Xanadu Weyr - Beach
The unerring range of subdued white rises and falls in a multitude of sandy dunes, creating an endless amount of tiny valleys constantly demolished and rebuilt by the frequent arrival or departure of a dragon. Smoothing out as it slopes gently to the edge of the deep blue water, the sand darkens and a shell here and there stands out for children to collect. The beach itself is set along a low cliff - the height lessoning as one heads eastwards, blocking a portion of the beach from direct access.
The wide wide stretch of water opens up to the east, the far distant shore way beyond the horizon and the beach curves ever so slowly round to east and west, distant arms of land embracing the wind-ruffled Caspian Lake. East leads up to the mouth of the Rubicon River, where the protecting cliff is merely an arms length higher then the sand, and beyond that, a winding road leading out of Xanadu's territory. Westwards, the beach narrows as the cliff swings out, leaving a path wide enough for dragons in single file before cutting in to the sheltered cove designated the Weyrling Beach. However, cut in the cliff face to the north are a variety of rough, wide staircases, providing access to the clearing and to the meadow.
This afternoon, the sea is not a particularly pleasant or calming thing to look at, with the dark clouds overhead and the gales whipping the ocean up into waves that crash loudly on the sand. Some distance away from the water, but perhaps not far enough away to be completely safe and at ease, the figure of a caramel-brown dragon sits tucked up to be as streamlined as possible and reduce the impact of the wind against his hide. Between his forearms sits his rider, in dark leathers that almost encase her from head to toe, the brownrider staring out across the water, completely undaunted. There's not much, if anything, to be read on Marel's features; nothing but a blank emptiness.
There had been reports of bad weather hitting Xanadu's shores, but C'yr wasn't expecting such. Still, the old man of the Weyr and his bronze were going to make sure it wasn't too much of a gale coming down around the island. The massive bronze and his rider are striding up along the beach, the wind buffeting against the dragon but not truly affecting the rider on the opposite side. When he notices the brown he gives a soft wuff to his rider and C'yr perks up and looks towards the pair. It's not until he's almost upon them that he calls out. "Lo, there!" His voice bracketed by the wind. "Everything alright?"
Marel makes no answer; doesn't even seem to notice the presence of C'yr or his bronze. It's Isyriath who lifts his head and peers over at Vesukith, though he likewise remains silent, his eyes a steady, though pale, whirl. And still, his rider doesn't move, her attention not dragged in the slightest bit from her distant study of the ocean, quite as if she's enthralled by the pull of the waves. As she stares, one lifts and crashes without fanfare, but closer than the last few, water encroaching on sand.
C'yr tilts his head at the non response from both and he looks up towards Ves for a moment before heading closer. "Hello, are you well?" He calls out, Vesukith's own mindvoice booming like crackling thunder. « Mine would like to know yours is fine. » He rumbles.
Isyriath is far more gentle in his response, the insubstantial net of a spinner's web thrown over the mere idea of his rider, as if he could protect her. « My Marel will speak when she is ready, » he informs Vesukith. « Not when you bid her. » He's not unkind with it, but he is firm, a mournful, lingering fog backing his words. Only when it looks like C'yr might get what Marel could consider too near does she tear her gaze away from the ocean and stare blankly over at him instead. "What do you want?" she demands, voice cold.
"I wanted to make sure you were well. It's part of my duty to look after all the riders, even the ones who don't look like they want to look after themselves." Vesukith almost flares at the smaller, younger brown…eyes flashing red for just the briefest of moments before C'yr's hand pulls him back into line. "If you wish to be alone to find solace in something, I'd advise it away from the beach. The weather is turning worse." He flicks his eyes towards the sky.
That smaller, younger brown is not rattled in the slightest by Vesukith's reaction, and only stands (sits) undaunted in the face of that flash of anger, especially since he has his girl so close and in the protective loop of his forearms. But perhaps not for long. It's difficult to tell just which bit of C'yr's reply that she takes exception to, for all of two seconds, for once she stands - with some difficulty - she launches into, "Funny - I don't see a Weyrleader or Weyrsecond knot on you. How is it your duty to look after me?" Marel shakes her head, anger twisting her lips. "If you want to go and advise some people, why don't you go and suggest where they could look for my mother?"
"There isn't anymore. I retired from that life a long time ago. This is still my home, and my responsibility." C'yr tells her, his eyes narrowing just a bit until he hears her plea about her mother. "Who is your mother and how long has she been gone?" This asked in dead seriousness. "And where."
"I am not your responsibility!" Marel snaps, which elicits a soft murmur of a rumble from Isyriath, who dips his head down to her, supportive or obstructive, or both. And for 'who' and 'how long', she just stares. Only, it's not a very good stare, since she starts blinking back the shine to her green eyes after a mere matter of moments. "How long?" she echoes, voice hoarse. "Since they keened for Seryth. That long. Since we lost Seryth." She straights, almost imperceptivity. "I'm - I was - I am," tenses are awkward in this situation, even with things that won't ever change, "the Weyrwoman's daughter. Thea's daughter."
"Fine." C'yr states flatly. "I don't care whose daughter you are, it wouldn't matter if you were a drudge's daughter I'd of been just as concerned with your welfare and your mother's safety just as you are Thea's daughter." A pause and a roll of his shoulders. "I can't help someone that rages at an offer of help and understanding. I'm very sorry for your current situation. If you ever DO need help finding her." He leaves the left unsaid. "C'mon Ves." He walks away, the bronze following.
"Don't you understand? I don't want your concern, or your understanding, so I suggest you go and affect the part of the wounded party elsewhere." There's nothing but cold fury in Marel's eyes as she watches bronze and rider walk again, and she just about manages to refrain from calling out anything else after them. As it is, she folds herself back down onto the sand and back into the safety of Isyriath's embrace, and shortly resumes staring across the water. Hormones and grief are clearly not a pleasant mix.