Umm...A'cel? Oririth inquired, looking up at his rider. His dark wings were splayed on either side of him as he sat, tail curled around his paws, on the hard stone floor.
A'cel stole a glance down at the weyrling dragon as he began to pack his things in preperation of the move to their new quarters. "What is it, Oririth?" He asked patiently.
Don't they usually assign the weyrs two weyrlings to each? He reminded the now almost eighteen-turn-old boy.
A'cel stopped. "Ugh, that's right, they do." He sighed. "Ah well, I'll just ask the Weyrlingmaster if we can have one to ourselves. It's not like it was a large clutch, anyway." He said, picking up his bag and scratching the dark blue's eyeridges before they left the weyrling barracks, hopefully for the last time.
