what you need [l'gree]

[kite]

Restless energy sizzled through Malta, a combination of nerves and the discomfort of unfamiliar surroundings, making her fingers drum incessantly as she read. With a disgusted sigh, she pushed the text away from her. It felt as though this energy was in her very veins, and she'd get no relief from it. Standing abruptly, she paused. Where did she think she'd go?

A breath of cool air as Shale popped out of between drew her attention, and she welcomed his familiar weight. The Ebony landed as lightly as a cat in his accustomed place on her right shoulder, briefly touching his dark head to her cheek. She lifted a hand to stroke his silky hide, feeling his pleasure as he arched into the caress. He sent her an image of a river, and coupled the mental picture with emotions: languid enjoyment of the sun on one's back, the pleasing contrast of the cool water. He rarely told her where he'd been, but this was so perfectly timed she knew it was no accident. She wondered how intelligent he really was, and not for the first time. Occasionally she found a depth of understanding in him even her peers seemed to lack, and at other times, he simply regarded her with bland curiosity when she tried to express a complex concept. Ah, well. She was used to her dark friend's private ways by now, and had never objected to them.

It was possible there was vegetation by the river that she was unfamiliar with, and she tucked a few leather collecting pouches into her belt, but she was quite aware that that was only an excuse. She wanted out of here, out of this strange new place. Soon enough she'd settle in, get to know her superiors and peers, and perhaps carve out a niche for herself, but that didn't effect now's uneasiness. She'd moved often enough to know it was a fleeting thing, and that she could bear it, but wouldn't it be far easier to bear out in the fall sunlight, with the sound of water in her ears?

Malta was never far from ready, and it took her bare moments. Shale chose to accompany her, for which she was grateful. He, at least, was familiar. The moment she was out of the Weyr, her shoulders relaxed from a tension she hadn't been entirely aware of, and she sighed unconsciously. It was as though someone had been jangling discordant strings somewhere just outside of her hearing, and now they had stopped. The physical motion of walking went a long way to soothe her abraded nerves; she'd always found solace for her anxieties in movement and activity. Really, it should have occurred to her to do this earlier, except that it felt, in some vague way, like quitting. Shouldn't she be strong enough to simply deal with the minor vexations of a new living situation, rather than flee for the outdoors?

Irritably, she shook herself free of such thoughts. No point in thinking them now, since she was already out under the sky. Her choice had been made, and while she occasionally had a bad habit of dwelling on the past, she determined that today she would leave her troubles behind. Frankly, she'd leave herself behind if she could, but that was not generally considered an option. Her stride lengthened despite her short stature, a free motion swinging from the hip. It was a surprisingly fast pace, and one she knew she could maintain for hours. Guided by Shale's recollection of the nearby territory, she automatically adjusted his memories of flying to her land-bound pace. It would not be a long walk, but it was what she needed.

The day was fine, with some of summer's lingering heat, and the sparkle of sunlight on the river was something of a relief. Malta wasted no time, but rolled her pants up well over her knees and removed her shoes. The chill of the water was a pleasant shock, and she waded in over her ankles, her dark eyes automatically scanning the plants around her. Shale, feeling her disconnect as her mind focused on her task, lifted off of her shoulder, to wing farther downstream. She paid idle attention to his occasional communications: the sight of a Green, the triumph of a small fish in his claws. Soon, she was happily absorbed in her task, using her toes to loosen the mud around an unusual-looking lily's root system. She'd have samples to bring back after all, and the day would not go to waste. Malta moved slowly upstream, her busy eyes moving constantly, occasionally bending to more closely examine a bit of foliage, enjoying the contrast of the sun's warmth on her back and the cool water kissing her ankles. Perhaps Trelis was not so bad a place, after all.

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[taylor]

Plaeth had fractured a bone in her wing during Moth's flight...run...thing. It wasn't horrible, and in fact the dragonhealer said she could still fly, as it wasn't one of the main structural supports. But it hurt, and Plaeth was all for avoiding things that hurt.

Not flying, though, was meaning she wasn't out Searching as much as she'd like, and that was frustrating for a dragon as competitive as she was. Frustrating, too, for L'gree, who didn't like the idea of letting a big group of candidates step onto the sands without him ever getting a chance to screen them.

Just because she didn't want to fly, though, didn't mean Plaeth wasn't on the look out. Granted, trying to Search in a weyr was...difficult. She'd bounced over to several people to inform them that they would make good candidates only to learn that they already were candidates. Most embarrassing was when someone's wher trundled up partway through Plaeth's impassioned advertisement for dragons.

She wasn't giving up, though, and she saw Malta heading out of the weyr from up on her ledge. She didn't look familiar. Maybe she was new! Maybe she wasn't a candidate! Of course, if she wasn't a candidate, why was she just newly coming to the weyr...? No! No time for questions. Time for success.

Mine! Come here, Mine! We're flying in Search. L'gree had been bathing, and so it took a bit for him to get himself dried off, dressed, and to Plaeth. By the time he mounted up, his amethyst was squirming with impatience. What if the person she'd seen was gone?!

Finally (though it hadn't been nearly as long as Plaeth was acting like it had been), the purple dragon pushed off of her ledge. Gliding hurt, but not as badly as actually flapping her wings, she'd discovered. It didn't take long to get to the river once they were in the air, and Plaeth touched down on the shore near Malta. Hi! I'm Plaeth![/color] She stepped into the water slowly, then suddenly surged in, flopping onto her stomach in the mud and letting the cold water cover her aching wing.

L'gree frowned at Plaeth. It was time to be serious. He turned his gaze to Malta. "What are you doing here? At Trelis, I mean." He sounded almost stern - his default searching voice.

[kite]

Malta's anxieties had faded to a dim buzz hidden beneath her general contentment, and her pleasure in the warm day had come to the forefront. Southern born and bred, she had a bone-deep love for heat, and her Turns at Fort had been largely unhappy ones, if you only considered her feelings about the weather. A shadow between her and the sun initially caught only passing notice; her brain was happy to forget about it as a cloud or some-such, but it had been moving far too quickly. Straightening, she threw a forearm between her eyes and the sun, just in time to see a deeply purple dragon land neatly on the shore nearby.

"Hello, Plaeth," she responded automatically, surprised. It was certainly not the first time she'd been spoken to by a dragon -being a dragonhealer meant there was someone else in your mind quite often- but she was rarely bespoken outside of the Infirmary, and some part of her was always at least a little thrown off balance when it happened. Here she knew no dragons, not yet, and she hadn't expected the quiet privacy of her thoughts to be invaded. Certainly not out here. Part of her bristled slightly at the interruption, but the rest of her was too curious to pay it much attention.

The small dragon made it clear she was headed for the water, and Malta did her best to stay out of the way as she abruptly surged in to submerge herself. Something about the way she moved set off small alarms in Malta's brain. A stern-looking dark-haired man approached her, and she watched him approach with aplomb, looking up at him with little more than mild curiosity. His question was abrupt, and rather unpleasant; she didn't think he had the authority to simply demand why people were here, and deliberately pretended to misunderstand.

"I'm gathering plants," she answered evenly, "Some of your varietals are slightly different than those at Southern, and I'd like to study them." It was awfully neat that the Weyr shared a name with the river, and made her ruse easy. She turned slightly, her dark eyes running over Plaeth. Yes, the Amethyst was hurt, though not badly. It was easy enough to guess it was something wrong with one of her wings, since Plaeth had been so quick to submerge it in the cool water. She could guess, but she'd rather be invited to examine; briefly, she regretted not answering his question properly. Well, no time like the present.

"What are you doing here, and on an injured dragon?" she asked, keeping her tone polite, though her words and narrowed eyes left little doubt regarding her true feelings. Obviously the Amethyst wasn't so badly hurt as to require grounding, but Malta firmly believed in caution when it came to wing injuries. She'd have to speak with whichever dragonhealer had examined Plaeth. She knew perfectly well that Healers, dragon or otherwise, usually responded poorly to having their decisions questioned, but she'd never let that stop her in the past. Being a bit unpopular was a small price to pay, in her opinion, for the good health of a patient.

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