The combination, as they'd described it, gave her the first twinkling of an idea. She enjoyed lending a hand to others, she very much liked spending time with dragons, and she needed to do something physical. Taken together, this meant washing and oiling something-- or, more properly, someone.
Carrying twin buckets was certainly labour enough. It had been so long since she'd done anything truly physical that by the time she reached the lake, sweat had already glued flyaway strands of hair to her brow and temples, and her upper torso-- arms included-- were burning. But there was something pleasant about that tingling heat, even if she felt about as useful as a wet rag. It was good to be considered useful again. It was even better, to know that she stood a chance of being ready when the eggs began to rock.
But that was still in the distant future. Now, faced with a number of dragons gleaming and water-dappled in the strong sunlight, she set down the buckets and brushes to shade her eyes. Was Zenjarth about...? No. Alas! Sandy bronze lashed with copper drew her attention instead. The rider wasn't visible-- no doubt hidden on the other side of his beast-- but the gleaming combination of colours drew her attention all the same. Smaller than some bronzes, there was still bulk there which no doubt made washing him down and oiling him up extremely labour-intensive.
And what was Sunaia here for, if not to help with the labour?
Marshalling a new breath, she hefted up her burdens and picked her way towards the pair. There was a wispiness to her voice but it at least no longer crackled with congestion when she breathlessly called, "Excuse me? Would you like some help? Healers orders, I'm at your service, sir."