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The Fires of Heaven


Date:  August 23, 2002
Place:  Gather Beach of Southern Boll
Game:  PernMUSH
Copyright Info:  The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey 
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

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Kassi's Note:  I'm not sure how well this title fits this log, but it 
was either that or 'Blazing Saddles,' and I think we'd all rather not
think too closely about any similarity between saddles and the things
our protagonists claim are on fire here. ;)  It's a month or two after
I'sai's thirtieth Turnday, and Kassi finally gets around to giving him
his gift--but not before they both attempt to convince Maylia and
Flannery that Telgar's gone up in smoke.  For some odd reason, their
story is not believed.  Imagine that.

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The Log:

From the sky, Taralyth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

From the sky, Taralyth swirls wide-winged through the darkness,
crescent-moon Belior little help; his eyes glow as they reflect the
starlight, brilliant and blue.

Lysseth forms a dark crescent against the moon-bright sand of the beaches,
far enough that the tides shan't endanger *her* recent oiling. Not so
unalert that she notices no newcomer, despite her casual posture: she
raises her long neck to trumpet languid greetings, perhaps to the stars
themselves as well as the owner of star-bright eyes.

From the sky, Taralyth drifts a little longer - and he circles beachward
and down.

Taralyth backwings to a landing.

From the sky, Tierth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

Kassima is, if anything, even more casual than her dragon, nestled against
Lysseth's side in a contented drowse--and with a familiar straw-woven hat
on her head, glass bottles a-twinkling, for all that it's no match for her
suit. "G'deve, g'night, g'day, g'morn, O traveller," she hails the bronze
pair, lifting a wrist to wave even as Lysseth offers a rumble. "Imagine
seeing you here; has the Weyr caught fire, d'you flee the peril?"

Tierth backwings to a landing.

Astride Taralyth's neck, I'sai pauses a moment, leaning high on Taralyth's
neck - and suddenly grins, "Of course it has. The, ah, kitchens. Is where
it started, anyway. Swept over to Starblaze weyrs," never mind that they're
across the bowl, "And the whole place is lit up." A pause to appreciate
that blue-to-violet against pale skin, "You look comfortable. If decorative."

"The *Starblaze* weyrs," Kassi repeats appreciatively. "Oh, good. Wouldn't
do if'n 'twere Skyfire's, despite the name; too close to *ours*, and if'n
Thunderbolt weyrs were burning I'd probably have t'get off the beach and do
something Wingleaderly. Did they have to evacuate? Anyone caught out in
interesting clothing?" Speaking of which: she grins, past a faint reddening
beyond sunburn, and admits, "Katlynn's work. I needed a new suit, after
more Turns than I care t'be thinking on... May! You escaped too!"

"Kat's? And it's not even pink," Is says on a note of surprise. He turns to
share with Maylia, too, as best he can through all of Taralyth's newfound
wing-rustling, "I think it's the name. 'Blaze. Cursed. And no clothing so
much -interesting- as, well, you could smell it from a dragonlength, one of
'em's."

Tierth descends, riding the ocean's wind over the beach and out over the
surf. Far out, where breakers curl and crash, she wheels about to 'surf' on
a crest of wind back to land on shore. "Woo! Nothing like dragon-sized
waves, eh? Escaped?" May unbuckles her straps, preparing to slide down to
the beach. "What're you talking aboouuut? Have to deliver my sweeps report
to my wingleader, and shardit if she isn't lounging on a beach!" Yep, she's
all innocent, isn't she? "Evening, Is!"

Kassima pantomimes scooping up sand to lob at him, though in reality she
throws naught but air. "What, you think anyone would be getting me t'buy a
pink swimsuit? Fie, fie and for shame--nay that Kat didn't want t'go that
route. The color choice was mine, and of black and red or blue and purple,
this is what she was choosing." The wing-rustling earns Taralyth a glance
before she asks, "What was the smelly thing, or shouldn't I be asking...?
Oh, May, we're talking about the horrendous fire that consumes Telgar even
now! It started in the kitchens and then lept to J'lyn's store of pants and
after that all was doomed--so you needn't deliver sweep reports. We'll all
have t'abandon Telgar and move back t'Benden, I'm sure, with it flame-gutted."

Maylia slides to the ground, giving Tierth a parting caress and a tender
smile.

Astride Taralyth's neck, I'sai ducks from even the air - "Well, _buy_...
and the smelly thing was an undershirt or some such. The fellow's lucky
shirt, wears it for Fall, that sort of thing. And ... the pants? I mean,
right, the _pants_. Amazing how the leather smells," and drops down to join
them, rubbing his throat against all that calling-across-distance.

I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

Maylia carries down with her a satchel, and procedes to demonstrate how
prepared she is for delivering sweep reports. Complete with sarong and
bathing suit - but as she's extracting these from the bag, the woman pauses
laugh at the 'news'. Only for a moment, at which point this laughter is
suspended, too, for her to look between the two other riders. "Horrendous
fire? Do tell me that you're joking, right? Not that the destruction of
J'lyn's butless pants would have me in a panic or anything..."

Tyrrath backwings to a landing.

Flannery has arrived.

Flannery waves, having brought a glowbasket all the way from Telgar for the
occasion, as Tyrrath sets down in the sand with a rumble of pleasure at the
warm grains against her hide.

Kassima groans at this very notion, making a show of covering her nose.
"But better that than *L'cher's* underthings, I'm sure of that much, so
I'll be glad after all I never sent him t'Starblaze despite the constant
temptation; now, how fares Taralyth, has he gotten the stench from his
nostrils?" She doesn't even bother to hide a grin at May's equipment, nor
at May's dismay. "Kidding. Would *I* kid about such a thing, May? Would
I'sai? Oh, heyla, Flan! Another one who escaped alive! And a'fore I forget,
speaking of *escapes*...."

I'sai eyes them, "_Some_ people came prepared, swimstuff and all, and..."
he tips his head up at the sound of more dragonwings, focusing on the sight
of the glows, "'Lo to you too! And that's right. Kidding. Can you even
imagine Kassima and I joking about something serious like that." Meanwhile,
Taralyth contrives to look much put-upon, with a few snorts and snuffles
and a few more wing-shakes as if to get rid of more - still-imaginary - smoke.

Flannery blinks once at Kassima as she flops down, taking only time enough
to spread a towel beneath herself as her backside plummets downward.
"What's that, Kassi?" She blinks confusedly at I'sai and Maylia.

Tierth hummmms a soft greeting to the arriving green, before turning her
head to watch those breakers rolling in, frothy white gleaming in the
night. Moments later, she's airborn, and off to enjoy the power of the
ocean. Maylia meanwhile snorts at Kassi and Is, before greeting Flannery.
"That's what you meant by 'escaped', then. From the horrendous fire. It's
levelling Telgar as we speak, apparently Flan, and likely racing across the
continent towards us, so enjoy the evening!"

Lysseth ever-so-kindly snorts amusement towards the bronze, giving her own
wings a quick flip: smoke-free! See what luring your rider to beaches
*early* in the evening gets you? "One should always be prepared," Kassima
replies, serene. "I'm prepared, too, in m'fashion. Oh, Flan, Telgar's been
wiped out by a huge enormous fire that's reduced all J'lyn's buttless pants
as well as some poor man's undershirts to ashes. We're all moving t'Benden!
Have a glass of wine t'celebrate!"

Flannery starts at Maylia's remarks, looking very alarmed indeed. "FIRE?!"
she exclaims, pressing her hand against her cheek in dismay. "WHAT?!" She
clutches at the sand nervously, glancing about, as if trying to decide
whether she should return to the weyr.

Taralyth twitches his tail, now, eyes snortful Lysseth - looks back out
over the water - looks back again, talons curling into the sand - and his
rider winds up hastily unbuckling his straps, just in case. "'Racing across
the continent.' I like that." And, given Flannery's reaction, "Definitely.
It'll probably burn all your... knickknacks. You do have knicknacks?"

Maylia's soon changed garments, into her sweep-reporting outfit. Otherwise
known as a bikini and sarong, but there's no sign of an actual hide or
anything with that report written on it. "Knicknacks and knickerbockers,
likely. You're sure you didn't get yourself singed on the way from the
Weyr?" She might've thought they were serious, too, but now there's fun to
be had!

Lysseth cants her head towards those darkened waves as though in silent
question, much of her earlier lassitude replaced by curiosity; eyes spin a
softly glowing blue, with just a hint of mischief's green. Kassima presses
her lips into a thin line beneath her sunhat to keep from showing any
mirth. "I'sai," she chides, "Flan's knickknacks wouldn't *burn*. They're
cleavers and suchlike! Nay, nay, Flan, fear nay, for we're all safe enough.
Only Starblaze is out weyrs and pants. Thus far. A'course, Dawnslight's
terribly near Starblaze, isn't it... now *there's* a lovely outfit for
formal duty, mentee mine."

Flannery knits her brows in chagrin. "I have a wonderful old wood armoire
that's been in my family since before the Pass!" Her gaze darts from face
to face, her eyes wideneed more with confusion than with fright. "What
/happened/, anyway? I was delivering some 'official announcement scrolls'
for N'var's accession to the other weyrs. Tyrrath told me that her friends
had assembled on Boll's Gather Beach and...well...Here we are." She gives a
small grin.

Flannery hears Kassima's remark and abruptly loses her anxiety over her
knicknacks in a cascade of chortles. "It's true, Kassi! Though our runner
whips will all be burnt to cinders!" Her mouth falls open in mock-dismay.
"I still don't know how the whole thing started..."

I'sai says gravely, "I'm sure someone will rescue the arm-thing. In lieu
of, you know, their own most precious belongings. It's not very heavy, is
it? With all the, ah, cleavers and so forth in the bottom?" He pauses to
drag Taralyth's straps and assorted other gear above the waterline before
shrugging and, why not, stripping down to vest - worn loose - and short
pants; his lifemate plays shield for that last, and so the, "...Ah, runner
whips?" is a little high-pitched, a little muffled.

Maylia tosses her clothes into a little heap, glancing out over the
night-dark ocean to where Tierth dives headfirst into the crest of a wave.
Bubbles and froth rush over the green's back in a whooosh, to leave her
floating in the trough between waves. "You like?" May asks, turning about
like one of the weavercraft models. "Could commission them as Wing
Uniforms, dont' you think? Oh, shells, the whips!" Both hands are raised in
disbelief. "And Kassi! All of your precious *pink* things! We'll just have
to get you more, so don't you fret."

Kassima explains with gusto, "A great fire began in the kitchens; and lo,
the flames did catastrophe forth from thence to reach their glowing tongues
eagerly for the famed buttless pants of our Weyrsecond. From there, the
destruction of Starblaze was inevitable, for buttless pants and fire do nay
go well together; yea, all will soon be lost, and some of us shall return
to our ancient homeland. Thus do I raise a glass in celebratory toast!" And
she does, though her glass is by now long-empty. "*Runner* whips? Oh, do
say on, I didn't know you had any of those! I've only the one small whip
m'self, and--May! Shhh! Don't talk about the pink things, y'know those are
secret!"

I'sai mock-argues, reemerging - but with a hand to Taralyth's neck, just in
case, fore all that it arches in a don't-take-me-for-granted way, "I
thought everyone knew about the pink things. They're practically
notorious." After a pause, "Definitely a wing uniform. Except for L'cher.
I'm sure you wouldn't get at all cold with that at Telgar. Not at all."

Flannery's eyes flicker over I'sai's still-admirable form as he strips, her
lips pursing into a closed grin,before she responds, "Yes, runner whips."
She turns toward the other two women with palms pointed skyward. "You'd
think he'd never heard of runner whips! Runner whips and pink things - what
a tragic loss!" She snickers quietly, then nods comprehension of Kassi's
tale. Oh, the horror, the horror! "The...buttless pants...." she can
scarcely continue. "...are GONE?!"

Kassima spares an appreciative glance of her own, for vest, for pants,
perhaps for both--perhaps even for Taralyth's attitude, which certainly
gets a grin all its own. "*Notorious*. This you must be explaining t'me,
Is. Or 'twill inflict grave horror on you. Nay," she adds, brightening,
"that I haven't grave horror t'inflict on you anyway, don't let me forget.
Oh, May, he has a point--the men of the Wing couldn't wear that at
*Telgar*. They'd... well. Y'know. Shrink." Polite cough. "But for the
*beach*, I could argue it so long as one-piece suits," much like hers, "are
also allowed. Flan, I have t'be asking. What did you use these now scorched
whips *for*? And they're gone! They are gone! Never again shall anyone wear
buttless pants after this, so ill-omened will they be considered after this
destruction!"

Maylia, too, indulges in a long visual appraisal of I'sai as he reappears,
but at Flan's horror, she takes a step in her direction, offering
consolation and empathy. "Oh, Flan, it'll be a horrible shock for the Weyr,
I just don't know how we'll ever regain morale and enthusiasm for life."
Unfortunately the solemnity of this is marred by her absolute inability to
conceal laughter. "Oh, Is, I do agree. The Pink Things are scarcely secret.
But don't you let their loss worry you, they're replacable."

I'sai gives the mention of -shrinking- its own moment of silence - and
certainly such qualms save him from what might have been a blush under the
others' eyes - then, carefully for all the amused light in his eyes, "I
think that grave horrors are pretty commonly inflicted in your illustrious
company, somehow." This last, with a bow around at the three. "And as for
pink, are you implying that Kat should be able to keep a secret? In fact, I
know just the replacement."

Maylia regards Kassi thoughtfully. "Hadn't considered shrinkage, come to
think on it. Not that shrinkage in Thunderbolt is really a concern of mine,
but it would still get rather chilly. Perhaps just have it be a Sweep
Report Uniform. Come back from sweeps, change, then find you to report. We
could make you one in pink?"

Flannery can't seem to stop laughing by this point, and merely leans toward
Kassima's ear, whispering something into it about whips and very young
bronzeriders whose lifemates are too large for the entrance to her weyr to
offer their riders any defense... Amid further chuckles and snorts, she
hangs a hand from Maylia's shoulder, her head bobbing quickly. "I've been
wanting to do some cleaning, after all! Perhaps this will get rid of the
/dust/ in my weyr." She then addresses I'sai with that halo floating
daintily above her head. "Oh, Unspeakable Horrors, I'sai. Unspeakable." She
winks, then dissolves in laughter again.

Kassima's grin broadens, if anything, at the silence, as if she guesses its
source. "Well, naturally," she replies at her airiest. "Are we nay
greenriders? And I didn't mean *those* pink--nevermind. Do speak more of
this replacement, I entreat you?" As she speaks, she braces her palms
against the sand to push herself up, the tiny bottles dangling from her
hat's brim swaying to and fro at the motion. "We don't want the men t'make
the Wing *look* bad," Kassi says to May while padding towards where
Lysseth's straps have been set. "Couldn't have the rest of Pern mocking us,
especially given that our men are *supposed* t'be the most virile. Perish
the thought of pin--" Having paused to hear Flannery's whisper, she seems
caught between a reddening and choking on laughter, and finds it a good
time to stoop and rummage through pouches.

"...Then I really shouldn't ask you to speak of them," I'sai says rather
thankfully, blissfully oblivious of anyone being too large for anything -
Taralyth leaves him to the wolves via swivelling on his haunches and
bounding towards the water - "'Sweep report uniform.' You should, surely.
With hats, or are those just for Kassi?"

Maylia hoots with laughter at what little she hears of Flan's scenario,
being well able to imagine the words to fill in the blanks. Still laughing,
and leaning slightly towards Flannery, she suggests, "I have the oddest
feeling that Is is about to experience the true meaning of unspeakable
horror?"

I'sai interjects, "Not. Definitely not," quite as if it would help.

Flannery leans back in the sand, shaking out her grayed auburn locks. She
murmurs to Maylia, "Oh, May -- it isn't that I /took advantage/ of my
position as an assistant weyrlingmaster. But some of those weyrlings, after
Lysseth's flight...well. *ahem*" She flicks her fingers through the sand
once, then rubs her fingernails against her coller, whistling once. Growing
only slightly more serious, she then offers, "But shells. It's a WEYR, for
Faranth's sake! It's solid rock. No fire's going to get very far in there.
I think most of our things are safe." She says this last with an air of
authority. She has closed her eyes and is waggling one crossed leg over the
other.

Lysseth watches the bronze's defection with amusement, though she seems
content to remain upon the sands herself. Someone, after all, must protect
her rider while she unleashes the Unspeakable Horror. Returning to the
group with a rather large and evidently heavy bundle, wrapped tastelessly
in white cloth splashed with black and bronze and bowed at either end with
green ribbon, she reminds, "I still want t'know about these *replacements*.
And perhaps I should be the only one with a hat, as mark of
Wingleaderness--if'n that's so, though, I'll have t'give Leya and T'kar
headbands or some such thing." She blinks then. "Flan... are you saying yet
*more* Weyrlings went off t'be iniquitous after that flight? Bright shells
and dearest shards, how many does this make it?"

Flannery has closed her eyes, and is now heard to snore lightly. I think
we've lost her.

I'sai manfully refrains from backing up a step, or from hiding behind
Flannery, "Are your drink-bottles, ah, full? As in, still full? I could see
them in headbands. And about the fire, Flan, you just go on and believe..."
He clears his throat. "Shhhh." Meanwhile, Tear's all prancing amidst the
froth, wings up and tail quirky, headknobs tilted every which way.

Kassima admits, rather woefully, "Some have begun t'be quite near empty,
'tis nay shameful? I need t'be brewing some sort of refill... but there are
a few left yet. Being saved for a special occasion and all. Taralyth seems
in terribly good spirits?" For a moment, the rider seems as amused by the
bronze's display as her dragon, peering past the others to watch. "--But I
mustn't forget m'self. I'sai. A time ago, some months by now, I believe you
had a *Turnday*."

"Brewing refills? Don't let Isak help you - he's gotten to..." I'sai
pauses; Taralyth doesn't, still putting on that show that's born from sheer
delight in _play_ with the water, with the tropics-warm air, with life.
"That age." The age of blowing things up, it seems. "And, yes. Turnday.
Have had several, though not recently and..." he stops nattering in favor
of just clearing his throat. "You'd have had yours already, by the by, were
it not that the harper's, well. Late."

"The twins," Kassi reports dryly, eyes still half on the prancing bronze,
"are *still* at that age. And may always be, at this rate. So you've
m'certain sympathies." Lysseth deigns to stretch out of her crescent, the
better to give the appearance of attentive audience. Kassi flicks an amused
glance at her lifemate, then refocuses on Is with some surprise. "Mine?
Shells, y'didn't have to, though I never say nay t'gifts--the belatedness
of this is t'be laid at the foot of the Crafters too, a bit. At least Kiss
got hers t'you in better time." Considering the bundle, she extends it in
offer to him. A bit more quietly, "It's been a time since we last exchanged
gifts, I know. I do hope this might make up for some of the lack, or at
least be a good fresh starting point. And I promise 'twill nay leap out of
its wrappings and gnaw your head off, however much it wants to."

The corner of May's mouth curls a little into a half-grin, and Flan's
answered with a flippant, "Weyrlings? What're those? Why would I be upset
about an assistant weyrlingmaster corrupting them with whips and cleavers
and such?" The thought of that is dismissed with a shrug, before the
package for Is attracts her attention.

I'sai can't help but chuckle - and glance toward Maylia, mother of one of
the other children from that same night as Isaki's - and perhaps it's her
comment that contributes to his refocusing in more seriousness, with a hint
of a twist to his mouth. "Appreciated." He even accepts the package without
poking it, though his fingers drum lightly on its surface as if he'd -like-
to. "It's all right to open it here? Nothing likely to get lost in the sand
or, or whatever?"

Kassima slants a look towards May. Her eyes are laughing. "I can't think of
a *single* reason," she assures most gravely before turning her attention
back forward. "I'd say t'be a bit careful, but aye, you can be opening it
here. 'Tis certes too big t'lose. Just watch it doesn't fall to the sand,
hmm?"


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To:        I'sai
Subject:   Gift Desc. :)
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	Slender, it is, and of small size as tapestries go, for it is a shade
under half a man's height and little more than a foot in width;
nevertheless, it is vividly-colored and well made enough to be no cheap or
demure hanging. The Star Stones of Telgar take up the greatest part of it
with their familiar formation. They are appropriately named at this hour:
the sky is woven in lush black threads, with only the faintest hints of
blue; white glints sparkle above them, bright against the seemingly
cloudless sky... though none are as eye-catching as the Red Star itself,
set in autumnal position and its color the same crimson as blood. Though a
dusting of early snow tops the Stones, a certain champagne bronze dragon
has nevertheless chosen them as his perch--for watchriding? For stargazing?
To keep an eye on that ancient enemy of his kind as it glitters overhead?
It could be any of these reasons; yet whichever, his eyes gleam blue, and
his relaxed posture speaks of peace. The scene is bordered by a pattern of
diamonds: Telgar Weyr's sigil appears most frequently, alternating with
those of the Harpercraft, Bakercraft, and Benden Hold which have likewise
been set into diamonds rather than their accustomed circles or shields. At
each of the four corners, the black-within-red sigil of Benden Weyr puts in
its own appearance.

	Wind to thy wings,
	Kassima, green Lysseth's rider and Thunderbolt Wingleader, Telgar Weyr.

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I'sai's careful, careful indeed, wedging it awkwardly across his knee as he
undoes the wrapping - wedging its ties into one pocket meanwhile - and
finally unfurls what proves to be a tapestry; looking it over, he mutters
something about needing Tear's eyes to do it justice, before finally making
his way with it towards Flannery's glows. It's then that he whistles, low
and soft. "That's..." He pauses. "Nobody's ever, not a _tapestry_; and _he_
says they got the arch in his neck, so that's good, that's great."

Kassima follows after silently, not saying anything, only watching for his
reaction--which brings the slow curve of a relieved smile across her
features when given. "'Twas at a loss for what t'get you for a time;
clothes, jewelry, glassware I've already done, even a knife if'n you count
that of mine you kept. So I thought this might suit... only it took longer
t'be done than I anticipated. D'you like it then? Both of you?"

"Yes, yes," I'sai says almost impatiently, even as he scrutinizes the fine
stitchery, runs one hastily-wiped fingertip ever so delicately over the
threads that rise in relief. Only after a while does he think to look up
and reassure, "Of _course_, Kassi. This is splendid."

Kassima seems a bit taken aback by the impatience, rocking back a bit on
her heels and falling into silence while he examines. "I hoped so," she
said finally, "so relieved I am the hope was nay misplaced." She does seem
reassured, if still faintly surprised. Tilting her head, she offers a smile
to him and says, "Happy Turnday, old friend--even if'n the sentiment's just
a *wee* bit late."

I'sai explains, "Was busy looking at it, see," and most carefully re-rolls
it against any sandy mishaps. "I'd better keep it with me as safeguard
against any, what were they, drastic encounters? accidents? Something." He
hesitates, and his smile is starlit, star-light; "I suppose it has been
over fourteen Turns, hasn't it? Somehow it seems like just the other day
that I was a candidate, listening to you and Kindre and the story of
Slitherith."

"If'n any greenriders here or otherwise should inflict Unspeakable Horrors
on that, 'twill be inflicting Unspeakable Horrors back on them," Kassi
vows, half-laughing, "but I don't think 'twould; still, you never know who
*else* might. We aren't the only masters of Unspeakable Horror extant." The
smile wins one of equal measure from her, white with the moonlight that
gives her eyes their sparkle. "Fourteen Turns since that, and nigh eleven
since we first truly knew each other as friends, if'n memory serves--though
I can scarce credit it. It *doesn't* seem so long. And we never did get a
story from you, you ran out when 'twas supposed t'be your turn."

I'sai makes a show of holding up the now-furled tapestry in front of him,
as shield - "'Unspeakable Horror.' 'Unspeakable Horror.' 'Unspeakable
Horror.' Will remember. And ... and of course I ran out." He nods, firmly.
"That's my role in life," though the smile tilts a little, there.
"...'That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.'"

Kassima cautions with upraised finger, "Don't say the words too many times,
or you'll bring one down on your head. Mark me. Though why I'm trying
t'*keep* a bronzer from Unspeakable Horror, I really couldn't fathom."
Slanting a look at him, she quirks one mouth corner in something too wry to
really be humor, at the same time of the tilting; "Yet," she points out,
"for all of that supposed running, I note you've done a terrible job of
actually getting *away*. Still here--and you've suffered your share of
horrors. Those overalls I still remember. What d'you think the next horror
should be?"

I'sai teases, "Because I'm still holding the tapestry?" before adding,
"Something not too horrorific. Not with Taralyth sparkling all delighted
blue in my head... would rather watch him, and the waves," and once he's
settled his would-be shield where it won't be injured, pulls up Tear's
straps nigh to her blanket, and follows suit by sitting.

[Editor's Note:  At this point, I'sai had to go, so the log ends.]