Living Cavern
The smooth, rounded walls of the vast living cavern sweep upward from an oval base, two dragonlengths long and one wide, large enough to seat every member of the Weyr at mealtimes. The soft blackness of the lava which forms these caverns swallows glowlight, so shelves for glowbaskets abound, dotting the walls every three or four paces and casting gentle greenish light up toward the sparkles of gold volcanic glass embedded in the ceiling. Ancient lustrous tables run along the long axis of the cavern, and at the far end is the raised dais and high table, where the Weyrleaders and their honored guests eat during formal occasions. Behind the high table, the Weyr's symbol is chiseled into the stone: a smoking mountain in black, on an orange shield, trimmed in gold.

Brencia (#16352)
     A toddler's bright and inquisitive nut-brown eyes, dark lashes and button nose are framed in a full, round-cheeked smile. Innocent wonder and mischief light her miniature frame, her lengthening, wild chestnut hair fanning about her face as it escapes every attempt at confinement. Tiny freckles fleck sun-shaded skin, a small brown child full of laughter.
     Short pants of durable purple fabric hang from Brencia's small waist down to her scraped and dirty knees, topped with a shirt that was once a soft shade of lavendar, but now, seems more like a shade of dirt. Along with the small string of embroidered flowers that encircle the toddler's throat, the shirt is decorated with streaks looking similar to tiny handprints, bluish-purple stains only traceable back to bubbly pies, and drops of red, most likely from the morning's cup of redfruit juice. Her small feet are covered by a pair of dusty but durable wherhide sandals in their natural shade of brown.
     Brencia is 3 Turns, 10 months, and 15 days old.

T'rell (#5123)
     A small fellow, his shoulders are broad, his hands well-calloused, and his form compact and fit. His dirt-brown eyes sparkle with mischief and humor to lend a joke to his short and wavy hair, which has become quite a remarkable shade of light grey. His cleanshaven features are unlined except when he's laughing and are free and mobile with his expressions, such that all his five feet and four inches of height are alight with a juvenile and contagious spirit.
     A dark brown, broken-in wherhide jacket hangs well on his shoulders over a plain shirt, his wingleader's knot aging less gracefully than its wearer with its bronze strand winding unevenly through the orange and black of Ista. An embroidered patch shows his wing insignia, a cresting wave cut by a sweeping bronze dragon. Work trousers end at brown boots, sturdy and practical.
     T'rell is 40 Turns, 7 months, and 14 days old.

Brencia flies into the room from the Southern Caverns, her short legs carrying her as quickly as they possibly can in the direction of the sweets table. All attention is focused on her goal, getting her away from her keeper and to the bubblies that she *knows* are on that table.

Movement draws T'rell's glance, and it takes him several of Brencia's short, quick steps for him to realize what's going on. "Brencia," his voice projects across the cavern, seeking to arrest the child's flight. "Bren, what're you doing?" He gets up, leaving breakfast behind. "Where's Cirrus?"

Brencia comes to a complete stop, feet frozen to the floor beneath them. Her eyes blink slowly as she turns her head to face the voice that she knows is her father's, offering him a look of fear. She's been caught. By Daddy. "Hi Daddy!" she calls out as he walks closer to her, offering him the toothy smile that usually seems to work with adults.

T'rell says, "Hi, 'Cia," T'rell replies in a similar tone -- the one that implies that it ain't gonna work on him. A few strides of his and he catches up to her, crouching to take her small hand. "Where were you going?""

Brencia bats her eyes up at him, one more time, maybe it'll work this time. Tiny pink tongue slips across her lips while she thinks of an answer, one of her mother's traits that spilled over into her. Finally, she lifts her other hand and points at the sweets table, "Bubblies, Daddy."

A slight grin tugs at Daddy's mouth as he glances at the table. "But there aren't any bubblies there this early," he explains. "They make those at lunchtime." T'rell straightens up, accompanying Brencia the rest of the way. "See? The tray's empty. Besides..." And let's get to the point, shall we. "You're supposed to be with Cirrus."

Brencia's smile fades as she realizes that what her father says is true, no bubblies. Her lips continue to turn down into quite a pout. Getting into trouble wasn't even worth it this time, because no bubblies were caught in the process. "But why, Daddy? Why bubblies only at lunch?" She looks up at her father's face, avoiding the 'point' of the conversation as best she can.

T'rell keeps his face relatively stern with an effort. "That's not the point, Bren." He crouches again, down to meet her at just about eye level. "Where's Cirrus, and why aren't you with her?"

Brencia blinks her eyes, still pouting, but now with an effort to look completely innocent, and she shrugs, lifting both of her shoulders much higher than normal. "Cirri didn't come with me, Daddy. She didn't want bubblies."

T'rell levels a no-nonsense look at his daughter. "The truth, Bren. You know better than to mislead us. Why did you run away from Cirrus?" His hold on her hand is gentle, but he's not letting go.

Brencia's look actually turns genuine, her big eyes filling up with tears that threaten to spill over. Not only is she in trouble, but she's in trouble with Daddy, nothing can be worse than that. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I was hungry, and Cirri didn't want to leave the others, so I came by myself."

"And she *let* you go," T'rell asks dubiously. "The truth, 'Cia." His tone gentles -- he's a softie, really, and certainly Brencia knows as much. But he's not going to let her get away with fibbing, so he takes a breath and remains firm.

Brencia shakes her head, her gaze now on the floor, "No Daddy, she didn't let me." Sandaled feet shuffle on the floor below them, making gentle scraping sounds. "But she didn't say *I* couldn't come. Truth, Daddy."

T'rell smiles, just a touch, and pushes one of the little girl's errant curls away from her face. "Thank you for the truth, 'Cia. I believe you." There, positive reinforcement before the next hard question. "Next truth: you didn't ask Cirrus, did you?"

Brencia sniffles, reaching up a dirty hand to brush the tears away from her face, "No Daddy, didn't ask, but Cirri would have said no, if I'd asked." Honesty, however bad it happens to be, is given. "I didn't go *far* daddy, Cirri's just right *there*."

T'rell wipes Brencia's tear from her cheek with a calloused, oil-softened thumb. "Do you know why she would've said no?"

Brencia nods her head, realizing that if she tells anything but the truth, she'll be in more trouble than she already is. "Because Brencia isn't supposed to go anywhere by herself," she pauses, lifting her eyes to look into her father's, "right, Daddy?"

"That's right." T'rell nods, earnest confirmation. "And do you know *why* Brencia's not supposed to go anywhere by herself?" He grimaces at a twinge in his left ankle, and shifts his weight, still crouched down. Grow, kid.

Brencia takes a big breath, swelling her small body up like a balloon, releasing it again before answering. "'cause if 'cia gets hurt, no one will know, or if 'cia gets lost, no one will find her?"

T'rell nods. "And your mom and I don't want that to happen, and neither does Cirrus. Do you?" Okay, the answer to this one should be pretty obvious.

Brencia shakes her head, accenting with another sniffle, "No Daddy."

T'rell straightens up, hoisting Brencia up to carry her. "Well, good, I'm glad of that," he smiles to her, catching another tear and wiping it from her small face. "So next time you want to go somewhere, you're going to ask Cirrus, right, and do what she says?"

Brencia buries her head against her father's neck as she's carried back to the person from whom she just escaped, "Yes, Daddy. Ask Cirri and do what she says."

T'rell holds the little girl close in a hug as he walks slowly. "Good for you. Oh, guess what?" His tone holds a secret, one that his daughter is bound to like, but he's gonna make her guess.

Brencia pulls her head away from T'rell's shoulder and looks into his eyes, "What Daddy? Bubblies for dinner?"

T'rell chuckles, letting his smile emerge again. "No, though if we're lucky maybe we'll find some. But that wasn't it. Guess again."

Brencia wrinkles her nose as she thinks, "Ish and I get to go flying with you and Seji tonight?"

T'rell shakes his head ruefully. "Nope, sorry, we're on duty tonight 'till bedtime. Sorry, kiddo," he shrugs. "But guess again." He smiles, bouncing Brencia gently as he carries her back to her babysitter.

Brencia sighs softly, lifting her gaze to stare at the ceiling as they move back to Cirrus' room, "I don't know, Daddy. I give up. What is it?"

"You give up?" T'rell asks incredulously, teasing. "Oh, all right. Yla's going to make you and Ish a couple of sock-wherries," he reveals. "Ever seen a sock-wherry before?"

Brencia wrinkles her brow, looking completely serious as she attempts to pull from her memories any mention of such a thing. "A sock-wherry? What's that?"

T'rell chuckles at her intent expression. "Well, you'll find out, won't you?"

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