Wisdom with a Side of Anxiety

Xanadu Weyr - Meadow

A large, slightly rolling meadow is set high enough above the riverbank on both sides to avoid suffering from flooding, healthy ground cover and grass spreading out from either side of the dividing river. Scattered amongst the meadow are a variety of weyrs, each with a narrow path leading up to it from a main, winding road. Some are set under a few trees, while others sit by themselves. The meadow continues with gentle rolls and dips, grass tall and short waving in the slightest of breezes, and eventually those hills grow higher and steeper, ending in a large ridge that provides a fine view of that meadow and the rest of the Weyr, gazing out over the multicolored roofs of the houses and the cliff that holds the caverns.

Runner stables with the paddock beyond are to the south beyond the meadow weyrs, and a smithy and a woodcraft shop are settled closer in towards the path to the clearing. Trees border the northern side of the meadow, and more of those low, rolling hills can be seen to the northwest. A road passes through the meadow, coming from the east and used by traders and crafters alike. Wagons laden with felled trees from the forests or ore from the mountains are hauled by burden beast up the road through the meadow, over the bridge spanning the river to be processed in the appropriate workshops.

Weyrlinghood brings a tremendous amount of change and challenge into the life of every impressee; F'yr's changes and challenges are as varied and intense as the next weyrling's. One of his challenges is having a dragon who doesn't much see the point of communicating privately with just one dragon. What's the point when Glorioth can just boom his voice here, there, and all over EVERYONE near enough to hear him? But somehow over the past month, the man has managed to convince his lifemate that it should be given a go. That he's still working on it might be why the VERY HEROIC but also VERY OFF-KEY theme music that reaches Zekath first isn't as loud as it certainly will be, and it fades in and out and then finally in an effort with a mighty HRRRRRRNENNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH like Glorioth is pushing himself through a door simply too small and too weak to contain him, his GLORIOUS PRESENCE and RADIANCE is there. There's the mighty melee of weapons in motion (sound, but not sight), the feel of flames, and that peculiar but odiferous smell that is as manl — er, dragonly as a musk can get without being offensive. « HARK. I SEEK ONE ZEKATH. ARE YOU HE? » It's too loud. It's a little too heroic. Maybe he thinks he needs to shout to be heard? (No, sorry, Zekath, we wish it were that only.) « MY F'YROCIOUS FRIEND WISHES TO SEEK THE SAGE WISDOM ZEKATH'S K'VIR POSSESSES. WE ARE IN THE MEADOW. » He even attempts an image of the place, dusted with snow as it presently is, although he, himself, and F'yr and any other moving parts in this image are curiously absent. Maybe he just doesn't register other people, or maybe that was just too complicated for the baby learning to use his (extremely limited) WITS as well as his BRAWN. All of this is delivered just in case he has really reached Zekath. One might feel that this is not his first attempt. But no one can prove just how long he tried to project at that tree. So. It's fine. One precious, private memory for F'yr to comfort himself with the next time Glorioth drives him crazy.

Welcome Glorioth, to the wonders that is infinite space! No, seriously, that’s Zekath’s mindscape at first, until the bronze has recovered enough from the intrusion to shove them both in a world of polished, refined metal. Neon and LED lighting add further ambiance, in this case more reds and oranges, which is both subdued and not at the same time. « Hey! » Kid. « You don’t have to shout the place down, I hear you loud and clear. » Zekath’s voice is oddly dual flanged, as metallic as his mental surroundings but weirdly comforting; there’s a timeless patience there, along with dry amusement. He’s put up with Leirith for however many Turns — Glorioth’s “enthusiasm” is just a different flavour. « We’re coming. » True to his word, they’ll arrive not long after their summons, with Zekath landing with practiced ease and swiftness even for a bronze his size. He stands out for his unusual features, primarily a burnished, slightly aged bronze and looking like he could weather just about the worst the world could throw at him (or already has, really). The straps he wears stand out in a darkish-blue and black hue and it’s from those straps that K’vir dismounts with ease of familiarity; it’s probably instinctual by this point and he makes it look so damn easy.

Maybe it's all the metal. Maybe it's the lighting. Maybe it's just the baffling amount of patience. There's a pregnant pause before Glorioth returns, « … You've lost me. » The fact that he isn't shouting this moment has nothing whatsoever to do with the bronze's words and simply with his own sentiment; it's still too bold a tone, irritatingly loud around the edges, but it's less shouty at least. It doesn't last. « MOST EXCELLENT. I WILL INFORM MY BOONE COMPANION OF YOUR IMPENDING ARRIVAL. HUZZAH! » It's a good thing Zekath has all that practice with Leirith; sounds like he'll need it. The baby bronze (who's still huge, but not nearly so huge as the full-grown one just arriving) is running through the light dusting of snow with reckless abandon. No, really, it's reckless, and it's causing people to abandon tasks and F'yr is shouting that bronze down, and that bronze is doing a very poor job of listening. At least Zekath's arrival provides distraction because F'yr might have a muddy memory of Zekath from watching him hunt, but he recognizes K'vir and with waves of apology to those whose afternoon tasks they've interrupted, he jogs along with his lifemate as the baby bronze trumpets a greeting- okay, so it's less greeting and more self-announcement, but it all boils down to the same sound, right? F'yr's cheeks are flushed either from cold, exertion or general embarrassment for the unruly behavior of his lifemate, but he has a polite, "Thank you for coming, sir," for the older man. He tries a salute, even, but it's an awkward gesture on him. "I'm— we're not taking you from something more important?" Nevermind that he hasn't said what this is about so it might be hard to judge.

« How could I have lost you? You’re right here, aren’t you? » WOOSH. Glorioth, that’s the sound of ANY form of humour going right over Zekath’s head. Oh, he learns eventually (and then forgets the majority) and even surprises everyone now and again with sarcastic zingers of his own but for the most part? Humour isn’t his shtick. At least, not intentionally and he likely read the current banter as one of those moments! He’ll watch the younger bronze’s antics, before rumbling something akin to a long suffering sigh. As K’vir moves on to meet with F’yr, Zekath will entertain Glorioth… by likely putting his much larger bulk right in the (smaller for now) bronze’s path. Everyone else, carry on! He’s got this … or so he’ll assume! K’vir has likely witnessed it all as well, including how F’yr looks and it may be a combination of both that has him looking a touch uneasy as he scrubs a gloved hand along the underside of his jawline. “Mhm? No. If we were otherwise occupied with something or duties, Zekath would’ve told Glorioth straight up why we couldn’t.” At least he’s being honest here too! Some of that tension eases, as his features morph into more of a gentle smile. “I’ll take it you’re both on break between lessons? Guess it’s about that time that you’ll all be wandering back out into the world.” Somewhat. “So… you got some questions?” Now it’s his turn to assume, as he peers sidelong at F’yr. Another visual assessment, too, perhaps, though done quietly.

It's fiiiiine, Zekath. Glorioth seems genuinely puzzled. It doesn't seem to bother him, but that's because he has no doubts of himself, even when he's lost, since the problem is obviously on Zekath's end (Zekath lost him; it wasn't an issue with Glori not being able to do the following). The bronze is ready to drop it completely at any rate. There are better things in this moment: like looking at the big bronze with some interest. Glorioth's wings were just so for the best heroic effect, but now he has to stretch them and move them and sort of… well, yes, okay, he's comparing his size to the larger bronze's. F'yr is… well, let's face it, he's an infinitely better conversational and all around partner than his complex lifemate. He's more respectful for starters, now that he's a weyrling. "We're still in that part where we have a lot of stuff at certain times of day and less structured time at other times of day. We've been —" F'yr's words stutter to a stop as he looks at his lifemate, briefly distracted, and then back to the older bronzerider. "We've been doing a lot of reading and talking about what it means to be a rider. A lot of etiquette things." Briefly his lower lip gets worried by his teeth and then, "I was hoping to pick your brain a little more." He's glancing again to his lifemate and then to the wingsecond as if perhaps he's re-thinking whether or not this was a good idea.

It's fiiiiine, Zekath. Glorioth seems genuinely puzzled. It doesn't seem to bother him, but that's because he has no doubts of himself, even when he's lost, since the problem is obviously on Zekath's end (Zekath lost him; it wasn't an issue with Glori not being able to do the following). The bronze is ready to drop it completely at any rate. There are better things in this moment: like looking at the big bronze with some interest. Glorioth's wings were just so for the best heroic effect, but now he has to stretch them and move them and sort of… well, yes, okay, he's comparing his size to the larger bronze's. F'yr is… well, let's face it, he's an infinitely better conversational and all around partner than his complex lifemate. He's more respectful for starters, now that he's a weyrling. "We're still in that part where we have a lot of stuff at certain times of day and less structured time at other times of day. We've been —" F'yr's words stutter to a stop as he looks at his lifemate, briefly distracted, and then back to the older bronzerider. "We've been doing a lot of reading and talking about what it means to be a rider. A lot of etiquette things." Briefly his lower lip gets worried by his teeth and then, "I was hoping to pick your brain a little more." He's glancing again to his lifemate and then to the wingsecond as if perhaps he's re-thinking whether or not this was a good idea.

Is it going to turn into a competition? There’s about a fifty-fifty chance, though Zekath’s wings unfurl only briefly and mostly to add to the effect of him settling in (and down). While his attention is on Glorioth, he’s also scanning the surrounding area with tell-tale alertness! One can never be too cautious, right? And he’s never been an idle-kind of bronze. If he’s not on “duty”, he’s doing something to occupy the times when he isn’t sleeping. “Things are coming along though?” K’vir will inquire next, whether or not that is an acknowledgement to anything that F’yr just told him. There is a small nod of his head, a passing look of understanding and then his gaze is shifting to where the two bronzes currently are. “He’s looking well. You look just as I’d expect, handling one of that amount of… energy.” No offence, F’yr and he really does mean it as a compliment. Even is his smile is edging more towards a smirk (hey, remind you of a certain cousin?). He’s BEEN THERE and DONE THAT, so he feels your pain… kind of. “Oh? What about? This personal or… not so personal?” he coaxes, welcoming him to continue while also looking apprehensive.

How could it possibly turn into a competition? Glorioth is 1000% certain that he would win, if it were to become a competition, which it doesn't need to because what would be the point? No, no, he's just interested about what size he might be likely to become. It's not about you, to him, Zekath, it's (always) about Glorioth. It's one area where Glorioth and Leirith are starkly different, this distinct lack of care about anyone whose name doesn't start with G- and end with -lorioth. It's occupying the little dragon at any rate. "Ah —" F'yr's hesitation might not be all that encouraging, especially when paired with a touch more of a blush. It all gets a sharp look from his lifemate. The blond clears his throat and his gloved hands find the pockets of his pants, having no coat despite the snowy dusting. The sweater serves one who is always running along with his lifemate. "It's better than it was at the beginning," is about all F'yr seems to be able to offer honestly and sincerely, so it's what he gives. F'yr isn't offended by K'vir's observation, he even has a wry smile to answer it, one that might broaden a little when K'vir resembles that cousin of his. "It's sort of both. H-" the sound dies a little on his lips and he has to wet them before he can try again. "How do you deal with knowing one flight win could make you responsible for a great many people?" That's the thing bothering him on a personal level, and at least he's direct about that. "And… then there's Ri'tah." That brings a touch of a frown. "I know the Weyrlingmasters are helping him, but I — we're friendly, and I'd like to be … helpful, too." It sounds a little vague, a little strange maybe, but maybe it's because F'yr doesn't know how to be helpful to a twelve turn old who just impressed, which is really the whole not quite articulated question.

At least with their riders preoccupied, it can be counted on that ONE of them (Zekath, obviously) will be the sane, well behaved of the bunch! What could possibly go wrong? K'vir, for his part, is patient under that hesitation from F'yr. That's something he can relate to on so many levels! "Sounds about right for most weyrlinghoods, from what I'm told. First bit is always rough and different for each individual." That isn't the root cause, is it? Neither is the next question, or so he assumes, but he'll humor the younger weyrling with an answer. "You mean the potential of becoming Weyrleader?" Is that it? He chuckles dryly, a faint and somewhat sad, smile curving along his lips. "I don't think about it much. The chances are… well… It's a lottery, almost? I mean. Zekath has chased Leirith for Turns now and has never caught her? He's chased Risabeth too, many times, and only caught her once." And the clutch did not fare well, with many of the eggs duds and K'vir does not speak of this though there are records to that sad day. "And he caught Meiraith once, before she became Senior, briefly." His hands spread out in a helpless gesture. So there you have it? "Glorioth may chase a lot and never succeed or he will but with juniors, where the competition isn't as fierce. Or," And now some of that lurking sadness is chased by a glimpse of some dry humor. "You'll be like my father, who won Fort's Leadership fresh out of Weyrlinghood from Half Moon Bay and has been saddled with it since." NIGHTMARE FUEL, F'yr! Nightmare fuel. Ahh, and THEN they get to the real question and it has K'vir frowning heavily, while his gaze lowers groundwards for a moment. Once he's finished mulling over his answer, he will meet F'yr's eyes with his own. "Be as much like family as you can be, for him. As it is, you all are, in a way already but… If you're already aiming to keep an eye out for him, to support him and be an ally, well. That's the right thing to do — but there will be hurdles he'll have to overcome on his own."

Woahwoahwoah. Listen. If Glorioth had any uses for inane notions like sanity or logic or good behavior, he wouldn't be as glorious as he obviously is. The world would be a sadder place, and no one wants that. What could possibly go wrong, you ask? Well. « I'm finished here, my F'yrfully occupied friend. » Glorioth turns away from the bigger bronze just as F'yr is gulping for breath. Look, K'vir was really helpful until he really wasn't. That tipping point was about the time that the older bronzerider's words about his father sunk in. Nevermind that K'vir is a perfectly good example of the opposite happenstance. That one is comforting to poor F'yr. Th'ero's "Luck" is indeed the stuff of nightmares, and panic attacks. The disgust rolls off Glorioth as a putrid corpse smell. It's gag-worthy, which might be why F'yr turns aside, his hands on his knees and does just that. But he keeps his lunch, okay? « AGAIN? MY F'YRFULLY WEAK LIFEMATE, YOU WOULDN'T HAPPEN TO BE IN NEED OF A LITTLE ENCOURAGEMENT? » Glorioth will gladly provide it. F'yr waves at the bronze, "No, no, I'm fine, Glori." He's really not, K'vir. He does manage to straighten though, looking pale and still working to get his breaths to come evenly. "Maybe save your da's story for the senior weyrlings." He suggests to K'vir managing to keep just one thread of humor in his weak baritone. Maybe focusing on something else will help: oh, look the actually important topic of Ri'tah. "Family. Right. Working on that." The family thing. F'yr's good at big family things though, theoretically.

« Hey, go easy on him! » Zekath's advice is blunt as ever, though dipped with dry humor for Glorioth's chastisement. That putrid corpse smell? The older bronze ignores it (kind of, maybe he's just really good at handling awful smells). He seems to withdraw a moment in thought, before returning with a tempting offer. HOPEFULLY! « Have they taught you younglings how to hunt yet? » Is he offering advice? Not exactly, as he's sensing that such a bold statement would be taken poorly by the young bronze. Meanwhile, K'vir is looking rather flustered and mildly panicked when F'yr takes his 'advice' a little too hard. "Woah, hey…" Easy there! He has MANY reasons to worry about an upset weyrling, okay? First off, he'd never quite forgive himself. Second? He's fairly certain once Ila'den was through with him, whatever was left would be left for Risali. So he'll awkwardly try to pat F'yr's back or even place a calming, firm gripped, hand to his shoulder. Get it together! "Yeah, well… it's not like anyone else would ask me that." IT'S TRUE F'YR! You're the only bronzerider of the bunch, y'know. Smirking wanly, he'll give an awkward pat-pat of his hand and then give him the space he needs. "Right. Exactly… Just try to focus on more important things. Bonds. Yours and those between your clutchmates. Things might change at graduation but you'd be surprised how you'll always feel a bit like family. Regardless of what Wings you go to."

« HE IS F'YRFULLY STRONG WHEN HE PUTS HIS MIND TO IT, » is Glorioth's rejection of Zekath's blunt advice. Would Zekath really expect him to treat his lifemate with kid gloves when F'yr is worthy of the gauntlets? It's really questionable whether or not Glorioth could even treat children with kid gloves, let alone any more or less grown adult. It's really, really fortunate that active and adventurous Sezoruth keeps Glorioth busy whenever F'yr has time to spend with young Ri'tah. « I WAS BORN WITH THIS KNOWLEDGE. ONE DAY SOON, » not that soon, « I WILL BE UNLEASHED TO CLAIM MY DESTINY AS HERDSLAYER. TELL ME OF THE FEEDING PENS, O LARGE AND NOURISHED ONE. » Distraction successful, Zekath. Glorioth won't bring himself to hold still while he's being explained to, but at least he limits his pouncing about on imaginary herdbeasts to the immediate area and doesn't go harring off while K'vir is… dealing with? Okay, well, looking at his rider anyway. K'vir and Glorioth are at least on the same page, even if they're coming at the issue from entirely different angles of view. "Sorry," is genuine. F'yr's breath comes slower now, with obvious effort by the young bronzerider to obey the wishes of at least two of the other three present. "Can't talk about wings. Last time we started that, he ended up in the caverns, and he's too big now, but he won't think so." It will go poorly all around. F'yr probably wouldn't even let these thoughts flash through his head, let alone get out of his mouth if Glorioth weren't so completely riveted on Zekath, mentally at least. "Bonds are good. But no one knows what they're doing. I mean, the staff does, obviously." He wasn't besmirching Ila'den, C'con or Naiili. He would never. It's the other weyrlings he's talking about. "We're all blundering about just — trying to survive, I think. In the same vicinity." It is those early months yet. There's some gesticulation to all that explanation, but nothing the air can't handle and nothing too broadly sweeping. His hands do come up to rub across his face though, now that he's not dying from panic. "You're a wingsecond," is obvious statement of fact, but it's the preface to, "I know it's all important or it wouldn't be taught, but with an eye toward feeling prepared if the worst should happen," that would be winning a senior goldflight in case anyone wasn't tracking, "what's most important?" There is no ambition in these blue eyes as they weightily linger on K'vir's face, only an earnest desire to not feel so out of control about everything completely uncontrollable.

« Feeding pens? Who said anything about the pens? » Can Zekath smile slyly? Not really. There's an implication of a little hook, however, in that strange metallic-flanged tone of his. He keeps his tone level, but far from monotone, as he explains plainly about the joys of hunting the wilds. Why stop at herdbeasts? Oh no, the older bronze spins tales of fascinating creatures, including the dangerous, albeit elusive, wild felines — nothing at all like the domesticated kind (those are allies). "Alright, we'll skip that subject for now too." K'vir suggests with a hint of dry humor, while also keeping a sharp eye on F'yr, less the weyrling regress back into his panic. He will, however, wave off the apology and look appropriately apologetic himself; no need to say the obvious, when it's written all over his face. There's a little chuckle, at the description of weyrlinghood thus far. "Yeah… That's pretty much the gist of it for the first few months. So it sounds like you guys are right on track. Even if it doesn't feel like it!" He tilts his head, slightly puzzled, when his rank is mentioned. "I wouldn't say my position makes me any more enlightened on things…" A small part of him is flattered, all the same. "I've not been at this for that long!" A moment of thoughtful hesitation, his eyes narrowing a little under furrowed brows as he exhales a little. Don't judge him, okay, F'yr? K'vir has NEVER been good with the deeper conversations. Ever. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean." Again. "About what's important?"

And thus, when it inevitably happens that Glorioth is found attempting to escape the barracks or training grounds for the next sevenday or more depending on how persistent he can manage to keep this particular memory, tucked away into F'yr's own, F'yr can thank Zekath for fuelling the young bronze's fire. For now, the bronze is truly captivated. It doesn't stop him from moving around (nothing really does), but he's taking in every detail the older bronze has to offer about hunting in the wild (that's that wooded area over yonder, right? That's what he thought). Good news twice over, K'vir. First, F'yr doesn't appear to be about to go back into hysterics and his breathing is continuing to even out until it's downright normal as he glances briefly toward his lifemate and the big bronze, his brow furrowing slightly before he looks back to the older man. Second, F'yr might be one of the most patient people in the whole Weyr, if not on the face of Pern. He would have to be, wouldn't he? Glorioth is evidence if any were needed. It also means that he sees nothing wrong with needing to try again to explain. "I think your position makes you more practiced at the type of tasks that might also be asked of a Weyrleader, at a higher level. Some of the sorts of reports I filed," tried to file, "were… well, they were different from the kinds of things R'hyn was working on, but not entirely dissimilar," if that makes sense. A wave of the younger man's hand in the air seems to try to drive away this potentially confusing observation. "Anyway, what I mean is… If Leirith rose tomorrow," WHICH SHE WON'T BECAUSE HER EGGS ARE ON THE SANDS, phew, "and Zekath caught, which things that you learned do you think would serve you best in your new capacity?" He doesn't ask about K'vir's father and what skills he might have been seen to use, but maybe all forms of family are better left out of this discussion. It's a beat before he adds a second way to view the question, "If you were in my shoes, which lessons would you spend extra time on, to be more prepared? For rider life in general, I guess, but specifically for if a responsibility like wingsecond or Weyrleader," he really can't escape a slight shudder at the terrifying thought, but no panic attack this time, "came your way too soon." Obviously wingseconds are chosen, so that's a less likely fate than things that are a literal, ridiculous roll of the sexy dragon dice.

"Ahh. I get it now," K'vir's expression relaxes under the dawning realization of what F'yr is trying to aim at. There is a brief, if sheepish, smirk, for his 'slowness' on the draw of something so deep — but he's making the effort to answer him, rather than try to back out of it with a non-answer. Seriously, he and Ru'ien are more alike than they realize, in some regards! "Knowing the Wings, how they work, their specific jobs — and I just don't mean the surface stuff, I mean all of it… and their history. Who leads them now, who led them before, how their dynamics are. The biggest thing that upsets a Weyr is drastic change. Different Leaders bring different ideals and while some change is necessary, doing too much all at once or too big? I guess? Upsets folks." Shaking his head, he'll fix him with a thoughtful look, as though weighing whether or not to say more, given the previous episode. So for a moment, there is an expanding length of silence from him, until he's certain that F'yr's had time to absorb and isn't showing any red flags. K'vir at least has the common sense now NOT to push the weyrling a second time. "Educating yourself on as many of the Weyrfolk too… the Crafters, the various workers, administrative personnel. History lessons. Boring, I know, but crucial. I'd… probably put knowing the Weyr first, versus the area around it." There's a slight grimace. "It sounds harsh but 'your' people come first. It's never a bad thing to know the Holds though and as much of their history as you can cram in here." Fingers tap on the side of his head knowingly, along with a vague and crooked smirk. "It'd help, I think. The rest…?" He can only spread his hands helplessly. It's too much of a random card — even he can't predict what'd come or what sort of 'preparations' would help in the long run. But this, at least, may be some glimmer of hope?

K'vir's effort to offer an answer is rewarded by attention and an earnest attempt to take in all the words offered. F'yr's listening is rarely less than focused to a degree that's either flattering or uncomfortable, but now there's that added sense that each of the words spoken to him by this older, more experienced bronzerider is vital. One might pause to wonder just why F'yr is asking K'vir rather than the present Weyrleader, the once Weyrleader of Half-Moon, who has both ends of the experience, but maybe there are reasons, or maybe he just hasn't gotten there. For whatever reason, the subtle motions of the blond's face indicate that this is all new ground for him. It's only after the dark haired man has finished speaking that there's a few beats of silence before F'yr draws and releases a large, careful breath and nods slowly. "A lot of that can be started with book work, I think. History. If I hang in senior weyrlinghood a while, I can get to know the wings, as much as one can without really being semi-permanent member." His lips pucker into a purse and though his eyes drift to K'vir's shoulder, he's not really seeing the man, nor anything else in his immediate environs. He's probably not even taking in all the growing warning signs in his lifemate of the coalescing of an impending QUEST, which wouldn't be obvious to anyone but him anyway. The only thing that might be noticeable to an outside observer is that the baby bronze's movements about the immediate space are starting to range just a touch wider and though his mental focus is still with Zekath's descriptions of hunting in the wilds, his whirling gaze is starting to stray. If F'yr wonders about K'vir's opinions of those sweeping changes R'hyn made when he came in as Weyrleader, he has developed the tact not to ask (at least not now, not here). "I don't think… thinking of the Weyr like a larger version of the farm is generally a good idea," he observes, his brow puckering, "but it's not completely different. We worried about our family members and the tasks that needed doing at home before extending energy or goodwill out to neighbors." So in that way, there is some overlap. It's something the former farmer can at least understand. "It's sort of the same with weyrlinghood honestly. I want to be there for my friends in the barracks, but there's so much here — " he gestures toward Glorioth who appears to CARE NOT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, " — that I need to get my own stuff in order before I can really reach out to anyone else in any useful way, because… he comes first." There's a shrug. This is one weyrling who spares no remorse for that; Glorioth will always be first for F'yr now, and that's just the way of it. "This helped," he concludes after a moment, looking up to K'vir. The slight smile haunting the edges of his lips perhaps only drives home the sincerity when he says, "Thank you. For taking the time, and for taking my questions seriously. I… appreciate having someone to ask who isn't on the weyrling staff," because can you picture this conversation with Ila'den? F'yr would've had a jacket on his head minutes ago while being beaten by his encouraging lifemate. This is a much better version for F'yr. And even though weyrlings aren't really notorious for having much brain power for others, the next thing F'yr wants to say with a slight tilt of his head that makes this question markedly more personal, "Are you doing alright? With… I mean, I don't know what Risa's like when she's pregnant but some of my sisters…" He manages to keep the bodily expression of the sum of his experiences to a press of his lips into a line and a comically slow shake of his head.

Truly, F’yr could ask to speak to K’vir’s father too, though the bronzerider would likely extend mercy and keep that from happening for sometime yet. Especially as Th’ero is intense in another sense, K’vir wouldn’t forgive himself for allowing Fort’s Weyrleader to really break the fledgling bronzerider. “There’s no rush to joining a Wing. We have that luxury now, at least and weren’t so much pressured by necessity as a primary fighting and defending force.” Oh, the bygone days of Threadfall! More ancient history, now. K’vir offers a mild half-smirk, as reassurance that F’yr might be on the right track on how to use his Senior Weyrlinghood time. He lifts his hand, tilting to and fro slightly, as though weighing what he’d said in counter to F’yr’s recounting of farm life. “No, not completely different.” But different enough! Having some common understanding though? Better than nothing. “Ah,” he begins, only to mull it over and nod, in the end. “Yes, exactly. Can’t neglect yourself in the process.” Says the man who knows this ALL TOO WELL! K’vir doesn’t go into the details, save to look obvious that he understands to a deeper level just what disasters await for those who give and give, until there is nothing left. He blinks at being thanked, dipping his head respectfully though subtle. “Uh. You’re welcome…” He’s not used to being an actual well of GOOD ADVICE, okay? Not on vast subjects such as this! There’s a stifled laugh, as he no doubt DOES picture the poor weyrling trying to have a heartfelt chat with Ila’den. He wasn’t expecting to be asked on his well being either, so after a moment of light fidgeting and uncertainty, he answers. “… well, I mean. We’re doing alright? It’s complicated.” Which should be unsurprising. “But we’re alright.”

True to form, F'yr remains attentive to the older bronzerider even as Glorioth's ranging about begins to get farther from the immediate area of the larger Zekath and the conversing riders. Oddly enough, it's just a skosh closer to that treeline he's pretty sure leads to the wild. And then a skosh closer after that. He's still listening to Zekath. The subtle shift of pendulum of desire isn't obvious probably because it isn't yet obvious to Glorioth that he's about to have a burst of heroic ambition. Certainly, F'yr doesn't seem to realize anything is about to change as he nods along with K'vir's affirmations of his own parallels. The look of two people in the habit of giving much of themselves without thinking to pause for self-care prompts a grin from F'yr, a confirmation of a silent something shared. He doesn't make a thing of K'vir's unfamiliarity with the kind of gratitude the younger bronzerider is offering; maybe, just maybe, the younger man is just a little pleased to be able to genuinely offer the older man something he doesn't often receive. He's certainly well distracted while he's giving the older man all his attention for the answer. "It seems complicated," he lends his limited understanding but unlimited support to the validity of that statement and its associated feelings. "But I'm glad that you're alright." He might me the you that is K'vir and Risa and all the other people involved in the situation, or in this case, he might really just mean K'vir. The world may never know, since that's the moment that, « ONWAAAAaaaaAAAAAaaaaaAAAAARD!!! » and the clarion call of heraldic trumpets sounds the advance and Glorioth goes tearing off toward the tree line. "Shards," is a gulped swear and only a fleeting look of apology is lobbed in K'vir's direction before F'yr is abruptly sprinting after the much faster bronze. It doesn't look like F'yr is going to stop his adventurous lifemate, only that he's not about to let the still young dragon depart on a quest without him, if he can help it.

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