.

“They wanted you here to begin with.” J’rias says it as earnestly as possible. “They’re not going to trade you away.” He sounds certain enough, even though he’s not one of the decision-makers. “Look — if you ever feel like you want to talk and just need someone to listen. We’re here with you in all this, you know? You’re not alone.”

Lanelle takes a deep breath, as she nods her head, recomposing herself before she risks having too many feelings where someone else might see them. "Right. Thank you, sir." She even manages another smile, if still a little tight, over at J'rias. "I'll try not to wear out my welcome too quickly." That's lighter in tone.

“Just J’rias,” says the bronzerider with a grin. “No one calls me anything else.” He shades his eyes to look out at Zhareth, now ripping meat from bone. “You’ll be fine. Give it time.” He turns to scrabble over the fence, Bowl-side, and says, “I’m going to go get something to drink, while he’s eating. Take care, Lanelle.”