Black Rock Hold - Corrals
Moveable fences have been set up to separate a large portion of the grasslands, near the river, a series of large pens created, each with access to the river, and another fence midstream to prevent escape in that direction. Secure paths lead from the massive X-shaped stables to the pens, where the equine stock of Black Rock Hold can be found grazing and milling about, everything from small ponies for the children to ride all the way up to the massive draft horses, prized bloodline and working stock of the Hold.
The sun peeks over the horizon later than it should, this time of the year. Not as bad as it would be during the winter months, but even at a reasonable hour of the morning, it's still only just lifted itself into morning. And now that it has, it illuminates a small, skinny child with pale skin and pale blonde hair hacked short. She's standing in one place with a long line in both hands, turning in circles as the gangly draft colt gets his daily exercise. With all of her short hair, pinched face and bony angles, it would be fairly easy to mistake her for a boy, especially considering the litany of inventive curses leaving her lips in a muttered cloud of blue reprimand against the sun.
Despite the early hour, Nicca is surprisingly awake, if looking slightly grumpy about that, a blue dragon gliding overhead at an angle far from the hold's main area as it departs, leaving the passenger behind. Hmming softly, the young woman sticks her head in the stables, glancing up and down the rows of stalls before turning and beginning to meander through the pens, pausing at one fence, resting her arms on the top of the fence post, watching the girl work.
And that blue dragon - despite being absolutely no danger to the colt whatsoever - is the perfect excuse to have a conniption and misbehave. Rearing and tossing and jerking on his end of the line to try and free himself from the small weighted thing that keeps making him run. For a while, Rylavi manages to hold her own, dropping her weight into her legs to make her as ground-heavy as possible. Unfortunately, this colt is big enough now that even the best knowledge in the world wouldn't save the scrawny human now. One good jerk and the colt actually snaps the long line, stands frozen for a beat - for he had managed to confuse himself - and then takes off towards the other end of the corral at speeds no draft horse would dream of past yearling. This last jerk pulls Rylavi far enough off her feet that she can't regain her balance and ends up face-first in the dirt. She isn't run over, but if one were to judge only by the foul expression on her face as she rises and brushes the dirt off, she thinks this is worse.
Nicca had turned to glance back at the stables, humming softly under her breath as she watches a groom head into the structure, missing the beginning signs of the colt's revolt. However, the commotion is difficult to ignore for long, and Nicca is glancing hurriedly back at the corral, eyes widening as she takes in the scene. "Shards." She whispers under her breath, but it isn't until the runner is taking off that she's finally moving to awkwardly hop the fence, bracing herself before she steps down on the other side, walking at a quick pace to offer a hand to help her up. "Uhm.. Sorry." Nicca offers with a little grimace, glancing after the running animal, shaking her head. "I.. I know how that has to feel."
That expression on Rylavi's face only darkens as she looks up and realizes that not only did she fail enormously at keeping the big colt under control, but she did it for an audience. Blatantly ignoring the hand up, she stands under her own steam and continues to try and brush the dirt off. It's damp enough that her efforts only smear it. "Aye." She doesn't argue with an unknown woman who is obviously several turns her senior. She could be here to buy stock and her leaving offended would only land Rylavi in more trouble. "What's that dragon doing so close over the pens, anyway?" She shakes her short fringe out of her face and continues bluntly. "Somebody die?"
Glancing at the colt at the other end of the pen once more, Nicca's lips twitch upwards in a smile for a moment, nodding at the animal. "Least you were already on the ground. Shorter fall, than from their backs." At least its funny now, if it wasn't at the time. The young woman's hand is retracted as its ignored, before its resting lightly on her hip, and she's tilting her head to follow the line of sight of the disappear dragon back towards the weyr. "Perhaps." She comments noncommitally, shrugging a little. "You could say that's what I'm trying to find out."
Rylavi's eyes narrow and she raises her face to look the stranger straight in the eye. Intense cat's-eye green irises tend to be disconcerting to the people she speaks with and Ryl has learned that disconcerted people are often easier to deal with. "You're sniffing around after news of the Lady." She doesn't make it a question. She wraps her arms around her middle; sweat from her earlier exertions is starting to cool in the crisp morning air. "Who're you, then, one of those Harper types?" Distrust shows plainly in her voice. Nicca is an Outsider. Whether or not Rylavi likes her home and the people in it, she - like many of her kin - is incredibly wary of new folk. Better the devil you know than the one you don't and all that.
Lifting her chin, Nicca has no issue meeting Rylavi's gaze, smirking a little as she comes straight to the point, tipping her head briefly. "Maybe I am… Maybe I just wanted to check on my runner.. Mother said she sent it back here, after our little… adventure." Nicca comments, turning to glance over her shoulder at the stables once more, hands shifting from her hips to fold lightly over her chest, glancing again at the girl, judging her for a moment. "Weyrwoman Niva's daughter. Nicca." She finally answers, having judged it safe enough to give the teen her true identify.
The young teen listens with a fairly good imitation of patience until the introductions are made. It's at that point that her posture stiffens and her jaw clenches. "Rylavi." Not that she expects anyone - nonetheless a Senior Weyrwoman's daughter - to remember it, but it's the 'polite' thing to do. "If you'll tell me which was your runner, I'd be glad to go and see about it for you." The words are slow and quiet; stilted and a bit ground out. Forced politeness is better than no politeness at all.
Nose sticks up a little bit then as Rylavi's posture stiffens, and Nicca shifts, stepping half a step closer to peer more curiously at her. "Rylavi, hm?" She repeats softly, narrowing her eyes a little as she stores away the girl's details. After a moment, she shakes her head, turning away to glance back at the stables, waving her hand dismissively. "Untrained mare. Dumped me in the middle of the clearing, for everyone to see." Nicca tsks a little, as she retells her own embarrassing experience at the hands of a runner. "Rather not see her, though I thought she'd be sent back to Keroon. Though, it seems they have enough green runners from these stables." The young woman takes a cheap shot, even as she's turning to start to head back towards the fence.
"Even a green filly wouldn't have thrown you if you knew what you were doing." It's grumbled and mumbled, but Rylavi wishes with all her might she'd said it loud and clear once Nicca's barb settles on the air. Only the fear of punishment if she was found out has kept her in line thusfar. That fear is being rather quickly outweighed by anger. "Pity that fall didn't jar some sense into you, Lady Muck. Maybe if you'd knocked your head a bit harder, you'd know how to tell the difference between a green mount and a greenrider." Wonder if she'll get the pun…
Pausing after a few steps, an eyebrow arches, and Nicca slowly turns back to look at Rylavi. "And yet, your colt went running off to the other end of the field with hardly a fight." She lets her gaze linger easily on the younger girl, before she shrugs her shoulders a little bit, with a wink. "I do suppose then, that your dear Lady Johanna then was merely a greenrider, even after all those decades, hm?" Nicca snaps back, lips twisting in to a smirk. "Besides, I prefer brownriders." And then she's jogging to the fence, moving to awkwardly climb back over it.
Rylavi may be an uncultured, unrefined, uncouth backwoods chit of a girl, but one of the few things admirable and redeemable about her personal character is an unshakeable love of the Lady her family has served all her life. Hearing this … this outsider insult her that way causes Ryl to lose all self-control. With an inhuman growl, she races towards the older woman and flings herself at her back, making to tackle her down and do her best to take vengeance on the insult to her home.
Just not fast enough, it seems is Nicca's jog, as she's being caught across the back, being dropped to the ground in one sweeping motion, one hand catching the railing, even as she yelps in surprise, thrashing and fighting against the younger girl's smaller frame, fighting more to get away than to cause actual damage. "What the shards! You….!" Nicca hisses at the girl, struggling for another moment before she's free, looking rather worse for the wear as she peers back at her. "You don't think you can get away with that." Nicca snaps hurriedly, afraid to peek down at her own appearance.
Spitting blood down into the earth from a jarring cut she sustained in the fall, Rylavi wipes her mouth on her sleeve and raises furious eyes up to stare at Nicca. "I don't need to get away with it." Her usually pale face is flushed from exertion. It doesn't help her appearance any. "You just insulted my Lady. I don't care what punishment you come up with - and since you're such a spoiled brat I don't doubt it will be you coming up with it - but no one insults her in my presence." She spits again into the dirt, seemingly unconcerned with her appearance. "Not ever."
"Your -Lady- is laying in a infirmary room, and who knows what will happen to her, because of one of those blasted animals. What don't you get?" She asks sharply. "Chances are your new 'lady' isn't much more than a girl like you, either. Fancy finding out what she thinks of runners?" Nicca shakes her head then with a sigh, brushing her hair out of her face, trying to sort herself out. "Whatever. Suit yourself." And without a backwards look, she's disappearing past the stables to send a firelizard for someone to fetch her.