Is it Greek to you? {DYRANOR! (CAIT!)}

[Simile]

{Shortly before hatching. The Beach.}

Chantrea frowned and crossed her arms. She was a Haldernon! Normally that commanded a bit of respect. Not that the name was overly well known outside her own clan, of course. It was better to keep the name a secret for the safety of others... and herself. Haldernon was not a name associated with good things most of the time. So... to everyone who was interested she was from the Seraph clan... a clan of traveling traders who had joined with a band of holdless. Which had more or less happened in its own way. She sighed and leaned back against the rock near the sea, looking up at the clouds, Zigfried and Amp curled up on the warm sand to either side of her, the sun shining on their blue hides. Zigfriend raised his head and gave a surly little hiss at no one in particular. He was always doing that -a s if he thought a little hiss from a blue firelizard would scare everything away and protect His. He sat alert with his head tilted as he listened and watched around him. Chantrea smiled. She loved her flitters. they were her family - more so than any Haldernon or Seraph if that was what you wanted to call her. She gave a huff of breath and stood, taking one gliding step and then another towards the sands, raising her hands in a dance-like movement that was actually away of fighting with dual knives. Not that she was any good at it. It was an art that, though she practiced, she was not good at, no matter how hard she tried. Certainly, she could make it look like a graceful dance ,but she couldn't manage to put the power into it that was needed. She wasn't hte strongest in body... nor was she the best fighter. No her prowess lent itself elsewhere.

There were no such things as happy harper's tales in this world. This world was grit and pain and what you could do with it. Nothing more. There was no such thing as true love or the supposed "one and only person" or whatever nonsense she had heard spouted before. It was what it was. No one could be trusted entirely...

She felt a pang in her heart as she thought of her friends and she stopped, looking out at the water quietly.

((Sorry... short...))

[Cait]

Things were…strange at the Weyr. There were more people in one spot than Dyranor had ever seen; and Clan gatherings weren’t exactly small scale. Then there were the dragons, and the LifeWings and the Whers…and a million and one firelizards! Even little Suiathon was intimidated; and he was a rather stalwart critter. So, felling more than a little overwhelmed and Saddyris having disappeared on one of her day-long jaunts into the jungle, he was left to his own devices. The Weyrleaders had no need of him and for the time being, the investigation into the murder of the Headwoman had become stagnant.

Of course, everyone was buzzing about the upcoming hatching. It would be a matter of days before the Eggs hatched, or so he’d been told, so every last man, woman, child and dragon seemed to be ready to snap. It was nerve-racking to say the least, and the fact that Dyranor had now—essentially—been in the same place longer than any other time in his life was making him irrationally impulsive; moreso than usual even.

He wasn’t nearly as clueless as Saddyris thought; he knew how often she had to pull him out of a hole he’d dug himself into. He was even aware of how many times she’d diffused a potentially disastrous situation that he’d brought about with his big mouth. Still, despite what he thought he knew, his scope of the entire situation wasn’t even close to being accurate. In his mind, Dyranor just simply had a bit of a temper and was too eager sometimes.

In the eyes of Saddyris and the rest of the clan—though they tried to be lenient—Dyranor was reckless, impulsive and tactless. The three worst possible qualities that a future leader might possess.

Oblivious of this opinion of him, Dyranor blundered through life, relying on his charm to get him through. The people of the Weyr were starting to see past the charm and unbeknownst to Dyranor, sought out Saddyris more often than they did the young man now as opposed to when they had arrived shortly before Turnover. But despite his obliviousness, he knew that something was off; he knew he wasn’t entirely happy with the way things were.

As he made his way towards the beach, Suiathon perched diligently on his shoulder, he fiddled with the tassels on the red sash at his waist. His dark hair was a mess and his blue eyes were fixed on the ground rather than what lay before him. Because of this, when packed dirt turned to sand, he was unaware of the presence of another until the little black-white on his shoulder hissed, talons digging in slightly as he spotted a pair of firelizards in the distance. Blinking, Dyranor looked up then shook her head. “Silly critter. You’d think you’ve never seen a firelizard before.”

He continued on and it wasn’t until he was almost on top of the girl that he realized he wasn’t alone—aside from the firelizards of course. Quickly shoving aside any feelings of confusion or self-pity he studied the girl. She wasn’t sitting; in fact she was standing with a pair of knives in her hands. When Suiathon drew in a breath to hiss again, Dyranor raised his hand to stay him. As he continued to watch in silence, he became entranced by the fluid, graceful movements of the girl and her knives, a faint lopsided smile curling one side of his mouth. She was certainly lovely enough—not that he was too terribly discriminatory about women—and the fact that she seemed to be a fighter intrigued him. Aside from Saddyris and the dragonriders he’d met thus far, not many women in his life knew much more than the basics and even then were rather abysmal at fighting.

“That’s a pretty dance you’ve got there.” He finally said with one of his characteristic charming smiles.