Invincible {Kalith's Second Flight}

[Admin]

Gonna decimate them like you did to me?
Will you leave them stunned and stuttering?
When they finally come, how will you handle them?
Will you devastate them deliberately?

The Weyr bustled in afternoon activity, the sort of lazy activity brought on by light, humid heat and a previous meal and previous work that leads up to the end of the day. With spring set in over them, the air smelled crisply of flowers from what gardens and growths they had on their insulated location. The blooms of color could hardly fight the sight of a hundred odd dragons in a multitude of colors that lounged about the Weyr. They certainly couldn't rival the sight of the copper Queen that lounged about, within a matter of less than days of her flight. The wind blew into the bowl with the river, cool from the northern sea that surrounded the island, ruffling hair and rippling grass to send the younger herdbeasts to frolic about their pens when one dragon or another wasn't down to feed in their spare moments. The breeze smelled of salt around its edge.

Osro sniffed at the air, ever curious, as he toddled about, testing his recently acquired legs. His mother sat nearby with a stack of her work. Currently, it mixed political strategy in relations to other holds, halls, and Weyrs and simple supply deals, both of which she worked with a fine finesse. She checked over an older report, a part of the several stacks of pages she had from the records room, and then looked up to check on her son. With her bronze flitter hovering over ahead as was typical of him, the boy was perfectly amused and perfectly safe, quite the trooper when in the right mood. Nothing would keep him down except hunger or some random agitation. Falling on his rump? Only phased him one out of twelve times, of which half of those times he was immediately distracted by Afzal or another such thing. He lacked follow through.

With a faint smile, she turned back to her work, pulling the sheet she was currently writing down a series of notes and lists on closer to her body. She marked a few things, glanced at another paper to check a piece of weather observations, and then jotted in another few marks. Careful manager of her Weyr, even observant over the parts often designed to be only for the Weyrleaders, her work neared perfection and showed meticulousness. Did it mean she could possibly use more sleep? Yes, but it wasn't as if she ever let that become an issue or apparent. Did it mean she could had no activities outside of her duties and her son? Except for the occasional bit of fun forced upon her, yes, but she accepted such a fact with open arms. She enjoyed her life; she liked focusing on what had to be done, not on things to be thought upon and such.

Letting out a breath of air, she felt herself torn away from her work. She looked up from her paper, glancing at Osro to see him still happily amused with the interesting process of walking and the amazing aspects of grass. Her blue eyes turned to the bluer sky to inspect the clouds that traced their way across the expanse in a lazy race to nowhere. She let her pen drop from her hand and she shifted her papers back into their neat stacks on the piece of cloth she had spread out on the ground around her. The faded red of it matched the tan of her loose tan capri-type pants and plain white of her simple shirt. Brushing off one corner of a paper, making it sit neatly on top of its brethren, she frowned to the sky. No headache plagued her, and she regularly forced herself out of getting headaches by sheer will power. However, she felt unable to focus.

Kalith napped lightly. Though not properly asleep, eyes half open, she did not yet move in the world of the awake. Rukbat soaked her hide in rays of its warm light, reflecting beams off of her hide. Brilliant in her state, she glinted brightly from the light and shimmered with an inner brilliance beyond the power of the close star. She had laid claim to half of the entire rim of the bowl, where she lay with her body half curled in her sleep. One could see the danger in the flex of her muscles and tenseness behind her limp posture, so as not to disturb her. The other half of the rim had been designated to the watchdragon, and there couldn't be more than two dragons up there at any times without invoking an imperious shriek of protest from her. She only allowed even two simply because her rider had explained that it was necessary for shifts to be switched. She accepted that to be true with disdain.

Of course, none of that would matter anymore. Her mind began to shift into wakefulness. She knew that it was time for her to arise from her sleep, and also that it was time for her to arise. It wasn't that she was simply waking from her sleep then. She could have not been sleeping that entire day. That was simply the moment she wished to fly; that was the moment she was supposed to fly. She did not question the urge. The urge was her friend, her freedom, her flight, growing and prickling slowly in her mind as her lids slid back and her eyes began to swirl with a growing intensity. They quickly went from the content, slow blues and greens that one found in the sleep of a dragon to red on purple, vibrant and bold. A warped, twisty hunger grew in her like nothing else, digging at her.

It took her a few minutes to rise. She had all the time she needed, though none of the patience to take it. Rustling her wings faintly, she squarely placed one foot upon the ground. Then she placed another, and another, and another. She rose in one fluid motion. Now awake, moving under Rukbat, she shone like the sun itself, a rippling core of orange brought out of yellow and red that rolled over her metallic hide. She glowed with a brilliance that none could fail to notice. Taking a few sweet moments, she stretched, from her nose to her tail, arching her back in a sensual fashion to expression her interest. She took the time to let her rider slowly catch onto what she was doing. She rustled her wings before taking another stretch, flexing her claws to leave deep trails in the dirt on the rim and dig into the plain rock that lay below the dust.

Extending her limbs, she started to slowly open her wings, partially flaring them for a few moments so they hung out away from her body and displayed more of her brilliant hide. She surveyed her domain, which lay before her. All that she could see beyond the rim belonged to her, all that ocean and the distant traces of the wastes, the lines of the coasts of the bay and all the rugged land that lay beyond. All that lay within the rim she ruled over as she should, all the people and the dragons, all the whers and all the beasts, every single little things. Yet, now, someone was going to think themselves worthy of her. She roared sheer defiance to the sky. Ripping her wings open, she surged forward in a charge off the rim, dropping for a moment before catching herself in a twist to thunder forward through the air. Before all else, she needed to eat.

Leaving all else behind, Fajra pushed herself to her own feet as she watched her dragon began her displays. Her eyes looked sunk, her expression strained. She could easily remember the humbly experience of the last flight of the copper, a turn and a half ago. However, she set it from her mind, and then she had the present with which to handle after that. Already, she began to exercise all of her control over the fine, feral, fierce creature that was Kalith to keep her in check well she tried to feed. She felt blind to the world, enraptured in that. Afzal hovered nearby, but she was half aware of him. Some part of her that wasn't her wished to snap at him in an inhuman fashion. She sought out her son, who let her grab him easily since he had stopped his walking to stare at the sight of Kalith. His smiles fell way to frowns at his mother's forceful touch.

"B'nyur, take Osro!" Her voice carried loftily through the bowl, ringing over all else to pierce the entire expanse. Her messages had to get across, and she had no other means of getting them out, her dragon in no state to relay them. She hunted for hands to take her son, pushing him out of the way with Afzal to sooth him in his confusion. "Avalle, Armania, get Nikianeth and Callistath out of here!" The others would be fine. None of the reds or their other orange had shown any signs of flight, and they wouldn't be seen as a danger to a Queen in their normal state. No matter what any of the lesser, unofficial Queens thought of themselves, no copper or gold would see them as competition if they stayed out of the way. Only a gold or a copper could rule, and Kalith was certainly going to rule on a day that was their flight.

The copper pinned her first choice of prey, plucking it from the fruitless stampede her careless descent sent the beasts into running to try to escape her and snapping its neck with a flick to kill it to a proper level of being dead. Without a care, she settled right there, in the beast pen, on the ground to eat her kill. Except that she wasn't allowed to eat the plump buck she had selected. She relaxed under the pressure given to her not to gorge, as much as her tense, rippling body could, with a single hiss. Her jaws latched around the animal's throat and she sucked the blood from its body, feeling it pulse down her throat as raw energy. Red stained around her maw and some of it dripped onto her sinuous neck. Her claws were already tipped in blood from her merciless killing. She looked very much the huntress, hunched over her kill with a ferocity.

When she was finished with that beast, she left its corpse lying there on the ground and launched herself to lazily glide around the field. She fell upon another terrified beast, snapping its neck neatly and then collapsing onto it. She didn't feel any need to go farther to enjoy her kill. Understanding the process and more interested in the blood, she immediately closed around the dead herdbeast's throat to suck it dry. However, as she finished with that one, she no longer felt so compliant. She selected another and dispatched off it quickly, settling where she had killed it to immediately set about her work. She moved to take a bite, simply for the sheer fact of taking the bite. She didn't want to listen. She wanted the blood and all of it; she wanted it all, in its entirety. There was no logic to it. She simply did, and she wanted to do what she wanted to do, no matter the logic. Her tongue slid along the outside of her mouth, tasting blood, as she moved in to take a sweet taste of true meat.

"Blood! Blood it;" Fajra ordered at a roar, in mind and body, to match the fury of her dragon. She bent Kalith to her will, forced her to blood this kill like the others. Feet finding their own way, she ran for her weyr. In each moment, she could see where she was going, the wall of the bowl, the stone steps, the halls of the caverns that laced the Weyr, but none of the images stuck in her memory. They vanished, destroyed by the fact they weren't important to her at that time. She only remembered when she found her weyr, in the haze of growing dragon fury. The lust wasn't there yet. She just felt the raw pulse of the energy, beating inside her, filling up her head. It ran through her body, trying to force out all else, take over every sense. It would never win. She would never lie down and accept it, especially as long as it was there. It left itself in a loop of her always being the winner. It would fuel her and she would never be mastered, defiant as Kalith.

As she stumbled, feet struggling to look sure of themselves even on that familiar territory, one last worldly concern occurred to the Weyrwoman. She straightened under the sudden normalcy of the thoughts that helped her order it all within herself. Her papers still lay on in the bowl. They were going to be ruined. Then, that hardly mattered to her. All of her attention had to be focused on her dragon. She had to keep the copper from gorging herself. However, it quickly became unnecessary. She could feel the pulse welling up in her, a strength and might she could never credit to herself. She fought to make her own strength measure up to the majesty she tried to control for a few more second. She wouldn't just let it go.

Kalith abandoned her final kill. That was her last one. She stood back from it. Tilting her bloodstained head back, she let loose a roar to the heavens, making them shake. She challenged all who dare to chase her. Then she launched herself into the sky, leaving the ground far behind in a few short beats of her long, glistening wings. She would never return! Never, ever, in all of eternity! She let loose another roar, a final challenge. She rocketed straight up, rushing up past everything and everyone into a space where no one but the clouds stood above her. All who wished to view her magnificence would have to chase her, and the chase was upon them! She rose and rose, and then she was off, soaring across the sky like an arrow, losing a few feet of elevation by gaining sheer speed. The Weyr was left in her wake in the matter of a moment.

On the ledge of their weyr, Fajra watched her rise, shoulders back and head high. It felt heady, half being there with her and half just trying to stand on the sidelines. She crumpled into herself, chin tucking down for a moment. Red hair fell over her face, covering the side of it. She closed her eyes for a second and breathed deeply. In a moment of weakness, in her mind to her, that she would swear to all else was right, she fell into the pulse. She opened her eyes and her lips parted slightly in a silent roar to echo the one that her other half sang out across all of the world. She rolled her shoulders, facing the sky that she saw from a different angle, and felt energy roll through her. She felt the wind and the waves and all of it. She felt her own beauty. She felt the power and the might and the strength that they had. Never weak. They were invincible.

That crushing, crashing, atom-smashing, white-hot thing,
It's invincible.
So, please use your powers for good.
You're invincible.

[Kila]

It was a peculiarly humid day for spring, but it was a welcome change for the Weyr after a cold, difficult winter. All of the Daliborians who thrived on heat were out in the fading day. The Dalibor dragons were especially enthralled by the day. The cliffs of the Weyr had been transformed into a pallet of colors, with beasts of every shade sunning contentedly on the rocks. If one listened carefully to the wind they could almost hear a collective sigh of content. The spring flowers that had just begun to bloom were beginning to bow their heads as the sun thought to begin going down. Their aroma permeated the air and drafted in and down the halls so that even the Wherhandlers could smell them as they began to stir.

Enjoying it though they were, no one dared rest near the great, shining Queen. Kalith had taken up place on the rim of the Weyrbowl, where she appeared to be napping in the sun. Only the Watchdragon was tolerated to be in her vicinity, though it was plain to see that her proximity at this time made the situation very uncomfortable.

Rubkat suited Kalith today more than any other. The light and shine it lent her already brilliant hide made her seem as though she were ablaze. Her shifting, flame-like appearance made her stillness seem like a trick, for even though she did not move her color still danced. If she was dozing it was not a deep sleep. If another dragon dared touch her mind they would find that true rest was absent. She was waiting.

Daidoroth did not have to draw close or brush minds with her to be cognizant of this fact. He had known for days that she was waiting to rise. He could tell. Everyone, of course, knew by the beauty of her copper hide that she was due to rise, but that was a matter separate from the Queen’s personal thoughts. Her weyrmate had grown familiar with the way she thought and moved. He was close enough to her that he could feel her strong, obstinate feelings broil like a storm. Kalith never felt any emotion half-heartedy, it was not the way she lived. Her opinions were strong and carried through with her full force and confidence, which was the most considerable around and matched only by her rider.

On this day, as on many others, Daidoroth lay comfortably on his ledge. His great Bronze hide also shone handsomely in the receding sun, but there was no comparison by far that could be drawn between his and that of the Queen’s above him. He looked down on all of his friends and the weyrfolk making themselves busy below. Busy was perhaps not the best word, he decided. The overall mood of the Weyr could easily be labeled as lazy and content. He and His were no exception. O’sho predicted that there would be a groove in the ledge where Daidoroth lay someday soon. The pair had grown used to and most happy with a home far from the ground. Daidoroth preferred to be perched up high, and he happened to be particularly fond of the very spot in which he now lay. From a tall vantage point he could see and be aware of everything that was going on. It was, after all, his duty to be on top of Dalibor’s daily happenings.

The charming feeling of the day had even drawn O’sho out into the open air. Like Fajra he too carried a stack of papers, but they were by his side. The current Weyrleader was laid back against His, eyes closed and a peaceful look on his face. The moments were enchanting. O’sho treasured each ephemeral second that made the interlude so enjoyable. The weather. The scent of the flowers. The feel of Daidoroth warm and solid behind him. The relaxation. Abandoning the desk and the never-ending amount of work that piled on it was freeing. His bonded, he did not fail to notice, was not quite so completely free. It was not any particular words or actions that clued him into this, but rather the hard to place, misaligned feeling that he could pick up easily only because he had been with Daido for so long and been so thoroughly is sync for so many years. It wasn’t a bad or wrong feeling, it was just off. Some piece of Daidoroth’s puzzle was not fitted into place as he saw it should be. O’sho could hazard a guess.

But this piece was only slightly off, and Daidoroth did not let it bother him as it might. It was painfully clear that Kalith would rise soon. She was waiting for the right time, and so was he waiting for her. He did not hover; he did not even actively monitor her; but the impending importance of the event persisted in the back of his mind and persistently occupied a small portion of his thoughts. He carried on admirably for having something in which he invested such high stakes close to being on the line and possibly out of his reach. He did not dwell and he did not fret. Instead, he too enjoyed the day.

Look at your hatchling, Own. He and Kalith’s seem to be quite happy, Daidoroth rumbled with amusement, looking down into the Weyrbowl. O’sho opened his eyes, opening himself to the thought, and leaning forward so he too could see down into the Bowl. Osro, his own little son, was finding delight in something or other. The capacity of children to amuse themselves with nothing never ceased to amaze him. He smiled fondly. Fajra, he saw, was doing the same. Who wouldn’t?
The happy moment, like all the other moments, was fleeting and had to pass. O’sho noticed a change in Fajra at the same time he sensed a change in Daidoroth and felt him tense behind him. He turned, saw Daidoroth’s intent gaze upwards, and followed it to where he knew Kalith inevitably rested. The Copper Queen was just beginning to stir. She took her time in doing so, rising slowly. Once she had risen to her feet in one perfect, fluid movement, she stretched. This movement too was sensual, a tensing and releasing from the top of her snout to the tip of her shining tail. O’sho looked to Daidoroth sharply. The first tinges of red were beginning to show in his eyes and his basest instincts were beginning to surface. Lust. To rise and chase and follow and win. Soon those emotions would overwhelm him as well. Kalith sat up and spread her wings in a truly impressive display, letting loose a defiant cry to the sky that made Daidoroth’s feelings flare even stronger.

Osro! O’sho turned and peered down intently again into the Bowl when Kalith surged off the cliffs. He needn’t have worried; the same thought had occurred to Fajra and she was handling it, as she always did. He observed with an increasing struggle for control as she bellowed out an order to the riders of the other Queens and then at Kalith to demand that she only blood her kills. Kalith obeyed, but grudgingly and with every ounce of defiance she could brandish. Once Fajra had asserted her authority she began to stumble towards the stairs, and inevitably towards her weyr. That was where he would meet her. Getting carefully to his feet he leaned against Daidoroth for support and then started the short journey from his weyr to hers.
Daidoroth hardly noticed O’sho rise and depart. From the moment she had stirred, his attention had been devoted undividedly to Kalith. Her movements, and the seductive way in which she executed them, riled his usually tempered feelings. His desires awoke and burned for her. Her roars did not fall on deaf ears: nothing on Pern could keep him from chasing her when she rose. He waited patiently, body tensed but still as she blooded her kills. When she called he would come, but only then.

Kalith roared again, and again Daidoroth echoed the mighty cry. He was here, and she would know without any uncertainty that he was here. Her cries were a challenge, and Daidoroth was the first and most driven suitor that would take it up. If Kalith’s challenge did not promise to be grueling, harsh, dangerous, potentially devastating, and everything that an actual challenge should be, it would not be her own and Daidoroth would not follow with such intensity. But as it were, the Bronze was immediately in her shadow, following closely but at a respectful enough distance.

He was soon joined by Oveth in that position. In his focused state of dragonflight he only found this slightly odd, but since he was fond of Oveth in everyday life he showed no signs of aggression towards him. Nor did he register Oveth as a threat. He refused to lose. Kalith could fly on forever, but he would never fall until his beautiful Queen did.

[4horseshowgirl4]

It was warm. Wonderfully warm. To all of the Weyr's inhabitants, spring was welcome; winters were cold and stormy enough to be unpleasant. The warmth from Rukbat's rays, weak and feeble though they still were this early in the season, penetrated their winter-hardened skins and warmed their chilled bones. It was like stepping into a hot bath at the end of a very, very long, very, very hard day. Many from the Weyr were shirking their duties to lay out in the sunshine, and those that could were bringing their duties with them to idly work on between naps.

B'nyur and Oveth were no exception. For the Bluepair, the coming of spring was as figurative as it was literal. The end of the fall had begun the lowest point in B'nyur's fairly long life. He'd been cold, almost dead to the world for months. It had taken four months of Oveth's constant, unwavering love, quite a bit of attention from his beloved B'rak, and his own little Queen clutching away from the infirmary for the first time because she didn't trust him to care for her and her eggs in the state he'd been in for him to be shaken out of it. The sun had finally warmed his bones-- and his heart.

He and Oveth were both reclined on a sunny hillside just outside of the Weyr, their faces towards the sun. B'nyur was using Oveth's tail as a pillow, and its tip was resting protectively across his chest. He sighed happily, and Oveth echoed that sentiment, crooning. It was nice to have His back, and, B'nyur had to admit, it was nice to be back. Yes, it would be a long time before the ghost of the past few months fully left his eyes, and the nightmares might never go away... but B'nyur and Oveth were both fat and shiny again, and back to their old selves. B'nyur had leaned that hiding from the world and just wallowing in his grief would do absolutely nothing to absolve his mistakes. Not giving Oveth and Shanza the care they deserved, forcing A'mor to do his duties, and shunning those who came to him for medical help would only do harm, nothing to help. In the end, it was this simple realization that had made B'nyur to make the easy decision to try and put the past behind him and do what he could to help.

A soft wind gently awoke B'nyur, that and he'd had enough sleep for now. He sat up, blinking lethargically, looking lazily over his shoulder back to the Weyr. He knew Kalith would be flying soon (with how moody she'd been lately, everybody did!), but spotting her napping on the rim of the bowl, shining brilliantly, let the experienced Dragonhealer know that Decision Day was upon them. {Come on, love,} he said to Oveth, laying a hand on the navy hide, warmed by the sun. Oveth yawned and stretched before getting up, taking his time about it. {Let's go give A'mor an early break. He deserves about a thousand of them.} However, Oveth could tell that his 'Rider's mind was not on A'mor, but B'rak. Yes, but that's not the reason you want to go back...

[/color] he said cautiously, uncertainly. {Fine, you caught me. You remember what happened last time Kalith flew! Well, you don't, but if Shoth gets hurt again, Faranth forbid A'mor gets to enjoy a lust-overcome B'rak instead of me!} B'nyur said, joking. Oveth rumbled in amusement.

However, B'nyur had barely swung aboard Oveth when they heard Fajra's shouted orders. She was up on the rim with Kalith, who was swooping down to the herdbeast pens, obviously mere minutes away from flying. Oveth changed course to where Fajra had just been, before she'd gone back to her weyr, leaving her little son. Osro, right? B'nyur was happy to take him down to the creche, since obviously such a little tot should be nowhere near a Flight. They landed and B'nyur slipped off, scooping the toddler into his arms. He didn't know if he'd been on a dragon before, and didn't know how the child would react, so he decided better safe than sorry and to carry him down. However, it was quickly apparent that B'nyur had bigger problems than that.

He felt a strange, random jolt of desire. It took him by surprise, and it took him even longer to figure out where the heck it had come from. He turned his head towards Oveth, and saw something strange... the Blue's cheerful green eyes were slowly being mixed with purple! B'nyur's jaw dropped. Was Oveth insane? However, before he could even ask Oveth, the Blue was off to the herdbeast pens, after Kalith! "OVETH! YOU DIMGLOW, YOU'RE A BLUE, YOU CAN'T CHASE QUEENS!" he shouted, setting Osro down. There was absolutely no response from the Blue. B'nyur knew that the Blue had long held a soft spot for the great Copper Queen; he was awed by her, enamored, but B'nyur had always found this just humorous. He never would have dreamt that the Blue would make something out of it...!

He felt another jolt, this time accompanied by a momentary loss of himself. He had about two minutes to figure out how to handle this situation before he was gone completely! He scanned the skies frantically, the Bowl, and finally saw a familiar Pink hide. "PRATYBA!" he shouted as loudly as he could, heaving with relief when she and Oorth turned towards him. "B'NYUR!" she said excitedly, slipping off of the Pink and half-hugging, half-tackling him. "It's great to have you back! How are you?! Oh, give Shanza my congratulations! I wish I could have been..." but B'nyur cut her off her endless stream of chatter.

"Listen, I need your help! Oveth's decided to Chase Queenie... I mean, Kalith, shaffit! I have to get Osro out of the way before the Flight starts, please please take care of him for me?" he begged, voice losing more of his own tone and taking on Oveth's as he continued. Pratyba just laughed before giving B'nyur an encouraging push towards Fajra's weyr. "Silly Blue! Don't worry, B'nyur, I'll take care of everything, you just try to enjoy your first Queenflight, okay?" B'nyur wasn't sure if he could help from worrying-- after all, this was Pratyba and Fajra's child, it could not end well, and Fajra would not be happy with him, but he didn't have much choice! He stumbled forward, but it was getting harder and harder to shut Oveth out and concentrate on where he needed to go.

Pratyba laughed again before bending down to Osro. "Don't you worry, cutie pie, your mom'll be back in the morning! And until then, you and me can have some fun!" she said, giggling, before scooping him up and taking him back down to her weyr. Hey, Eccolath! You and yours need to get down to Mine's weyr-- Pratyba is Osro's babysitter today! Won't this be so much fun?[/color] Oorth called to her best friend before flying down ahead of Pratyba. Pratyba hesitated before turning to all of Fajra's papers. She'd probably want those back, too! Pratyba folded the cloth up and slung the makeshift bag over her shoulder, cradling Osro in her other arm. Having the Weyrwoman owe her a favor or two could only be a good thing, right?

Oveth snatched at a herdbeast, but was too busy staring at Kalith to really blood it. He nibbled halfheartedly at it, but it was the brilliant beauty in front of him who had the whole of his attention. She enraptured him and intimidated him. Even a Blue as dimwitted as he couldn't think he possibly stood a chance in this contest, but he could honor her with his presence, let her know how much he wished he had a chance even though the constraints of his color meant he never would. Surely Kalith could not see him as a joke, or as a sarcastic symbol of the quality of her Flights, because Oveth, simply, would not do such a thing. Honestly, he wasn't capable of it.

She roared before taking off. Oveth was caught by surprise, and was a split second late on the uptake before dropping his kill and pushing off into the sky after her. He bugled as powerfully as he could, but the impression it left was still more sweet little dragon than serious suitor for the Queen's hand. His wings flapped so fast they were almost a blur as he tried to catch up to her, but he did so easily enough: his little mass was far easier to accelerate than Kalith, who was probably twice his weight. He remained a respectful distance behind her though he stood a chance of surpassing her, not because he was a fast Blue, but because he was a Blue and she was a Copper. He crooned affectionately but didn't try any impressive maneuvers this early in the contest. He knew there was a long, hard slog ahead of him, so he soared easily in her slipstream, conserving his little strength for what was ahead.

B'nyur, meanwhile, had finally stumbled into Fajra's weyr. It was a strange, unfamiliar place to him. Somehow, he was the second one there, after only O'sho. B'nyur, however, did not try to make eye contact with either of the two leaders of the Weyr. In fact, he slunk into a corner, as it trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. He knew he didn't belong here. He didn't want to be here, but Oveth had brought him. He was becoming Oveth, and Oveth wanted to be as near Kalith as possible. "He is... safe," B'nyur managed to croak out to Fajra, obviously referring to Osro, before finally losing the last shred of control and letting Oveth take over. He leaned comfortably against the rock wall as Oveth relaxed into the Flight, taking his time, prepared to do his best and wrench his wings off to do well for her, but he would coast through this first part.

They were hardly more than spectators in this Flight. They were here... they didn't really know why they were here. To prove something? To satisfy something? Or was it just to witness Kalith in all of her primal greatness?[/right][/font]

[jack]

"No, as long as you're careful, there's no danger down here." With the patience of a man far beyond his years, B'rak shifted again, adjusting the hand of a younger boy and pressing it carefully against the stone, "Feel how cold this area is in comparison to where you were before? Its much, much denser. We follow strands of this to make sure the tunnels are safe." With a soft smile he glanced down, meeting the gaze of the wandering weyrbrat. "But that other branch was blocked off for a reason--the stone's too soft to trust. Until we build it up it isn't safe. Especially not for little explorers."

Chuckling, the white-haired miner ruffled the boy's hair, turning--his hand insistently on the boy's shoulder to make sure he actually followed--towards the entrance of the tunnel. "Now. I don't want to find you down here again. My father has already banned the wherhandlers from this area until its safe."

--

High above--very very high--his Mine, Shoth was sprawled out on his ledge, claws raking the very edge and his tail wrapped rather oddly around the corner. The Bronze was sunning, his wings spread slightly to catch every ray he was suffering such lust for. Rukbat felt wonderful against his skin today. So very wonderful. The wind felt perfect as well. Merrily he stretched out further, his eyes whirling a rare blue from behind his closed lids. It was a day for flying. A day for rushing and striving and working and...flying.

A wide yawn slid easily from the dragon, and he stretched out even further, his wing tips delicately lifted to test out the breezes. Just as he began to fold his wings--sliding off into a nap--a roar split the afternoon, and he snapped up like a shocked rubber band. Wings slightly lifted, head up, his paws strong beneath him, the Bronze peered out into the Bowl, his eyes changing their shade. A strange mixture of eagerness and vengefulness blazed through him, and he dug his claws deep into the stone.

--

B'rak suddenly wrenched his hand away from the boy's back, promptly shoving the twitching appendage into a pocket before shifting sides, escorting the child faster with his still-working hand. "Alright. Y-Your mother's probably waiting." He stuttered out quickly, feeling his fingers clench and his vision shift from lightening tunnels to a bird's-eye-view of the world. The white-haired miner could feel the stone crunching beneath his nails, and he held in a wince. He couldn't remember the last time Shoth had felt this strongly about something.

--

His chance. This was his chance! The Bronze dug his claws deeper into the stone, his back lifting up and his neck arching. Hunger, unhidden and wild, blazed in his eyes and he clenched his jaw, ignoring the start of pain in His as one of the dragon's teeth cracked from the pressure. Shoth adjusted his bite but kept the pressure own, unable and unwilling to try to loosen up.
Wait! Wait Shoth!
The muscles on his forearms and forelegs tightened, and like a self-induced rigamortis it climbed up the joint of his knees to his upper legs, his thighs rippling for a moment before going deadly still. The muscles of his gut contracted, and his ribs stood out cleanly on his glowing hide from the motion. His spine was held tight, his chin nearly touching his chest as his tail lifted and cracked as loud as a thunderclap against the floor. It was bruised without a doubt, but as he stiffened it and grew still, had clearly avoided serious injury.

--

B'rak swallowed, handing the child off to his mother with a quick nod. The woman asked nothing, recognizing the roar that had been echoing about as well as knowing the rank of the white-haired miner. He made his way out of the tunnels easily, leaving the wherhandler and her son to their own business. He could almost feel his heart swelling from the force it took to keep both himself and the Bronze under control, but he felt a streak of pride at being able to do so. The streak grew into Shoth, and the dragon lifted his head, letting out a roar ten times his own size as he gave a great shudder, forced away from the air by a quick response from B'rak.
Let her Blood. Let her call you.

--

Shoth growled low and furious in his throat at the demand, but kept himself still, nothing but his tail--wildly flailing behind him--to give away his urge to disobey. His eyes were already wandering, searching the ground and the skies for that shining star he knew was there. His flesh rippled as he held in a shudder, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing from impatient orange to a brilliant violet. He wanted into the air! He wanted to chase! He wanted to snap his wings open and feel the wind, wanted to feel the burn in his muscles and the pain in his throat after he roared and sang and proved to her he wasn't just a runt! He could do anything Daidoroth could--and more! If only she would give him a chance.

He had already heard the larger Bronze respond. He wanted to be there first! He wanted to be there faster! His claws dug deeper, but B'rak's hold was strong...but then! His eyes whirled wildly as Kalith's roar shook the whole world, and his flesh shuddered again, in absolute pleasure. A strong, powerful voice. His own joined her a moment later, proud and sure and demanding that she be as mighty as she could be. So long as that Copper beauty--that horrid, cruel, flighty creature--was in the sky, he would pursue.

--

B'rak loosed his hold without hesitation, and he felt his insides clench as his dragon surged forwards into the sky. The man paused--half way to Fajra's weyr--and was forced to put a hand on the wall, steadying himself as Shoth's view flooded into his own eyes. He couldn't believe how desperately he wanted to be with his dragon today. How desperately Shoth wanted to fly. To chase and prove himself. B'rak couldn't help the disbelieving grin that fled onto his face as he forcibly shoved the other's vision from his own, making his way steadily up. "You dimglow." He muttered, more to himself than Shoth. "Clueless firelizard of a dragon."

But Shoth didn't care what His thought. He was already in the sky, bugling his own challenge to that gorgeous sky-lighter. Fly! Fly! Fly farther and higher than any dragon has ever flown! He met her in the sky mere moments after Daidoroth, but rather than snap and snarl at the other as he wanted, he concentrated all his attention on Her. The massive Bronze was nothing to him. He could care less what it did! For today, Shoth would prove he could fly just as far, just as fast, and just as strongly as any other! And he would show her. Show her the mistake she had made in underestimating him!

--

With strong, yet oddly relaxed steps, B'rak made his way into the Queen's weyr, noting with a lift of his brow that he was...third? Fajra and O'sho he recognized immediately, and with Shoth flowing through him, he he strode fearlessly to their sides. He stood next to Fajra, but made certain not to crowd, glancing at the duo only momentarily before taking quick note of the other occupant. The sight of B'nyur startled him, but as Shoth gave a flare of annoyance at the Blue in the sky, B'rak felt himself drawn away from the dragonhealer. But before he was pulled completely into the skies, he made certain to catch the blond's eyes and smile.

He wanted B'nyur next to him. Wanted the man he adored pressed flush against his side. But for today he was Shoth's, and Shoth wanted to be in the sky, soaring after Kalith like a Bronze arrowhead side-by-side with a massive sword. B'rak felt himself drawn away from the weyr and he crossed his arms powerfully over his chest, standing tall and strong for his partner for life. An arrow head was small...and harmless by itself. But give it an anchor to guide it and air to fly in, and it could out dance any old sword. B'rak would never abandon the tiny Bronze. He would be the anchor--it was up to Shoth to find the heart.

[fidelli]

Spring had arrived. By sneaking in, or suddenly arriving one day with trumpets blowing, spring had been here. And F'del had one day looked outside the weyr and saw the colors, tasted the air, he felt muscles loosening in his neck that had not been relaxed in a long time. It was the colors that he saw first, the brilliant spring colors that seemed to be both soft and sharp at the same time. The cherry pinks and the new leaf green's hung against a sky that was a softly painted blue, filled with every hue and shade of blue imaginable. The fluffy white clouds lazily played tag, and the stark white seemed to offset the sky even farther. It was a scene of such simple beauty and the ideals of new birth that it screamed to be painted, for some artist to try and capture even a little of the pure essence of spring.

And yet the artist F'del refrained. He had ached to try, but to even touch charcoal against paper would have been blasphemy - there was no other artist like nature. He was content to sit on the ledge of his dragon's weyr and work on the notes that needed to be done as weyrlingmaster of the freedomfighters. Yes, he had been ill, and others had written the notes of class and how each weyrling had managed that lesson - but F'del still knew it was his class. In the end, it would be him who presented to the weyrwoman who would graduate and who would stay behind. He would tell her who excelled at what, who still needed work with this. They were still his class, despite him failing them for that period of time when he had killed three of their classmates. So he worked, instead of doing what he liked, achingly free of any fellis for the time being. He copied what B'nyur had written for him, adding his own thoughts to each of the sheets of weyrlings, one by one. Gold, Iron, Bronze, Brown, White, Pink, Green, Blue, Black, Cyan, they were read over and added to with neat, minuscule handwriting about the flaming lesson they had just had. But even focused on the details, he still breathed in deeply the gentle air, still tasted the slight salt of the ocean as it gently drifted through the weyr.

Altith was flying, as he usually did on such a beautiful day. Too-large wings were ungainly on the ground, but the erratically colored Purple looked almost normal in the sky, dancing in and out of the clouds happily. He liked to shape them, pushing them around so that by the time he was bored, it would look entirely different. Other dragon's rested on the ledge, sunning - he preferred to be near the sun, lean, underfed looking body stretched out in what he knew was freedom. Freedom... Such a funny word, one that seems to bring a bold emotion to your mind, as though you could end up conquering the world. Altith let F'del taste it on his tongue, softly whispering it. "Freedom." They had it here, in this new Weyr - they both owed Fajra and Kalith so much, in that regard. This was freedom - a chance to be someone new, a chance to be better, to have overcome their old weyr. They were Weyrlingmaster's here - they made a difference in the life of the only creatures they wanted to. The weyrlings were the life of the weyr, the deep breaths taken in and out - without them, the weyr would slowly die. And they had had something here, a chance to make something for them...

And they had almost messed it up. The thought was ripped from F'del's mind as soon as he thought it, and his unusually silent Purple spoke up. No. It is done, MineOwn. Leave depressing thoughts for those without a beautiful day. F'del tried to agree with his dragon, softly melding his mind deeper with the dragon as though cuddling up to him. He knew that he had almost wrecked his bond with Altith - while not possible to loose the Purple, he had almost sent the dragon into spirals of depression and almost changed his personality for the worst. It was a rarity - but without Altith being himself, the pair would have lapsed into suicide within the week. It had taken a huge pull of self power from both of them, and even still, the bond was still raw, new, as though they had just Impressed and were fighting to understand each other.

But Altith would not dwell on what had been - a purple could remember the past longer than a pink, but the details were fuzzy now. With a little effort, it was gone completely - it was only His that truly made him remember everything, F'del living them in his nightmares. The insomniac had taken to sleeping even less than before, if possible - but Altith prowled his dreams and fought to chase them away. It was a beautiful spring day, and the Purple was determined to enjoy himself. His had bathed him, and the sporadically colored dragon was feeling soft, content. He had fed but yesterday, and didn't feel the need to sate himself yet. Now he flew, lazy patterns - nothing strenuous and loop-de-loop style that F'del expected. He didn't question his dragon - mind you, he was still focusing on his papers, but if he had been a little more focused he would have understood.

Spring was a time of new birth, of new chances. The colors, the air, the very moods promoted the idea of a new life. Firelizards, wherries, herdbeasts - there was babies everywhere, from the plants to the weyrwoman. And soon... More life. The Queen would be rising, a gift to the weyr that only Kalith could truely give them. She was the mother of the weyr, moreso than the founders. Kalith was the Queen, the only one that every dragon would refer to... And Altith knew it. He respected her, admired her, loved to chatter to her. She had yelled at him once - and he had learned. He would not speak to Her's, as he did to everyone else's - he normally just forgot, and didn't mind showing everyone affection, but for Kalith, he would not. She was the epitome of spring, the idea and the reason behind the changes.

The last time Altith had chased was for His. Annith was a pretty Yellow, and Altith had been honored to catch her - but his had just finished fighting with Noyth's, and he had needed someone. It had created a fight - but one that His regretted more than anything. Still, Altith had regretted doing anything that His had not liked - it was for F'del's own good, but perhaps, the Purple had thought, he was not good enough to make decisions for His. This would of course, fade from Altith's mind - after all, who was the most influentaly person to F'del? But for the time being, he would not do anything for His.

Kalith Rising was not for His. It was for the Weyr, and therefore...

This was for him.

Altith was suddenly grounded, eyes whirling to where Kalith was ruling, suddenly upright on her throne. No Gold was prettier than her copper hide, no dragon would compare. He was a male, a King in his own right! Bigger than Shoth, smaller than Daidoroth, Altith knew that he was not out of the running. He was not a Bronze, he was not the prettiest - but he would Fly after her. F'del had staggered upright as the call suddenly came ringing through the weyr, dragons rising and flinging themselves between. He searched for the form of a Gold, even as he fought to stay out of Altith's mind - he had to make sure she - there. She snapped between with the Orange Queen, and F'del felt himself shudder with relief and with another wave of ferocity. Altith was looking nowhere, but focusing still on the Copper form, the One True Queen. Go, my heart. Fly for her. It was a shock to Altith - His was behind him. A turn and a half ago he had sent Altith away, the two visiting family while his Queen flew - but Altith wanted this even more badly, and F'del saw a way to repent to his Purple.

Next to the herdbeast pen he paced, all snap and corded muscle, pacing in a way that reminded one of a giant feline. His stick thin figure meant he had more speed than Daidoroth - but he did not have the Bronze's stamina. It did not matter - only Kalith mattered. She was a huntress, a beautiful huntress with crimson offsetting her copper tones. Everything about her was perfect, and Altith admired her everything. She would test them, she would force them to follow her to hell and back - and he would. He would fly until he was forced to drop from the sky or until he was allowed to twine his neck with hers - the sweet Purple would have it no other way. She was picking, choosing, blooding her kills and oozing her fury - he snarled softly, tail lashing and talons ripping at the earth below as he snatched a herdbeast from the edge of the pack and blooded it swiftly, scarlet staining the pale lavender maw. It did not matter what she did, what she said - she was Queen. She ruled alone on the beautiful spring day, and as a faithful member of the court, he would follow. She was grace, sensuality. Everything about her was power, was the essence of beauty and regality, even as she tipped her head back and shook the very clouds from their game. He called back, snarling his own call of obedience, his pledge of truth.

And then she was up, up, up! With a snap of his own wings he had thrust himself in the air, tucked behind the bigger Bronze and sliding ahead of the foolish Blue. Oveth - why, Altith did not wonder. It did not matter - Blue's did not chase. She was a star, returning to her rightful place, and all he would do would follow, crooning softly his song of nothingness. Kalith was everything, and His was right there with him, helping feeding his speed and reining him back slightly. Show off when she asked - now, just keep up with her speed. He could do that, shooting after her but never coming too close - the males couldn't catch her right now if they wanted to. It was a dance, with an end that could prove bloody - but it didn't matter to them now. Everything was for Kalith, everything was for Fajra.

F'del had sprinted to the weyr of the Weyrwoman, trying to get there before he would end up stumbling along. He just made it in, meeting the Weyrman's eyes with a nod and eyes skipping right over B'nyur and B'rak to Kalith/Fajra. She was the only thing imporant, standing with her head held high, ferocious and beautiful, as untouchable as a goddess from tales of old. That was what they were, he and Altith agreed as they slipped together, not fighting the pull of becoming one dragon/person. They were goddesses, fallen to Pern in a glorious moment. They were proud, beautiful creatures that could not be touched by mortals - they had to be won, fought over until blood poured from very pores of the warriors that vied and jockeyed for her attention. Mortals were fools - goddesses like these would never be won. They would choose their champion - no other choice would suffice for them, and as one F'del/Altith crooned their deference to her - she was the only.

[Admin]

When they finally come to destroy the earth,
They'll have to go through you first.
I bet they won't be expecting that.
When they finally come to destroy the earth.

The sounds of roars and bugles behind her alerted Kalith to the presence of suitors. She could feel them behind her, thinking themselves so smart and noble and quick. Onward she flew, gathering up more distance and forgetting them for a while. She was fast and strong, the perfect mix of deadly that made her a proper copper. They wouldn't dare try any trickier with her. If they did, she would tear up their wings and claw off their faces. They wanted to fly her, but she was hardly ready to be caught. They made the choice to face the danger of the event. She had left warnings before. Her memories were dim, with her heart pounding quick in her chest to flood her body with energy and fury that sent such things skittering away, but she knew she had made it quite clear she wasn't to be trifled with by anyone. She ruled the sky.

Eventually, a few seconds past, and she became bored and impatient with simply flying. She twisted in the sky, giving her suitors a look over as she made them work a little more to keep up with her. She darted to one side and then the other, catching glimpses of them in the corners of her eyes. The movements came easily to her, a flick of her wings, a shift of her weight. She had always been a good flier, and she could feel her rider, there in the back of her mind as she did not get to be in charge that day, become touched with pride. Neither of them would approve of anything less than the best, and the copper flew at just that. There were others who were good in their world, but none of them could match her that day. She swirled, gaining a tinge of altitude with the motion, and surveyed her four chasers and judged them vaguely. Nothing concrete would form in her mind, though she felt things click in her rider's mind, somewhere way back where she didn't bother to reach. She didn't care. She just wanted to see them all.

There was a bronze. He was big, strong, and shiny. Not as shiny as her, of course, but shiny as a bronze should be to be a King. He had been first. She could remember. In more ways than one, he had been first. Misplaced emotions flickered in her. She felt a fondness, so distant. He was good. He was strong. He was hers, and would be forever. However, they all were. She did not let things go, and she would not just pick him. Bronze, strong and true, did not win her heart. She could not place her feelings to love at that time. She could only just muster up the knowledge of old affection. The past lay in shambles. It meant nothing to her, even if he did mean something to her. Her second half pushed at her, and she let out a hiss of distaste, turning her half given attention away.

There was a blue. She briefly felt confusion. Blues did not chase Queens, and she was a Queen. Purples were the long shot winners, the ones who flew in chase but did not often win. Blues did not chase Queens. Did he not think she was a Queen? Was he trying to insult her? She let out another hiss of distaste, surging forward faster with strong beats as she considered stopping altogether to rip her choices down in number. Then she considered him again. She knew him. She liked him. She neglected to know why, but she knew that she did. He flew behind though he flew well for his color. He was no harm. She left him alone, though it seemed unlikely she would ever pick him, no matter how much he wished to win. She put him from her mind, forgot about him.

There was a purple. A proper long shot. A possibility, if he should prove himself worthy. She felt a mix of emotions at him. She wasn't sure if she should like him or dislike him. She twisted her head, considering the multitude of colors in his hide. She liked him. She decided that, then and there, that she liked him. It meant little. He was still a purple, true and quick and maybe good enough in some halfway sort of way but still a purple. He was not her winner yet; he had much more to do before that. Her shining red-purple eyes shifted away from him. She would not look upon him again until he had proven himself. He at least looked right, showing some sign that he hardly thought himself to be worthy. He wasn't stupid. That was a plus. She didn't like stupid. However, instincts came first.

There was another bronze. He was small. Not as small as the blue, but not the size of a proper bronze. He had a nice color. He flew quite well. That was it. Unlike the other three, she felt not a tinge at seeing him. She hadn't seen or dealt with the runt in a while. It was for the best, that she had forgotten him enough not to recall him in her flight lust. She simply felt nothing. He held no interest from her, but she left him. She did not remove him forcefully from the sky. He wasn't worth it. She even put off suspicion when that view of the tiny bronze as being as insignificant as his undersized body suggested was vehemently echoed by her rider. She had better things to do than deal with the idiotic dragons who thought to fly her. They wasted her time, but she would let them be for a bit.

With another roar, she switched her path again, straightening out to head out across the continent they were already almost upon. She flew fast and hard. She did not connect the fact that only two of her suitors looked to please her even the slightest. It didn't matter to her. She wanted to fly. Tiredness did not yet lag upon her wings. They needed to prove themselves still, all of them, as all of them had thought to try to fly her. The world tumbled out before her, a mix of ocean and a greater expanse of rocky land patched with a few fields. However, the ground did not matter. Only the air where she flew mattered. She felt the thrill of wind against her, reveling in flying against it, and, when it shifted, with it. Her speed not exhausted, she dug in a bit more and beat her way forward, forcing them to need to try a bit harder if they wanted to keep up.

Fajra knew the arrival of the riders of her dragon's suitors. Her eyes looked to B'nyur, the one who slunk into the corner, without focusing when he said something. Her son was safe. Even if he hadn't been, there wasn't anything she could do. She was rooted to the spot, doing her best to keep Kalith in line from doing something unnecessary. However, the protective streak flared out strong. She felt the press of O'sho, B'rak, and F'del surrounding her. With a feral hiss, words fleeing her mind, she pulled herself away from them. They had not won yet. She gritted her teeth as she tried to warp the perspectives of her dragon, make her see some reason. It made her head hurt, trying to even pretend to play a part in what was happening. Letting the tension relax some, she stalked over toward B'nyur. She felt awkward, walking on the ground when her vision was flooded with images from the flight.

"You shouldn't have let him try;" she hissed at the bluerider. Then she paced, avoiding the quartet of men by constantly moving. Not that she was overly aware of who they were. It took a great deal of effort to connect names to the dragons that she saw through Kalith, aside from B'nyur, the odd one out of the bunch. In truth, she liked B'nyur. She simply didn't like him being there. Oveth was another issue. Even if only three suitors might have infuriated the copper beyond belief, Oveth was an issue, a liability. Of course, it was a still lingering desperation to hold out that kept her thinking of such things. Thoughts of the dangers of the circumstances were pushed from her mind. She glanced at the other three men in her weyr. Her weyr. Her weyr. She shook herself at the possessiveness.

B'rak. Shoth was trying again. Couldn't that stupid runt of an arrogant bronze just give it up? Kalith would never pick him, and he'd never outmatch her. Anger so easily infected her mind. The lust still wasn't a strong influence in her mind. The rage of the event came on much stronger from her dragon. She narrowed her eyes at him, but shifted her unfocused blue eyes to the next man. O'sho. She wasn't surprised Daidoroth was trying. She'd expected no less. The father of her child. That didn't matter. It was Kalith's choice to make, and she wasn't admitting to anything that might influence the copper's choice. F'del. She supposed that made sense. Altith would be something like Oveth, except with more reason. He was weyrlingmaster, though, what would she do if he won? The concrete concern was quickly flushed from her mind. She brushed past B'rak, O'sho, and F'del, standing farther in front of them and waving one hand vaguely to tell them to stay back, the motion vehement. Her toes perched on the edge of the ledge. She closed her eyes, and faintly smiled from joy that was only half hers.

Up in the air, Kalith had decided a proper test. Classics never went out of style. Once again, she began to climb, the humidity dropping out of the air as she drove herself up and up and up. Rukbat still warmed her hide, but the air grew bitter with height. She didn't care. She pushed higher and higher, forcing herself to do it faster. She didn't think of the tax that it caused her. She felt no strain. There wasn't a single thing she couldn't do right then. She dodged to the side of a wispy, low cloud, and only then was she satisfied with the length of her climb. She beat her wings a few more times, shifting her path slightly to force them to follow at the awkward angle that she set. A few more beats. A few more. She waited, eyes fixed upward, and listened to the wind. She waited for it to sound right. She waited for it to click in her mind, to be perfect.

Then she folded her wings, arched her body, and dropped for the ground, a couple of miles below. Her hide rippled in the motion, like a wave of red on orange. It was so easy for her. She liked it that way. She loved to show them all her majesty, taunt those unworthy souls with just how unattainable she was. None of them could catch her! They were just going to have to try their best to follow her. During the drop, she mainly just enjoyed the thrill. She liked the feeling of falling hundreds of feet upon hundreds of feet, letting the ground so far below her warp out of focus. The wind whipped against her, but the abrasive feeling on her soft hide felt right. She spun only slightly in the dive, keeping herself steady so that she could have sheer speed in her descent. There was so much space to cover, and she wanted it to be covered all at once.

At a handful of hundreds of feet above the ground, she finally shifted her weight to snap her wings open without having them injured. It wasn't an amazingly close distance, more than a dozen dragonlengths. However, after the length of the dive, it was a daring safety net. She continued to drop for a few seconds, which meant a lot of altitude, at a slower speed with her wings spread out properly. Then she caught a draft, slithered around to face a new direction, and was off again, gaining a little bit of height back with each stroke of her wings, with a roar of repeated challenge. The closeness of the ground had been wonderful for the ending of her dive, giving her a triumphant feeling. However, now it was too close. She wanted to be high again. The urge to fall was coming back to her, with a prickle in her wings. Lust dug at her fiercely.

And now my money says,
They won't know about,
The thousand Fahrenheit hot,
Metal lights behind your eyes.

[4horseshowgirl4]

Faranth, she was beautiful. Oveth was so awestruck, so wholly overcome by her that he was nearly forgetting to beat his wings. Every ripple of her muscles, every one Rukbay's rays reflecting off of her radiant hide, every perfectly crafted movement of her wings was fairer than all of the other lesser beauties Oveth had seen over the years. It was only his desperate, burning desire to be with her in the air that reminded Oveth to keep flying, which he did almost automatically, so enraptured with her as he was. He wanted to feel the powerful, sensuous movements of those muscles, to find out how soft that brilliant hide was.

However, it was not to be, because Oveth was a Blue. A wave of despair upon realization of this fact crashed over him. He had known he didn't have a chance in this contest from the moment his talons had lost contact with stone, but the true consequences of this didn't really hit him until now. The first torrent of emotion was followed by another, sharper pang of regret. He had never given a thought to his color. Blue was a good color. It was small enough to fit into the infirmary easily, but big enough to help carry an injured dragon back to the Weyr. However, it wasn't until now that he realized that Blue was not a color that would please Kalith. He suddenly felt self-conscious. Why did he have to be Blue? Why couldn't he be a big, shiny Bronze like Da... Daib... the Weyrleader's dragon? Or even a midget Bronze like Shoth? Then, he could actually strive for her, have a chance of her! Or, at the very least, make her happy that he had come to swell the ranks of her suitors? But, no. He was a Blue. He was just a tagalong.

However, Oveth was incapable of remaining sad for very long. In the briefest instant in which he had almost lost all hope, he found his eyes longingly on the Kings' shiny hides instead of Kalith. He locked his attention back to the Copper Queen and instantly swelled up, buoyed by feelings of hope and sheer happiness yet again. Yes, he was a Blue, but how many Blues got to experience a Queenflight, in all its glory? Look at Kalith, fierce and powerful, untouchable but so desirable! The Kalith he was so used to seeing, overwhelmingly beautiful and dangerous even then, was just a shadow of this Kalith! And the air! Miles up, it was thin, dry and cold, invigorating as he sucked in deep lungfuls of it, charging his overheating body with ice. But it wasn't just that-- it was the very aura of the Flight! The electricity of competition building in the air! It was as addictive as fellis!

Kalith was putting on speed, evading her suitors, making it quite clear that she was in no mood to start making decisions yet. Well, that suited Oveth just fine. He lashed his tail through the air before shooting forward, easily closing the distance she had put between them. Speed was easy. He could do speed. Still, he was quite aware of his unique situation, and he knew how to be courteous. He was close enough to Kalith that she would notice him, but he was far off to the side, allowing her more worthy suitors to move forward and take the closest spot to her if they could keep up with her! Nevertheless, he was still a relatively fresh dragon with speed still to burn, and he was careful to keep his nose ahead of the rest. He planned on keeping his lead as long as he could, knowing full well that at some point he would simply run out of steam. That was fine with him; he'd accepted that fact. But, for now, it was the small, stocky Blue that had the advantage.

B'nyur had tensed against his spot on the wall as Oveth began pouring out speed to stay with Kalith, but when Oveth's acceleration leveled out, he relaxed again, willing the Blue to do the same. They had a long haul ahead of them. He was trying ever so hard to keep from staring at Kalith's, that gorgeous Copper, as it might be considered impolite, but with Oveth's presence completely overwhelming his own senses, it was difficult. However, the Blue's attention flickered momentarily away from the Queen as he thought of the woes of being a mere Blue. In that moment, Oveth took a sideways look at Shoth, and B'nyur helplessly mimicked him, seeing B'rak.

B'rak. A rush of Oveth's lust ran rampant through B'nyur for a moment, and then it was matched by a sudden pang of his own. He almost threw himself at the Bronzerider in that moment, but B'nyur was not an impulsive person, and he curbed the desire. A second later, it was mostly put aside as Oveth's lust for Kalith overcame him again, and B'nyur let it. He could not jeopardize his weyrmate's chance at Weyrleadership just because B'nyur let Oveth's emotions completely wipe out his own self-control. He couldn't do that to B'rak. And even if Shoth did win, B'nyur was nurturing a little hope that the Copperpair's less-than-civil experiences with the Bronzepair and her supposedly-fictitious affection for O'sho would allow B'nyur to have B'rak for himself anyway.

However, all of those thoughts were wiped out when Fajra came stalking towards him. His eyes widened in shock. He was a Blue! Why was she coming towards him with better dragons in the room? He was fearful for a moment that Fajra was coming to knock him out of the contest officially. He only hoped that she would be gentler than her other half in the skies (he was getting quite the headache from trying to concentrate on Kalith's human half while Oveth was grinding out the images from his eyes onto his head). However, it was not an order she gave him, but an accusation. B'nyur, impassioned as he was, felt a flare of anger for the woman in front of him that would have normally been a surge of fondness for her being concerned. Did she think he could just repress Oveth like that? Keep him from completely chasing? Did she think he'd forgotten that he was a Dragonhealer, that his complete merge with Oveth was allowing him to feel the strain on every muscle, every ligament? Did she think he would let his mindmate fly on if he was in danger of injuring himself?

However, Fajra was gone, and B'nyur swallowed his anger, now watching her walk away with a pang of sadness in his eyes. He had missed his chance to make an impression on her... but it didn't matter. They were hardly even worthy of being spectators in this great event. He half-closed his eyes, wincing slightly from headache, and sinking comfortably back into Oveth's mind. It was easier just not to resist.

Oveth bugled, clear and sweet, when Kalith suddenly changed tack, surging upwards instead of sprinting ahead. He was ready for the challenge! He would follow her until his wings fell off of his shoulders and his heart jumped right out of his chest. A sudden flash of fear darted through his mind, and it took Oveth a moment to realize its source was His. Okay, so perhaps he wouldn't go that far, but he'd surely let Kalith know that he had done his very best for her! He knew he would be immediately dismissed from serious consideration because, well, he was only a fighter, not a King, but he hoped he could at least make her pause and think, well, he didn't do half a bad job for a little Blue! An unfamiliar blaze of steely determination ran through his typically happy-go-lucky expression.

For the first several dragonlengths going up, he kept up with Kalith no problem. His smaller wings had to beat at almost twice the rate hers did to power up as efficiently as she did, and the earlier test of speed had drained him more than he'd have liked to admit. They were already miles above the ground, but Kalith kept soaring upwards, showing no inclination to stop any time soon, and little weights were beginning to set on Oveth's wingtips, slowly making it harder and harder for him to keep up with Kalith's furious pace. He ignored the first onset of fatigue at first, but it was obvious that his flying was growing clumsier and clumsier. He was not trying to look good anymore, he was just trying to stay in front. That was all that mattered.

Just as he was beginning to slip back, unable to hold his position any longer, Kalith shifted her angle. She was still going up, but she was also going off to the side. They weren't climbing so steeply anymore, affording Oveth the smallest respite. He sucked in great lungfuls of air, struggling to supply his body's need at this great altitude, but he crooned softly, lovingly to her with what little breath he had, almost choking the sound out. He was growing dizzy, his vision swimming a little bit, and he hurt. He hurt badly. Every muscle screamed in protest at every movement, but it was all a dull pain. There was no sharp, stabbing pain that signaled trouble. Not yet.

Then, finally, finally, she dove. Oveth closed his eyes in weariness and happiness as he snapped his wings against his side and let gravity take him. It was a welcome respite from the climb, and it allowed him a few meager seconds of rest. He almost sighed, but he had no air to spare for it. He was still trying to gulp air like it was water and he was dying of dehydration, but with it whipping past him as he dropped like a stone, it was almost impossible. He was far behind Kalith at this point, as he had totally abandoned the idea of spending energy he didn't have to to try to make himself particularly aerodynamic and fall faster. He was still what he had to strive for, even if it was getting harder and harder to follow her. If she didn't choose soon, he'd have to quit. He didn't want to have to do that. He was going to stay in the air until she and her chosen mate fell past him. He was determined it would be so!

The ground was rushing up to meet him. He saw Kalith's wings flare up far above it, but close enough that it was still impressive enough, and he decided that if she wasn't going to make any daring flirts with disaster, he wouldn't either. It was even an effort to spread his wings, all too slowly trying to reverse his direction. It wasn't until the ground was almost close enough to touch that he suddenly exerted himself, pulling backwards with all of his remaining strength. Back at Fajra's weyr, B'nyur bit his lip hard, pulling upwards with his mind almost as strongly as Oveth, feeling every aching muscle like it was his own. His lip began to bleed, but Oveth managed to stay in the air a mere dragonlength before crashing into the ground. He was tempted to make Oveth land there and be done, but the dragon shoved aside that thought as soon as it entered their minds with surprising aggressiveness.

Another climb. While Kalith rose easily, roaring what Oveth desperately hoped was her final challenge, Oveth was fighting bitterly for every inch. He roared back, but the sound was so hoarse and she was now so far away, pulling further and further from him even now, that Oveth didn't even know if she could hear him. He tried once more, managing a little more volume. He was still here! He was still trying for her! The other dragons would have no trouble sweeping past him. Kalith was only a small, shiny form in the distance now, far above him, unreachably far. He crooned again, inaudible to anyone but him. He wouldn't admit it, would never admit it, but he was finished. He continued to rise, dragging himself through the air, running now on pure desire, pure adrenaline. His great Copper Queen was still there, still flying. So would he!

[/font]

[Kila]

Even while overwhelmed with strong emotions of his own and focused violently ahead on Kalith, Daidoroth was aware of the arrival and approach of his rivals: Kalith’s other suitors. Shoth was in the sky mere moments after him. Daidoroth repressed a snarl. He did not like the feelings that Shoth would not voice. The smaller Bronze practically reeked with loathing for him. Him! The discord that the little runt of a Bronze brought to sky ruined the perfection that they had been weaving. The balance between Daidoroth and Kalith was perfect. The air between them sung with unvarnished harmony. The tension in their separation made all his muscles ache and his spine prickle with anticipation. Kalith strove to maintain that separation. Daidoroth strove to close it. He would not close the gap until Kalith wanted it to be closed, he would not bridge the chasm between their bodies, until Kalith chose. She would choose him. How could she not? Fear was not one of the many emotions in which he reveled at this moment.

The next dragon in the sky was not only a surprise to the humans below. The blue body that rose in the sky behind him registered in an odd way in Daidoroth’s mind. Blue was not a color he had ever seen before when in the air flying after a Queen. Fighters simply did not chase Queens- it was not done, they were out of their class. And yet, there was Oveth, pulling in behind the two Bronzes. He kept a respectful distance from both them and the Queen, but he called to her tenderly. Poor, silly creature. Daidoroth would overlook him- he was not a threat.

The last of the suitors was of a hue different than his own, but one that was more common in such sorts of flights. Altith rose with the rest of the following and quickly surpassed Oveth, showing as little concern over the Blue as the other Kings had. Altith was built for speed and would fly well, but his size did not lend him stamina. Neither did Altith radiate feelings of hatred like Shoth did. He was fairly peaceful and glided along adding beauty to the sky. Regardless of the attitude of the suitors involved, they were all working together to create something beautiful. Kalith’s flight was living art, composed of the most rare and royal colors. Even Oveth was transformed from Blue into a beautiful sapphire.

Kalith surged forward, flying without regard for the males striving after her. It was her time to simply enjoy being in the air and lead them where she wished. Daidoroth had no qualms with this and knew that the real trial of the flight had yet to start. Only when she twisted over her shoulder to size up her followers- for they all completely and utterly belonged to her- did he croon to her. His song would be an old, familiar one. She had heard it many times before and no one could match the feelings that were interlaced in its melody.

Without warning, Kalith snapped her head forward and picked up speed with a roar, leading them far away from the Weyr and across her wild domain. The ground blurred beneath them, the land and water an inseparable mix of texture and color; the perfect chaotic background for their painting. This background was immaterial to the great dragons of Pern, though, and especially to these that were engaged, consumed in this most important of flights. Kalith commanded attention and effort so much that the background fell away. It was only the concern of earth-bound creatures. Kalith lead them on with a fury. No one of her suitors could glide along; she made it so they had to strain and push themselves to keep up with her. They had to want it- really want it. Fortunately she led a captivated audience who was more than willing to please.

Once the wind had sufficiently washed them as they fought to follow the shining Copper Queen and gain her favor, even to be blessed with the slightest of glances or softest of croons, she presented them with a challenge. Near, far, high up to Rubkat or to the depths of Hell, no distance or altitude would stop Daidoroth. Kalith began to climb, smoothly inclining at first, but soon pushing herself into a dizzying, no-nonsense, vertical climb. And up the suitors went after her, carrying their bodies high into the sky, past where the air began to grow thin and even breathing became an extra burden. Daidoroth was the largest of the group, but it did not discourage him. He may have the most weight to haul higher and ever higher, but his wings were broad and strong- made perfectly to carry his body. Each decisive wing stroke propelled him farther and higher. Shoth and Altith would probably fly at his shoulders and maybe even pass him, but knowledge from prior experience told him that it was ok to let them take the slightest of leads in this ascent. Where there was a climb there must be a fall.

Daidoroth climbed quickly, steadily, and with firm purpose, but he did not push himself so far that it would sap his strength. Kalith was never far in front of him, even if she was now not far from the others. His muscles began to strain and ache as she led them higher, but he had faith that they would soon have repose. His repertoire of flight knowledge served him well. He sensed a small change in Kalith’s ease and shortly after she began to angle off slightly, continuing the climb at an awkward angle. But this angle was not straight up! Daidoroth mirrored her alteration in flight and pushed ahead, passing whichever of the others that had drawn close to or ahead of him during the steep climb. There she was, just ahead. She was beautiful, glowing, irresistible. Nothing could compare. As she folded her wings and arched her body at the very top of her climb, Daidoroth could think of nothing else. He longed passionately to close his wings around her so that she might arch and they might fall together.

But there would be time for that later- this was not that fall. Kalith was not tired, nor was she ready to decide. Daidoroth folded his wings tightly against his back and plummeted after her. Unlike in the climb, the Bronze’s mass was beneficial to him in the fall. None of the others compared to his size, and he would fall harder and faster than all of them. He was thoroughly used to this: he fell for Kalith on a daily basis. He kept his eyes open and his snout pointed down, watching his Queen as she fell. She looked as though she were on fire; some beautiful, catastrophic thing falling from the heavens. He couldn’t have ripped his eye from her if he had wanted too. They were now beginning to truly mirror the color of her hide. O’sho could feel this on the ground and had to keep himself from staggering forward towards Fajra. She was perched on the edge of Kalith’s ledge. It was dangerous, but it would be even more so if there were men crowding around her. This was the first time the man had resurfaced and repressed any of his bonded’s urges. This was Daidoroth’s time. He understood this and was afraid to give himself up completely to his dragon. During flights they were utterly one. The pair shared their life very closely, but during flights was one time when one of the halves was allowed to live for the whole. O’sho could not begrudge his closest friend that, and neither could Daidoroth withhold from O’sho any such similar time.

Down. Down. Down. Daidoroth threw open his wings as soon as he saw Kalith do the same. The fall would not end dangerously close to the ground, but that did not mean that it had not been an intense one. The drop was enough to take any beast’s breath away. Had Kalith not unfurled her wings when she did, they would not have been able to pull up in time. The several dragonlengths between them and the ground was a quite necessary safety cushion. Daidoroth let loose a thunderous roar as he leveled out and began to angle upward after Kalith. He surged higher and higher after her, thrusting his wings powerfully with each roar of challenge that she unleashed. His hear and his breath throbbed in his throat in time with her cries. They were enticing. His eyes whirred red and his blood pulsed with adrenaline. He wanted her. Daidoroth drew closer, restraining himself as O’sho had from drawing too close. It wasn’t time. He didn’t want to take her- he wanted her to choose him!

[fidelli]

There was nothing but music. Nothing by a symphony of sound that they created, the Chaser's following the Queen until death do them part or the maestro dropped his baton in the final sweep. Each of them was a sound, a pure note that sustained itself in the air and then took off its own instrument. Each sound followed the bar, wove themselves in and around the path that Kalith was, carefully playing and testing the instruments in turn so that one beautiful sound was created. Each dragon flying had their part, some playing melody, other harmony. Each was a beauty that created a song that would never be reproduced, would never be copied again.

Altith was not sure of the Blue - he, in his way, just skipped over him. For that Oveth was the triangle the small and the meek, but adding in the most beautiful chimes as he strove for her.

WIP Because it ate my post and now its 5 in the morning and I need a little sleep and I'm REALLY made I lost all of my post except this.

[jack]

B'rak let Fajra slip past him with little more than a blink, unconcerned by her movement. Flightlust had never really effected him much, not unless he was drunk, and it certainly did not do so now. He watched her, his eyes only seeing the barest outline of her through Shoth's sky-blue stare, but did not follow, keeping the distance set between them almost possessively. She turned to B'nyur, however, and at her harsh tone his own anger flared, eyes narrowing with a rare streak of displeasure. Protectively, he strode forwards after she left, asserting himself between the Queenrider and his Bluerider. Almost purposely he blocked them from one another, and to any who did not know the relationship of the duo, it would almost appear as though he were determined to knock the blond from the Flight. But on the contrary, he was siding himself with the healer.

Shoth took his rider's anger--his own gaze flickering with B'rak's for half an instant--and boiled it in his chest, churning it and melting it until it became something wholly different. Strength, clean and powerful and uplifting spilled through him and he pumped his wings once, a new vigor born in them even before his first "flame" had died. Eyes glowing and whirling faster than a sky-born spiral, he stared at Kalith, opening his maw in an echoing roar; singing praises and challenges alike. Hers had insulted the weyrmate of His. Hers had stared and glared at His. Was she so much better?! Fly! Fly and prove the worth the weyr seems so convinced of! Fly, by Faranth!

And fly she did. Up, up, and up! And he was on her tail, the flurry of emotions bleeding into him from His fueling him on with more solidity than any herdbeast's great flavor could supply. Strong and sure he rose with her, his wings beating powerfully and only a mite bit faster than Daidorath's as he soared, determinedly keeping in time not only with the larger Bronze, but with Kalith herself. The ache he had felt last time did not blossom in his wings today. The tiredness he felt was gone, it seemed, and he flew on the more because of it, his eyes filled with the glowing sight of that gorgeous Copper star.

Kalith wheeled around in the heights of the clouds, diving down like a rocket, and Shoth did the same, effortlessly tucking in his wings and claws to shoot like an arrow with her. Smaller and nimbler than either King or Queen, he was easily able to keep pace with them, not gathering half of the wind-resistance they did. He spiraled several times to keep pace, refusing to get too close to the metallic beauty nor to get too far. They were growing close to the ground now, and Shoth felt his belly flare with eagerness. The scars tingled, but he ignored them as a strange excitement--almost as though he wanted to strike the ground, wanted this unbelievable feeling of diving to keep going, even if it ended in bone shattering death!--came over him, and only B'rak's conscious, strong against his spine, kept him from slipping into an even faster dive. But as intent as he became on the ground, he was even more engrossed in Kalith, and as that beautiful body arched back into the sky, he followed, contorting his body with incredible agility and flexibility to soar up after her.

These sharp twists and turns were easy for him, his tiny body well-made for the falcon-like dives. But he was large enough to hold the endurance he needed, and as they all sky-rocketed back into the sky, he felt his first wind die, only to flare back into life as his second struck him. His wings burned now, and the scars on his belly and legs stuck like icy fingers on his sensitive flesh. But he could care less as B'rak urged him on, as he took all the memories and the pain the Bronze suffered, and balled them together, shoving them like coals into his mind. The dragon's lungs expanded and he reared his neck back slightly, opening his wings further before pumping them forwards powerfully. His neck stretched out as did his body and he came up easily beside Daidorath--as close to the copper queen as respect would allow him. He didn't spare the other Bronze a stare. The massive space-taker was nothing--he didn't deserve a second glance. Only Kalith...only Kalith would get Shoth's eyes here.

[Admin]

Invincible, oh, oh, oh,
You're invincible.
Invincible, oh, oh.
Invincible, oh, oh, oh.

The reactions of the men in her weyr meant nothing to Fajra. They could think as they would, but she thought herself, knew herself to be, as unattainable and amazing as the dragon that she flew with in mind. Maybe in soul and heart too, but she wasn't one to believe in souls and such hearts. Those weren't her honest opinions. They weren't objective enough. However, she was one with Kalith for that time, and would offer no argument to what they were supposed to be. She had always done her job well. Fitting into that niche for a short while was something she could do with reasonable ease. The sky spread out above her eyes, her head tilted back to gaze up at it, and the sky out before the eyes of her other half. The flickering images were focal in her attention, the shifting of the perspectives leaving necessary disorientation.

Somewhere along, she had reached a happy median. Lust and want and sheer aggression were not her. She was tempered rage and a perfection of a mess. She was coasting, living and breathing and soaring. She settled in the place where she could easily coexist with the emotions of a flight. If she fell too far, she found herself having to deal with those emotions. If she stayed too far away, she would find herself going half mad, and end up thinking on it just as much. It was easiest to ride the wave, and she liked easiest for what was occurring. She wavered, slight shifts rocking her, but her jaw shifted and she refused to budge. She exercised some control over the primal urges of her copper dragon. Her medium still involved some of the struggle. Both of them were fighters, personified in the fury of flight, but she only pushed and pushed.

Again, Kalith climbed, but each movement of the rise was more subtle in the round that had been begun. She added twists and turns, subtle nuances to test her still present suitors. One had fallen back, but he was not important, not one of her Kings or almost Kings. There was one pang of sympathy for the poor blue, but she had never been a sympathetic creature. She didn't slow for him. She did not tarry. On she flew, slowly letting the ground drop farther and farther away. She wanted that last rush of freedom, those last few moments where not a single one of them could catch her. Her seconds ticked down. She enjoyed how quick the time ran away. It made it all the better. She regaled in the moment, twining about through the air as if it were her mate. Time was fleeting, and, for a moment, she was more fleeting, and much stronger.

Then it ended. Tiredness overcame her, an exhaustion suddenly slipping over her body. All of her energy, the basic fuel of blood and raw instinctual need taxed to their limit. There was one more pulse, the last burn. It seethed through her body, rolling out through her limbs and then back into the core of her body. She flexed her claws, gripping at a wisp of water vapor and snapped at thin air. The fleeing of her strength, which should have come with the feeling of tiredness beginning to settle upon her, didn't occur. She wouldn't let it. She was still Queen of the sky! She wouldn't give up her strength and grace, her natural birthright, simply because she was reaching the end of the climb. That time had ended, but that could only do so much to diminish her majesty, and it would have to fight her tooth and claw for all the power it wanted to strip from her.

Time hung in the air, and she twisted, turned about to face her suitors. She beat her wings one more time, forcing her body up so she hung above them. It was a split second of her simply hovering there, wings pointed to the ground, not in exhaustion but in a half formed defiance of falling. She eyed them, her four suitors. Some of them weren't worthy. One of them was right. She shone in the sky, a brilliant jewel of red and orange that couldn't be matched that momentarily stood, transfixed but rippling, in the air. Her last moment of beauty where they would all watch her. Her last moment of freedom before she let herself be brought back to the confines of a world she could sometimes break apart. Her last moment of being perfect. She made no real claim to that title on a normal day. She only made a claim to being far better than most.

Kalith began to fall, the moment shredding apart and time picking back up. She flicked her wings, and shifted her weight. She fell into a bronze body and her neck twined with his. She flicked her wings again, but then found it quite difficult as they became caught up in those of the winner that she had chosen. Daidoroth; she murmured, mental voice left feral and warped. He was her shiny bronze, her champion. He had flown well and he was the best of the bunch in all other respects. In the moment, choosing him and gripping him in an iron grip, she could remember, vaguely, a rush of a moment that were only mostly flight lust. He would say pretty things to her. He would always find her beautiful. He was hers, and he wouldn't waver an inch from that. He would be best for the Weyr. That wasn't how she thought of it, but that was what it meant.

With that, she let it all go, body relaxing as the exhaustion settled over her body. She fell from the sky with him, for he was her winner. The ground had become quite a distance away again, but she fell towards it with even less fear than before, and there had been very little fear then. It was no longer her responsibility to catch herself. That was the responsibility of her winner. She could do it too, but they were one in the same by that point. Every view of looking at it was warped. All of the others, her three other suitors, had faded from her mind, and she just focused on him. With that focus, an odd freedom all of its own, lust, the strong lust of a dragon, became a dominating force in her mind. In the sky, her eyes blazed out red and purple. Someone else got the wonderful experience of dealing with all of that unadulterated feeling.

The happy median and balance quickly went out of the window, but the disgust at how this had to play out didn't even get to properly register with her. The flight was over, and all she felt was the rush of lust. She had no place to put it. She had no idea of what to do with it. Well, she had some, but she disliked it. However, that dislike factored hardly at all in into the equation. Anyway, it wasn't so bad. In sync with her dragon, she approved of her choice. There were worse choices she could have picked. It wasn't as if she could argue with it. A Queen choose her mate, choose the Weyrleader. It wasn't the Weyrwoman's choice. It was just the Weyrwoman who raised the Weyr and raised the dragon. She would accept those consequences. They weren't even so bad. Not that she'd ever let her personal opinions on the matters be truly known to anyone.

Fajra whirled with her dragon's choice made. She paused for a moment, staring at them, but Kalith was falling. She lunged forward, hands and body and mouth seeking O'sho, who would be retaining his status Weyrleader. Kissing him with a gusto momentarily satisfied her inhuman desires, all else thrown to the wind, but she pushed him, out of the main of the weyr, away from the prying presence of the other three. They were free to occupy themselves. She would have loved to have cared about what they were doing, but she didn't. She had trouble registering anything beyond the emotions of her dragon and the actions they prompted. It was all a blur, something that would be vaguely remembered later, as if she were drunk. However, dragon lust had a different taste to it than wine, and a different sort of aftereffect than it.

That crushing, crashing, atom-smashing,
White-hot thing,invincible.
So please use your powers for good.
Please use your powers for good.