Proper Form [Nine]

[Agenothree]

Tess stalked from a dusty practice dummy like a solider coming home from war, a snarl better suited on a wher curling her face, her movements sloppy and hasty as she undid her bindings from her hands. One remark at dinner she interpreted to be malicious had done it, sent her flying off in a blind rage, disregarding both her weyrmate and his dragon's calls to return. If she didn't, punches would've been thrown, insults and foul words spat like she was a venomous tunnelsnake. Did tunnelsnakes spit venom? Halting, she questioned her studies, her memory, afraid to find herself falling short somehow. It turned her grimace into a frown.

Making a disgusted sound at it all, Tess flung down her now ruined wrappings and sat down heavily, pretending not to notice how her tailbone twinged in protest, putting her head in her hands. A soft whuff of warm air danced along her skin and tugged her clothes into a wave for a split second, a green dragon wordlessly asking if she was okay; her closest friend since that fateful day in 2762. As wordlessly as Kazeroth, Tess lifted a hand to gently run her fingers along a smooth muzzle, which slowly lowered to her level, to be nearer to her. Did that make it better? she queried, rumbling at sensing Tess' aches and stings, that exertion shared as a muted tingle. Not really, Tess admitted, her mindvoice a grumble. But it was worth a try.

A few more minutes went by, a pensive and thoughtful time for them both, before Kazeroth sensed something. Lifting her head, her eyes were like malignant rubies glowing in a growing dusk as she spotted a white and her wherhandler nearby. Through her green's eyes, Tess saw them, but she scoffed, putting her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees, not far from a pouty child; she was in no mood for company.