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A Three Hour Search


Date:  June 19, 2001
Places:  Telgar Weyr's Southern Bowl, Skyspace, and Hot Springs; 
Weavercraft's Skyspace, Landing Fields, and Great Hall
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:  Just sit right back and you'll read a tale, a tale of 
a fateful trip... or something like one, anyway:  I'sai and Taralyth,
with Kassi and Lyss in tow, head to the Weavercraft to make a most
surprising commission and pick up an extra treat along the way.  
Afterwards, the dragons take advantage of a rare chance to indulge in
a little harmless--if yelp-inducing--fun.

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The Log:

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth flits glittering thought her way,
invitation - if she's nothing better to do than accompany -him-, at least;
Boll's jungle heat, or budding Fort, one or the other... unless it's both.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth, bored, focuses readily enough on the
glitter of thought; bats at it once with a feline-esque paw--why, no,
nothing better that she can think of (beyond watch 'Reachian bronzes hit on
greens; and she can do that any time), but would there be time for sunning
in the jungle, she wonders? (Mmm, sun, actual *sun*, different from the
rather wimpy attempt at heat that *Telgar's* makes--)

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth sends sweet assent - and the
implication that the sooner they get there, the sooner they'll sun! - even
as the glitter bounce-bounce-rebounds against imaginary jungle-trunks.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth distracts herself from the
distracting dazzling of the hi-bounce glitter--agrees slyly, merrily, that
perhaps she might manage to be woebegone and abused enough to drag her
rider from the endless rounds of work; just a moment, she'll manage
sufficient sniffling. She's *crafty*, you see.

You leave the workroom and head out into the bowl.

Kassima emerges from the Workroom staring at her dragon, who's suddenly
attempting to look very pitiful--right down to the dragon-sized sniffling.
"You are a force of evil in this world," the greenrider solemnly pronounces
before reaching, with resignation, for the flying straps.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth believes it - doesn't even argue it,
for all the delight of -that- - and shares that he'll seek that so-crafty
one an especially sunny place, just a few wingbeats up and... _there_.

You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly.
You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered
foreleg.

<*> Lysseth spreads her wings to their full extent, bringing them down with
a rush of wind as she leaps nimbly into the air.

You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the bowl floor
to carry you aloft.

<*> From the north, Taralyth speeds up, up, till the air's thin and cool
about him - and then he disappears.

<*> From the north, Taralyth disappears into Between.

The rim of the bowl falls away from you and you soar into the open skies.

<*> Lysseth disappears into Between.

Between
You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear
nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...
Black...
Blacker...
Blackest!

You suddenly emerge...

<*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

<*> Lysseth darts from the depths of *between* with two chilled wingbeats
and a pleased, smug-toned trill: did she not say she would manage it?
Didn't she? And oh, a rumble for the watchdragon while she's at it; mustn't
forget that.

<*> Taralyth sketches easy spirals in the humid air, angling wistfully
toward the beach distant beyond - but his rider hails so-clever Lysseth
with a wave, and that's all the ascent he's lent before drifting down
towards those fields. Those un-bovine-tenanted, un-beach-lapped _fields_.

<*> Taralyth wings down into the fields of the WeaverCraft Hall.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth wonders rather wistfully as to whether
Lysseth might managed to tug the ocean up -here- while she's at it -

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth must send her regrets: she would try
for him, she would indeed, only that water is so difficult to get a *hold*
on--

You wing down into the fields of the WeaverCraft Hall.

<*> Taralyth flutters a passing breath toward the firelizard, then settles
back to a crouch as his rider slips down; he's eyeing the fields, tail
lapped about his paws, _waiting_. Soon the waters will come. He knows it.

<*> I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

<*> Lysseth is coaxed to a landing in these grassy lands with little
difficulty, for all the lack of water and lack of her ability to bring it;
she's settling into her sprawl even as her rider disembarks with a matching
wave to Taralyth and his. "*You* are also a force of evil in this world,"
the bronze is sternly informed.

You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles,
cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully.

And said bronze's eyes sparkle the more for it, glimmers of aqua and
ultramarine within the deep, deep blue hue: I'sai laughs, "You just wait,"
and while Taralyth watches, he beckons her - rider, not dragon - inside.

I'sai steps through the doors into the great hall.

Kassima makes a face after I'sai--and, for all of his wickedness, offers
Taralyth's muzzle a caress in passing--before following whence beckoned.
Yea, though she walks through the Fields of the shadow of Weavers, she
shall fear no evil, because the bronzer will run into any evil *first*.

You move through the doors into the great hall.

Lysseth> Taralyth accepts it, too, as he rarely does, and sits the more
smugly - expectantly - for it. Waiting. Staring. _Staring_. Water? He'll be
waiting.

Nuala is sitting at one of the long tables putting the finishing stitches
on a sweater. "Weaver's duties," she greets the two riders politely.

I'sai holds the door for her, too, though he's also quick to reply,
"Afternoon, Craftm - Master. How's the Hall?"

Nuala chuckles. "Quiet as usual, though it's nice to not be responsible for
such. I hope your flight was a pleasant one?"

Lysseth> Lysseth settles herself into sphinx-like serenity not far away.
She won't hold her breath, personally, but should he bring the many waters
rushing in... why, she'll applaud his prowess for certain.

Kassima steps in the held door with a flashes smile and murmur of
gratitude, bobbing her head to Nuala once she's within. "Duties to the
Weavercraft and her Masters," echoes she. "I hope the day finds you well?"

"Quite, thank you - if quick; they were impatient for the nice warm sun,"
I'sai assures. "The good wingleader here is in need of a ... a top, I
suppose you could say; a blouse," and turns such a sunny, trust-me sort of
smile on Kassima, to whom he'd hope this is a surprise.

Kassima adds as a slightly sheepish afterthought, "The flight was well;
quick, with Taralyth coaxing Lyss out into the sun and her sniffling at me
until I acceded--what Is said, in other words." At least, *part* of what Is
said; the other half garners a blink that's surprised indeed. And slightly
worried. There's something about trust-me smiles from this particular
individual.... "If'n you say so," she equanimably if confusedly agrees.

Nuala looks between the two and chuckles. "It does indeed," she tells
Kassima. "A blouse?" She sets her knitting aside. "What kind were you
thinking of?"

Lysseth> Taralyth'd no doubt give her the credit - or, at the least, share
- but as it is he's still staring, sparkling-eyed, and if it's possible for
those lean lines to seem more smug, he -does-.

Kassima turns to I'sai for the answer to that one, raising eyebrows.

Savanna strolls in from the inner courtyard.

I'sai promptly recites, quite as if this were -planned-: "Sleeveless.
Simple. Reversible. The sort of thing one might wear next to the skin. One
neckline veed; the other rounded, so it can be worn either way... show her
how low you want it, Kassi, please?"

Lysseth> Lysseth eyes the smugness he radiates with great curiousity, so
much so that it drives her to inch closer--to try and see *what* he sees in
his staring that enthralls him so.

Nuala motions Savanna towards her. "Have you a bit of hide and a pencil? "

"Reversible," Kassi echoes. "I didn't know they could *do*--oh, well,
a'course, reversible," so as not to break her cover, don't you know. "I
suppose... oh... about here?" She makes a vague gesture hip-wards, adding
wisely, "So it could be tucked in, y'know. Or nay. Depending on what seemed
fitting." She greets Savanna with a quick smile and wiggle of fingers.

Savanna walks through the hall carrying a small bolt of black linen. She
sees Master Nuala speaking with guests and nods quickly at her question
when she hears it. "Aye Master Nuala, one moment." She lowers the bolt and
pulls a hide scrap and a pencil from her pocket and holds it out for the
Master. "Here you go, Master Nuala."

Nuala motions for Savanna to write down what I'sai has just said.
"Sleeveless. Simple.Reversible. The sort of thing one might wear next to
the skin. One neckline veed; the other rounded, so it can be worn either
way...Kassima was going to show...yes. About there." She motions to Kassima.

I'sai can't help but tease, after a smiling nod with which to greet the
apprentice, "The neckline cut down to there? My, my - anyway, so it's black
sisal on one side, finished so it's slippery-smooth but tight enough a
weave so it won't snag, and the other side the velvet of a good Benden
red... or was it the other way around? No, think Ais said this way."

I'sai adds, somewhat hopefully, "And it can't cost too much."

Lysseth> Taralyth narrows his wings to his sides - see, there's room, or at
least there's -more- room... - and keeps looking; only, now he's eyeing the
entrance to the shaded hall inside. Perhaps the water will come from in
there. It could happen.

"I'sai! I meant how long the *shirt* is," Kassi hastily protests, turning,
yes, a nice shade of rose. "I didn't mean the *neck*--Faranth's teeth, I'd
look like... like a proddy greenrider." Imagine *that*. In an undertone,
"Ah-hah, so this is *Ais's* plot... nay, nay, couldn't be too extravagant.
Though I've probably enough t'be making up any difference, should it be
necessary."

Savanna blinks then grins as she starts writing. She manages a quick,
"Duties," to the two riders and follows as fast as she can. Next to her
writings she adds a little drawing also. She finds she doesn't have enough
room on the scrap and hunts around her pocket for some more scraps. She
finds one folded piece with a drawing of a vtol flying low over a meadow.
She frowns and uses the clean side. Her head lifts as she awaits more
instructions.

Lysseth> Lysseth stealths up next to him, leaving just enough room to not
violate his personal space--assuming his personal space stops an inch or
two away from the bounds of his wings. Many waters cannot quench
curiousity, and neither can the floods drown it.

"Ours," I'sai claims, with a small sniff. "Both of ours." He angles over a
step to try and peek over Savanna's shoulder at that hide-scrap, make sure
she's gotten it right; "Think that'd be terribly difficult?"

Savanna grins and answers, "No Sir, though the cut here," she lifts the
scrap to show I'sai the cut along the neck and sleeves, "might prove
challenging. In the end, it would look wonderful." She quickly finishes the
sketch, shading in where applicable and using bold strokes for the outline.
She holds it up so Kassi can see also. "Is this what you were thinking?"

Kassima dutifully agrees, "Both of yours, a'course," with a concilatory pat
at his shoulder. "Terribly kind of you, and terribly sweet, though nay
necessary--people don't usually get me things at random--" Standing on
tip-toe, she peeks at the hide from an angle. "Should be quite lovely," she
observes. "Nay that I'm biased for those colors or aught, mind you. It
looks good t'me... what about you, Is? Is it what *'twere* thinking?"

"No, not at all - that is, not _biased_ at all; it is what I'm thinking...
except no sleeves, it's sleeveless, just joined at the shoulder, hm?" and
with that I'sai slants sharp eyes at her: "And with that simplified, is it
journeyman work, or could an apprentice such as yourself do the crafting?"

The girl, Savanna, gets all puffy and stands up straight. "I can certainly
make this Sir," she says proudly. "Even if we were to remove the sleeves
and connect," she points with her pencil end at the shoulder, "these to
here, I can do that." Her nod is used to emphasis her point.

"What are you thinking?" Kassi asks Is in a murmur just barely loud enough
to be overheard. "I know that look; you're thinking *something*." She turns
her head to scan the drawing anew while leaving him to answer, adding, "Are
sleeveless blouses more difficult, then?"

I'sai returns in like tone - at least in quietness; it's certainly teasing
- "I know it's rare that I should be thinking, but this one time..." and
turns pale eyes on the apprentice. "What she asked. And what's your name,
by the by, so we know who to ask for when we, ah, come back?"

Savanna says is the very same soft tone, not sure why she is speaking that
way except that maybe the murmur is catching. "My name is Savanna, Sir," to
I'sai and, "Ma'am," to Kassi. "Apprentice Savanna," she adds as an
afterthought.

Kassima teases in return, "So rare that 'tis almost as big a rare treat as
aught in this entire trip." She reaches for her braid to give it a tug.
"Kassima," she hastily corrects. "Or Kassi. Take your pick, but *never*
ma'am; that's for old and respectable people. Which probably means you
shouldn't call him 'sir' either, though if'n he wants you to... well met,
Apprentice."

"Oh, I don't mind in the least," says I'sai, light as anything, after a
broadened smile at the mention of the treat. "Though I don't know that it's
fair, since the good wingleader ranks me... Glad to meet you in any case,
Savanna - though you look a bit familiar; 'meet again'? And I think I
missed it, if you'd said whether sleeveless blouses were more difficult
than not."

Lysseth> For her, that space's right along those bounds, not so much as a
breath away - for Taralyth knows he _could_ still fly, if need be, and that
curiosity's strong as Fall; nay, stronger, for floods'd drown -it-.
Speaking of floods: he snorts towards the hall's door, none-too-quiet
imperative.

Savanna can't help but smile in return and says, "Well met," to both
riders. And it's back to business with I'sai's inquiry. "I find that it's a
matter of skill really." A shrug and the pencil goes to her lips as she
thinks. Three soft taps against her lower lip, then she continues, "Some
folks have problems making the connection smooth along the edges. I never
had that problem." She uses her pencil to trace the sleeveless piece. "So
either way is fine by me," she says with a smile directed at both riders.

Lysseth> Nor would she dream of restricting his flight, much though she
might appreciate the extra bounds--even brushing the edge of his wing with
the edge of hers, perhaps by accident and perhaps by design but warm enough
either way. Lysseth's muzzle tips towards that door: what waits, that he
commands?

I'sai listens studiously enough - and when Savanna's done speaking, turns
an approving look to the greenrider, "She didn't try to use it as a way of
bargaining up, either. Do you want sleeves? If you want 'em, you can have
'em, and Taralyth'll just have to wait."

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth envisions a tunnelsnake - a freckled
tunnelsnake, it must be noted - huddled away within the rock, -just- where
a paw can't quite reach, much as it may swipe - matter-of-factly, << We
should just take her and be done with it. >>

Kassima crinkles her nose at him, the corners of her mouth turning up
further. "You *wouldn't*. I promise you, though, that 'twill nay be
offended if'n *you* want t'be thought old or respectable. Or perhaps I
should just say 'old.' You'll never pass for the other." Tease, tease, no
seriousness at all. "You certes sounds confident," the greenrider quips to
the Apprentice. "A good thing, mayhaps... oh, I can do without; I've nay
sleeveless blouses yet, 'twould make it unique. Nay that 'tisn't already!
Only," back to the bronzerider, "what's he waiting for?"

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth gives that tunnelsnakes blue eyes and
a thatch of sunlit hair, until-- << Her? >> Surprise there. << I don't
think your paw would fit in there, but perhaps she would be lured out? >>
An idea takes form in the mental image of Taralyth waving a sticky-sweet
pastry in front of the Great Hall's door.

Lysseth> Taralyth noses at his paw, but lo, it does not shrink - and no
doubt he'd be much disturbed if it _had_ -

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth regards this -stickiness- and places
it in his rider's paw, er, -hand-, well-sheltered by a pristine white
cloth. After all, that hand'll touch dragonhide.

Savanna makes a notation on her hide then asks simply. "Was the material
decided on?" The original hide comes out of her pocket and she reads off
her notes, her lips moving silently. After a moment she says, "Reversible
with a 'v' cut and a rounded cut on the collar." A soft hmm then, "So you
want two blouse?" she asks with one eye closed as her mind races. "Cotton?"

Lysseth> Lysseth could try? She's willing to aim a nose-nudge at the paw in
question, to see whether she might possess the magical power he lacks.
Alas, alas, for cruel reality.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth allows as dragonhide, smudged with
sticky sweetness, lacks the allure of that which is clean (and fresh-oiled,
better yet); but then his rider would have to be *outside*, would he not?

"Positive? Well, a man can dream of respectability, a hearth and a craft -
and he's waiting for me to complete my business. Our business. Something
like that." I'sai shrugs one-shouldered, then replies, "One blouse; and
something that isn't scratchy. She might be wearing it under things that
are, after all; gets cold Telgar-way, sweaters're good. If not cotton,
something as soft and no more costly, hm? Sisal, or a blend, might be
better for the dark side."

Lysseth> Taralyth manfully proffers that paw - only, it's wavering,
waiting, perhaps a smidgeon anxious for all those sharp claws.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth sends suddenly-cheerful agreement:
what a good idea she has! All the better that his rider be outside too.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth adds after a moment, rather fondly, 
<< And then he will be more spotty. >>

"Tight-woven sisal for the black and velvet for the red, wasn't it?" Kassi
reminds, a bit of mischief in her sidelong look at He Who Will Be Giving
the Marks. "Though if'n you've changed your mind on that, why, cotton's
fine as well. Warm, soft. I don't recall your weyr having a hearth, I'sai?"
She'll not comment on the dark side, though those mouth-corners quirk a bit
further.

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth makes a modest moue; consider her
inspired, that's all. And for all that his rider isn't water, << That's a
fine--spotty? >>

Lysseth> Lysseth gently, carefully nuzzles at that paw, the claws; without,
it must be added, any streams of blood suddenly ensuing from cuts to mar
those pretty talons. Such a shame that would be.

"Cotton velvet, right," I'sai says. "If the Hall has a length of those
already, Savanna, to be sliced and sewn?" More ruefully, "-Very- funny. But
no, no hearth, not as such; just that little smith-toy of a stove."

Lysseth> Rolan wanders up the path, towards the hall.

Lysseth> Taralyth'd been investigating first the hall's entrance - and then
his paw, with very swiftly whirling eyes indeed; though he flexes it
beneath its nuzzling, it doesn't change size. Just as well. In any case,
though, the pair of them block the entrance to the Hall proper, unless a
certain trader has the special password...

Lysseth> Lysseth retreats from her unsuccessful attempt at magic with a
regretful sigh: she failed him first with the water, then with his paw;
what's the world coming to? Which isn't to say she retreats, to make any
passage *easy*. He who would cross to the Hall of Peril must answer she
these questions three!

Lysseth> Rolan looks up at the Dragons "Good evening."

A soft cough tries to hide the chuckle that Savanna couldn't help but do
after I'sai's comment about the dark side. Then a soft clearing of the
throat and she's almost back to her old self, though who could not be
changed after meeting these two riders. Is there a soft flush of excitment
to her cheeks? "We have some in stock, Sir..er I'sai, Sir," she stumbles
only slightly. "But what sort of red...of black?" Her eyes turn to Kassi,
studying the woman professionally for a few beats before suggesting, "Maybe
a deep Benden red wine velvet and a Crom blackstone black cotton?" She
slowly starts to nod. "I think they would look wonderful," she says with
her eyes still on the woman.

Lysseth> Taralyth carefully tries curling up his paw, so that the talons
curve hidden beneath: now it's sort of as if it's smaller, isn't it? and
shifts sparkling eyes between dragon and trader. And warbles, half in
acknowledgement, half in question deferred to Lysseth: did that count?

Lysseth> Rolan says "Mind if I get by?"

Kassima manages not to fidget under this scrutiny, somehow, though her toe
does scuff against the floor; she turns again to Is for the answer to that,
gesturing submission: "His decision 'tis, since he's the most generous
giver of gifts."

Lysseth> Lysseth eyes the paw, eyes the door. Is it small *enough*? That's
the question, as enthralling as the other, which is answered by a shrug of
wings. Works for her if it works for him.

I'sai, turned to, drifts a vague wave: "Right, that kind of velvet,
whatever it's made of... and the kind of black sounds good - only, how's
that different from other kinds of black? - as long as it's got that
sort-of shiny, but not completely shiny, and really smooth bit going. And
holds up after a wash, which I'm not sure that pure cotton'd do, compared
to cotton-sisal. And of course she'd look wonderful, though her real
jewel's a smile." Pause. Plaintively: "Does that count all right as praise,
or flattery, or whatever? V'yal says I'm learning, even if he -does- laugh;
it's not nearly as good as the generous-giver-gifts bit."

Lysseth> It does work, evidently, for Taralyth sleeks back onto his
haunches quite as if he'd meant to all along, and noses at the air by Rolan
as encouragement: go in, and get 'em out.

Lysseth> Lysseth follows-the-leader and steps aside gracefully, graciously:
let him pass by the guardians, for lo, he hath passed their tests. Or maybe
they're just bored with guarding. Either works in the end.

"It counts quite well, and quite effectively," Kassima agrees, displaying
that jewel broadly--by which, let it be clear, we mean the smile. "Some
other time, I'll ask you why you're taking lessons."

Savanna's head sort of wobbles as she listens to Isai. "Crom black is very
black with a hint of shiny and in velvet it's poetry, and in cotton," she
shrugs slightly, "it would be just as good with a sisal mix then the shiny
would stand out, especially if the sisal was beaten." A loose bit of black
hair slips from her braid which she starts to play with absently, "There
are more blacks than you can imagine." She smiles, "Think of the center of
a storm, the edge of your sight, the depths of the sea, the center twilight
and the sands of Ista." The smile turns into a grin. "But Crom blackstone
is the blackest of the blacks and the brightest also." She sounds sure of
herself. "I can send a piece to you to make certain that it is what you
desire," she offers to I'sai.

Lysseth> Rolan tries to squeeze past jumbolizzies.

"Speaking of lessons - but some other time, yes," I'sai amiably agrees, not
-so- unlike how he'd agreed earlier that day. "He -is- impatient, though
I'm thinking the ocean may have to wait..." but then it's he who waits,
listens in silence as Savanna recounts the saga of -black-. A glance to
green and canted eyes, then; and, "We might just have to do that. Thing is,
Kassima's a busy woman, and though it shouldn't require much fitting - how
well do you travel, Savanna? Ever flown dragonback, and if you did, did
you, er. Throw up?"

You sense I'sai glances, mostly to get the sense of how -she'd- felt about
that black - but also to mouth, 'Search.'

"Poor Taralyth. Let me know if'n there's aught I can do t'make it up t'him,
lest he hold this impatience against me later." Kassima, too, listens;
listens with great interest, as might be expected, and if her brows arch
and eyes gleam back into dark-rimmed blue... why, there could be many
reasons. "It certes sounds an intriguing color," hs her vocal comment. "And
I do think that sounds like an excellent solution. Assuming the Masters
wouldn't mind--think they would?"

Rolan ambles through the doors into the great hall from the outside.

I'sai senses Kassima darts a quick smile, assurance--it's black; she likes
it; is there any surprise? If those dark brows raise in surprise in the
meanwhile at his latter assertion, it's amusement and understanding that
give green eyes their shine.

Rolan sticks his tounge out at the dragons before closing the door.

"Depends on how good an apprentice she is," I'sai is the one to murmur with
eminent casualness - even as he's intent on the girl and her reply. "We'd
have to make it all official-like, not drag her off like some doxy; and she
could always refuse." And without looking towards the door, "Glad you made
it in, Rolan. Sorry about that; we're... restless, today."

Savanna shakes her head and replies to I'sai, "I didn't throw up exactly,
but the second time I was on dragonback was better." She nods and she
recalls it, "Yeah, it was better." And to Kassi she says, without missing a
beat. "No, I don't think they will mind if I travel with a journeyrank, it
should be fine. I think..." And she does, think about it and as she does
so, she sees Rolan and smiles but to the riders she say now with even more
confidence, "It will be fine."

Katlynn moves down the stairs to the first floor.

"Ouch." Bump. "Yow!" Thud. Katlynn comes a-rolling down the stairs like a
little ball, uncurling when she clunks down onto her rear after the bottom
step. Muttering, she stands up, brushes herself off, and gives a hauty
little sniff. Nobody saw that? Good. She strides across the hall, taking
note of the visiting rider's with a tiny nod, and an incline of her head
towards Savanna. Then, she stands, watching from near the serving table.

Kassima sympathizes, agrees, sighs, "I suppose 'twould be an ill thing
t'just kidnap her and leave one of those notes saying 'If'n you want t'see
her alive again'--though Lyss is terribly amused by the notion." She dips
her chin in an amiable nod to Rolan. Meanwhile, "Only with a Journeyrank?
Would Taralyth want the extra passenger? I don't know about that one, but
Is is the authority... err. G'deve, there, Craftsecond." Hard to miss those
ouches and yows, though Kassi affects nonchalance in the name of diplomacy.

Rolan turns and walks towards the group "Evening."

Though I'sai's brow furrows so slightly at that 'exactly,' what he says is,
"Good - " but then there's that clunk, that thud, and he's quick to look
and quicker to laugh. "Congratulations, Katlynn, heard you'd been bumped up
- pardon the phrase - but hadn't actually seen the knot - will you play
witness for us, please? It's not as if Taralyth couldn't carry a good
number of journeymen if it came to that, but I'd just as soon not." To
Savanna, "Just to make sure - it's not as if you're some Lord's daughter,
or otherwise signed away by your parents-or-whoever to handfast as soon as
you walk the tables?"

Savanna hears, rather than sees the bumps on the stairs. By the time she
turns towards the stairs, Craftsecond Kat is up and making her way to the
serving table. "Afternoon Craftsecond Katlynn," she says dutily and the
same to Trade Master Rolan though she is distracted at the thought of
travelling. "Perhaps Master Katlynn could help with the decision about
whether I should go or not," she tells the two riders then giggles at
I'sai's query. "No Sir, I'm not. My parents only wish is that I be happy."

Katlynn darts a glance at I'sai, cheeks flushed with colour--though whether
at being caught tumbling down the stairs, or in note of her new status, is
hard to tell. "Thankyou." Then, as she flicks and flounces up the recent
acquired knot, "Witness what?" Her brows furrow, and a look is shot between
bronzerider, greenrider, and apprentice. "Hmm." She palms a redfruit from
the table, then strolls across at a leisurely pace, to offer, "Savanna can
travel alone if needs be..where are you taking her?" Then, to Savanna, with
a crinkle of her nose, "Where are you going?"

"And you aren't allergic t'muck of any sort, are you?" Kassi thinks to ask
in addition. "Or tubers? Though you could probably be excused the tubers.
Muck, however, is just thoroughly unavoidable. G'deve," she greets Rolan.
"*You'd* best tell the Craftsecond what she's witnessing, Is. After all,
Lyss won't mind if'n we dawdle, whereas Taralyth...."

For Katlynn's sake, and Kassima's suggestion, I'sai breaks off his wry
mutter about it being clear he and -Savanna- aren't related: "You're
welcome, Kat; and Telgar, hopefully, as you permit." To the apprentice
herself: "Congratulations on, ah, -understanding- parents. I hope it still
holds true. Now, here's the question: would you be 'happy' to Stand at
Telgar Weyr for Herath's and Chezroth's clutch? I should warn you that it's
a lot of work, and it's a lot easier to die as ground crew -or- fighting
rider than as a weaver... unless you're prone to breaking your neck on
stray staircases, anyway. And there's the muck element, as Kassi says; if
you ask nicely, you might even get to her to elaborate on that. Not to
mention the mint."

Savanna says to Katlynn, "Well Rider Kassima has two items that she would
like for me to tailor." The girl holds up the hide scrap with the drawing,
realizes that it's the wrong one and holds up the larger one with a
complete drawing for Kat to see. Then stops what she was about to say and
turns to look at I'sai, then Kassi with a mouth slightly opened. She closes
her then opens it again to ask the riders, "You mean you don't want the
blouses?" and lowers the hide drawing ever so slowly.

Rolan sits down.

Katlynn squeaks. Just like that. "/What/?" And even though she takes a
moment or two to nod approvingly at Savanna's sketch and he hide scrap, she
turns right back to the two apprentice-stealers. "You...your..your stealing
her?" Nose crinkles again, perhaps in thought, as the young Craftsecond's
brow furrows also, before she says, plainly, "You can take -her- if you
promise to come back and commission lots and lots of things from us--to
make up for our incredible loss, of course."

Kassima slants a sidelong look at the bronzerider, murmurs a question:
"Yours aren't?" Parents, ostensibly. "He isn't kidding about the work,
y'know, Apprentice. Muck, muck, muck, peeling vegetables, more muck,
cleaning the barracks, more muck, the Hatching, and then even more muck
if'n you Impress--how's that for elaboration? However, I deny that mint and
muck have *anything* to do with one another." Excuse her a moment while she
now blinks and repeats, "Two? I thought 'twas one... Faranth. First I think
I'm here so Lyss can sun with her favorite bronze, then I'm here because
I'sai is wonderful and evil and mark-giving, and now I'm here on Search.
I'm confused, and I leave all questions t'him t'answer; 'tis safest." Upon
hearing the condition, she whistles a low note. "Faranth. Glad 'tisn't
*Lyss*."

Rolan settles down off to one side.

"'Blouse,'" I'sai clarifies. "One blouse. Just double-sided; twice the
looks, save the lining and extra labor. No sleeves. If there is that
fabric, perhaps we could take that too, and you might stitch while you're
there?" Now mightn't be the best time to mention the dishes, right after
the vegetables and all. Instead, as if lightly, "Only if I'm happy doing
the right sorts of things, Kassi, and doing them well... as for
commissions, I'm positive that Savanna here will be a wonderful
representative of her craft and encourage all -sorts- of people to get
commissions from weavers that they wouldn't have otherwise. Don't you think?"

I'sai adds ruefully, "'Sides, Taralyth's conceived a liking for her,
through a very closed door no less. What can I say. It might've been that
vtol-sketch."

Lysseth> Taralyth snorts again at the door, more loudly this time. Open
Sesame!

Lysseth> Lysseth once again considers Taralyth's paw. Perhaps he should knock?

Savanna hears the words of Craftsecond Katlynn and folds her hide neatly to
put in her pocket. After a moment of patting down her hair she glances at
the bolt of black linen that lays across a nearby table, a bolt that she
was carrying earlier. "I will go with you on this journey and even make the
blouses for you if you wish, I mean a blouse," she corrects herself as she
pats her pocket with the sketch inside it. "But do I have a chance to get a
few things, like Beau and my basket?"

Still frowning, Katlynn offers, "Fine, take the apprentice away--" with a
sidelong glance at said girl, "And have people commission *her* s'long as
the profit comes right back *here*." Foot stamps down to emphasise this.
"Okay? Okay." Then, she slumps into a chair near Rolan to watch the rest of
the goings-on.

Kassima bites her lip on a grin. "If'n he gets a vtol-sketch on his paw,
Lyss isn't licking it off," she warns, perhaps cryptically. "Your parents
are another thing we'll have t'be talking about another time, along with
those lessons, and various *other* lessons; Faranth, what a backlog we've
built up. I don't imagine Taralyth would have a problem carrying a few
belongings, Savanna, but Lyss and I can take your things if'n he won't."
She sticks to just nodding at Katlynn. Nodding and trying to hide her
relief that none of these conditions involve pink lace.

Or auctions. "Yes, ma'...ster coordinator," I'sai teases. "And thank you,
Craftsecond; admittedly she won't have time for much, being on the whole on
the same duties as any other candidate, 'all ranks the same,' you know the
drill - but we'll work something out." And last to Savanna herself, pale
eyes to blue, and sincerely for all of his wicked smile, "Thank you.
Whether you fight Fall as one of Telgar's riders, or return to your Hall to
study, I'll hope it'll be _memorable_ if nothing else... Gather your
things, yes, particularly what you have that's warm, though Telgar has
sweaters and blankets aplenty; but what's 'Beau'?"

Savanna nods and starts to trot off up the stairs, two at a time even,
before I'sai even finishes speaking. Over her shoulders she says, "He's a
firelizard who found me and would never forgive me if I left him behind."
She turns as she gets to the top of the stairs. "I'll be right down!" The
girl is looking more and more excited then she is off towards the
Apprentice Hallway.

Savanna wanders up the stairs to the masters' hall.

Savanna strides in through the archway from the teaching wing.

Kassima indulges in a bow, as good Master Coordinators should. "Nay need
t'throw rose petals, for the record," she assures I'sai breezily. "She'll
likely have the rest of the day and the morrow chores-free, since 'tis
late; there's time then for gathering commissions, isn't there? So long as
the commissioners are patient." Covering her mouth to hide her grin at the
young woman excitement, the greenrider murmurs, "Wonder if'n 'twas half as
enthused as that."

I'sai says into the air after her, "...Just so long as it doesn't eat
eyebrows." Back to reality: "Perfect. Thank you. And there she is, just in
time. You two can work out the stitching; and the fabric...? Should we take
it with us if it's available, Katlynn, or may it be sent?"

"Stealers." Katlynn mutters under her breath, several times over, while
watching Savanna trot off, then reappear. "Always coming in here with their
dragon's to steal my apprentices." Then, blinking herself back. "Take it
with you--with her, she can work." Pause, "In her spare time, if your so
kind as to -give- her any. It's a shame there's no pink lace lying about.."
a mournful sigh, "Oh well. Clear skies to you all, when stealing her away."

I'sai teases, "There you go, making master, so we can't steal -you-...
well, then, if someone'd cut up the length appropriate for Kassi here, or
else we can take the main one and send back what's left. Clear skies right
back to you, and to you, Rolan, to boot."

Rolan glances over and waves.

Savanna does a speed turn at the landing and runs down the stairs. Beau is
in her basket, his little head sticking out and he is chirping loudly as
she bounces hin none to graciously in the basket. All the while she is
stuffing sweaters around him, a bright blue one and a brown one. Panting
softly she trots up and says simply, "Ready." Her eyes goes to Craftsecond
Kat and she says, "I will send word Craftsecond and maybe I can finish
K'ryn's patches while I'm there." Her eyes look a little worried, but it is
being slowly crowded by the excitment twinkling in her eyes.

Whatever reply Kassi might be about to make is cut off by a blanch. "Nay
pink lace on this blouse, oh, please," she pleads with Is and Savanna both.
"Sometime we'll come back on more innocent purposes, Craftsecond. I'm sure
Lyss at least will drag me t'Boll so she can sun... oh, Is, you know they'd
never forgive us for stealing *her*. What would the Weavercraft ever do?
But aye, clearest of skies, to the Weavercraft and t'the Traders, even if'n
neither technically fly."

Katlynn flicks her hand idly at the rider's then, sulking. But to Savanna,
she offers a bright grin, and a wink before she gathers her skirts up just
a touch, and flounces off toward the stairs. "Good luck, Savanna!" And as
she's going up the stairs, voice echoing, "Keep in touch!"

Katlynn moves up the stairs to the masters' hall.

A white-haired journeyman who'd been listening in, and who'd given the
wingleader an assessing eye, now returns with a much smaller but equally
well-wrapped bundle and hands it to Savanna: "Send back what's left... and
don't forget to write. Good luck, dearie."

Savanna holds her basket and takes the bundle, placing it in the very same
basket with her sweaters and Beau. Then she hugs the journeyman and says,
"Thank you." She sniffs then acts brave as good byes make her sad, "I'll
send you word also." Another sniff then her eyes move to the riders.

The journeyman drifts to the outskirts, murmuring about how they'll be able
to say, 'We knew her when.'

I'sai sketches a light bow after the craftsecond, already-disappeared or
not - nods again to Rolan - and then beckons sunnily to their new
candidate; he even holds the door.

Kassima hides another grin at the overheard words of the Journeyman, and
gestures with a flourish for Savanna to precede her through the exit before
tossing a cheery wave back to those who remain in the room.

Savanna holds her head up straight and walks through the door with her
basket swinging at her side. Beau looks backwards for both of them before
she exits the Hall.

Savanna heads through the great double doors to the outside.

Lysseth> And Taralyth's posed unutterably smug, for this third? - fifth? -
_last_ snort'd yawned the door wide, and look who's coming; bright eyes
sparkle the bluer for it, and one forepaw extends even before his rider
emerges: right this way.

I'sai ambles through the great double doors to the outside.

You stride through the great double doors to the outside.

Beau bobs his head through the sweaters to chirp at Lysseth and Taralyth.
Savanna just gazes at both creatures, stunned by their beauty and color.

Taralyth's not above fanning those bright wings into the afternoon sun, and
if it gains him attention human - and draconic - so much the better; his
rider laughs low in his throat, says, "'Ware your toes when you're climbing
up. Give me your basket if it's easier, I'm used to it."

Lysseth has taken a place further to the side, to leave plenty of room for
Taralyth's find to approach; she looks entirely too amused by this entire
procedure, from impatience to 'lizard to all. "At least *you* aren't smug,"
Kassi mutters to the green as she starts up the straps.

You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly.
You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered
foreleg.

<*> Savanna smiles and says, "I can manage Sir," and she carefully climbs
up the extended foreleg.

<*> Savanna swings up to Taralyth's neck.

<*> Taralyth does crane his muzzle 'round after her, the most motion he can
manage without moving that sleek neck from those who'd climb it: she can
take off first - mayn't she be a -little- smug?

<*> Lysseth rumbles in mock-disconsolateness; she has no *excuse* to be
smug, oh, woe is her--but no true rue is hers; she springs into the sky
without hesitation or dolor, her tail giving a merry flick in her wake.

<*> Lysseth springs from the ground, the air from her wings churning up
dust as she takes to the skies.

You launch upwards.

<*> In the WeaverCraft Fields, I'sai swings up to Taralyth's neck.

<*> In the WeaverCraft Fields, Astride Taralyth's neck, Savanna buckles in
with her basket grasped firmly in front of her.

<*> In the WeaverCraft Fields, Astride Taralyth's neck, I'sai adds
thoughtfully, even as he reaches 'round with practiced ease through the
always-awkward straps-checking and such - Savanna's get tightened a notch -
"There was one other apprentice peeking through that seemed interesting...
well, maybe another time. Think your basket's handle will fasten through
this loop, here? You'll want your hands to hang on, dare say." Meanwhile,
Taralyth's holding unusually still beneath them - warm, solid, _vivid_ with
the sense of presence - for all that ailerons toy promises with the wind
Lysseth's already claimed.

<*> In the WeaverCraft Fields, Astride Taralyth's neck, Savanna loops the
strap through her basket and follows I'sai's instructions to hold on, which
she does. Her lips are pursed slightly in concentration and she murmurs
softly, "He's the biggest dragon that I have ever been on." Wide eyed she
looks at I'sai. It's not fear and it's not the lightness of excitment. Her
orbs are dark and thrilled. Yes, she is exhilarated and thrilled.

<*> In the WeaverCraft Fields, Astride Taralyth's neck, "Sways your knees
out, doesn't it?" I'sai asks even as he double-checks the buckles. "Should
see my wingleader, his legs're all bowed, but then he rode, I don't know,
runners and all that beforehand..." a swift smile, and he's turning back,
even as muscle shifts - gathers - beneath them. "One. Two. Three!" and with
that exclamation, the world drops away under the impetus of Taralyth's
upward thrust.

<*> Taralyth launches up from the WeaverCraft Fields.

<*> Lysseth spins spirals in the promised wind, bright-spinning eyes and
wingtips flinging a fond tease to him, to them: slow bronze! Slow bronze!
Lounging around on the *ground* and leaving her to reign in the *sky*. It's
a good thing, all told, that dragons cannot say 'Nyah, nyah.'

<*> And this is close enough, but Taralyth takes no offense, pleasuring his
wings in that wind of hers, persuading it to a like-spiraled ascent: as he
turns, at length ground's visible only down along the inward wing - Hall,
Hold, fields and jungle and glittering ocean beyond - all the rest grandly,
vastly blue.

<*> Astride Taralyth's neck, Savanna holds on tight as the wind whips at
her hair. A vermilion melts across her cheeks, a deep flush as she lets
herself go with the feeling. No hint of sickness in her belly, just the
deep sense of freedom and flight.

Dragon> Lysseth senses that Taralyth teases as he's told littles might: 
<< You're it. >>

Lysseth> Taralyth senses that Lysseth flashes surprise, followed by the
green streak of mischief--oh, *is* she?

<*> Lysseth is content to make room for his rising, affording him sky of
his own; how generous--but then, well! She must narrow her spiral, taking
advantage of speed to attempt to... catch at his tail? Well, yes. With
claws carefully tucked out of the way, and heedless of rider's surprised yelp.

<*> There's a wind-won laugh from I'sai, tight-held or no - and Taralyth
himself may sense something of his passenger's mood; it's certain he begins
to soar into more level flight, the better to show her this land she's
known from the mere ground - but here come those daunting paws, and
abruptly, playfully, trusting in the senior green's agility, he _slows_
right into them. You called?

<*> Thus trusted, Lysseth doesn't disappoint: grey-dusted wings spread out
to bank in full, and her slow allows her to pat daintily at that tail
before the law of gravity forces her to drop, flatten out, and rise again.
Did she tag him? Is he it, now?

<*> Astride Taralyth's neck, Savanna manages to turn her head to watch the
play, the dance in air. She is breathless as her legs grip behind the
ridges, her body molding, fluid like wine in a skin, fitting right with his
motions. Her laughter rises slowly and crescendos into pure delight for she
is flight, and she is the air.

<*> Taralyth -is- it, it seems - and with a teasing trumpet all her own, he
copies that movement, sans paw-reach and tail-tweak, on what's by necessity
a larger, less acute scale: slow, stall, glide, soar... only afterward,
with all the height he'd gained, he puts them to a test that would sour any
earthly vintage: vaning his wings, and plummeting _down_.

<*> Lysseth, indulgent, allows herself to lag rather than speeding up so
that she may be caught--so that she may watch his aerobatics, and better
yet, fold her own wings with a sharp snap to fall ever after: down, down,
down, until the wind sings in her rider's ears, and let's see if she can
catch him again in the process--

<*> Astride Taralyth's neck, The young apprentice's eyes widen with the
feeling that her stomach is now where her throat use to be. So quick was
the dip downwards, that she had no time to acclimate and memories of all
the meals that she ever ate came to the forefront as she battled to keep at
least her dignity if not her midday meal. By sheer will power alone,
Savanna manages to hold the contents of her stomach in check, but pale,
pale goes her cheeks, her lips become the palest rose and her eyes twirls
like midnight on too much klah.

<*> Funny how Taralyth's just not arguing any such catch - while the lithe
dragon has pride aplenty, it's not the sort to be imperiled by such play,
and particularly with such playmate - and he sharpens an afternoon-long
shadow to ash-brushed green, falling, falling as the sun does, as passenger
blanches from red to pale and even his rider closes his eyes into _dragon_
- and at its nadir, when the ground's flying up to meet them, _disappears_.

<*> Taralyth disappears into Between.

<*> Lysseth disappears into Between.

Between
You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear
nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...
Black...
Blacker...
Blackest!

You suddenly emerge...

<*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

<*> From the South, From the Telgar Star Stones, L'klal's burnished bronze
Pteynth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to green Lysseth and her
rider, Kassima, welcoming them home. 

<*> --And on that long fall, perilously fine and exhilerating unto
dangerous delight, Lysseth flicks *between* a heartbeat after--so that she
may emerge, a heartbeat after, now high and her course corrected; yet she
scans the skies, searching: does he still dive, in these colder skies? More
importantly--what must she do to tag the elusive tail?

<*> Taralyth rides manifest momentum up, up on sharp-struck wings, Boll's
humid heat made ghostly remembrance by *between*'s utter cold and Telgar's
own frigid wind; glaciers stretch before them in the distance, and the dark
peaks that mirror the young dragon's own neckridges, but for now he's
skimming over the singular caldera that's home, buzzing past Pteynth with
lithe tail swept out behind.

<*> Lysseth catches sight, corrects, flaring out sails in order to take up
the chase--a *green* chasing *bronze* in the skies of Telgar; isn't
something backward about this? And the pair carrying *passengers*. Oh, the
horror, and what a way to die that could prove were the circumstance
different and the positions reversed, but for now it's simple innocence and
swift determination that leads Lyss to sweep in pursuit of the comet's tail
with forepaw poised to pounce: mine!

<*> Astride Taralyth's neck, Savanna shivers uncontrollably in the chilled
air, a memory from her past. White knuckles grasp the strap as she holds on
still, not trusting a smooth ride. She looks about her with waried eyes.

<*> And the comet flies not past enticement, neither so fast nor so far,
but instead tumble down with insouciant, flutter-winged delight in flight
itself - past an incoming Icewind trio, directly over the Star Stones
themselves, and skim over the mountainside and where the shivers of
Taralyth's passenger may most swiftly be warmed.

<*> Taralyth flies downward towards the southern end of the bowl.

<*> From the South, Taralyth teases long shadows along the stone - but
refrains from landing on ledge or bowl, disappearing within the springs'
mist in lieu.

<*> From the South, Taralyth wings over the spiky cliffs to the south
towards the springs.

<*> Lysseth would not on most occasions indulge in such motion as a tumble,
yet for *this* particular playmate, some liberties are allowed; and so she
darts, flurries, slipping through slipstreams to chase the warming wake of
air.

You fly downwards towards the southern end of the bowl.

You wing over the spiky cliffs towards the wafts of steam.

<*> Astride Taralyth's neck, I'sai's quick to unstrap, to turn 'round as
much as Savanna's grasp allows - "You all right?" dragon's dark head
peeking over his shoulder with mutual concern.

<*> Lysseth slows her flight in time to land, with as much delicacy as
gravity allows, near the rim of one of the pools, much to her rider's
expressed delight: "Thank Faranth, I thought 'twould never see solid ground
*again*... oh, earth, how do I love you? Let me count the ways." At least
she doesn't drop to kiss the ground immediately upon descent, though she
does query, "Savanna? Did you survive the fun and games?"

You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles,
cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully.

Astride Taralyth's neck, Savanna nods and slowly releases the straps. She
tries to chuckle, but out comes a croak instead. "I'm ok," she croaks.
Flexing her hands to get the blood running in her hands, she carefully
unloops her basket. "So, we're here," she says, her voice sounding very
glad. "I survived," she calls out to Kassima and adds, "So did Beau," whose
head pops up from between the sweaters.

I'sai's, "Good," is echoed by Taralyth's appreciative snort - "And he
didn't even go between. Good for him. Not that firelizards... well, y'never
know. Kassi, may I hold you to those ways-counting later? Anyway, here,
I'll slide down - take your time sitting here, take deep breaths of the
steam, when you're homesick for Boll or just plain dry-skinned, come here
to the baths - and you can pass me down your basket, or take it with you
when you drop." And then, then he suits action to words.

I'sai slides down from Taralyth's neck.

Telgar Weyr> TelgarW_Bldr welcomes Savanna to the knot as a candidate!

Telgar Weyr> I'sai says, "Glad you could join us, Savanna. :)"

Telgar Weyr> Greylin woot! Welcome!

Telgar Weyr> Teye says, "Hiya Savanna!"

Telgar Weyr> Talisha snugsa Savanna! :)

Telgar Weyr> Savanna smooches all around. "Glad to be here :)"

Kassima opines, "Good thing," as she leans into her dragon's shoulder to at
once catch her breath and give that shoulder an affectionate slugging.
"*Honestly*. Are you twenty-four, or are you three?" Watch Lysseth not
dignify *that* with a reply. "Feel free, Is--you've a Candidate t'be
showing the Barracks to, after all, so now probably wouldn't be the time.
M'compliments t'Taralyth on his flying, by the by."

Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Welcome and congrats, Savanna. :)"

Telgar Weyr> Savanna feels all loved and stuff. :)

Savanna slides down from Taralyth's neck.

Kassima, after a moment, adds to Savanna in entirely too cheery a tone for
a woman who's just been riding Pern's equivalent of a roller coaster, "If'n
you've any questions after being settled, by the by, I should tell you that
I'm one of the Candidate Coordinators this round; you're welcome t'come
find me any time. 'Tis what we're here for and all."

Taralyth may look on with patent interest - and no doubt mentally recommend
that his own rider not so slug _him_ - but his rider only says quietly,
wryly, "He appreciates it. And note that we didn't do it ... on duty, or at
home, hey?" He helps Savanna with her gear, if while keeping fingers shy of
that firelizard of hers, murmuring about warm blankets and sweaters and
cots and Tason and some of the others he'd Searched - not that they should
be keeping her warm - and that he'll be checking again on her later, soon.

Savanna adjusts her clothing and holds her basket so that it gently bangs
against her leg as she looks all around and tries to listen. When she hears
that Kassi is one of the coordinators, she smiles gratefully. "Oh good, at
least I will know someone."

Savanna walks off towards the Inner Cavern.

I'sai tilts a grin over his shoulder - "Tell me later, which of this you
thought might happen?" and he's off, after.

I'sai walks off towards the Inner Cavern.