More Shade, More Klah
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Hunter, Iluva
Date Posted: 8th June 2025
Characters: Xu'ma, Eyla
Description: The dragonhealers debrief after Threadfall
Location: Barrier Lake Weyr
Date: month 8, day 24 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: Rasme, N'kevyn, V'maran, Q'vettan
Note: Mentor Approved by Heather
Late morning light spilled through the high windows of the dining hall by the time Xu’ma strolled in, boots echoing softly against stone. Rest hadn’t done much - his shoulders still carried the stiffness of the night before, and his fingers twitched with phantom memory: the tension of hide beneath his hands, the slick heat of ichor, the careful stitching of a bronze’s torn flank under dim light.
He dropped into his seat with a satisfied grunt, klah halfway gone and already cooling in front of him. He eyed it, lips twitching in mild disappointment, just as movement in the corner of his vision drew his gaze.
A familiar face and one he was expecting, threading through the tables. Without missing a beat, Xu’ma leaned back and flicked a boot at the empty chair beside him. It shot out with a scrape, skidding to a neat stop just within reach.
“Was starting to think you’d sleep through the whole damn day,” he said, raising the cup to his lips, even though the klah was cold.
Eyla's electric eye met Xu’ma’s just as her hand caught the chair back. With her firm grip sliding it neatly back into place, she settled into the seat beside it, flipping a braid over her shoulder and out of the way.
“No chance of that, I'm afraid.” She said matter of factly.
Her shoulders were stiff, the bursa aggravated from overuse, but she'd still spent the night on a hard cot in her office. Crises didn’t end just because the battle was won.
Even so, as she sat back, soft coils of steam rising to brush her face, her posture was impeccable, her gaze steady. She studied the other dragonhealer with casual, almost clinical interest. “Did you sleep? You look terrible.”
Xu’ma gave a quiet snort, more amused than bitter. “Sleep? Not unless you count the hour I spent slumped sideways in a chair trying to pretend my spine wasn’t made of wherhide. Got maybe thirty minutes of actual rest before my brother’s firelizard _bit_ me awake.” He tapped the faint crescent mark still reddened on his forearm. "_Apparently_, my delightful offspring and their dubiously secret Forge Club decided last night was the perfect time to light up the Dragonfalls Weyr smithy after dark. No permission. No journeyman supervision. One ruined crucible, a whole lot of smoke, and three apprentices caught red-handed and smudged head to toe.”
He drained the rest of his cold klah with a grimace, then set the mug down harder than he meant to. “So instead of sleep, I had to haul Vuth /between/ before dawn and land in the middle of a still-glowing forge yard to find Xouga shouting himself hoarse and my daughter trying to justify experimental load-bearing rigging with the confidence of someone who’s _never_ accidentally melted a stirrup.” His voice flattened, but his eyes held a flicker of reluctant pride. “If I live through their adolescence, it’ll be a wonder. And if Xouga survives it, it’ll be a miracle.”
Eyla leaned back and signaled a drudge. “Klah,” she clarified when they arrived, indicating the bluerider's mug with a stained finger, “please.”
“Well,” she continued dryly, “that'll teach me to complain about my children. I think the worst they did when they were Standing age was coat the Weyrleader's office floor in oil. Yours sound a good deal more ambitious. And expensive.” She gave a rare sympathetic smile before exhaling slowly through her nose. “Shall I tell you about my night, see if it makes you feel a little better?” She queried, not waiting for agreement, “For starters, I slept in my office. When I wasn't putting back together all the files that some wherrybrained apprentice dropped in inchor, I was checking on Phasath every two to three candlemarks. Just to make sure she didn't tear her bandages again. Kellina's in the infirmary with a broken arm and that silly girl kept flying into hysterics about Phasath all night. Poor thing kept getting so worked up. She's surprisingly strong-willed for such a small green. But thank Faranth for Piketh, at least.”
She heaved a sigh into her mug, “Then, who did I have but V'maran knocking on my door before Rukbat was even up.” The look Eyla gave Xu'ma said everything there was to say on that. “At least we didn't lose anyone this ‘Fall.”
“Too close, though,” Xu’ma said, his voice sobering as a drudge set a fresh mug of klah in front of him. He gave a grateful, if tight, nod in thanks before continuing. “If that tangle of Thread fell just a few handspans to the right, N’kevyn would’ve been the one shredded instead of Avicath taking it on the leg. You see my stitching, though? Real work of art, that. Should’ve signed it.”
“Yes, that was way too close. Poor Avicath, at least he seems to enjoy his rest time. Shouldn't take any extra time for him to heal.” Eyla sipped from her own mug, “And I've always thought of the stitches themselves being one's signature. You're a steady hand, Xu'ma.”
Xu’ma grinned, before tilting his head as if only just registering V’maran’s name, then leaned in across the table, elbows splayed like he was bracing for scandal. “What did that crotchety old wherry want this time?”
“What else?” She groaned, not about to keep her voice down, “To turn _all_ my hair grey. Did you know, he actually tried to tell me who was fit to return to the wings without even having medical clearance finalized?"
"He did not!" the bluerider gasped in mock horror.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he started showing up to every appointment with them. Being made a Wingleader has made him even more grating, and from what I heard of him before that's no easy feat.”
Eyla's mouth drew a hard line, “I don't know what Q'vettan was thinking with him. But, anyway, I've got the junior apprentices all lined up to make numbweed today.” She rolled his eyes anticipating their reactions, “Their favorite.”
Xu'ma snorted, the amusement not entirely masking a flicker of sympathy. “Well, if those apprentices don’t kill you with complaints about losing feeling in their fingers, I'll see you there later.”
Last updated on the June 8th 2025