Boreal set the toy down gently in front of Pip, pale eyes intent on the fuzzy noodle. She gave a bob of her head, nosing the tough, braided rag rope towards her friend and snorted in delight when Pip pounced on it. Normally she insisted that Tal or Sasha hold the other end, but she was just as happy to have a draconic playmate to tug-tug with, and she modulated her strength with Pip just as she did with the tiny ursur cub that was Alys's companion.
Hair was for keeping his ears and neck warm and beyond that something to wash thoroughly but quickly, brush hurriedly, and otherwise fight to keep out of his eyes. The entire concept of split ends had bypassed Tal entirely once he'd apprenticed as a courier to his aunt, running the dogsled delivery route on the Tundra and Sea of Glass in the years before the War. He squinted at the hair that Koa showed him and then tilted his head to peer at the Dragoon's sleek and shiny coif, comparing the two with the light of understanding dawning in his eyes.
All that was missing was a big, black, phallic obelisk-- oh wait, the Hollowed Grounds still had one of those!
Tal wasn't exactly an eager student, but he wasn't a reluctant one at least. His scowl was one of intense thought as he poured their drinks - Koa might have been pleased to note a splash of whiskey that turned the honeyed tea into a hot toddy - and he even asked a few questions to clear up a couple points of confusion.
As they relaxed at the kitchen table with Tal's new regimen at the courier's elbow he snorted in amused disbelief and sipped his steaming drink. "I dunno that I've done anythin' bad enough t'deserve that," he protested teasingly. "I'll leave the gentlemannin' t'the professionals! Though I'd prob'ly make a piss-poor Dragoon." He shrugged, only half-joking himself. "My da died a Deepfrost Shield, protectin' Halo from a cultist attack. I was too scrawny a brat t'follow in his footsteps... an' dragoonin' is a lot o' followin' someone else's orders, yeah?" Being up before dawn, practicing marching, and being expected to run towards trouble instead of away from it? Sounded suspiciously like hero-stuff, and Tal had never pretended to be one of those!
Hair was for keeping his ears and neck warm and beyond that something to wash thoroughly but quickly, brush hurriedly, and otherwise fight to keep out of his eyes. The entire concept of split ends had bypassed Tal entirely once he'd apprenticed as a courier to his aunt, running the dogsled delivery route on the Tundra and Sea of Glass in the years before the War. He squinted at the hair that Koa showed him and then tilted his head to peer at the Dragoon's sleek and shiny coif, comparing the two with the light of understanding dawning in his eyes.
All that was missing was a big, black, phallic obelisk-- oh wait, the Hollowed Grounds still had one of those!
Tal wasn't exactly an eager student, but he wasn't a reluctant one at least. His scowl was one of intense thought as he poured their drinks - Koa might have been pleased to note a splash of whiskey that turned the honeyed tea into a hot toddy - and he even asked a few questions to clear up a couple points of confusion.
As they relaxed at the kitchen table with Tal's new regimen at the courier's elbow he snorted in amused disbelief and sipped his steaming drink. "I dunno that I've done anythin' bad enough t'deserve that," he protested teasingly. "I'll leave the gentlemannin' t'the professionals! Though I'd prob'ly make a piss-poor Dragoon." He shrugged, only half-joking himself. "My da died a Deepfrost Shield, protectin' Halo from a cultist attack. I was too scrawny a brat t'follow in his footsteps... an' dragoonin' is a lot o' followin' someone else's orders, yeah?" Being up before dawn, practicing marching, and being expected to run towards trouble instead of away from it? Sounded suspiciously like hero-stuff, and Tal had never pretended to be one of those!
