B’jin is originally from near Lemos, too, the dragon suddenly said, picking up on the thought Chironhes had had in passing as he considered the things she’d told him. B’jin blinked, from the other side of the table, and suddenly squinted at the boy, as if trying to determine his bloodline just from looking at him. It wasn’t likely that they were related, he decided. Their differences were pretty stark, as were their ages. B’jin’s siblings were all either dead or quite old, and his parents had died long ago. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a chance, though B’jin wasn’t sure he’d put money on it. If they were related, it would be some type of cousin at the most, but more likely they were just people who happened to come from the same original location… though B’jin himself had left long, long ago.
Larrikith’s amusement was clear as she added, He left long ago… long long long ago. B’jin was scowling. He’s really old you know… Even has grandchildren! Turns sixty this year. So very old. B’jin’s face was an odd shade, a combination of blushing with embarrassment and losing all colour in a blanch. You can’t tell, of course. Dragons make their human age slower. It’s quite lucky for B’jin that he has me, you know. Otherwise he'd probably be wrinkly and old looking, and then R’nd wouldn’t want to kiss him… Larrikith sniggered quietly to herself as B’jin took up pouting pathetically again, poking at his plate with an expression of absolute despair, eyes refusing to look up at Chironhes. He had, at some point, emptied his wine glass.
Anyway, Larrikith said, her voice clear, obviously having finished teasing her sulking rider, leaving him to mope about as he poked at what was left of his meal, still pouting. I am absolutely, completely and honestly, positive that you are welcome to stay here, to learn, to work, and maybe, to Impress (that’s what it’s called when a Bond is made), she added, to make sure he understood completely what she was saying. And don’t mind him, she said brightly, clearly referring to her still sulking rider. I already told Ayyonth that B’jin needs a pick-me-up when we’re done with you. She laughed, again, when B’jin positively glowed crimson at her telling the boy before him he was going to get laid when he got home, and buried his face in his hands. I hate you, he snarled empathically, face still buried, but Larrikith just laughed again.