Joath lumbers in from the central bowl.

Ptodek hauls in his line, having caught only a piece of wherhide.

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Ptodek hauls in his line, having caught only a stick.

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Ptodek hauls in his line, having caught only a piece of wherhide.

She seems to ooze across the earth, Joath does, as slick and smooth as the tar that echoes her inky hue. Her destination is the water's edge, and to it she goes with little consideration to those that lie in her path.

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Ptodek hauls in his line, having caught only a piece of wherhide.

Ptodek bites off a curse and throws out his line again.

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Ptodek hauls in his line, having caught only a piece of wherhide.

Joath comes close, her presence is as sultry and pervasive as the Istan sun at noon. She sweeps past Ptodek, only a dragonlength away, her immense if willowy bulk most likely difficult to dismiss.

Ptodek looks up at Joath. "Don't scare off all the fish, now," he calls out good-naturedly.

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Ptodek tugs rapidly on his line, hauling in a wriggling flatfish.

Ptodek says, "Woo! I caught a fish!"

Ptodek beams up at Joath. "You must be good luck!"

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Ptodek says, "See if you can herd the rest of them this way."

Ptodek hauls in his line, having caught only a stick.

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Perhaps she does bring good fortune. Joath's smooth face, longer than a man is tall, addresses the boy. She regards him with whirling blue interest. Her presence alone is reason enough for the fish to flee in his direction. Polished and taut, foxy and trim, stillness becomes her and speed is her thing. Seldom she's still, let alone seen: shimmering motions for clandestine dreams. Subtle as sin, night tints her green, politic spirit on sheer, silken wings.
Joath's a slinky 23 meters in length with a wingspan of 38 meters. She appears, in your estimation, to have been hatched a bit over 2 Turns ago.

Ptodek hauls in his line, having caught only a stringy weed.

Ptodek snaps his fingers. "Weeds again. I'll have the whole bottom of the lake cleared if I stay here long, eh?" He winks at the dragon, pleased to have a conversational partner even if the conversation is a bit one-sided.

Ptodek takes out a fish-line and a hook. Baiting up, he casts it a long way out into the water. And waits.

Ptodek tugs rapidly on his line, hauling in a wriggling yellowfin

Ptodek yips gleefully. "Another one! Look how big!" He holds up the fish for Joath to admire.

Drifting close, her hide slick with the waters that caress her, that enfold her so silkily. She's a silent as the sands that support Ptodek, and regards the young man with fantastic eyes now double-lidded. What does she contemplate?

Joath lunges at a wave but the small fingertail wiggles from her grasp and escapes.

Ptodek admires the dragon, entranced by her gaze. A hand moves absently to smooth down the hair at the back of his neck.

Ptodek cocks his head slightly, regarding Joath. "Do you like fish? My firelizards eat fish sometimes." He holds out the yellowfin, offering it to her.

Recovering her composure quickly, having failed so miserably with her hunt for the fingertail: ridiculous of her to seek something so small! There's better prey to be had, and she's just realizing this, as can be inferred by the mounting attention she sends in Ptodek's direction.

Ptodek hesitates. "Well, maybe you'd rather catch your own," he speculates. "But I've only got these two, and they're not really enough to feed anyone with.. so if you're hungry for fish..." His voice trails off. *Why* is she looking at him that way?

Joath refuses his fish -- this lissome green nourishes her pride as one of Ista's near peerless huntresses. No, she'll rebuff Ptodek in this regard. However, she, with a subtle twitch of her shoulders, floats even closer to the loquacious lad. She's less than a dragonlength away.

Ptodek shrugs. "Okay, that's fine." He doesn't seem to mind that his offering was refused. He attaches the second fish to the stringline that he has attached to a stake in the shallow water. Then he glances again at the dragon, nervously.

Reversing her forward course, Joath dips under the water's crystalline surface. This she shatters as she rears upward, her svetle shape cutting the air cleanly. Flung outwards, like the night blossoming flowers of Ista's forests, she traverses the space that separates her from Ptodek and alights gently in the space that's just adjacent to his side -- relative to dragon size, of course.

Ptodek laughs lightly. "You don't want the fish, what do you want? I haven't got a wherry in my pocket, you know," he says, smiling warmly at Joath.

Meticulous attention to detail is a trait that's central to Sloane's Joath. She's careful to keep her human companion dry, despite the many rivulets of water that mark her hide with a myriad of obsidian trails. Down sweeps her head, a long, blue eye, easily surpassing the man's head in size, watches him, studies him, measures him.

Ptodek's cane pole falls from his hand, forgotten, as he stands locked eye-to-eye with the green dragon. A long moment later, he remembers to breathe.

"She likes you, you know," comes a woman's voice, ripe with humor. "You're quite unique. She doesn't enjoy people." The woman is beside you. Her name is Sloane and she belongs to Joath. "Name's Sloane, by the way. Her name is Joath."

Ptodek looks up, startled. "Ah, hello." He blinks, the spell broken. "I-- she likes me?" A smile; that pleases him. "I, I'm Ptodek. I work in the kitchen. Here."

Azure eyes, angled bones, chiseled lips, and a sculpted nose compose this Istan Wingsecond's shapely face. Broad shouldered, leggy, and lithesome, her movements boast manly grace. Sun-browned, brunette, & young, she's an athletic 5'10" tall.In her white, cotton tank and tan, wherhide slacks, she can appear dauntless. Rich, silken locks cascade halfway down her back, and riding goggles and gloves adorn a silver-buckled belt that's cinched tight about her waist. Modest, moccasin-like slippers complete her cool looking outfit. When away from Ista's warmth, she adds a low-profile riding helmet and fleece-lined jacket.

Ptodek bends swiftly to pick up his pole, blushing slightly.

Sloane crouches beside the man, radiating an aura of superiority, despite the fact that Ptodek is most certainly her elder. Sloane's intensity comes naturally to her, even when she's hunched forward with her hands in the sand. It's a blessing and a curse. Her Joath nudges her gently, and there's communication occuring between the two. "She tells me that even though you work in the kitchen ... she still thinks your worthwhile." Sloane's not one to be diplomatic.

Sloane looks at Starbright.

Ptodek swallows hard, and blinks fiercely, looking away. When he finally does speak, it's in a ragged voice. "You're from Ista," he says. "You've eggs on the sands. Is that what this is about?"

As she claps her hands together, sending soot-colored sand showering down, Sloane glances sidelong at Ptodek through several strands of her silken tresses; it's a flash of bemused blue through a fine fence of dark brown. "I don't know. It all depends, I suppose."

Ptodek clenches his jaw, knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip on the fishing pole. "Depends on?"

"Well, first I'd like to know your name." Out goes Sloane's hand, and she places it over Ptodek's on the fishing pole with a reassuring smile. Shaking her head, she advises, "Let's forget this for the moment, okay? Talk to me."

Ptodek relaxes at the touch, heaving a sigh and closing his eyes briefly. "Ptodek," he says, and looks at Sloane. The blue firelizard on his shoulder chitters imperiously, and the man chuckles. "And this is Starbright, who doesn't like to be left out of things."

Sloane turns her azure-blue regard on Ptodek's Starbright. She makes no remark; Sloane's not one who places much value on firelizards. Instead, she focuses her interest on the object of her Joath's attention. "You seem stressed, Ptodek. Don't be. It won't better your chances for Impression. I'd enjoy the process if I were you."

Ptodek's laugh sounds a little forced. "Stressed, well, I don't know. I just didn't expect-- after all these Turns." He pauses. "I came here on Search, Turns ago, and, well." He spreads his hands, palms up. "Here I am, still. Working in the kitchens."

"You were Searched once before," says Sloane sharply. Cocking her head to one side, her brow furrowed, she requests that Ptodek, "Please explain."

Ptodek shrugs. "I lived at Benden Hold. I grew up there. And one day a search rider came, and all of us young folk lined up out in the courtyard, and the dragon chose ME." His voice is tinged with wonder at that. "And so I came here. And after the Hatching, I stayed. I was only a little kid then.I figured, better to be around dragons than not, even if I couldn't have my own." He snorts, rolling his eyes slightly. "I was so sure I was going to Impress a bronze, you know?"

Sloane nods, her face turned forwards, an elegant profile to Ptodek. "No, I don't know. I'm sorry for you." No, Sloane's not tactful. "So, what are you sure of now?"

Ptodek shrugs. "Not much," he admits.

"That's very reassuring." Sloane locks eyes on some distant point far out over the water. Her Joath is now stretched out beside her, the tip of her snout is the bit of her that borders and dwarfs Sloane. "Still, Joath likes you."

Ptodek smiles, and his eyes shine as he looks again at the green dragon. "Well, we can't disappoint Joath, can we?"

Sloane says with cool certainty. "No, -you- cannot." She stands and gazes down on the bright-eyed man beside her. "So, do you think you can do my Joath proud, Ptodek? You're her first Search, if you didn't know." This Timor Wingsecond really isn't so hard as she seems, as can be seen by the smile that now tickles the ends of her lips.

Ptodek laughs, and the last of the tension seems to drain out of his body. "No, I didn't know-- her first, am I? Well, I'll do my best, that I will." His gaze wanders to Joath. "I'll do my best," he repeats in almost a whisper.

Ptodek crouches to unhook his stringer from the stake in the sand. The pitiful catch, a small flatfish and a medium-sized yellowfin, flop about at the end of the string. "I suppose I'd best pack a few things," he says in a business-like tone. "If I have time?"

"Glad to hear it, Ptodek." An unspoken signal from Sloane forces Joath to her feet. The green obliges with uncanny ease and good humor. However, now she pays no attention whatsoever to the man who addresses her lifemate; her mission is complete. "You've time, Ptodek," asserts Sloane. "Meet me here where you're ready to go. Although," and she's merciless now, "we do have a kitchen in Ista." She really is well-intentioned lass. Really.

Ptodek nods sharply. "I won't be long," he promises and starts off toward the bowl at a near run, fish flopping ridiculously behind him.

In the Living Cavern

Leya wrinkles her nose, "Oh, not fun." She then turns to stares at Ptodek, "What? You mean Ista is /stealing/ you from us?"

Kassima does a double-take at the spectacle of Ptodek and his flying fish. "You have fish flopping behind you," she informs him helpfully, as though this might have escaped his notice. "Search? For Neith and Gelth's clutch? Is it that Wingsecond's green? Who--oh!" Yes, Leya has provided a clue. "Ptodek! Did she Search you?"

Ptodek laughs almost hysterically, beaming all over. "Yes! Yes, she.." he dissolves into helpless laughter and collapses onto the nearest bench.

Leya tries to scowl at Ptodek, but isn't doing a very good job as a smile keeps sneaking in, "How dare she. Hmph. And after we were nice to here and all..." She tries to scowl harder, "I thought you were going fetch stuff for me as long I couldn't walk around much?"

Ptodek covers his mouth to stifle the laughter. "Well," he says soberly after regaining his composure, "if you think I shouldn't go..." It's no good, he's off again, giggling.

Kassima doesn't bother trying to scowl; she just beams, clearly pleased. "Well! This does solve the question of who I should be betting on t'make m'next fortune, doesn't it, now? Felicitations--and I'm *sure*," she further drawls, droll, "that Leya can find someone to help. Mayhaps make the Healer do it, Leya, in retribution for the grounding."

Ptodek howls with laughter. "The Healer! ...oooohh" he stops laughing abruptly. "Jenren. I wonder where she is?" He looks around the cavern, as if he expected one of the riders to produce her out of a pocket.

Kassima spreads her hands to indicate ignorance. "Search me. Pun nay intended."

Ptodek dissolves into giggles yet again. He'll never get out of the weyr at this rate.

Kassima then wonders, "If'n you've been Searched, though, Ptodek, shouldn't you be gathering your things? Or are the green and her rider in question going t'be staying on awhile?"

Leya stops trying to scowl and instead grins at Ptodek, "Well, congratulations. I can see you're happy about it." She glances around the living cavern, then shrugs, "She's probably in the infirmary or checking on one of her patients. If you want, I could tell her where you ran off to if you need to leave soon."

Ptodek nods. "Well, yes, Sloane said I could take my time, but I don't want to keep her waiting too long. I should go pack," he says, starting toward the lower caverns, but then he stops. "Oh! my fish." He looks at Kassima and Leya. "Um, does anyone want some fish?"

Leya raises her hands up in the air, "Not me, but I'm sure Keara or anyone else in the kitchen could use them in something."

Kassima shakes her head. "Fish," she says, "is nay generally m'food of choice, save when I'm proddy, and I'm nay. Thank Faranth. Mayhaps give 'em to the kitchen-folk? They'd know what t'be doing with 'em."

Ptodek grins. "Yes. The kitchen." He dashes in briefly, and returns a bare moment later, fish-less. "Now. To pack. Um, see you later." One wouldn't have thought he could move so quickly.

. . .

Several minutes later

Leya waves to Caralain as she comes in, then smiles at Ptodek, "Got all your stuff?"

Ptodek staggers across the cavern under the weight of a leather bag that's nearly half the size of his body. A fair of firelizards follows behind, diving and chirping and swooping in circles.

Leya giggles as she eyes the bag, "Or did you just empty the entire Lower Caverns?"

Nimooe enters from the Bowl.

Kassima chuckles quietly at Ptodek's exuberance. "I don't think anyone ever packs so fast as when they've been called away for Search," she asides to Leya before offering a wave to Caralain as well. "G'day, and duties to the Bakercraft and her Masters, Apprentice--shells, Ptodek. Think you've got everything? Or mayhaps you should be snagging a sink from the kitchens, too?" Her tone gives away that, yes, she's teasing.

Ptodek nods to Leya. "Yes, I.. I think so. If I forgot anything, I'll send a 'lizard, and maybe one of you could send it along?"

Caralain skitters happily in, a hide stuffed in a pocket. "Hello!" High-pitched, frighteningly cheerful, probably very irritating voice. "Anybody seen my sister? -Er, yeah, Baker's duties."

Nimooe strides into the living cavern, whistling brightly, one child on one hip, another on the other. She smiles at a few people and then nods to Caralain as she sets the children down, "Weyr's duties to the Baker Craft."

Ptodek stops in his tracks, looking Caralain over. "Is Keara your sister?" he asks. "I saw her the other day at Ista, we were both there to visit Keira."

Leya smiles and nods to Kassi, "I agree, though I don't think I brought half as much stuff as that with me." She grins and nods to Ptodek, "Sure, though from the looks of that bag, I doubt you left much except maybe dust in your room."

"Depends. Who's your sister?" Kassima wants to know. Then: "Keara? Oh. Nay, haven't seen her about, but I spent most of the morning in the Springs. Methinks we could find some way of getting your things t'you, Ptodek, i'truth."

Caralain examines Ptodek for a minute, "Funny. You don't look like the kind of guy she usually goes after." A cheerful nod to Nimooe and a wincing step /away/ from those evil creatures - children. "Haven't? Mayhap she's in the kitchens. I've a recipe, a new one, for her."

Ptodek blinks. "I don't, do I?" A grin breaks across his face. "Nah, but I am the kind Istan dragons go after, looks like!" He swaggers, or as near as possible under the weight of his bag, as he makes his way to the bowl entrance. "Goodbye, all! Be sure to come visit me!"

Kassima laughs, amused both by the swagger and exuberance. "Clear skies, Candidate!" she yells after him, though probably too late. "That brings back memories," she murmurs. "A new recipe? A recipe for what, or shouldn't I ask? Naught t'do with tubers, I hope."