Rousing II: Covet

iiiiii

i.*

I watched Ushra’s black eyes as he stepped in.  They were orbs almost sunken in a face hundreds of gyras old, and there were depths to those eyes.  Whatever sense of dragons I might have, I wouldn’t push it trying to read Ushra.
Those eyes were lingering on the orange drake high-walking in. The ancient alchemist was frowning.
Under that gaze, Adwyn entered. A red dress was flowing under him, swishing as he walked in, gleaming in the fain light of the loversuns.  His metallic-red eyes met mine as he entered, then he glanced around the room and his gaze settled on the dark-jade wiver.
“Ah, Gronte-gyfar. Greetings,” he said, and inclined his head with it. His brilles were clouding in a way which had them glinting slightly in the sunslight, and he may have missed the brief frown on the old wiver’s face.
Turning to our end of the slab, he added, “And hello, Specter-eti, Gären-eti. I was looking for you both, in fact.”

Interlude I: Smolder

iiiiii

i.*

“Silent winds, my friend,” said Hinte as she turned, waving her tail. While she appreciated Kinri’s help in the lake, she breathed relief at parting ways with her.  The exile had no appreciation of the thoughtful silence, always annoying her with unhatched questions.  But worse, she acted utterly apterous when she opted not to ask questions. As if her tongue were rubber and her frills were stone.
There were worse issues, however. Such as Hinte deciding to carry back all of those apes.  When she should have known the inquirers would return regardless, when she should have known the weight would have her helpless to fly. Or that it would put her at the mercy of thos rockwraiths Kinri had doubtless stirred up.  Hinte wasn’t helpless.
The apes had escaped because of her tonguelessness. If she had tied them down better, if she had ensured they held no surprises, if she had thought to remove their weapons, if she had brought more emergency mixtures, that incident could have been avoided.  She was better than this.  These were hatchling mistakes, and she did not have the exile’s excuse of being a hatchly sifter.  Her Dozent would be disappointed.
The dark-green wiver fell back on her hindlegs, crouched tensely, prepared to take off.  Then, she remembered.  Apterous rockwraiths.