The World of Pern(tm) is copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

This is a log of roleplay on PernMUSH, available online by permission of
Anne McCaffrey, author of the Pern novels, and recorded by A.S. Korra'ti
(piper@murkworks.net), player of Mehlani of Telgar Weyr on PernMUSH.
This log may be distributed freely as long as this header remains intact.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Log Date:
	7/22, 7/28, 7/29/98

Log Cast:
	Jorenan, Mehlani

Log Intro:
	Mehlani's life has come to something of a crisis point, as the 
Baker Jorenan has confessed to her that he is in love with her -- and made
Mehlani realize that she cannot in good conscience choose yet between him
and brownrider K'star, not without talking with Kes. And so, 'Lani has
been in a veritable agony of anxiety as she searches the Weyr up and down
for the busy dragonrider -- while avoiding, along with most of the rest of
the Weyr, that same dragonrider's cousin. For lo, Kassima's green dragon
Lysseth is proddy, and a proddy Kassima is a terrible sight to behold. 
Enough that in Mehlani's case she's taken fleeing as the better part of
valor and has spent most of the day looking after her horse. But even the
Weyr's meadow isn't really far enough to get away from the effects of a
dragonflight, or far enough away to avoid at least one of the young men who
seek her heart...

----------
Your location's current time: 21:52 on day 16, month 9, Turn 23, of the Tenth 
  Pass. It is a autumn evening.

Jorenan opens the gate and enters from the central bowl, closing it behind 
  him.
Jorenan has arrived.
Jorenan is watching above at least as much as he's watching where he's going.

Not too far away from the entrance to the beasthold, Mehlani has hold of the 
  reins of Nightsong, who is clearly skittish, settling down from what might 
  have been an earlier panic. The black mare's in something of a sweat, her 
  demeanor agitated; her ebon head tosses up and down and she paws a front 
  hoof at the earth as 'Lani, at her side, murmurs soothing nonsense to her 
  over and over. The girl's pointedly avoiding looking skyward.

Jorenan trips over something or other enough to make him look where he's going 
  instead of the sky. He notes Mehlani's presence, glances skyward once, and 
  then continues on. There was a hesitation there, as if perhaps he realizes a 
  danger but doesn't want to admit it. He strolls towards Mehlani relaxedly. 
  As he gets loser, it becomes apparent that he's got klah and a snack with 
  him.

Nightsong whinnies, her dark gaze swinging around in Jorenan's direction. 
  "Shhhh, shhhh now," murmurs Mehlani to her mare, turning her own head 
  around. But the runner does stop pawing at the ground beneath her hooves, 
  and Mehlani gives a wisp of a smile to the approaching Journeyman, her 
  features tired, a bit of sweat on her brow beneath the brim of her 
  ever-present hat.

Jorenan considers the look of the two. As he approaches, he makes calming 
  noises at the runner. Perhaps they'll work on the girl, too. "You look," he 
  says, "As if you've had quite a ride."

"She saw the dragons blooding," murmurs Mehlani tiredly.

He grimaces, and then glances skyward again. He says a quiet "Aye." When he's 
  gotten close, he reaches up and holds a hand out to the runner. There is an 
  apple core in his hand; a remnant of his snack.

The nervous mare blows out once through her flared nostrils, then seems to 
  start and realize that Jorenan has offered her something Good. Grudgingly, 
  she accepts the core, nipping it swiftly out of his hand and crunching down 
  upon it. It's enough to make her stand still, and Mehlani's gaze turns 
  grateful. "Thank you," she tells the Baker.

Jorenan grins. "Good thing I just finished that," he says. He gives the runner 
  a bit more petting, and then lowers his hands. He glances at Melhlani 
  sidelong and the grin goes a bit more ... something. Shy, perhaps? 
  Speculative? Curious? It's hard to say exactly what.

Both Mehlani's hands occupy themselves with stroking Nightsong's black muzzle, 
  and the mare lowers her head as she finishes off the treat, now getting her 
  breath back, calming down. Mehlani peeks back at Jorenan, and after an 
  uncertain, momentary pause, she asks timidly, "Were you... looking for me?"

Jorenan considers that. Not whether he was looking for Mehlani, for he was. 
  But maybe whether he shuld admit it or not. "I was... hoping I'd see you," 
  he finally says.

This seems to please her; a smile creeps across her mouth. "I've been out here 
  much of the day," she offers softly. She considers, then plaintively 
  appends, "Kassima is awfully... vehement when Lysseth is rising...!"

Jorenan ahs. "That would explain why you weren't in the records room." Does 
  that imply he was looking for her there? Well, probably. "Aye," he says 
  about Kassi. "I saw her on her way out to the feeding grounds. She looked 
  rather annoyed." He glances upwards and adds, "She'll probably be calmer 
  soon."

Mehlani peeks up skyward, then solemnly nods, breathing out a hopeful "Yes..."

Jorenan asks, curiously, "Can you feel it? The flight, that is?"

Her gaze still lifted up, Mehlani gives another nod, this one slower. She 
  gravely answers, "A... little. Not as much as a gold flight... not as bad as 
  it was when I-I was a little younger...!"

He nods slowly. "You've learned to ignore it, then? I ..." He glances up and 
  pauses for a moment. "I can hear it, but I can't always shut it out. It's 
  like cupping your hands over your ears, but only some of the time."

Mehlani's gaze comes back down, and she blushes, though it's harder to tell 
  out here in the darkness than it might be inside, in a glow-lit cavern. She 
  tries to hide her blush by turning her face towards her runner, and as if 
  Nightsong's momentarily flickering ear is entirely fascinating, she stares 
  at it for a while. "I... can't quite ignore it," she admits tinily.

Jorenan reaches out and puts a hand on Mehlani's arm, encouraging her to turn 
  back towards him. "No shame in that," he says. Since he's standing close 
  enough to feed the runner fruit cores, he's fairly close to Mehlani, too. 
  Not quite close enough to smell her hair, but he can pretend.

Mehlani looks up, her hands still gently stroking her runner's coat, though 
  they pause at Jorenan's contact. She smiles, just a little, and bobs her 
  head to show that she knows. "I'm like my father that way," she murmurs.

Jorenan purses his lips and nods, filing away that bit of information for 
  later contemplation. "He's survivd with it for a long while, then. It won't 
  hurt you any." He doesn't let go, and seems tempted to draw her closer.

A little flutter seems to cross Mehlani's throat, and she bobs her head 
  slowly, as she peeks at Jorenan out from under her hat brim. "I... know 
  that," she whispers.

Jorenan shakes his head slowly, maybe at something he sees in the dimly lit 
  face peering out from under the hat. A quiet click of the tongue could 
  signify any number of things. He gives her arm a gentle squeeze and lets it 
  go. "If I touch you, you tremble," he says. "Are you afraid?" Perhaps she's 
  not really trembling, and he's exagerrating. But the idea's right.

Perhaps, for she ducks her gaze, and swiftly; it takes her a few moments 
  before she whispers out huskily, "Y... yes..."

"Ah," he replies. Then, his shoulders rise in the way that means he's 
  considering saying more, taking the breath to do it, and then letting it out 
  again. Never a harper around to train him to breathe properly, and Ofira 
  never seemed to care. Finally, he says, "Come on in. The water's fine. Da 
  used to say that when we went swimming in the spring. Mighty cold, that 
  spring, but great once we were in."

"I... I'm not scared of _you_," Mehlani points out shyly.

This elicits a nod; he'd decided that on his own, but it's nice to have 
  confirmation. "No..." Jorenan agrees. "It's ... -this- that you're afraid 
  of." He steps close, and catches Mehlani's hands (reins and all) in his own. 
  He stands close, looking down at her, and then brings the fingers of one of 
  those hands to his lips.

Nightsong whickers, tossing her head at the odd activity so close to her head. 
  Mehlani, however, doesn't seem to notice. Involuntarily, her lips part as if 
  in mimicry of Jorenan's, and she gasps a little at the touch to her fingers. 
  She manages only a mute nod in reply.

His lips linger on one finger, as if tasting the sweetest fruit. Then he 
  bends, or leans, or something. It's hard to figure out exactly what, but his 
  lips meet hers in the lightest, lingering touch imaginable. "And of this," 
  he whispers in her ear.

'Lani's eyes flutter shut, and Nightsong, trying to figure out what the humans 
  are doing, swivels her black nose around and attempts to interpose it in 
  between the young man and the young maiden; if there's touching going on, as 
  far as Nightsong is concerned, it should involve her muzzle, preferably with 
  a brush. Still, Mehlani doesn't notice, as she manages to whisper, 
  "Y-yes..." Her soft voice has roughened, her throat gone dry.

Since Jorenann's got the reins as firmly as Mehlani does at this point, he can 
  pretty easily pull the runner's head. Not that she'll necessarily do what he 
  wants her to do. In the meantime, his other hand still has both of hers, and 
  is holding them to his chest. His lips meet her neck again, the touch both 
  gentle and electrifying. "And... this too, you're afraid of." he says 
  quietly.

Nightsong lets out a surprised whicker, taken aback enough that Jorenan can 
  get her head out of the way, and the motion pulls the reins from Mehlani's 
  fingers. Those fingers flutter now in the Journeyman's grasp, and so does 
  her pulse in her throat, as she gives another shaky little nod.

Nightsongs reins get wrapped around Jorenan's fist to make them a little more 
  secure, but really his concentration is on other things. The flutter in the 
  fingers reminds him of something, perhaps, for his hand (and hers with it) 
  go down towards her belly. "And here," he says, "there are flits diving and 
  dancing, demanding to be set free."

"Y... yes... how....." Mehlani trails off, her voice still small and 
  breathless. Then she manages to finish, "... do you know....?"

Doh! She wasn't supposed to ask that. There is a pause, wherein Jorenan thinks 
  fast. Of course, he's also still nuzzling Mehlani's neck, but he's pretty 
  sure that's not going to be a distraction. Which way to tell it, hmmm. 
  Finally, he says, "Because I feel them, too." There, that's about right.

Mehlani breathes, "You do...?" Her head tilts a little; indeed, that gentle 
  nuzzling to her neck is distracting the lass, for she seems unable to speak 
  above that barely audible murmur. Her hands shiver within Jorenan's grasp, 
  her fingertips brushing tentative and soft against his chest.

His hand loosens, since Mehlani seems to want her hands free for other things 
  for the moment, and Jorenan nods very slightly. "Aye," he breathes quietly, 
  his breath warming a part of her neck. "A positive panic, they're in. Like 
  ... like they've forgotten how to between and they're in a dark place 
  alone." Hmmm. Not the best analogy, but then again, he's busy. His lips 
  brush against her earlobe.

Mehlani's fingers, however, seem unable to leave their immediate vicinity; 
  they flutter a moment, perhaps not unlike the theoretical fire lizards of 
  which the Baker is murmuring into her ear. She finally places them, palms 
  and fingertips down, right against his chest... meaning to support herself, 
  for she's not entirely sure of her ability to stand. Her eyes are still 
  closed, and she whispers a tiny answer of, "Y-yes... like that..."

He doesn't mind the pressure in the least; he seems to enjoy it, in fact. His 
  free arm slides around behind her, the better to hold her up. He starts to 
  move the other hand, and recalls Nightsong's presence. "Well then, lass," 
  his deep voice rumbles. "We'll just have to calm them down. And have a chat 
  over it all. And I'll wager Nightsong'd like the stables, too."

When did Jorenan's voice acquire that deep, husky timbre? fleetingly wonders 
  Mehlani. She manages to lift her gaze up and up to find his face, eyes wide 
  in nervous fascination, her lips slightly pursed. Then she whispers, 
  "Yes...I...I should put her away..." The thought of the horse seems to 
  distract her again, but differently this time, as her gaze falters sideways 
  to the creature's increasingly impatient ebon regard.

Jorenan leaves his arm comfortably around Mehlani's waist and turns to lead 
  her and Nightsong into the stables. "-We- should," he says firmly. Who 
  knows? His voice has always been deep, but the resonance does seem to hvae 
  changed some.

"A-alright," whispers Mehlani shyly. She lets Jorenan guide her, though 
  concern for Nightsong reminds her to reach out a hand for the mare's reins. 
  Finding that hand to be shaking, she grabs a little unsteadily at the long 
  leather leads; for her part, the mare merely snorts in satisfaction, as 
  heading to the stable means 1) brushing, and 2) food.

Jorenan heads southeast into the Beast Hold.
Jorenan has left.

You head southeast into the Beast Hold.
Telgar Beasthold
Contents:
Jorenan
Nightsong(#15918Jbe)
Fuzzy
Obvious exits:
Pasture  

Nightsong seems to be in the lead on this one, for it's an easy thing to end 
  up at her stall. Jorenan lets the reins go as it becomes clear she's not 
  going anywhere else. "Let's make quick work of getting Nightsong settled, 
  eh? I'll get her tack off, and you feed her, and then we'll both brush?"

This is more familiar territory, and it settles Mehlani somewhat, though those 
  suspicious flutters still linger in her belly. She gives forth a silent nod, 
  stepping away slowly to check her runner's feed bin, and then to fetch some 
  fresh oats to fill it, and water as well.

The lingering touch of his hand suggests that Jorenan didn't really want to 
  let go, but he does, and then he removes Nightsong's tack with a fair hand, 
  if slightly out of practice. He hangs it on the most obviously empty pegs, 
  and brings a pair of brushes from where they're put away.

Nightsong walks readily enough into her stall, her nose already seeking out 
  the water that Mehlani's poured. The brushes, however, catch more of her 
  attention. They catch Mehlani's as well, as the girl returns shadow-quiet to 
  Jorenan's side, closing her hand around one brush, and then turning her 
  attention to the mare.

He lets the brush go, but not so easily does Jorenan let Mehlani step away 
  again. His arms go around her waist as she turns away, and he gives her a 
  gently teasing squeeze. While he's got her there, he breathes in the scent 
  of her hair.

"W... we have to brush her," murmurs Mehlani, startled as those arms slip 
  round her. She turns automatically in Jorenan's grasp, her unsettled 
  features questioning, and once more blushing.

The ever-present, sometimes-annoying, usually-pleasant hat appears not to like 
  this treatment; it gets knocked askew and into a downright peculiar 
  position. So Jorenan reaches up and removes it entirely. "Yes," he agrees, 
  "we do. But I like hugging you, so I did. I'm going to keep doing it until 
  you stop jumping in terror every time, too." He gives her a gentle kiss to 
  seal the promise, and then lets her go so that they can, in fact, give 
  Nightsong the brushing she deserves.

Mehlani seems to forget to breathe for a few moments, and her gaze shyly 
  plummets downward... then flickers up again in confusion as she's released. 
  Nightsong reaches over and nudges her peremptorily, distracting her enough 
  to recall her own claim of brushing that must be done. And thus, she turns 
  towards the mare. Hatless, her head is crowned only in her auburn tresses, a 
  few of them falling forward over her brow.

It may be that Jorenan really never noticed the color of Mehlani's hair 
  before, as its' always been covered with hat. He seems entirely taken with 
  what he's seeing, though, and only reluctantly turns to Nightsong. Then he 
  focuses his attention on her, though, and gives her the brushing she 
  deserves.

The mare whinnies in satisfaction, her silken tail whishing back and forth. 
  Mehlani keeps her gaze demurely lowered, her hands working with tender care 
  along the runner's raven coat. Her motions, though, are ever so slightly 
  off-kilter; it's obvious the lass is still unsettled.

Jorenan gives Nightsong a grin, and then goes on with his grooming. As he 
  reaches the completion of the project, he works his way around so that he's 
  on the same side of Nightson g as Mehlani again.

Brushing a mare doesn't take nearly as long as washing a dragon... and 
  Mehlani's mind is awhirl, so the passage of time is not within her immediate 
  ken. It seems all too sudden to her when she turns to find Jorenan... right 
  there. She stops, looking up with wide blue eyes, her hand with the brush it 
  holds slipping half-noticed from Nightsong's flank.

Giving Mehlani a moment to collect her wits is probably futile, or so Jorenan 
  has found in the past. So he just takes her hand and leads her to the 
  hayloft. The brushes end up where they're suppsed to go, somehow, without 
  anyone really paying attention.

"J-Jorenan... what're..." Before she finishes the question, Mehlani trails off 
  -- timid and shy she might be, she's kissed and been kissed enough times to 
  suspect what the young man might have in mind. Still, her heart in her 
  throat, she follows in his wake, her fingers fluttering in his once more.

He's got that idea or something awfully close, yep! Once they're safely tucked 
  away in the corner of the hayloft with those old runner blankets, though, 
  Jorenan just pulls her down to sit next to him for a moment.

Sitting... sitting is good. Mehlani's slender form seems to more sink down of 
  its own accord than obey any active command of hers to sit, though; her legs 
  fold up gracefully beneath her, and she seems unable to look up into 
  Jorenan's face for more than a few seconds at a time.

After a pause, Jorenan leans back on his elbows and looks at Mehlani. "What'll 
  help?" he asks. It might be he's asking her, or it might be that he's asking 
  his own private oracle.

"You... you want... to kiss me, don't you...?" Mehlani whispers around the 
  lump in her throat. It feels odd to her to ask -- she's never had to ask 
  either E'rian or K'star -- but with the way her pulse is fluttering, it 
  seems suddenly wise to establish what her companion desires. Then she'll 
  work on things like what _she_ desires....

There's a question that's got a plain as day answer, but Jorenan just grins. 
  "Well...." he finally says, "I wouldn't mind it. And I do think you want to 
  kiss me as well."

Her blue gaze drops again; Mehlani seems fascinated by her own hands all of a 
  sudden. She starts to breathe a reply, but is unable to, and finally nods 
  again. The tiny motion makes those loose tendrils of hair along her brow bob 
  ever so slightly.

He breaths out, and then smiles at Mehlani, even if she can't see it. She'll 
  hear it in his voice. "Well then, love, why're you all the way over there? 
  You could at least come and hold my hand."

Mehlani smiles hesitantly, and peeks up again, first at Jorenan's hand... 
  which she grasps... and then up to his face.

He nods. "See now," he says, giving her hand a squeeze, "the touch, that's 
  what's important. It's not the .... the attraction part. It's the touch. 
  Skin against skin." He meets her eyes when she looks up, and that smile is 
  still there. "You don't have to fear -that- anyway. You can curl up next to 
  me if you want to, too."

'Lani considers this, and hesitantly scoots over across the hay, drawing 
  nearer to the young man. Her mouth curls up momentarily on each end, and her 
  fingers squeeze Jorenan's in reply.

"See now, that feels good, eh?" Jorena shifts some, too, so that they're hip 
  to hip, though not both facing the same way. "Are you still scared of just 
  touching?"

"It's... not just touching," murmurs Mehlani softly, her gaze resting on their 
  interlocked hands. "It's..." And again she trails off, a slight swallow 
  coursing along her throat.

He waits, and when more information isn't forthcoming, asks, "It's what?" The 
  hand that's not holding Mehlani's comes up to rub her back slowly.

"It's..." That escapes Mehlani in another barely detectable whisper. She wets 
  her lips, and then continues on, hesitantly lifting her free hand to touch 
  his chest once more. Still, her gaze rests on her held hand. "...what... it 
  feels like." Oh dear. That didn't make too much sense, did it?

Actually, it makes completely sensible sense. "Aye," he says quietly, 
  continuing to rub Mehlani's back. "Like every little hair on your skin is 
  alive. And... more, too." He falls silent, then, and curls a little closer 
  to her, so that he can lean his head against hers.

"Yes," whispers Mehlani, her voice not carrying far, but then, it doesn't need 
  to. Her breath brushes feather-light against him. Inwardly, she tells 
  herself that it's as if all four of her greens have gone proddy... and 
  _that_ thought makes her go scarlet.

He just keeps rubbing her back, for all that he'd love to do something more 
  appropriate to a bronze after a lovely green. But he doesn't; he's not a 
  dragon nor a 'lizard, after all. "There is no harm," he says. "in feeling 
  something new. There is no harm in feeling something intensely good. There 
  is no harm in it at all."

"I know," murmurs Mehlani, her breath drawn in long and slow... and then, 
  tentative as a foal being coaxed out to inspect an offered handful of 
  grains, she draws closer to Jorenan, to lay her head on his shoulder. She 
  curls her arms around him, and adds softly, "I trust you...!"

Well. If that's not enough to scare the most iron-clad of souls, it's hard to 
  say what is. And JOrenan's soul is clad more in Late Bathrobe style than 
  anything else. Nevertheless, his arms go around Mehlani in their turn. "Well 
  now," he says, his voice taking on a quiet pride. "That's a fine thing to 
  know. Thank you."

"You're welcome," is 'Lani's whispered reply. She pulls in another soft 
  breath, and then lifts her head, very close to Jorenan's own, her eyes 
  lifting to his face.

The proximity is a heady thing; Jorenan's pulse is beginning to race. Not that 
  anyone would necessarily know that, but one might notice a sudden glaze to 
  the eyes and a stillness in him. He's lost in her eyes, of a suddenment, 
  lost.

Up close, those eyes of Mehlani's are truly enormous, and blue, blue, blue, 
  summer-sky and sea-wave blue, twilight and noontime all in dappled layers. 
  Her eyes meeting Jorenan's own, she lifts a hand, fingertips timidly 
  extended, reaching for his cheek; when her fingers connect, her hand simply 
  pauses there a moment, like a fire lizard who's momentarily alighted on a 
  perch.

Well, that would certainly explain the lostness. He's stil trying to figure 
  out where he's seen all those colors and why he never noticed each any every 
  one of them before when her fingers connect with his cheek. At the touch, 
  the spell is lifted a little, and his eyes close as he runs a clean-shaven 
  jaw against her hand.

'Lani's fingers trace along the line of that jaw, and up again along the plane 
  of the young man's cheek. Only a moment, and then her other hand has joined 
  the first, mirroring the actions of its mate. All the while, the lass is 
  silent, her fingertips quivering ever so slightly as they explore their 
  paths.

He keeps still, at a cost. His eyes come open again, and hhe watches her 
  expression as she investigates. There is a quit openness about him, as if 
  some thin covering had been removed.

Her hands wind up cupping Jorenan's face between them, the barest of 
  connections between her palms and his cheeks. And if the youth now wears an 
  openness about him, the girl seems to drink it in, that fathomless blue gaze 
  gone searching, knowing, aware. Feeling compelled to study him, to take in 
  the tan of his skin, the brown of his eyes, each detail of the face before 
  her, Mehlani does exactly that... and at last, draws herself up slow and shy 
  to connect her lips to his, with the same delicate contact given forth by 
  her hands.

He stopped breathing somewhere in the midst of it all, and the kiss makes him 
  decide that he really never wanted to breathe in teh first place, anyway. 
  The touch of Mehlani's hands against his cheeks and her lips against his, 
  though, is enough to shock the breathing into motion again; an exhalation of 
  breath that holds ... something in it. Something deep.

And now, Mehlani's started quivering all over again. She draws back, but only 
  a breath's distance away, stricken shy, unsure.

This is the time for Jorenan to say something kind, or intelligent, or pretty 
  much anything at all. It takes a minute. Let's see. What would it be he 
  might say? Tsk. A mind is a terrible thing to lose. Finally, the faintest 
  glimmering of a thought appears in his head, and he manages to express it. 
  "I trust you, too." The voice is somewhat faint, and not at all steady. But 
  it's there.

A ghost of a nod, and then, Mehlani's arms are around Jorenan again, her hug 
  swift and sure, even as her face buries in his shoulder again. "I... don't 
  know what... I want," she whispers. No, that's wrong. You do know what you 
  want, don't you, 'Lani lass? And somewhere out there there's a dragon 
  rising... though you can hardly guess where Lysseth's induced sensations end 
  and your own begin, can you? "H... hold me, Jorenan?"

Perhaps a little of the internal conflict of wants and fears comes through in 
  Mehlani's voice, for Jorenan's arms go around her in a comforting embrace. 
  But perhaps it doesn't answer the conflicts, for it also brings two bodies 
  closer together, where one can hear the breathing of the other, where one 
  can smell the scent of the other.

There's the tiniest of sounds, Mehlani's breath catching in her throat. She's 
  so small against Jorenan's chest, practically buried in the circle of his 
  arms, that all she can really perceive now is... Jorenan. She's shivering 
  more, as she first rubs her cheek along his broad shoulder, and then she 
  catches herself. Her voice comes out strained and as husky as her clear 
  tones ever get, as she breathes, "I... I don't know if I should yet... I..."

The fingers that come up to shush Mehlani are gentle, and linger on her lips 
  for a long moment. Jorenan is silent for a moment, and then says, "Should or 
  should not is... not important." Somewhere, or is it just in his head? the 
  roar of a dragon passes through the audible range. He just holds her there, 
  safe in the encirclement of his arms. But against his chest like that, 
  she'll have to hear his heart, or feel it, thumping against his 
  breastbone...

She can, indeed, sense that pulsing; it almost overshadows her own heart's 
  thudding. Only in the circle of those arms about her does she feel safe 
  enough, though it simultaneously pains her to admit, "I-I haven't... talked 
  to Kes yet...!"

The mention of K'star brings none of the usual responses one might expect at 
  the mention of a rival. Perhaps, at this moment, h's not a rival, but just a 
  fellow traveller. "K'star," Jorenan says quietly, "is a rider and a 
  gentleman. What you do will not change how he feels."

Is Mehlani surprised at that response? Perhaps, for she looks up, blinking, 
  those blueblue eyes of hers once more seeking Jorenan's face.

The eyes that meet Mehlani's have the clarity of certainty. Perhaps it's a 
  certainty that will look foolish in the morning. But for now, Jorenan's 
  sure. "K'star will understand," he repeats firmly, "whatever you choose to 
  do."

"And you?" Mehlani whispers.

"I," he says honestly, "respect you already. Why should that change?" That's 
  said in the sort mystified voice one uses when one simply doesn't understand 
  anything dto do with other opinions on the matter.

Mehlani swallows a little, fear and shyness and something beginning to blossom 
  into longing all intermingling in her face. Her mouth's ends curl up for a 
  moment, as she whispers, "Th-this isn't helping the flits down there...."

"Mmm," says Jorenan thoughtfully. "I should take you to a healer to have that 
  taken care of." He slides a hand down to her stomach and begins rubbing; 
  perhaps that will help. One way or another.

[We never finished this scene, but it is assumed that a serious smoochfest
 likely commenced in the hayloft while Jorenan and Mehlani yielded at
 least somewhat to dragon-induced urges! End log...]