I Watched You Disappear [Callistath's Flight!]

[Nia]

{ooc: Alright, as you might be able to tell, this flight is going to work a bit differently.

It's taking place at Western Hold, during the Gather, so yes, it will have an effect on the people there. You can chose if you want to play this or not, as this is taking place near the end of the Gather. Also, since it's taking place at the Hold, the participants will be scattered around and unable to actually find Avalle. If you want, you can have your rider run around the Hold to look for her/a companion of theirs, or you can just have them find one of the empty rooms in the Hold to uh, be alone/with each other? It's up to you.

As for the people involved, please do not post unless you were asked to join the flight via PM. Due to the nature of it we needed to inform the participants of several important things beforehand, and most of this flight is plotted out to the letter.

Also we do realize what the effects a flight, especially a Queen flight, have on the people around, but please keep in mind the Weyrling/Candidate rules. You still may not break them, and the Weyrlings/Candidates will likely be rushed out of the area by the Candidatemasters/Weyrlingmasters immediately. It won't be much different than what would be happening if this took place back at the Weyr anyway.

The original Gather thread WILL still be going on, so feel free to keep posting in it! This won't take place for a while timeline-wise, so your characters still have time to run around the Hold and have their fun before the chaos breaks loose. Feel free to make threads in Western Hold having your characters react to the situation, if you want to.}

As far as Gathers went, this one had gone fairly smooth. D'lios was insufferable as usual, but she had O'sho to walk around with, and she'd always enjoyed his prescense. She wouldn't have minded if O'sho wanted to remain Senior Weyrleader, but she understood his reasons for not wanting Daidoroth to chase Callistath. To be honest, Avalle had assumed that he wasn't going to in the first place. There was no way Daidoroth would ever be unfaithful to Kalith, even if the Copper was no longer with them.

The Rukbat was sinking into the sky, signaling the end of a decent day. She definitely would have prefered being back at the Weyr, but this was alright, she supposed. Callistath, however, was unusually quiet in a way that made a tiny speck of panic rise in the Weyrwoman. Callistath had been quiet the entire day, something that only ever happened right before she was going to rise. The Gold was not known for keeping her comments to herself, and she hadn't even bothered to scold Avalle once. It was worrisome, and it made Avalle wonder if she should have taken a ride to Western and left Callistath back at the Weyr. The idea wasn't one that would ever cross her mind, however. It was almost a pride thing, that she didn't want to arrive without Callistath.

She stopped suddenly, feeling a pit of dread in her stomach. "She's... rising," Avalle managed to say to O'sho, feeling the color drain from her face. Indeed, at Avalle's sudden realization Callistath made a loud roar, announcing her intent to every male present. Unlike Callistath and her confidence, Avalle had no idea what to do. The idea of asking someone for a ride back to her Weyr, particularly while being influenced by Callistath's sudden and very intense lust, was unacceptable. She felt stupid, she felt humiliated, and there was no way she was going to face anyone in this state.

Well, no one except for her very bright, very angry, very much-going-to-Rise-right-now-no-matter-what-you-do dragon. The Gold was in the air already, heading towards Western Hold's supply of herdbeasts. Avalle took a sharp turn and ran through the Hold, relying on vague recollections of the Hold to find her way to the herdbeast pens. BLOOD IT, she shouted through their link before she could even see Callistath, and the Gold roared in an unusual bout of defiance. She was angry. Her rider knew she was going to rise, how dare she take them to this farce knowing that?! How dare she allow all these peasants to see her glory ruined by an animalistic need! Avalle couldn't remember feeling this much anger and defiance from Callistath before, and it took all her mental willpower to keep the Gold from digging straight into the herdbeast.

Something felt wrong with Callistath, and Avalle didn't understand why her usually well-mannered Gold was behaving in such a way. It made her think back to that man's words from sevendays prior, about not letting a dragoness' heat control the future of the Weyr. She'd brushed off the notion, and now she wasn't so sure she should have. Callistath bled the herdbeast dry and went for another one, and still it took all of Avalle's mental strength to keep the Gold from tearing into it. "Just BLOOD IT. DO NOT EAT IT, BLOOD IT,"

[/b] she was half screaming out loud and half through their link, and Callistath gave another roar of defiance. She complied, but she was not happy about it, and she was letting everyone know!

After the third herdbeast Callistath sat up, crouching and lashing her tail back and forth. This wasn't her Weyr, but it belonged to her Weyr, which was good enough for Callistath at the moment. The males were all in the area and they were her's. Every dragon around was her's. It was her Weyr, she was the Queen, despite how the others clung to her Copper mother. Callistath roared again. She wanted everyone to know it! She was Queen. She could do what she wanted. This was her Hold, her Weyr, and she was going to make sure everyone knew it!

Avalle felt her consciousness start to merge with Callistath's, and she started to make her way through Western Hold, searching out an empty room or area she could claim. They could find her. She didn't care. She just wanted to be alone. The winner of the flight would be able to seek her out. They could find her. But the rest of the Hold didn't have that privilege. Avalle fought to restrain her own animalistic urges as she made her way through the more deserted parts of the Hold. It was a bad idea, running away like this. It was stupid and she felt stupid. She wasn't cut out for this. Fajra never would have just ran away, and Fajra never would have taken Kalith to a Gather if she was this close to rising.

The current Senior Weyrwoman of Dalibor Weyr leaned against a wall in an empty part of the Hold, far from where the Gather was taking place, and allowed her consciousness to mix with Callistath's. It was too late to lament anything, and now she just had to support her Gold and let things play out as they would. Callistath had already taken off into the air, leaving the Hold behind. She gave another loud roar towards the suitors who had dared to follow her, though she'd never let them catch her. No, she was going to fly as far as she possibly could, despite the fact that she felt oddly tired and her wings were not carrying her nearly as fluidly as they usually did. She didn't care. Callistath was Queen, it was her Weyr, her Hold, her everything! Everyone was going to know it. She was Queen![/blockquote][/size]

[Cathaline]

Callistath rises.[/i]

It was a helpful, but not entirely necessary comment from Weslieth. Jazz had noticed Callistath glowing immediately, of course, days ago; as a Candidatemaster, she needed to be prepared for an upcoming clutch, and she, Nimara, and Yuri had already begun planning out the lessons needed once the clutch was on the sands, a few sevendays hence. Then, too, Jazz felt the lust sweep through her, and she took a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes. She was only still at the gather because some of the candidates were, and she was keeping an eye on them - something which would be difficult to do if Weslieth obeyed the silent call.

And he did. He rose into the brilliant sunset, angling his pudgy body in the direction his queen had taken. He was built for stamina, not for speed or aerial tricks, and it had been some turns now since he'd even flown with a proper wing, while Jazz was Candidatemaster. This was obviously the reason he was a little slow to start, that he was out of practice. But she was a beauty, his beloved queen, and hopefully she would see in his radiant, sweet mind something that she could desire. He had fathered clutches before, he was a proven sire, after all!

With a queen, though? Jazz tended to doubt he could keep up, but she had no idea which dragons were even present - he might very well be the largest to chase. This was a disaster in the making, and she set off through the gather, trying to find Avalle. If nothing else she could offer her services if the winner was a lout, though it ran through her mind that there was a chance he could win. And then she'd be Senior Weyrleader.

The thought was hilarious, but something about the way Callistath flew as she vanished into the distance made Jazz speed her footsteps.

----

This is our chance to make history, my Taceuth. Not merely record it.[/i]

Ever since his blue had reached sexual maturity, M'iles had been waiting for this - for a queenflight. Sure, it was incredibly rare for a dragon of his stature to catch a gold, but it was possible. He couldn't keep power once he attained it, but that was fine. All M'iles needed was one chance, one term as Weyrleader to prove his worth. Then they'd see what he could do. He was already a wingsecond; this was how he would prove that he could be a wingleader, that he would be better to choose, despite tradition, despite size, than any number of king and subkingriders.

We will earn it,[/i] Taceuth agreed. Together. I am hungry - [/i]

No! It'll slow you down, and speed is what we have on our side.[/i] It was just this side of disgusting, to try to apply strategy and tactics to a flight, but M'iles couldn't help it. His mind was all he had, all he'd ever had.

Speed and maybe a few tricks, though he couldn't force his stupidly honorable dragon to use any of them. Melded with him, M'iles found his way to a sheltered area behind a tent, and took a few deep breaths of the cool spring air. He felt hot and itchy all over, like he didn't fit in his skin, and he didn't know how to find Avalle.

Taceuth winged after Callistath, easily overtaking Weslieth, but hunger as well as lust gnawed at his belly. They'd been on rations at M'iles's instigation, more than was recommended, because as wingseconds they could not afford the deadly lethargy that followed a full meal; it put the blue out of joint, it really did. But he could still do this. He would do this. Besides, it was a Gather day, most likely the rest of the dragons would have eaten their fill and would be heavy on the wing.

----

Shalith was certainly heavy on the wing, much more than Sian liked. The side effects of the medicine disagreed with her immensely, but what was she supposed to do? They didn't just have the luxury of flying to another continent to eat, and as long as they stuck to the appropriate schedule, they could fight Thread as well as ever.

"You're gluttonous," she said, laying her hand against his side.

We'll make it back to the Weyr all right.[/i]

Or would they?

The lust hit her like a shockwave, multiplied along their bond, and she took her hand off the blue as if she'd been stung. "No, what are you doing? Who's rising? Shalith, you promised, you promised - "

Isn't it what you always wanted? To prove a woman can do this job? My queen calls me, and I must go - I know you'll be all right.[/i]

Sian could barely breathe, and her hair whipped back from her face when his wings beat, lifting him off the ground. Callistath. That wouldn't be - terrible. Avalle was a woman, Sian didn't mind the idea of falling into bed with a woman during flightsex. Except there would be men there, no doubt, predatory hateful men who would be happy to grab anyone present if they lost -

Anger as well as desire coursed through her veins, hatred of the whole malicious system that only gave power to the virile. You win her. You're better than all of them anyway. You're the strongest dragon I know.[/i]

But his rider was not as strong as she pretended. As Shalith, faltering a little, took off after Callistath, Sian sank down on her heels beside the herdbeast pen, threading her fingers through her hair. Something in her bones was urging her to find Avalle, to find her destined partner, but she was paralysed by the nightmare that flightsex had always been to her. This wasn't anything like chasing Dilath last month. This was a mess.

Please come find me,[/i] she/Shalith whispered to Ondine.

[Azhdarchid]

By the time he saw Halventh in the distance, L'xon knew his passengers would need another ride home. But he did not say anything till they came upon the great blue lump, hide mottled with blood. Sometime during the afternoon the blue had snuck off from the gossip and stolen into the herdbeast pens. All signs suggested that he had not eaten a single beast, only drained them and toyed with their poor carcasses. Five bodies lay smattered around him, vtols cruising from one to the other and gangs of firelizards cleaning the vtols from the air. Halventh lay on his side, bloody head soaking in a muddy divet with no sign of imminent removal even with the guests coming to see him.

You are pulling on me, L'xon complained as he stood beside the drowsing titan, still without a word to his entourage. Halventh's inner lids crossed his immobile facets slowly, and he heaved out a grunt. L'xon rubbed his face, and finally turned- leaned, morelike -toward Newt, Randiel, and the others. His skin had paled despite the day of easy eating and luxury. He had even pried Newt off for a whole candlemark to spend some time with his wife and son, during which she had taken him to dance. He had not found Newt's company unpleasant, but had grown very unresponsive over the past couple 'marks. Right now he looked as if he was trying to remember how his tongue worked.

"I need-" he started, only to be interrupted by a roar. The immediate, pressing scream of a heated queen. The rider twisted to look behind him, where Callistath was coming down so close he could feel the warm air off her wings. His arm stuck out toward his would-be passengers, apparently on its own account because his head was still turned after the gold. He found Newtollen's shoulder and clamped down, lips parting as Callistath wrecked the air with another trumpet. This close, the sound was earsplitting, but the rider made no move to shield himself. Halventh's head bobbed up suddenly, and the blue's fangs and gums exposed to the late sunlight as he echoed Callistath's demands with a loud croon. L'xon's fingers tightened, then he turned back to his guests. "You need to find another dragon. Now! The Candidatemasters..." Callistath took off, and he turned to watch her ascent, releasing Newt, almost transfixed. But just after Callistath went a distinctly large and round block of a dragon: Weslieth. "Jasmine," the bluerider snarled. "Find another dragon," he repeated, as Halventh started climbing out of the mud. "A female. Right now."

Though what special property let the females resist the call of their queen the rider could not figure at that moment. How anyone could ignore the fledging fire, keep from running into it, was a mystery. Halventh leaped off the ground, his first downbeat with barely a foot of clearance from their heads and the wind sufficing to knock L'xon and any lingering parties to the dirt. The blue's eyes rolled red, and he careened to the right, broadsiding the hold cliff and sending crumbles of stone into the pen. The remaining herdbeasts stampeded to the other fence, braying and lowing. L'xon turned and pushed his guests back out the gate, shutting it before he ran out of the area. He left them there to make their own way. He needed to find Avalle.

Were it not today, were it not Callistath casting the spell, he might have felt bad about abandoning them. But Halventh had already gotten deep inside him and with Halventh came the darkness in the dragon's head. The poison to cure poison. He might have felt significantly worse about letting Halventh try at all, but his inhibitory capacity, the rock fortress of his mind, had melted to water. Halventh clawed the wall he had stuck on and flew free, a stain of discomfort remaining along his wing and arm. A scratch, or something that would later bruise even his mighty dragonhide. Aside from Threadscore it was an unfamiliar sensation, and scores were quickly forgotten. His heart surged in his chest, a drum that deafened him even as he, the L'xon part, pushed through the crowds of the main avenue.

He crashed into- or was caught by -Eywren. The extent to which motivation played a role was unclear to him, only that her arms were already around him by the time he pulled back and saw her face. She pressed to him, stroking her palms against his cheeks, running her fingers along the outside of his eyes as they widened at the contact. Eywren had always been the same height as him, even when they had first married, and ducked her head to kiss the side of his neck. L'xon seized his wife's shoulders and stepped back, eyes falling briefly to the fringes of her skirts before he hazily recalled that she had dispatched their son to some minders several hours ago. His elbows bent, pulling her closer, and Eywren's eyes shined.

Then L'xon pushed her back. "I have to find the Weyrwoman," he breathed, then rushed past her-

Only to find her hand caught in his. She wasn't even angry when he turned back to her.

"I know where she is," Eywren said, stalling L'xon's attempt to break his hand free. "I will show you." She tugged on his arm, and he blinked. "Come on, Lex. Follow me!"

L'xon did as he was told. From that point, every brush of contact was excruciating. Every touch made him want to stop and follow Halventh's progress more honestly. His steps turned resistant before Eywren could lead him all the way out of the main avenue, so she glanced around and reeled him over to an unattended market stall. She glanced over the barrier to the inside of the stall, which had a rug down and a canvas top for shade- not that it was needed now, with Rukbat falling. The contents of the barrier suggested it had been for selling exotic fruits and flowers from the South. The tang of the blossoms rigged up the canvas poles stuck in her nose, the first time she had been able to smell anything other than the sweaty cinnamon of her dragonriding husband. She pressed L'xon against the barrier till he unbalanced and fell over to the rug on the other side. It wasn't hard- L'xon was not feeling his feet much anymore.

Eywren crossed around to the open side of the stall and started stripping the fallen man. "Here she is," she insisted.

"Tricked me..." he replied, out of some desire to prove he was still in his right mind. L'xon pushed himself onto his elbows, watching her efforts, sinking back down only when he felt her hands on his hips. There probably wasn't anything easier to bed than a rider under Flightlust, except maybe a good hold woman who had never felt it before.

Halventh swung under Weslieth's barreling figure, but lost his momentum to a sidewind just as he got within a few wingbeats of the queen. Blundering far to her right, he blinked at the fuzzy skies several times before reidentifying her spark and coursing after it. A tract of pink saliva colored the corner of his jaw as he raised his voice in a faint bugle. Just as he centered into her wake, he plummeted, falling ten dragonlengths before snapping his wings open with a twitter, then buzzing up after his queen again. It had not even been a minute, but the large blue was gaping and hauling in his breaths, rumbling in his chest rather than summoning a roar to answer every one of Callistath's calls.

[Ondine]

There was a certain level of tension that rode with the Weyrleader today, and had ever since he'd noticed that Callistath's hide was glowing. Being a Weyrleader was always temporary, a position held until the next time the Queen flew, unless Akanith caught her a second time. It was an abrupt shock to realize that it was so soon, that in the next few days he would likely find himself handing over his responsibilities to someone else. It was the way of things though. He hoped that he remained, but that hope hid a gnawing fear.

Akanith simply hadn't been flying as well ever since they had to start taking the medicine that prevented smokeweed poisoning. While the ironrider had hoped to study it, he simply hadn't had time with being a Weyrleader and Wingleader. He shared the same lethargy as all of the other dragons, but...Z'an just couldn't shake the feeling. It hadn't impacted their ability to fight thread, but he was worried that soon enough it would.

All of that worry and fear hit him in the face the moment that Callistath's golden star rose into the sky and roared her challenge to the males of Dalibor Weyr. The flight here and now, at the Gather? Shards, shards and shells. The lust hit him just as hard, boiling in his veins as he turned away from the person he had been talking to to stare into the sky, as though he could conjure his bonded there at any moment. Akanith, I-

The iron rose from the feeding pens even as Z'an started to talk and leaped into the sky. The King seemed to half-stumble in mid-air before finding the beat, and swept into the sky. Z'an, I must. The Queen needs me, and Callistath is a proper lady. You are a good Weyrleader, and I must keep you there. Even through discomfort. He beat his wings, not liking the slowness to them, the clumsiness that hadn't been there for many long turns. Find Avalle.[/i]

The man felt fear twist with desire, especially as a second stutter lost Akanith a few yards of elevation, but then he had his rhythm and was winging away after his Queen. You better win and come back to me. There was only a sense of reassurance that slowly began to bleed into his own fear as the bond sucked him down into Akanith's sensations. Now Z'an was flying, winging his way over the earth as he stood in Western, standing with his eyes glazed and unseeing for seconds. But his limbs felt-

With an effort the man forced his mind back into his own body with a gasp, limbs hot and heavy, shivering lightly with need. Shards and shells. He tore through the crowd, searching the Weyrwoman. Something was wrong, everything felt wrong and out of place. It only got worse as Akanith winged on. It was like turns of training had unraveled, he was flying like he had while they were Weyrlings, ungainly and clumsy. It was all he could do not to plead with his bonded to come back, but he wouldn't deny that he wanted to win. So the King forced himself on and focused on flying well, on trying to catch up to the Queen who he had caught turns ago. If only he didn't feel so tired and exhausted, but he reached out to Callistath, My Queen. There was a wealth of respect in those two short words, she was the Queen, his Queen, and by her grace, he could be her King again.

------------

Queen Flights always caused the people around them to feel a small portion of the desire their riders felt. That was why Ondine knew the moment that one was going on, when the whiplash of sudden want and need cracked across her mind. It was hardly new, hardly something she hadn't felt before, but she was hardly concerned for herself right now. The healer was happy enough for an excuse to leave this part of the gather, and she stared into the sky, looking for a rising blue dragon. She didn't mind the lust, actually kinda liked it, but someone else she loved wouldn't like it, would want to have nothing to do with it, and having it forced on her like this...

And there, rising from surface of Pern, was the blue she sought. She kept her smile on her face, but her step quickened. Sian might be incredibly afraid right now. Shalth rising for a Queenflight, and everything in her must be urging her to find Avalle, where other men would be and where the losers would want to find a willing woman. It got even worse when the bonded pair whispered together into her mind, and she could hear that fear. Dilath. Did you see where Shalith rose from? The pink was flying around overhead and practicing her flight moves, because training waited for no one at all! Not even a gather, an excuse to relax. Well, she would never relax. Relaxing meant that she couldn't improve! That was a terrible, terrible idea.

So, sure enough, she had seen where the blue had risen from. Rather nice blue, if a little gruff, but he was just so...oh, right, she had to tell her bonded. I think around the herdbeasts? Do you think he can catch Callistath? He'd be so happy, he's come so far! Ondine started to run through the gather, and was a little distracted when she responded, Yeah that'd be great. Keep an eye on them for me? And tell Sian I'm on my way. Dilath gave an internal trumpet of agreement, and then the healer was focused on where she was going. The pink's glorious, glowing, happy and joyful voice came to the bluerider, Ondine is coming! Don't worry, she's running really really fast.[/i]

She broke into the area with the herdbeast pen at full tilt and quickly caught sight of her woman, and a vise squeezed her heart. She looked terrible, and the healer was by her side in an instant. “Sian, I'm here. I'm here.” She touched the woman lightly on the shoulder, an open touch with an offer for more, and then looked around. Shit, they needed a place to go. Maybe not to bed, but simply where she could ride Sian through this. Not that she'd mind the former...

[Kila]

Walking with Avalle had turned out to be so pleasant that the
two Senior Weyrleaders had spent almost the whole day arm in arm. They
had each broken off at times to greet friends and inspect different
stalls, but they had inevitably found their way back to each other,
drawn perhaps by the comfort of being in the company of someone of the
same mind. O'sho was chatting gaily about something unimportant when she
suddenly stopped.

"She's... rising."

As the color fled from the Weyrwoman's face Callistath let out a
ferocious roar that moved every person at the Gather. O'sho stiffened,
every muscle in his body tensing as the inevitable unfolded around him.
Avalle looked small and bewildered by his side "Here?" he began,
but she had wrenched herself free and disappeared into the crowd before
he could get out another word, no doubt running after Callistath for the
pens. "Avalle!" he called after her as she vanished, any
reassurance that he could have given her left behind with him.

The roaring challenge of the Gold reached Daidoroth's ears, just as it
did every other male dragon in the vicinity. He watched transfixed as
she savaged the Lord Holder's heard, blooding the beasts and ripping
their flesh to ribbons. Her lifemate was at the edge of the pen
screaming at her, as the female Riders always did. It was such a
predictable scenario. He lifted his head to watch her as she rose,
demanding that they follow. She was too enraged for words, but the
message was there all the same. With a flap of her glowing wings
Callistath was on her way, beginning the race. Instinct told Daidoroth
that he should rise and follow. His muscles twitched- the memory of
rising before buried in his very body. But he didn't want it. Any desire
he felt was hollow, something that he was supposed to feel and not that
he wanted to. And he was tired; the thought of rising and straining to
give chase exhausted him even where he lay. Not
today, he rumbled mournfully. It was a hide of Copper that he
sought, not a hide of Gold.

Perbiath, however, was set afire by the sound of Callistath's call. Each
roar sent shivers down his spine, working him near to a frenzy. How
could it be that all the luck that had been missing in his life had
suddenly surfaced all at once? The Senior Queen, the shining Gold that
had taken the place of old Dalibor Copper, was rising in his kingdom.
Ichor coursed hot through his veins as he spread his wings and answered
her with a booming roar. He hunched back down on the Hold roof where he
was perched, watching and waiting like an enormous gargoyle on the
stone. He hissed with contempt when three Blues took to the air,
insulting his Queen with their status and sluggishness. The Yellow he
ignored, but the Iron he eyed, knowing that the King would be his true
rival.

When Callistath took to the skies, so too did Perbaith. He closed the
distance between them deftly, leaving the Hold behind and joining the
group of dragons already in the air. He crooned to her, sailing easily
in her wake and making her other suitors look like clumsy Weyrlings new
to the air. It was clear that he was free from whatever strange lethargy
possessed them, and the Brown was perfectly aware why. He pushed ahead,
surpassing the others and falling in beside her. He rumbled, making sure
she was aware of his presence. Western was his kingdom and his Weyr.
Indisputably. But if she wanted it, she could have it; Perbaith would
give it to her for the day. But there was something that he wanted very
much as well, and he wanted her to know. He was already hers, but she
was not yet his.

[Chek]

It is Callistath.

Simple, the words to explain the sudden rush of blood pounding inside H’mod’s skull, forcing her to lean against a nearby wall and gasp in one cooling breath after another. This was…the first queen flight that Drieth had been a mature adult for, and…she could clearly tell the difference.

Clearly.

Previously draped across the fireheights, drowsily watching the Gather, Drieth now gazed skyward, following the shining beacon that was his Queen as she fell upon and blooded her prey and then took flight. He raised his wings, the membranes trembling in the wind, and…hesitated, shades of meaning and query rippling out towards his rider, his normal chatter silenced, for once, around the lust eating a hole in his brain and pumping adrenaline into his blood.

Below, H’mod snarled and thumped the wall with her closed fist, GO! Ya don’t have a chance if ya don’t fly! We’re a bronzepair! WE CHASE QUEENS! Drieth needed nothing more, spreading his wings the rest of the way and leaping aloft, a roar working free of his lungs as he joined his fellow suitors in pursuit of their lady. H’mod went with him, enough awareness left to her to stagger away from the milling crowds, towards somewhere quiet, and hopefully populated by someone with willing hands.

Drieth was young, strong, and had more than a fair chance, considering the mix of chasers thus far, and more than that, he knew it. But his wings felt…heavy, every beat an effort that had the bronze’s lips pulling back in a snarl as he forced himself to keep moving through the drowsy feeling he just couldn’t shake. He stuttered in the air, his tail going the wrong direction and sending him skewing off to one side before he could correct himself, and prompting a spike on panicked concern from his rider.

They pushed on, though. Glorious queen, beautiful Callistath… he crooned, the strain evident in his sweating hide and the foam starting to lather up around his nostrils thankfully not coming through his voice.

* * *

F’reki was going to have to ban his weyrlings from leaving the Weyr at this rate. First, the issues in his last class with…and now this. “Don’t you even think about it,” the Weyrlingmaster snapped at his blue, Girieth having been looking speculatively skyward, “We have more important things to worry about.”

Yes, yes of course, and the old blue had the gall to actually sound disappointed, like he wouldn’t kill himself trying to chase a queen, Blizzardbaiters, to me! We return to the Weyr. He followed that up with an open call to any rider who happened to have a dragon large enough to help him relocated several weyrlings and a few youngling dragons – and who had not succumbed to the effects of Callistath’s Flight.

[Rii]

Callistath rises. T'yandon looked to the air, his eyes widening. This was not the place for a Flight. Not with so many nonriders about, people who could be influenced by the dragons' broadcast sensations. Still, he braced himself for...

Nothing?

Ietermath? His bronze was known for chasing anything with wings. And yet he felt none of the anticipation and animal lust he'd come to expect.

I can't. I just... don't feel like it, the funloving bronze answered quietly. Mayday's wingleader shook his head. He couldn't be angry at his bondmate. But he could be every depth of concerned.

Something is very, very wrong here.


***


The bugled challenge drew Elianne's attention from the ground, and she nearly dropped her handful of cards. That was a dragon. That was a dragon rising to mate. Here. At Western. With the evening stretch of the Gather in full swing.

I am going to chase, Maeradith announced, heaving himself to his feet and crouching.

Oh, fardles. With a tight smile to her fellow players, Elly laid her cards face-down. "Foldin'," she announced as cheerfully as she could, standing and sweeping her marks into her hand to stuff into a pocket. "Sorry, folks, got t'shuffle. Weyr business an' all that." She spun on her heel and strode away in a hurry. She'd have to find someone. Or failing that, find a nice, quiet place to take care of herself.

You sure, Maery?

I must chase. I will never be WeyrKing if I never chase. The brown took to the air, though his sweeping wings were not so deft as they were wont to be. He labored for the altitude that he usually attained so easily. I am here, my queen, he called for the gold. We are here. He rumbled a weary challenge for the other brown in the skies. No. These might be his grounds, but Callistath was not his. Maeradith pressed himself harder in his stumbling flight.

Elly pressed her hands over her face, feeling the lines between her and her dragon blur. This ain't right. Not how it's s'posed to be.

But the way it has to be.

[lee]

It was the silence that unnerved F’dren.

Bright, flying notes from a gitar chased the chords of a quick harp in a rapid dance that echoed the one F’dren found his feet trying to emulate, led by rather more than leading the ones in slippered, slim leather. To her, his abysmal footwork didn’t matter, all that counted were the knots on his shoulder. It was the last set. The exhausted Harpers in the last threadworn tent still with glows unturned had begged it several tunes ago, and F’dren had no faith in their claim that this was the last either. Ordinarily, at Gathers, Mifth was excitable as a little, ‘eavesdropping’ through F’dren’s ears and eyes and demanding the purchase of everything the bluerider saw for sale—a ribbon for his tail ridges, a doll shaped like a dragon because wasn’t it cute?, an anatomically creative mug because how could he not buy tha, really. Luckily for F’dren, his blue had the traditionally short memory of his kind, and he could usually appease him by promising to come back and buy it later.

But today he’d been silent.

It was…unusual, but F’dren hadn’t been worried. The blue could quietly sleep off whatever it was. There was no Threadfall scheduled, there was plenty of time to take it easy.

Until Callistath rose.

He felt it, as everyone did, and the instinctive tightening of his hands had his dance partner gasping, stopping, but he was lost to her.

Mifth’s launch was clumsy, weighted, like a hatchling with wings heavy from damp, and he wobbled in the air, dipping dangerously, and one wing banged into a wagon, shaking it and nearly toppling it but the blue regained himself, barely, and clung to the air with grasping pumps of strained wings. As he rose, F’dren fell, stumbling to his knees as he gasped, hands dropping, slack from the woman in his grip, before rising to claw at lungs that felt like they were being squeezed, grasping at the meager offering of the air and finding it not enough. No, that wasn’t the problem. F’dren finally found the balance,the space between him and Mifth to be both of them, and found that he was exhausted. As the blue dragon forced himself clumsily though the air, dragonlengths below the others because he couldn’t find the strength to soar higher, F’dren too forced himself up onto legs that felt as weak as water, as inept as a herdbeast barely out of the womb. He didn’t see the face of the woman who, concerned and flushed with the effects of the flight washing over her, murmured assurances he didn’t hear, tried to help him to a chair. He couldn’t sit. He had to walk. He had to fly.

But he couldn’t tell her that. He had no voice. He had no words because they needed air and he couldn’t find any as he brushed off her hands and stumbled from the tend, falling as his dragon faltered, getting back up because Mifth had to as well. Eyes blurred with sleep, with lust, with exhaustion so keen it blurred the world into hazy shapes F'dren couldn't name, and he felt starved for breath, for rest, but more than that, more than anything, for his queen.

Mifth flew for her in labored, absolute silence.

[kireon]

OOC: If you want your rider to be the one getting punched out/whooped on, feel free to mention it in the gather/in a separate thread!

Every major event in her life time, each startling change that would alter her plans and future as a whole, always seemed to start off because she was visiting the herdbeast pens. While most thought the dimglow for brains beasts particularly stupid and not worth watching, the events of late had Durian monitoring and examining the herds themselves wherever she went. Mostly out of a sense of nostalgia, but with the events that had gone on, also to see if she could spot behavioral differences- and she thought she might have. Her suspicions would have to be taken to Atenna, as only Beastcrafters could tell her what normal behavior was and was not, but she thought those in Lord D'lios' pens were particularly healthy and active- minus a couple that were laying down with the same dull, lethargic look in their eyes she'd seen those with the "cure" to the smokeweed that poisoned their meat at Dalibor.

Tried as she had, there hadn't been many options, feasible ones, that she could have done to avoid feeding Mesreath the antidote laced meat. The side effects, from what she'd been able to tell, had made the brown increasingly more prone to being snappish, withdrawn, and sullen more often than normal. And there was a normal for her beloved grumpy boy. It was while she was brooding over the pens and their occupants that Callistath hit, blasting waves of dust, dung and residual unnamed somethings that peppered her clothing and skin. Wiping it out of her face, she blinked rapidly, gaping awestruck at the sheer size and mass of rippling, glowing muscle of the Queen stained by scarlet rivulets as she slaughtered one after another, feeding, glowing all the brighter for it.

How did Avalle do it? She wondered, breathless in admiration of the golden queen with her burnished legs.  Mes? The lust hit her moments later, though the undercurrent of rage, endless and potent cut through the otherwise pleasant and familiar feeling. Rage and something else- fear? Concern? Frustration? She couldn't pinpoint it, and that alone gave her the idea that more than just a little something was off with her massive brown. Callistath's command rang within her very bones, touching off something within her soul as she squinted, shielding her eyes with her arm and hand from the debris kicked up by the Queen's massive wings as she took to the skies and called her suitors to her aid.

WRONG.[/i] He snarled, a hoarsely vehement cough instead of his normal intimidating roar, turning his broad head and snapping at the air around him, eyes whirrling blood red in color and spun with little traces of orange and even yellow. He wanted that Queen, the beautiful shining radiance who had been there from the beginning. He had been there from the instant she had hatched, though Durian was his and he would never share her even if the Queen demanded it, anything and everything else he would give for Callistath if she only asked. ALL WRONG, DURIAN.[/i] He couldn't answer properly, even drinking from the vats placed out for thirsty dragons hadn't been able to clear the irritating dryness in his throat.

Through the multitude of ugly emotions bombarding her left and right from her beloved's mind, Durian caught the pained urgency in his voice, the hidden message he couldn't find the words to properly convey what was wrong. She closed her eyes, knuckles white against the wood of the pens as she sank into him, became one, because Mesreath-Durian- and blanched at what she experienced.

Thick and ugly stones hung heavy in her gullet, like undigested firestone had been piling and piling and piling for several flights without being regurgitated outward. Muscles were thicker than the sap that oozed down some of the trees up north in the winter season, air sticky and heavy, unnaturally so in a body that couldn't respond accordingly to the demands made of it. Atop it all was a deeper-than-bone weariness, a fatigue like none they had ever experienced before that chained them to the ground, staked them there as if they were criminals awaiting the final dawn. Her senses were slow to react, slower to respond and slower still to appropriately connect to what her muddled thoughts wanted her to do. Under it was anxiety and anger, an edginess that was unnatural and, despite not being the most intellectual of dragonkind, was enough that the brown knew that there was something wrong with him.

And that it had to do with what he'd eaten.

Through the blur in his red hazed vision, through the shining beacon that beckoned them, called with a siren's song, were the pursuers. Clumsy in the air, all of them- except one. Focus, who's the unaffected? She asked of him, drawn to where her dragon struggled with uncooperative muscles to rise to his feet, to stir the heat in his veins to a boiling point, to burn what possessed and hampered him out of his system so that he may fulfill his duty to their Queen. I'm on my way, wait for me.

She stumbled, made her way pass the onlookers until one caught her arm, a rider from another Weyr who crooned in her ear and attempted to lead her astray. He received a black eye for his trouble and a snarl of warning to the next one who'd come to take his fellow's place. If her rage at her dragon's state didn't burn out the effects of Flightlust, she'd go look and see if anyone was worth dragging off and pinning against the wall.

After making sure her dragon wasn't going to suffer any permanent, long term effects.

The dungheap she'd belted was right up behind her, seizing her shoulder in an iron grip and words she didn't care enough to hear beneath the roaring in her ears. What happened next was her elbow slamming into the soft spot in his abdomen, air whooshed from his lungs and he doubled over in time to catch her knee to the chin and toppled to the ground. “I believe I made myself clear,” despite her fury, the brownrider's voice was unnaturally soft, though her tone was frigid and cutting. “but for the sake of clarification; I am not interested.” She was not for the likes of them, there would be no tolerance for their load of dragon dung this night. Not when her partner was so afflicted that he could barely move.

Damn the glutton he could be, though she damned herself right along with him for trying to have him hold back to decrease the chances of contaminating her dragon's body with this so called antidote. Her bonded called to her, and she needed to be there, not sating an urge she could deal with herself later on. Mesreath was important, not her body's instinctual urges.

Durian found him there, panting and growling low enough the earth beneath him shivered as she got within range. How much did you eat? Images of three, four and a fifth carcass filled her mind with an unapologetic grumble. He had been hungrier than he had allowed her to know, and because some part of his jealous, grumbling heart had wanted the newly arrived dragonets- and their strange clutch sibling- to grow quickly and not feel the pangs of hunger the adults had. Strength was knowing limits, and he had eaten a fill enough to last what he had believed to be a good deal longer than just having the normal three a dragon of his size normally ate during his time of feeding.

I will go.[/i] He informed her, relief at seeing her there, with him, his life and other half standing before him to watch him go, alleviating some of his anxiety and frustration. He could barely focus on one thing or another for very long, inner lids blinking closed over facets and then forcing themselves open again. He did not want to sleep, the lethargy that had stolen over him an unacceptable insult to Callistath.

Absolutely not. Durian put a stop to that almost instantly, seizing control from him in an uncharacteristic severity to back her words. She had a great dislike for what Q'sis did with Unath, finding the mannerisms and behaviors much too close to the darker lines she had seen, and had crossed herself, in the past she'd tried to leave behind. Mesreath reacted with surprise, eyes losing red and going yellow to gray in shock and no little fear. She had only done that once before, back when he'd actually tried to eat another human being- and uncharacteristic actions made him worry for her all the more than he did in his own cranky manner as it was.

Was their bond being affected by the medicine? Had some of its effects transferred over to her in that short amount of time she'd merged with him to examine things from his perspective?

Had he caused Durian harm- the ultimate in sins?

But he submitted to her will, lowering himself to the ground humbly, submissively. He had sworn to be her fang and claws where they were needed, to shield her from harm with his own thick frame, and to be there where none had been in all of her days before him. Only to her, and to the select dragonesses he chose, would he submit himself.

And only to Durian would he allow that kind of transgression to pass without so much as a word of protest.

After all, his Durian would rue the hasty, thoughtless action later, and he would threaten to bite her later as a result. She would never have done it had she not felt it necessary for his, and her own, safety. Iron Akanith. Blue Shalith. Yellow Weslieth. Blue Taceuth. Blue Halventh. Brown Perbaith. Bronze Drieth. Brown Maeradith. Blue Mifth.[/i] A long, long pause. Brown Mesreath.[/i] He tried again to convey the importance of trying, because it was for Callistath. He could not disappoint her too, the way he was disappointing himself and Durian.

All of them from Dalibor except for Peribaith. She closed her eyes, releasing him from her iron-clad control reluctantly. Show me that you can fly first. I will face Callistath's wrath if she's angry with you for being grounded otherwise.

To the brown's credit, it was a magnificent effort he made- getting about a tail's length off the ground before he stumbled and crashed down in a manner that would likely bruise, but hadn't broken anything- Durian would have known. As it were, she rushed to his side and ran her hands over where he'd landed, forcing him back up to show her he was uninjured- minus his pride. Callistath... There was a wealth of apology, an extremely rare thing coming from the stubborn brown who refused to admit wrong doing, and sorrow in his voice in just her name alone.

Durian climbed atop the brown's paw, walking up to settle in the crook of his elbow and leaned against the rumbling jaw. I'm here, Mes. I'm here. It was a small reassurance, but it was all she could give until things were finished, the worst of the effects were out of the dragon's system... and until the outcome of the Flight was decided.

One thing was for sure, Perbaith's uncanny agility in comparison to the rest of them had her suspicious. She would hear what D'lios' reasoning was behind that before any other thoughts or decisions would be made on her behalf.[/size]

[Boo]

”How much for the wine there?”
“What are you willing to trade?”
Awston had managed, for once, to acquire some wealth in one of her games. So she had a few items for trading at the gather. Sholth had ferried a few people to the gather and, in return, some of them had given her a gift. There had been one individual who’d even traded her an instrument as they carried her and her wher to the Hold. Others had given small crafting designs and these items she’d taken to a game. There she had won a few pieces of jewellery and, unlike other times, had quit whilst she was ahead. Possibly because of Sholth’s continued commentary in her mind.

With the wine acquired from a handsome looking trader, Awston wandered her way through the stalls it was odd but she felt tired. In fact, she had been feeling tired for a while now. Yawning, the bluerider came to a stop and leaned against one of the walls of the hold. Closing her eyes, she relaxed for a moment, just for a moment.

A loud scream dragged her out of this lethargy and suddenly she felt several emotions from Sholth. Lust, determination but also intense exhaustion. Still, the blue roared after his queen Callistath. He’d chased her before and he would do so again.
This… Sholth shook himself, This time we’ll…
The blue shook his head and opened his maw in something of a yawn before flinging himself as fast as he could after the great gold dragoness.

Awston herself felt tired, arms sore from holding the bags and yet Sholth flew on. He used what speed he had to catch up with the rest of the dragons.
We… Can win…

[/blockquote]

[Nia]

A mess, it was a mess. From what Avalle could gather, the Hold was... sort of in chaos? The Gather must have collapsed, but no one had come over to where she was. She was in a fairly empty area in the first place, she supposed. Would anyone even be able to find her? She didn't care. She was too far into Callistath at this point, despite how hard she tried to keep her mind clear. Avalle sunk to her knees against the wall of one of the Hold's storage sheds, cursing herself and how horribly undignified this whole thing was. She felt Callistath's anger at that word. Undignified. In the air, Callistath let out a roar of rage.

The Gold was clearly not in her usual state of mind, and she was not happy with her suitors. Clumsy! Inelegant! None of them were right. She howled again, thrashing herself about in the air before immediately switching directions and flying back towards the Hold. The Avalle part of her mind told her to turn around, to go the wrong way, but Callistath didn't want to listen. She flew right back towards her suitors, lashing out at Akanith as she passed by him on her way back. What was wrong with him! Why wasn't he flying like he had before! It was a personal insult, even if it wasn't his fault, and Callistath wasn't going to stand for it.

It was like a betrayal, and Callistath's rage only increased. The pair's anger at each other only powered on Callistath's rage towards her suitors, and the fact that Avalle kept trying to keep her mental state rather than peacefully merge with Callistath made it so much worse. It was the fear of being discovered by someone that kept Avalle from allowing herself to fully merge with her dragon. Her pride wouldn't allow her to end up in such a precarious situation, despite the fact that it was deserted around her. It was unfamiliar territory. If anything, she had to keep her pride. Callistath gave another roar of frustration, this one towards her rider again, not that the dragons flying after her would be able to tell.

Anger was not an emotion that Callistath was used to feeling. It only frustrated her more that she didn't quite know how to handle all this rage she was feeling. She wanted to lash out, but she was a lady. She was elegant. She wasn't clumsy, and she didn't deserve clumsy dragons! She swung around back towards the suitors again, this time flying right over them rather than trying to lash out at one of them. She wanted to rake her claws down Akanith's side for his betrayal that she was imagining, but she didn't. There was a tiny bit of her rational side left. Enough to have her shoot straight up, to fly as high up as she possibly could, to get away from all of them.

She wanted to escape. The thoughts clicked together in Callistath's mind and she picked up her speed with a few powerful wingbeats, shooting further and further away from the suitors. Leave them in the dust. Get away from them. She didn't want any of them. They were all wrong, none of them were worthy of her! They were clumsy, she was clumsy.... Callistath gave another great roar of frustration, but it sounded weaker than the last. She was a Gold! A Queen! She couldn't be getting tired already. She refused to believe it. It wasn't happening.

So she flew, ignoring the suitors behind her, not even giving them a glance to tell them she was still interested. She didn't want them! She didn't want to see them fumble through the air, to act as strange as they were.

But she had to. There was that primal instinct that made her turn her head back to watch them, to make sure they were still worshipping her radiance. There was also a touch of worry in her head. What was so wrong? That obnoxious Blue wasn't even saying anything to her. The others were, but their words fell on deaf ears. The Gold didn't care for their words. She wanted them to fly with elegance, not... this! Her rage ignited once more, Callistath spun as quickly as her large body would allow and lunged back towards her suitors, with Maeradith the target of her rage this time. She was not as violent as a Red, so she simply lunged towards him with outstretched claws, stopping herself before she actually hit him. She angled herself upwards and skimmed him from above, not enough to even hurt.

She turned into a different direction, not headed towards the Hold or the Weyr. The Gold stole a glance back to make sure at least some of her suitors were still after her. Her wings felt heavy, her entire body felt heavy, as though she hadn't blood the herdbeasts and instead eaten them whole. She wasn't about to just give up on her flight now. She was a Gold. She was Senior Queen. She could fly for as long as she wanted, and no one was going to stop her.

[/size]

[Azhdarchid]

Her fingers were wrapped into the spaces between his. When his hands twitched, he had the briefest notion of dirt trapping him from below. That was all he could really feel of the L'xon part of himself. It was some sort of approximation of something he had yet to win. There was just heat from it, all down his stomach, even when the rest of him had grayed out dull as a storm cloud.

Halventh flew through the fires of his guiding star's anger, but remained unswayed. Sensitive. Tried-and-true. Both terms applied to blues, to him, and he did not falter even in his last moments. But he had his own feelings and they were stronger than anything he could inherit from the queen in this delicate moment. Dragons negotiated mind-to-mind before anything else, and though Halventh was a wall he remained a sympathetic one: he cried at the edge of her screams. He lashed his tail and his crimson eyes stippled with unpleasant yellows.

When Callistath issued a flagging roar, the little blue's hide jumped three shades whiter, then evened out as he sped up behind her with a cough. Darting, weaving, bobbing, he was a rising flame between the other suitors, free of all earthly bondage. Gravity blinked away from Halventh. Straight up, eyes icing before he blinked them clean, he came to a dragonlength off the gold. He pushed his worry- and instinct -into her, addressing her, but by the time he got access he had lost his speech. Nothing coagulated in his soul to stamp against hers. His were animal thoughts.

It was the warmth against his belly that woke him up just a few seconds later. He looked (like he could miss her), but Callistath was not there, and the notion peeled off him like the sudden disappearance of his shadow. Space had become the dirt. He could feel the dirt, against his bare, wingless back. He could see it ahead of him, distant now, but coming closer, speckled with water. The dragon worked his wings- because he did have them after all, he had just forgotten them for a moment -and a star of pain shot down both flying arms, colliding between his shoulderblades, and then the limbs went dead.

He fell, complicated by the remaining parts of his body that still thought he would be coupling with a queen today. He hunched his back end toward the front end, fetal in the air, passing things that might have been the other suitors, stretching long and endlessly black into the heaven he'd abandoned. The dirt never stayed in focus for long even though he was staring right at it, wide-eyed, desperately awake under the non-cooperation of his senses. Something shimmied out from under his thick, cold-hot hide and he thought it might have been what remained of his nerves and his control.

Then one thing clarified, zooming up beneath him: Mifth. Halventh focused on the other blue, down to the pebbling of his skin, in the half-second he had to do so. His wings twitched out-of-order in a pantomime of steering. His breath bubbled out in a faint mroo.

He did not feel much, even though his head stuck into Mifth's shoulder for a life-threatening second before slipping over his back. His keel met the other blue's collarbone, and that held longer, but the bones were strong. Then Halventh started to slip over Mifth's back, like a raindrop seeking freedom, only raindrops did not have wings and talons that fouled together like puzzle pieces.

A ball of blue rotated momentarily in the sunlight. Then Halventh was flung free to a new steep angle. He did not see Mifth. He could not look. He tossed his head helplessly, directionless because he could no longer specify which muscles to pull.

Waroth...! he bleated against the wind, shrunk back to a dopey hatchling seeking comfort from his scorner. But against all odds, a fact blipped into his brain about Waroth and her role in this situation. He never finished his call to her, but he did to someone else: Wenth help me!

[lee]

Catch her. Mifth understood now at last what doing so meant, and he was desperate for it, for her, and the craving for his queen was so acute it ached like pain he could not distinguish from that of throbbing lungs and miserable wings grasping at the air in clumsy, labored flight. He was so tired. So very tired. But tiredness could not be an excuse, could not hold him back. This was their queen! Their beautiful, shining, golden queen and she deserved everything, everything he could give her and so he gave her just that, denying the gray haze that made him droop like a scored hatchling in the thin air. Far away—too far away--a man with the knots of a bluerider stumbled, half-blind as exhaustion blurred his vision black around the edges, lost to a mind he usually could keep distinct but he was afraid, so afraid if he kept them apart this time, when something was so wrong, he would lose him, and he stumbled, searching, though whether it was for the blue he feared for and the queen he sought or for the Weyrwoman, he couldn't tell and couldn't care. All he could think was find her, over and over,
and he couldn't.

Callistath's roar, her anger, tore at Mifth's heart and shredded it, and he could feel it like a blow, a squeezing, suffocating reprimand. Why was their queen so unhappy? Oh. how he wanted her happy! Oh. how he would try! For her! To bring her happiness. Though he was far, far below the shimmering dragon and her other, stronger suitors, Mifth raised his head and at last broke his silence with a musical, sweet trill, a medium pitched serenade for a lady, for a queen. But the breath cost him and he plummeted as Callistath turned back to them, demanded more. He could give her more! He could give her all! With herculean effort, Mifth screamed in absolute silence, a demand to his weakened body, blue though it would be, go higher! Go HIGHER! Follow her! Chase her!

But he could not look up at her, couldn't force exhausted muscles to crane upwards even to adore. As his wings forced him higher he would drop, two lengths up and one down on each push and retract of his wings, too tired to maintain, but trying, oh how he was trying! The effort was agonizing, all-consuming, and there was nothing, nothing at all to sustain him, to dodge Halventh as he might have been able had he been himself.

He might have vanished, might have blinked away and gone in shock and exhaustion but his wings could not carry him even to oblivion, though he thought, for that moment when skull slammed into shoulder and his own reared up, around, only to collide with the curv ing back of his fellow blue with a crack that echoed in a way his calls could not, that he could see it, black and encroaching in the reeling dimness left behind from a white-hot flash as bone struck spine.

Mifth cried out in pain and in shock but hadn't the breath to let the call carry , and it fell just past his maw a grasping wheeze starved for air and sound. His tail whipped and hit paler blue hide, forelegs clawing at air and catching hide instead as wings tangled, talons scratched, necks scraped and ridges tore and tumbled and for a moment, Mifth thought he had caught his queen and crooned but the body was ripped from his as they spun, dropping, plummeting, and Mifth knew it was no so and the defeat sapped him at last.

He had no strength to call for help, no mind left to think of it, though a pleading bleat tore from him as twisted in his fall, flung free of the other body but tangled now in his own wings and unable to stop spinning, spinning, spinning like a frenzied child's toy, incapable of spreading his wings to break the spiral, to fight the crushing squeeze of gravity on his plummeting form led head first from the sky. It was not a far fall, not so great as it seemed in his mind, but nor was it a comfortable one.

He gave up on his wings because they would not heed him, and instead forced his neck to the sky to cry out once for the only one he could think of in that moment even as she soared farther from him, an apology caught in terror that was too tired to lend volume or force. With that last sound, Mifth fought desperately to right himself, to stop the spinning before the yawning ground could catch him in a crash, to find his wings again and climb back into the sky so he could seek his Queen but though pounding heart begged weary muscles they could do nothing, and with clattering lungs, skittering heart and no control, blue Mifth plunged.

F'dren forced himself into the blue's mind, showed him that his panic was clouding reason. That he was overreacting because of the emotions that were too big for a blue to handle. The ground was not so far, he just need to twist, to right himself, not let the sleepiness and strain of a gold flight cloud instinct. It would be fine, he just needed to turn, to flip and break the speed with wings like sails...he could do it. F'dren's fists balled with need and his dragon's fear and he felt something hot spill under his nails but he breathed, in and out, and showed Mifth he could as well, that it was not so terrible, he could do this. He could land, and then rest, and dream of his queen another night. He could do this. They could do this.

[Cathaline]

There was a heaviness in Shalith's muscles. They always warned the clutching females not to feed before a flight, only to blood, for a reason like this, but it was not simple gluttony that made the dragon falter. That made all the dragons falter. He was a clever dragon with a head for strategy, and he was aware of the others, of their helplessness, of the dangerous way they all pushed themselves for the opportunity to enchant their golden queen. Even Callistath herself did not seem to be enjoying her game, while those in pursuit struggled, and even began to drop out.

Perbiath was flying easily; so was Taceuth. But mere luck of the draw based on who had happened to eat today shouldn't decide a queenflight, Shalith thought. If things continued on the way they were, would Callistath even have a choice? None of these dragons could prove themselves worthy of her under the circumstances, and, aware of Mifth's collapse, the blue wavered. He should go back and help...

Callistath needed help too. This was her flight and it should not be decided by poison, it should not be all about Kalith and how she had fallen to the smokeweed their medicine was supposed to fix.

Taceuth veered aside, and Shalith stretched his neck forward, straining to his utmost. He was faster than any brown, but the effort made his muscles scream. On the ground, Sian clutched at Ondine's forearms, sweat breaking out on her brow. Don't kill yourself! Not for this![/i]

Not for anything![/i] With a final, desperate push, Shalith found himself at the head of the pack and dropped toward Perbiath's rump, talons extended, avoiding his wings - he didn't want to cripple the brown, just to make him turn aside, to mitigate his awful, fortunate agility.

Sian probably should have stopped him, but she didn't care right now.

---

There was no reason to be sneaky, no reason to behave the way Shalith did. They were winning. Taceuth appeared to be the only sharding dragon who could fly properly, apart from Perbiath, and it was no secret to an ambitious lad like M'iles how much the Weyr did not get along with D'lios. He'd be a travesty as a Weyrleader; Callistath wouldn't let him win.

But they shouldn't have to win by default. M'iles wanted his win to be glorious and prove him fit for the position; Taceuth wanted it to be a flight for the history books, and not because it was a comedy of errors, either. While Perbiath seemed to want to stay near Callistath, Taceuth remained with the struggling pack, swooping in and out, so that if Callistath should happen to glance back, she would see his cleverness and his abilities.

Mifth and Halventh's collision changed all that. With a cry of distress, Taceuth started to plunge after them -

No! Keep flying! This might be our only chance![/i]

M'iles - [/i]

Be sensible! They're not weyrlings or little blacks. All you'd succeed in doing is ending up a part of that crash.[/i]

But if all of us - [/i]

Nobody else is fast enough to coordinate with you. It's not happening. This is a flight, not a rescue mission.[/i]

The communication, mental as it was, more emotions than words, took less than a second. It shook Taceuth to his very core; he was a heroic, brave young dragon, and watching his friends plummet to their possible doom, his progress arrested, unable to help them - it devastated him to the point where even the lust spreading fire through his veins could not intrigue him.

Fly, you fool![/i]

Utterly torn, distracted by the voice in his head that had no business being so firm during a chase, Taceuth honked in dismay and turned aside, blindly. Only to spear himself on Maeradith's claws. It was not the brown's fault; Taceuth had been flying brilliantly so far, who could have expected that he would end up taking himself out?

Who could know that it was his rider's fault!

The talons dragged along his side, deeply, and when Taceuth wriggled away, he cannoned into Weslieth's side. His wing crumpled, and M'iles surged into his mind, giving him the picture of Home.

Taceuth betweened out of the flight, a few last drops of ichor falling toward the trees, and only after several heartstopping seconds was it clear that he had made it back to Dalibor.

Still, M'iles panicked. He was all the way across the Continent, he'd lost his dragon, and he knew, even if his being rebelled against it, that it was his fault, that he'd tried to force Taceuth to do things he could never be comfortable with. Even the selfish thought that he'd lost his chance at Weyrleader stayed tucked safely in a subconscious box; all he could think was that he needed to get to his dragon immediately, and he ran, looking for the first non-participating rider he could find.

He found them by the herdbeast pens, and he grabbed Ondine's shoulder. "You! Healer! My dragon is injured! Take me back to Dalibor immediately, it's your duty!"

He chose absolutely the wrong time to make this demand. He was also the wrong sex to be anywhere near Sian right now. As her dragon struck out at Perbiath, she let go of Ondine, eyes blazing, and hit him in the face hard enough to hear his nose break.

---

Weslieth was having a really lovely time until things started to go wrong, which was almost immediately. Everyone, including Callistath herself, was strained and stressed. It was among the quietest flights he'd ever participated in, and the most upsetting. But he would not give up on his beautiful queen, on the imaginary children they could have together, on the desire raging through his body -

Taceuth collided with him and then disappeared, and this alarming event was enough. Weslieth spun around in midair, trying to find where the blue had gone, reaching helplessly toward where he'd been - was he lost forever? There was no sense of unfathomable grief. But one should not issue a sudden midair stop in the middle of a flight. Weslieth had no time to drop before the dragon behind him crashed into him (at a rather slow speed, at least), and he instinctively wrapped himself around Akanith, his wings fouled. Okay, so if he went this way and Akanith went that way...

By the time they could free themselves of their unexpected embrace, given the way they were both flying, it would probably be much too late. But at least, unlike Mifth, their flameout wasn't spectacular and life-threatening.

[Ondine]

Z'an knew that everything was going to the flame faster than he could react when he felt the pulsing lust in his veins begin to subside. He was still linked to his dragon, still felt the need and the desire for the golden Queen in the sky, but Akanith's emotions were slowly fading out of flightlust. Akanith, what's wrong? He didn't really need to ask that, he knew what was wrong, he could feel the pained and fiery lethargy that had spread over his dragon, that made each wingbeat the end of a marathon flight against Thread. Akanith burned with exertion as he tried to follow his training the way that he had for turns, but his body no longer listened to the mind.

But he could feel the slash as Callistath came back at him and tore up his side, and for a moment his wings simply folded. His rider felt the sudden surge of panic that blew away flightlust take him and leave his mind clear amid a hold that was rapidly falling to chaos. But then the iron's wings flipped out and he slipped into a glide, and finally another beat, two, and regained height as he tried to chase the Queen. Wings trembled and beat only with as much effort as he could put into it, and he pushed himself forward, but the pain of the light slash and his exhausted muscles made him slip down instead.

Forward into Weslieth, whom he had never even noticed, so befuddled was his reflexes and his mind. Hadn't everyone been flying perfectly? Akanith didn't know anymore, and not even his rider was a clear voice in his head. He briefly wrapped himself around Weslieth, but when the time came to separate, his wings refused to open. Why should he open them? He was tired. So, so very tired, and the world spun in sickening waves as the ground drew closer. He felt fear, but no direction. Why was he afraid right now? A voice in his head that he knew and trusted, but the words were gibberish and he couldn't understand them. Not until Z'an screamed into their bond, Akanith, you're going to die! FLY.

And for a moment the world snapped into clarity, and the iron realized that he was plummeting straight for solid earth in what was not quite a glide. It burned his wings to move them in a way it never had, but then he was gliding and pulling up, beating his wings to fight against the velocity that had him speeding toward tree and rock. He would have made it if he were well, but his wingbeats were still the clumsy efforts of a dragonet, and he simply couldn't make the safe landing. His wing touched a tree, and one of the branches tore a jagged hole in his wing. Clarity vanished into pain, and all the iron knew was that he lay against earth, immense body quivering as he tried to focus on simply breathing. The world was distant and far away, and it was only a minute after he had landed that he could dredge up the mental focus to realize that he needed to speak. Mine, I'm sorry. I crashed. I...I think I'll be okay, but I can't move, and...it's really hard to think. He shivered from fear and huddled his body closer together, but he couldn't even comprehend the response that his rider gave him. He just wanted him here, wherever here was. He didn't want to be alone.

Z'an felt sick with fear and panic and a creeping anger. His dragon was alone and afraid and hurt somewhere out there, and he didn't even know where that was. Akanith couldn't think straight, and the closer they got in their bond the worse it was. The rider tore through the crowd that had mostly lost control of theirselves, looking for a rider that wasn't in the middle of all of this. Who might be able to use their dragon to fly him out to see his own. He'd apologize to Avalle later, he needed to find Akanith. Finally, he turned the corner and found...Valha. He bolted forward and screeched to a halt in front of her, “Valha. Akanith crashed, and he's injured. Can you fly me to him?” His voice was rougher than normal and only the barest of instincts kept him from demanding, but his dragon was hurt, and he just...needed to be there. At any cost.

---------

At least Sian knew it was her, judging by the way that her woman locked frantic hands on her forearms. Ondine was worried for her and how she felt right now, so the first step was to get them someplace private. She got Sian upright and was about to lead them off when someone arrived. M'iles, if she remembered correctly. Not that it really mattered in that instant, because his sheer presence and demand was enough for her bluerider to nail him right in the nose hard enough that everyone heard it break. Ondine's eyes widened ever so slightly, but her mouth was a hard line as she considered her options here. Not that she really had many, her duty was clear.

She grabbed Sian's hand at the same time that she called to Dilath. Dilath, I need you at the pens. M'iles needs to go back to Dalibor on your back. She sent a mental image in a free spot next to them...and the pink betweened to thin air a dozen yards overhead, landing swiftly. Mine I'm here~ As the dragon landed, she spoke to the man who had just gotten his nose shattered. “Dilath will take you. I'm needed elsewhere, and the infirmary can take care of you and your dragon. Sian, let's go.” The last thing she wanted to do was to take care of M'iles.

She didn't wait for his response, instead giving her woman just the slightest of tugs toward her. There was a building nearby that looked like it would have space for them somewhere to hide, and she wanted them both in there soon. Sian didn't look good, and the last thing she wanted was for a fight to break out between blueriders when one of them was still riding flightlust and ready to turn lust into anger at a moment's notice. Dilath, on the other hand, stared at the two women and then back to the man, wondering why Sian had been violent. Nobody should be violent, after all. She got down, ready for her passenger to climb aboard so that they could go.

[Kila]

Something was very wrong. Perbiath felt it. Though he had not participated in many flights instinct told him that this was not how it was supposed to be. It was impossible for Callistath to notice him, and close as he flew to her, but she looked without seeing- her eyes and thoughts clouded by rage. He crooned, confused, trying to buoy her spirits. Such a glorious Queen should not be distressed when pursued by a dozed adoring suitors. And yet the reason was readily apparent; apart from one young Blue the followers were possessed by a lethargy with which Perbiath was all too familiar. The antidote that His had created had made him feel the same way. Perbiath had hated that feeling. Just looking at how it pained them to lift their wings made his own body ache. The Brown shook the feeling off and refocused on the flight. He had found a solution to his personal problem, and with the exception of Callistath’s anguish, the troubles of the others did not concern him.

For as slow as the flight was going, the next chain of events happened in quick succession. With a cry of rage, Callistath doubled back and raked her claws across the hide of her former King, scorning the Iron for his faults. Halveneth fell, though for what reason Perbaith did not know. Blue collided into Blue and both Halveneth and Mifth, who he had struck, fell from the sky. Taceauth faltered, visibly torn between continuing after Callistath and diving after his Blue brothers. His hesitation was his unwitting downfall, for when he turned he met with Maeradith, who Callistath had also charged moments before. He persisted long enough to bump into Weslieth before blinking between. That collision caused yet another: the Yellow bumped into Akanith, wrapping his wings around him instinctively. They almost looked like a proper couple as they fell- Wesliath passing as a pale gold and Akanith as his victorious King. But the truth was something much more sinister.

Perbaith watched his competition fall, moved to compassion for them despite his situation. You must not stop, D’lios said firmly, still acutely aware of what was at stake. He wandered the throngs of the Hold half-blind, one eye on the golden Queen and the other searching for Avalle. If anyone could find her it would be him. The Riders from Dalibor were out of their element here, and D’lios knew the twists and turns of his little kingdom better than most men had a right to. This flight is yours, Perbiath. You are shining. Just think of how you will show them. Callistath deserves a King like you. The Brown swelled, bolstered by his bonded’s words. The Lord Holder knew exactly what to say to move him. Just as Taceuth though, Perbiath’s pause was his downfall. As he turned to wing after Callistath Shalith sunk his talons into his hide. The Brown roared with angry pain as the sharp claws sliced through him, leaving deep gashes on his flank and pulling him towards the ground. He turned, teeth flashing, and flung Shalith from him, sympathy vanished. Ichor covered his right side and he bobbed weakly in the air, reeling with pain, his end in ribbons. He let out another angry roar, wounded beyond the skin. Competition was one thing, but he had done nothing to warrant being attacked. They hated him still, and now they had brought him down to their pathetic level. Each flap of his wings made him want to scream, and pushing himself would make him bleed all the more.

Perbiath, are you okay??? D’lios asked, stopping and putting his hand against a wall as he reeled. His lifemate’s pain was overwhelming, but an emotion even stronger than that was developing. I will not accept this, he snarled, watching Callistath receed. The others had followed until they fell, and if necessary then so would he. With a deep breath and a resounding roar he pushed forward, lagging with the remaining suitors. On the ground D’lios also took a breath, pushed past the pain, and continued seeking the Weyrwoman.

[Boo]

A great weight seemed to rest on Sholth’s shoulders. The roars of his queen tore through him like so many knives. He wanted to fly on, fly faster and catch them but he was falling behind even the slowest of the dragons. As such, he missed several of the collisions.
Sholth?
Awston knew something was wrong. The blue hadn’t even said anything to his queen. He was just flying on as though his life depended on it and even she felt exhausted. Awston placed her hand on a wall and slowly, slowly she slid down until she was sitting with her back against it, staring up at the skies.

I have failed.
Even though Callistath was far ahead of him, Sholth continued to push on not willing to give up just yet. There were several still in the race but the iron whom had won once before had now fallen from the skies. There was still a chance. A bronze and a brown remained and a blue had disappeared completely yet he felt no loss. With determination, Sholth pushed on. Against his better judgement, he flew after the gold dragon changing directions as she had.

Mustering strength, he roared out and flung himself further on. ONWARDS! This was his moment of glory! So many chances, such an opportunity for victory had never presented itself as this one had. With renewed energy, he desperately flew after Callistath, trying to use his speed to catch up with her perhaps recognising the futility.

“Callistath.”
Rayna had been at a stall when it had happened. She’d heard the roars and seen the gold take to the skies. More importantly, she’d heard Couineth. The gold dragon sniffed and loosed a roar of her own but only after the senior gold had long since left.
Of cooooourse she would decide to fly at a gather, she just wants all the attention to herself. I kneeew she was as selfish as everyone else.
Shush.

Rayna ran forward and looked skywards as she spotted a brown take to the skies. A scowl passed over her face as she looked around the Hold. Of course that lecherous scum would make use of this opportunity. It took all of her will not to send Couineth into the air after the dragon but instead, Rayna turned.
Something isn’t right.
Although the lady-like gold might have been annoyed at the fact that she was here and not back home, there was something else wrong with the dragons of the weyr. Some of them were flying a lot slower than she remembered and even the blues wingbeats seemed laborious.

She had to find Avalle and at least make sure she was safe. That the scum who ruled this hold wouldn’t find her first for that would be disastrous. With that, Rayna ran through the crowds, desperately searching for her Weyrwoman. She didn’t care if his dragon was chasing, she would not let this happen. He had poisoned them all, Lord D’lios should never have been trusted.

[/blockquote]

[Nia]

While she had wanted to hurt Akanith, Callistath had absolutely not wanted the Iron to drop out of the flight. It wasn't entirely her fault, or at least Callistath reasoned so, but she managed to turn her head back to check on her suitors in time to see her once-mate crash spectacularly into the Candidatemaster's Yellow. She roared in rage again, flying up higher so she could circle the chaos and check on what her suitors were doing! While she was angry at them all for their sub-part performances, they were still her dragons. Her Weyr, her dragons, her poor, crashing dragons. More of her suitors were crashing together and disappearing, but Callistath was more concerned with Akanith. She screeched her rage again.

Two of the Blues had also crashed, one in particular being one that Callistath had her eye on. He'd been a decent flier, how had he crashed like that?! Taceuth had betrayed her as well, and he didn't even seem plagued by the lethargy of the others. Halventh and Mifth collided, and Callistath's screech for them sounded closer to a keen than anything. Neither had disappeared between forever, but they were all hurt. Hurt and it was her fault, wasn't it? Callistath roared again, though rather than rage this time it was a roar full of sorrow and regret.

The great Gold circled back again, flying over her suitors once more with the excuse of changing directions, rather than just checking on them. She was tired. She was so, so tired. But she had to keep going. She was a Senior Queen! If her flight wasn't long and draining, then it wasn't a good enough test for their future Weyrleader. A surge of panic in Avalle's half of their mind bubbled up at the thought of Weyrleadership, and Callistath growled in frustration again. The fact that the pair of them still could not get over themselves enough to fully merge was more of a problem than the lethargy that Callistath felt. Or, perhaps, it was only making it worse.

In her pass over the suitors, Callistath kept her eyes on Perbiath, watching as the Brown was attacked by one of the remaining Blues. Perbiath's rider didn't concern Callistath at the moment, despite how the Avalle part of their mind panicked at the thought, but the Gold was angry that he'd been attacked. Perbiath had been one of the few impressive dragons in her flight, one of the few that actually knew how to fly. The Blue... well, Callistath did have to admit, having the guts to attack a much larger Brown was fairly impressive as well. She moved a bit closer to the two of them, enough to touch Shalith with her tail before shooting away from them again.

She flew straight this time, as straight as her tired body could carry her. She wanted to be out of view of the Hold, but she didn't head towards the Weyr either. Callistath flew across the continent, but her pace had slowed considerably since she first shot away from Shalith, Perbiath, Sholth and the rest of the suitors who still remained. She gave a powerful beat of her wings to keep herself going, and mostly tried to glide her way through the air.

Even gliding was getting laborious, and Callistath was quite obviously getting tired herself. She'd managed to mostly hide how exhausted she was, but now it was fully obvious just how tired the Gold was. Her Senior Flight, her first Senior Flight of Dalibor, and it had been such a disaster. The Goldpair was not feeling too good about themselves right now, and Avalle was taking it as a huge, awful omen. How would they be able to run a Weyr if they couldn't even handle a Flight?

Callistath's rage had worn off and now her entire being was just tired. She gave another painful flap of her wings, pushing herself higher to try and catch a drift of wind or anything to keep her in the air. She didn't want to end her flight now, it hadn't been nearly satisfactory or long enough, and her suitors were just not good enough. Akanith had dropped, and there weren't any left that she might find worthy. Perbiath was the only one with the skills, but he'd been injured and was now flying at the back of the very small pack.

The Gold gave another roar of challenge to those who remained after her, but it didn't come out anywhere near as strong as her previous ones. She needed to make her choice soon, or it might not happen at all.

[/size]

[lee]

Pull up! F'dren wasn't sure quite where he was, stumbling blindly and seeking, and the faces around him blurred into Avalle's though he knew from their ghostly halos it wasn't the truth, only the influence of the flight that made him think so, the desperate hunger that begged to catch, even through the panic of Mifth's rapid drop. He couldn't focus, couldn't get the blue to wrap his mind around the need to right himself, so confused and muddled and wrapped up in the shock of collision and the desperate desire to please Callistath mingled with the knowledge that somehow, somehow trying to do so had gone terribly wrong, all leading to a horrible sadness that was sapping him.

F'dren found himself angry. The stupid blue was prone to pity parties and he usually let the creature have them but now was most certainly not the time. Pull up. Pull up you stupid blue. He wrestled for control that was not merged, for some semblance of sanity in the spinning haze. The keen from their queen pulled at Mifth, sparked some of the heat she had ignited and spread it to his gut and at last, at last to his wings and F'drenMifth seized it like a lifeline and pulled himself towards it, righting himself enough to spread wings like brakes to slow, but not halt, the tumultuous drop. The shouts of those pointing, agape in shock and then panic and confusion as they bolted out of the way of the plummeting dragon—dragons didn't fall—were lost on Mifth as he curled, stretched, fought the air and pulled himself upright, forelimbs stretched like landing gear as he barreled like a blue torpedo into a series of wagons leaving the Gather. He screeched at the impact, bouncing back into the air like a skipping stone (albeit one that flailed rather than remaining rocky and stony like skipping stones were wont to do) on a lake as the wagon toppled like a child's toy, spilling its unsold wares as its owners watched in shock. Mifth flipped from the force, too shocked and tired to feel it, flailed, but righted himself again, wing banging into another and tail toppling a third as the wagons teetered like dominoes struck by a fat blue finger. Pull up! Pull up! F'dren shouted the words from a throat that was raw and a mind that was fogged and tinged with red he couldn't distinguish from anger or, even now, desire. Slowed by each colliding bounce the blue at last scrambled, scrabbling talons leaving gauges in the wood of the last caravan to collide with the dragon, and pulled himself into a semblence of a controlled glide a scant man-and-half's height off the ground, heaving with effort and unable to entirely process what had happened.

One wing flapped faster than the other, and Mifth teetered unevenly in the sky—though perhaps, below the tops of trees and holds, the space he occupied couldn't be called that--battered and bewildered. He felt himself separate again, just barely, into the mind that was F'dren's and that which was his own, and felt the former presence plead with him to land, but he couldn't, not while his queen still soared, her gleaming hide a speck in the sky far above. The distance did little to clear the red from Mifth's eyes, and a sorrowful keen that was hardly a roar poured from his throat. He was sorry! He was so sorry! To cause a fuss, to hurt a friend. He had lost track of Halventh after the air had thrown them apart, couldn't find him in the sky now and feared though he felt none of the emptiness that would have signaled the worst. Catastrophe filtered through his mind and he recognized the word as F'dren's because it wasn't one he knew, and he felt sorrow for it as well, bobbing glide continuing only because there was no obstacle that required avoidance.

Land, F'dren pleaded, it's over. But it wasn't. For him, perhaps, but not for their queen, and Mifth knew when his hindlegs touched the earth they could collapse and to do so before his queen was ready was one more insult he could not bear to strike against her. He counted fewer suitors in the sky than when he had last been aware enough to notice, and he keened in whispery silence, afraid he had caused their loss as well. F'dren sagged, but knew it was only time now. Despite his efforts, in a few wingbeats, Mifth would drag at last to the ground, a huddled heap of battered blue hide and a miserable little lump of remorseful self pity. Through his eyes, F'dren scanned the sky as well, seeking Halventh, seeking the others while Mifth still sought Callistath, What a mess, the thoughts echoed, his or Mifth's. What a mess. Who was left? But he couldn't focus on that now. Now he needed to stay with Mifth, keep him there if not aloft as the blue wished. And let it end.

[Kila]

Though he was not a violent dragon by nature, the prospect of
turning and mauling Sholth was for a moment nearly as tantalizing as
catching the Queen. But no. Focus. Perbiath left the offensive
Blue behind, hoping his teeth and talons had done some damage when he'd
thrown Sholth off of him. His real prize lay ahead, and now he would
have to work thrice as hard if he wanted to continue. Continuing in the
chase would put him in just as much peril as the others but he was not
about to quit, slow as the going might now be.

When Callistath flew overhead the wounded Brown's angry breath stilled.
Not only was she looking down at them, but she saw him, Perbiath,
for the first time since they had took to the sky Her eyes were a mix of
scorn and pity, neither of which he could abide, but her glance was a
gift whatever the sentiment. Her recognition made the lifeblood oozing
out of him and dripping off his hide seem not so dire. He answered her
weakening call with a roar of his own, his determination as alive as
ever. If he had to push himself within an inch of death then so be it.
Perhaps if she saw him soar in spite of his handicap, saw him excel
among equally inhibited competition, she would realize that he was the
most worthy dragon in her wake. It should have nothing to do with his
rider, nothing to do with his sire, but everything to do with him and
with now. It was a wonder that he hadn't been dragged to the ground just
from all the hate directed his way. He was as adoring and respectful as
her precious Dalibor dragons and had outflown them all. How could she
not know?

He pumped his wings and soon caught up with the rest of the laboring
pack. With each wingstroke his hide grew ever more slick with ichor.
Though the kamikaze Blue had aimed for his hindquarters, their fumbling
had earned him gouges up his side and across his soft belly. Each gash
screamed sorely and wept, but Perbiath knew how lucky he was that his
wings had not been touched. He reached the end of the group and then
struggled to the middle, gnashing his teeth with effort. They were a
motley crew- the lot of them looking like they were about to fall out of
the air. Callistath! he roared, beseeching her as
one would a goddess. His praise cost him another coating of ichor, but
Perbiath tried valiantly to hide the pain. He craved the Gold's
attention and admiration, longed for another disdainful glance.

With great effort he crawled even with the closest dragon, beginning to
feel lightheaded. An inch of death... he
vowed with as much conviction as he could muster. He was close to her
again but he knew he would not be able to hold the position long. So
close, the Lord Holder murmured, leaning against a wall as he reeled
in time with his lifemate. In his distraction he had shed his elegantly
restricting coat and torn his fine shirt. It was the most unkempt he had
ever been in public, but tousled desire did not diminish his looks.
D'lios sensed that the flight was near its end; Perbiath was flagging
badly and not even the Queen would be able to stay aloft much longer.
I warned them, he thought vaguely as he passed through a haze of
mutters. But that didn't matter until the morrow. The only think that
mattered now was catching Callistath and finding Avalle.

Even knowing the Hold as well as he did, it was a large part luck that
D'lios happened upon the Weyrwoman. The young woman had fallen to her
knees and was leaning against one of the storage sheds at the outer
perimeter of Western's town. It was clear from her face and body that
the flight was affecting her very negatively. He was quite certain that
she would not be happy to see him, but he could not keep away. He had
been with women before despite not having taken a wife, but with the
feelings and desires of his big-hearted dragon merged so completely with
his own, he thought that he had never seen a lady so beautiful.
Combined, he and Perbiath wanted her in every possible way. It was only
the natural way of things. "Avalle," he called to her softly,
making a slow approach.

[Chek]

OOC: I’M LATE have a shitty post I’M SORRY FOR HOLDING THINGS UP.


H’mod jerked involuntarily as the Flightlust running through her veins and Drieth’s mind died a sudden, ignoble death, forewarned only by a growing sense of pressure in their joined minds.

She touched her lips, the ghost of sensation of ichor dribbling down her face from froth-rimmed nostrils proving to be not so phantom after all – red smeared her hand and fingers when she looked down. Too much, we shouldn’t be doing this. she was so sorry, sorry for that initial push and the pain that limned ever fraction of Drieth’s body, pain he shielded her from as best he could even as he struggled upward, after that golden queen his blood barely yet called him to pursue.

The collisions started, a chain of mischance and accident triggered by Caliistath’s raking claws that put one dragon after another out of commission, either falling earthwards or blinking between, and Drieth veered off, nearly tumbling from the sky when his wings didn’t seem ready to open enough to catch him, banking wide around the furious Callistath and the tangles of damaged dragons. Come back, tha’s enough. Get back here before you can’t.

I can’t. Drieth’s soft mental words rippled sorrow and apology through her mind, raising the hair on the back of her neck – that sorrow was backed by tired rage and fear, Perbaith flies well. And Taceauth is injured. The others…

Oh. Drieth and H’mod were too much alike at times, because H’mod already understood the bronze’s mind. Superstitious by nature, the pair were ridiculously traditional in a lot of ways for as bizarre as their pairing was. And one thing stood out to both of them in this: A Lord Holder cannot be Weyrleader.

We have to win.

No, we jus’ can’t let them win. Keep going, beautiful, I need to find someone. Drieth pulled away a little from her, falling back in the pack of remaining suitors while H’mod shot out of their hidey hole. The blood on her face did little to dissuade some of those still effected by the Queenflight, and more than once H’mod put elbow to face or other tender flesh in order to keep too-eager hands off.

Guided by Drieth’s sense of his fellow dragons, it didn’t take H’mod long to stagger up to Mesreath – and oh, how had they not noticed he was grounded, not in the air, he was one ally down – and Durian. She opened her mouth to speak when Drieth, far above and away, managed to produce a bellow of triumph as Sholth lashed out, successfully, at Perbaith, raking long gouges in the brown.

H’mod crouched, hands on her knees, starting in with no ceremony – they were both Wingseconds and familiar enough with each other, “We’re still in the air and it’s a terrible choice. But Perbaith is flying; he’s hurt now, and on our level, but Dalibor dragon are dropping like drunk wherries, but I don’t know about you but Drieth and I can’t risk having a Lord Holder as...” H’mod choked on the bitter word, swallowing several times before she could get words out again, “We have to beat him, or at least drop him out of the chase, even if it…”

That H’mod and Drieth both were devoted enough to their values to die for them was no secret.

“I need to go with Drieth fully. Can you make sure no one distracts us on this end? Please, Durian.” Assent was quick, and H’mod dropped to the ground carelessly, throwing her mind skyward after her dragon. The tangled together, the bronzerider’s shock at slamming face first into the exhaustion and pain her dragon was shielding her from staggering them, dropping them further behind.

Fly, fly Drieth, I’ll handle the rest. Go! We have our goal!

Eyes locked on gold, Drieth flared his wings, finally moving with enough confidence and skill to catch up to the rest of the suitors as his rider held back the failing of his body through sheer will and bloody minded determination. Ichor still dribbled in ever increasing amounts from his cracked and dry mouth and nose, and his panting was getting worse and worse, but he was quickly closing the distance with some semblance of grace.

Maybe, maybe it would be enough.

* * *

Having just dismounted from her latest round of Candidate ferrying, Valha took an involuntary step back when Z’an popped around a corner with no warning and accosted her. His words though, had her grabbing him by the shoulder, her other hand still on her straps, and hauling the larger ironrider up her tan’s side as Mith stood, sending her flock of flitters peeping and complaining skyward as Z’an was abruptly inserted into their perch.

“Hold on,” she told him, after giving Mith a moment to feel out for Akanith, and having sent Idunn out to confirm the iron’s location – and provide coordinates. They Betweened barely two wingbeats from the ground, and reappeared neatly above the trees, ragged and torn from the iron’s passing.

Valha guided her tan into the breach in the treeline, setting down almost atop the wounded and disoriented iron. Mith hunched up defensively over the larger dragon’s haunches and whined, pitched high, in distressed worry.

[Nia]

This flight should not have gone on as long as it had. Callistath's own pride, mixed with Avalle's anger and frustration, had made them drag it out far longer than necessary. The importance of a Senior flight shouldn't have been more important than the health of the dragons that chased after her. The whole thing was just one big mistake and frustration, and Avalle was certain she was going to be scorned for it later. Would the Weyr even listen to her? Perhaps only because of Callistath's size, now. Even then, Couineth was still bigger. Rayna had sworn her loyalty, but now... it might be easy for her to usurp control.

Avalle's thoughts made Callistath cry out in anger again. There were so little dragons remaining after her. She respected them for it, but she knew she had to make her choice and surrender to one of them, and soon. The remaining few looked like they would drop out of the sky any second, and Callistath herself felt the same. Avalle still refused to let herself fully merge with her Gold, instead keeping half of her focus on the world around her. The area was deserted, but for how much longer? She couldn't risk being found, not by anyone, but she couldn't will herself to get up. Trying to move her legs only made her feel Callistath's limbs instead.

Drieth was catching up to her, and Perbiath was flying closer as well. Bronze Drieth... Callistath liked him. But his coloring... Bronze. Did she want Bronze? Bronze was Kalith's.... The Gold served away from Drieth's oncoming form, changing direction once again. Perbiath called to her in away that made Callistath sort of sway. He sounded devoted, more than the rest of them. Was that why he was flying better? Could he be more devoted to her? Callistath's mind felt muddled, too tired to really think. One of the Blues was still flying as well, though he was fumbling. Those three... the only ones left. She had to pick one of them.

The sudden voice dragged Avalle out of where she'd finally been allowing herself to fall completely into Callistath, and she turned abruptly towards him. The form registered in her mind fairly quickly, as it was someone she was very familiar with. D'lios. A sudden wave of lust overrode her anger for only a moment. She wanted to hurt him. It was his fault. His gather. Finding strength she didn't even think she had anymore, the brunette pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall.

His voice was soft, but it wasn't really what she wanted. Right now, however, she'd settle for anything. He'd do. Anything to distract herself from her mental struggle with her dragon. She strode forward, or more like staggered forward, grabbing D'lios' shirt collar with one hand and yanking him down to her level. She crushed her lips against his, no real passion involved in it, just a pure outlet for the lust and anger that threatened to consume her. Using the Lord Holder essentially as a leverage, she finally allowed herself to merge with Callistath. It doesn't matter anymore, she thought.

Even with their combined mental power, Callistath was still exhausted. She couldn't hide it anymore, and she needed to end this flight already. It was almost torture to move her wings, and she was having difficulty balancing herself. With one final flap, Callistath turned herself shakily in the air to look at her suitors again. Pick one. She didn't want them. They weren't right....

It was too late for Callistath to lament anything, however. She was so tired, both her mind and her body, and her suitors almost looked like blurred, vague shapes of dragons. Perhaps it was only when Avalle's mind merged with hers did she consider one of her suitors, and that in itself was perhaps influenced by the man her rider was currently touching. In the end, that didn't matter. You,

[/i] she said into his mind, just a single word, not even his name. She was too tired for even that.

Callistath touched Perbiath and allowed herself to connect with him, but she didn't fully depend on him. He was there, he would help, but it would take both their efforts to lower themselves safely to the ground. Avalle's half of their mind might have been angry with her decision, but Callistath wasn't so cruel as to force Perbiath to support both of them while he was hurt. Besides... he'd been gallant and elegant for most of the time. He was the only one who had been worthy of her. His rider and his Lord Holdership... Callistath didn't care. She was a dragon. The humans would sort it out amongst themselves, but for right now, she just wanted Perbiath.

On the ground, Avalle knew the choice and the reasons for it, and it only served to make her angrier at the man in front of her. He'd let Perbiath enter. It was his fault. Somehow. But Callistath's sudden affection for Perbiath made Avalle hesitate in her abuse. She broke from the kiss, pulling herself back. "Find an empty room," she growled, demanding and forceful. If it had to be with him, it wasn't going to be out in the open.

He could lead the way to a room, but that was the only leading Avalle was going to allow him to have. A Lord Holder. Weyrleader. Her fault. Avalle's anger only increased at the audacity of the situation, of how much she was going to be mocked and berated for allowing it to happen. Taken seriously as a Senior Weyrwoman? She could kiss that goodbye as harshly as she'd kissed D'lios. Right now, she just desperately wanted relief from her own mind and all the anger and lust that polluted it.

The consequences could be dealt with later.[/blockquote][/size]

[kireon]

Aylina wasn't ignorant of the whispers and murmurings, the sudden pairings that formed during the Gather. Their Queen had flown, and it didn't seem to be going well, judging by some of the darker looks on the faces of some of the riders. She reached out, touching base with Wenth to ensure her beloved was safe and secure where she'd chosen to perch, watching the skies in her usual content manner. At the rallying for Candidate and Weyrling collecting, she'd no sooner pulled herself out of the chair after confirming her offer of help had been accepted, than Wenth's alarm hit her in a one-two punch in the gut. Wenth?

Her feet flew out the nearest exit, hair flipping behind her in a mess of touseled spring green and white curls as she caught the edge of the building and swung herself 'round it. "Shardin' shoes, dun know why I 'ven bother with th' piece a-" she hissed to herself, kicking the offending objects off her feet to scoop up in her haste to get to where Wenth was. Wenth! What's goin' on?

The Tan's large eyes were keenly fixed on the distant skies in one position, entire body hunched like an offended feline with her large, broad wings spread and cupped, as if preparing to launch within a moment's notice. Her vision stole into Aylina's in a frustrated, helpless plea for command, for permission. The blue's struggle was transmitted merely a breath before he slammed into Mifth. Aylina wasn't sure whose voice was louder, hers or Wenth's as their combined shrieks filled the air. Locked together, Aylina watched in horror as Halventh rolled free of the blue tangle and headed straight for the earth. Bound as she was to her beloved, she heard Halventh's plea and felt the disconnect as she and Wenth's gazes met.

I have to go catch him.[/i] Rarely had the tanrider ever heard a more coherant statement out of her precious baby. The risks involved hurt- but knowing how much it'd devastate Wenth to lose Halventh hurt more- and she couldn't deny her darling the chance to at least try. Especially not if seeing the tan in the skies would help the blue get back on his wings and get to ground safely. Go get your star, go bring 'im home safe and we'll call L'xon.

A pale cloud shot into the air faster than she'd ever seen the tan move in her life. Swift, able beats as she locked, grounded Aylina and her own position in her mind- and between'd in the skies above the blue. A rush of dizzing nothingness and the dragoness was back out, eyes blinking once before her aim dipped and she angled down like an arrow from a bow. Halventh...! Her back talons reached for him, it would be like he was trying to catch her for a Flight, maybe, yes... maybe, but she would catch him instead. I am here, yes, I am... I will catch you if you let me.[/i] She informed him, firmer than she ever had been as she dropped close enough to reach again, front paws and back to tangle with his- and missed.

C'mon baby girl, you can do it. Aylina watched the dangerous attempt in the skies, Halventh was a large blue, not the biggest she'd ever seen, but big enough that even Wenth wasn't ridiculously bigger than he was. She hoped, she really hoped the blue could figure out his talons long enough to lock so that Wenth could slow their fall.

She kept missing, the winds not going the right way as the tan's eyes flashed from yellow to brief orange in frustration. She would not fail. Not when her Halventh was in trouble. Her neck stretched for him, forcing her body down, faster, reaching for the blue hide she knew with her eyes on the stars on his belly and chest. Closer, closer- almost there when Aylina's words of encouragement made her chest swell with pride. HerPretty knew she could do it, so that meant she would.

I will not let my star fall.

Wenth sealed the promise, her vow, with the first she had ever loosed from her lungs, and attempted to grapple her favorite blue once more. If they connected, she would backwing until she couldn't prevent their fall any more. If they didn't...

He would not hit the ground first, she didn't know how she would make that happen, but Wenth was determined to prevent the blue's injury at any and all costs- even if it meant she'd be grounded for a considerable amount of time as a result. It would hurt, it certainly would and she and Aylina both understood and accepted that. But this was her Halventh, their people. And they would do their job and protect theirs no matter what the price.

--

Mesreath's eyes, blurred as the red, hazy veil allowed, remained on the sky as he rumbled a victorious snarl as one of the blues managed a successful rake across Peribeth's sides. A good blue, that one, he approved of the assault immensely. Durian's eyes snapped open, shared vision broken as she stared down, eyes angry green flames as a fellow Wingsecond- H'mod, memory and Mesreath's approval, startling enough as that was- filled in the temporary gap in her memory in the haze of fury coursing through her.

"Not askin' for much, are you?" She muttered, sharply glancing towards the wavering form of the bronze as she slipped off her dragon's elbow to land in a crouch below. "Don't send yourselves between in the process, or I'll come drag you both out myself; we can't afford to lose either of you." Especially not if... well, she wouldn't finish that train of thought, not with so much at stake. They could speak later, if the worst came to pass.

She caught the bronzerider before she hit the ground, a hand's width, but still, and lowered her gently down to rest on her side, lest she vomit and choke herself to between. A handkerchief, staple of any rider's carry along materials, was plucked from a hidden pocket as she briskly mopped the blood from the woman's face. Woman, man, whichever she called herself- it mattered not. This was a fellow Wingsecond, and thus her partner in guarding the Weyr. She'd guard her fellow dragonrider with her own life.

A hand automatically went to her own hip to feel the smooth, comfortable weight tucked against the curve and the length of one muscular thigh. She was armed, and that little bit of metal was all she needed, with Mesreath there beside her, to feel secure enough to take on anything that came at her.

But H'mod's words still rang in her head as the Flight was completed- Peribeth chosen.

Mes.

Yes.[/i] Without conveying anything more, the brown watched the sky, and with a sudden shove of everything wrong with his own person on to Durian herself, launched himself into the sky after Drieth. The bronze would need his help to land, as the large king was nearly as bad off as he had been. His wingbeats were laborous, intensive and he still pushed himself as a result until he rocketed up to the bronze's level and growled disgruntled at the two-in-one laboring to keep in the air.

They tried, and more than he had before, he respected the bronze's courageous efforts and fierce devotion to rider and Weyr alike.

You have the weirdest taste in people. Durian's voice, faint and tense despite the amusement laced through, filtered into the brown's mind.

Drieth is a proper king, looks past the surface for strength.[/i] Mes retorted, preparing to shoulder a hefty amount of the bronze's weight as he aimed them to land in the empty space he'd occupied only a few moments before.

Avalle... Durian spared more than just one thought for the Senior Weyrwoman. If D'lios had gotten to her... well, she'd deal with that later- privately at that. She and Avalle would have some talking to do, after all, she needed to make sure things were okay with her friend. And if the woman didn't like it, well, she could throw her ass out of the Weyr for as much as Durian cared; she hadn't grown up with the woman for nothing, after all.

**

Niddath's eyes had gone from the green of spring to yellow to orange and back multiple times during the Flight. Each participant he cheered with the reckless fervor of the young, he hoped it was a Dalibor dragon who won and that Callistath's coming brood would be wonderful! After all, dragonets would be sure to make his beloved Willow smile again.

Very little he had done as of late had driven the shadows out of her eyes, or even brought the slightest glimmer of a smile back on her face. She'd been avoiding everyone as much as possible- as soon as their time in the skies ended, she ushered him off to be tended to, fed, bathed and oiled before she slipped off to bathe and retreat to her Weyr. He didn't know what to do for her, other than look out for her and make sure she ate. His antics didn't even get him scolded, and he'd stolen some pretty nifty things that should have gotten a reaction out of him.

And she kept waking up in the middle of the night with the sounds she made that broke his heart all over again.

The broken images he got from her mind were always the same, the image of a deep, vibrantly blue dragon rearing up, of ichor splattering hot and wet, of large, pain filled but calm eyes and of a pop of finality as Oferrath Betweened for the last time. It made him uncomfortable, saddened him, because if he'd only been better, faster, just a little bit more something; it never would have happened.

And Willow wouldn't be this... this... sad.

Words weren't his forte, and he couldn't figure out any other that fit. Her eyes didn't change colors like his did, and he wished they would, that way he could tell a lot easier than just trying to glean from her thoughts and expressions.

Niddath? She'd reached out to him, suddenly, and his attention jerked away from where a tan was chasing after one of the blue's who'd fallen. We need to go to the one who fell, Mifth... I think. I'm... I'm going to get his rider.

I will be at the door in two blinks. He promised her, spirits lifting in hope and chest swelling that she was actually trying something again. He would do this for her, do anything if only she would just smile.

He wasn't difficult to find, a distraught rider. She had seen him a few times, and quiet, unassuming, she timidly approached from the side and rested a gentle hand against his elbow. Shadows lay thick and heavy beneath her eyes, bruised in appearance like she'd not slept in a fortnight and with her thick, black hair neatly plaited in two braids resting over her shoulders, in contrast to the pale, gray-blue dress Niddath had all but forced her to wear to look nice. Despite being so young, her mouth curved down heavily at the corners, and her small shoulders sagged, as if bearing a heavy weight none could see. "S-Sir? I will... I will take you to him, to your dragon." I saw where he fell. Came the unspoken words as her dark eyes dropped to the wooden floor below.

She pulled at his sleeve, gesturing towards the door towards the outside. "This way, Niddath will... he will take us."

Willow kept replaying the images over and over in her mind, the blue of Mifth overlapping that of Oferrath until they were one and the same. She had failed to save one, maybe she could get there in time for the rider and dragon to save each other this time.[/size]

[Rii]

It was over.

He’d flown, he’d flown his sluggish best in a bid to be WeyrKing, and he had failed. It was over. Callistath had warned him off with her talons, though she’d hardly given him a scratch, so refined was she. A proud queen given only the dregs. That hurt worse than anything; to think that he, Maeradith, qualified as dregs. There was the inescapable knowledge that he had flown poorly, and everyone would know.

The feelings of failure had filtered in from that first reprimand of the gold, and it numbed him of any attention of his fellow fliers. They collided, fell, dropped out, attacked each other - and he was heedless of all of it. Until a flash of blue had lurched up beneath him and right into his claws. He’d given a clumsy, shocked flail then, raking the sharp tips along soft hide in a bid to free himself of the punctures he’d unwittingly made. The blue flash disappeared.

For a moment, he twisted, starting to abandon the flight to see what had happened to that glimpse. Taceuth! He was not a caring brown, but Taceuth was an ally, one of few, and he could afford to lose none of them. A distressed bugle tore free of his throat. In that moment, a simple blue meant more to him than the lady that ruled the skies - and would rule their Weyr.

I will not follow a queen who leads like that. A queen who attacked her own supporters, who defied all that was proper, who perpetrated this… this farce, the Elianne-part of his mind provided numbly. This wasn’t a Flight, it was a farce. He let himself fall behind, watched her choose the false brown. She will lead the Weyr, but she will never be my Queen. Maeradith turned away, diving for the ground. He was hurt - he was devastated, his claws dripped with the ichor of his brother, everything ached, and he was a failure. He was going home, as soon as he collected his Elianne.

Elly swayed on the ground, closing her eyes tightly as rare, sympathetic tears flowed down their- no, her face. Their consciousnesses were splitting apart, and the hurting sensations she had from her brown were enough to quench a great deal of the dragon-lust. Oh, Maery. Come to me, and we’ll go home. And she’d find Dora, and cry the whole thing out on her twin’s shoulder. At least Dora wouldn’t tell.

[Kila]

How much longer would this go on? Could he go on? Perbiath got
dizzier and dizzier the farther he flew, but refused to let up just yet.
When Drieth surged forward, threatening his lead, the Brown roared and
pushed himself even harder. Ichor fell in droplets from his hide to the
ground, created a bizarre sort of shower in his wake. Sholth's claws had
gone deep, but Perbiath's conviction went deeper. Or so he hoped. And
he knew that no matter how astounding his performance he might still be
rejected, which drove him on like a madman. He had to do his best to
please her- he had so much to compensate for. Knowing that it would all
end soon, Perbiath dismissed the others and trained his full attention
on Callistath, bathing her in his devotion. Fortunately no one attacked
him but he began to slow, his body refusing the demanding pace that he
had set. I have lost, he thought for a
haunting shadow of a moment, but suddenly the Gold was before him,
speaking the only word that mattered. You,
he repeated and responded.

With a relieved, elated, and adoring croon he wrapped his wings around
her. His hot green ichor smeared her glimmering hide, but he wrapped her
closer and hid the blemish, twining their tails and toes and necks. She
was gentle with him despite all her rage in the sky. They were both
compromised and Perbiath knew that he would not be able to support his
Queen on his own, as he could tell that she knew too. It hurt his pride
to appear weak before her and not be able to guide her safely and
protectively to the ground, but he was weak, and though it
wounded him to do so, he dismissed it. They would work together as a
team and love each other the more for it.
Callistath, he crooned again as they fell,
happier than he had been in perhaps his whole life.

D'lios tasted victory even before his dragon, though it was Perbaith's
coupling that really made the prize his own. The Lord Holder steeled
himself as Avalle staggered towards him, prepared for her to strike him
before anything else. He did not flinch when she grabbed his collar and
jerked him down, but his emotions hit him like a stone wall when she
crushed her lips against his. Her touch was rough and angry but it
excited his lust and he met her with the same force. The rest of the
world disappeared and the whole of his body and mind ached for the woman
before him.

The Weyrwoman pulled away before he could wrap his arms around her and
D'lios had to gather himself before he could heed her request. He wanted
her there and now but knew as well as she that it would not do for
people to see them as they proceeded. He had an image to keep, and
unlike her he intended to keep it. He scanned the area, assessing their
surroundings quickly in a rush to find his lady a room. "Come with
me," he said, his voice deep and husky with desire. He took her hand
and hurried to a small dwelling that he knew to be nearby. Throwing open
the door he saw that the field-folk were all at the Gather as he had
hoped. D'lios turned and lifted Avalle off her feet easily, closing the
door firmly and going straight to the nearest bed. They unclothed and
fell on each other savagely, their wants and needs uninhibited by the
softness of feelings. Dalibor's new Weyrleader smiled after they had
finished and lay exhausted on the strange bed. It was done.