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Turns upon Turns had passed since he'd been but a boy and Rekoriath had come into his life, but he would never grow tired of tracing his fingers against his dragon's supple hide. True, they were both more grizzled with scars and age, but all was exactly how it should be. Though normally J'deen would have tended trimming his bronze's talons in private, Rekoriath had wanted to bathe in the lake after a satisfying breakfast. He'd stretched himself out in the sunlight now, watching his rider through half-lidded eyes as the small man expertly filed down his claws.

The latest batch of Weyrlings were coming along nicely, from what he'd overheard and personally witnessed. It had been a fine clutch for Zenobiath's first with no real abnormalities to speak of. No queen egg, but that wasn't unusual--and three fine bronzes to add to High Reaches. As far as J'deen was concerned, he was simply grateful there had been no white dragons. Rekoriath rumbled in wordless agreement. They both knew the creatures lacked the stamina to be proper fighters, and it was a waste of precious time and resources to train them up.

The leaders of the Weyr had spoken differently, and J'deen would keep his mouth shut and accept it. The best he could do was support the decision, and support it he would.

Still. He couldn't help but be glad there hadn't been any whites. A fine clutch overall, and flying already. They'd be fighting Thread before too much longer, and with luck, they wouldn't lose many of them.

He blew sharply on one of Rekoriath's talons, examining it with narrowed eyes before resuming his work.