Zulyeva looked up from where she was cleaning her knife. I bet you do, after that meal. Where do you put all that meat in your little body?
I dunno where it goes. I just eat it. And then I itch. A lot, Atarikath answered. Like I do now.
I get the hint. Just let me finish cleaning my knife. Cutting up herdbeasts for you is a bloody task, Zulyeva held up her belt knife, which was still stained.
Atarikath sat up and rubbed her head against her side. She still itched. Your knife can wait. I really, really itch.
Zulyeva rubbed the blade one last time and then gave up on it. Sticking the knife in its sheath, she stood up. C'mon, let's go get rid of your itch.
Can't you oil me here? Atarikath asked, flopping back onto the warm ground of the weyrbowl. I'm much too full to move.
Aren't we in a difficult mood today, Zulyeva drawled, gazing down at her half-asleep dragon.
Not a difficult mood, Atarikath corrected, just a tired and lazy one.
C'mon you, Zulyeva bent to help, or rather force, the dragon to her feet, It's not that long of a walk back to the barracks. I'm sure you'll make it.
You'd better remember this when I'm trying to get you off your lazy hind end tommorow morning, Atarikath grumbled as she climbed to her feet.
