Aftermath {Post-War}

[Admin]

Hold on, hold tight if I'm out of your sight,
And everything keeps moving on, moving on,
Hold on, hold tight make it through another night,
Everyday there comes a song with the dawn.

Paget had watched the battle from the dining hall, standing in the large opening off the huge room with her fiddle in hand. The momentary war was past and the dawn was coming, fingers of light appearing over the rim of the bowl, but she remained where she had been, leaning against the rocky wall to one side. She licked her lips, dry from an acidic agitation, and set her violin on a nearby table that had been abandoned when the feast for the recently Impressed weyrlings had abruptly ended. She licked her lips again, brow furrowed in concentration and a generally show of cold sorrow. The world had come crashing down around her, and then it was rebuilding, slowly settled before her eyes. She stepped out of the shelter of the wide doorway, tipped her head, and sang. Her voice wasn't warmed up, and it roughly lofted up into the air.

Dragons fight dragons, green blood in the sky.

With a bandage across her chest and another on her cheek, slathered in numbweed and dosed with fellis, Fajra was asleep when the dawn came. An exhausted and sore but mostly fine Osro was asleep beside her with Afzal curled atop his shoulder so that he wouldn't be able to awake and flee the weyr without anyone knowing. Besides the injuries, they looked a peaceful pair. Even Kalith looked relaxed in sleep, though she still held strong hints of danger to her. With her hide streaked in patched up scratches and her lithe, muscled form, the idea that she'd torn an orange dragon from the sky candlemarks before wasn't hard to place. They could rest in the oblivion of sleep. When they awoke, they would all remember, but that was hours away. Time heals all wounds. Somewhere in the Weyrwoman's resting mind, that was her hope.

Hope has gone astray, all on which we rely.

K'ber paced his weyr. Detritath lay on the ledge, playing the part of sentinel. The renegades had been allowed to stay. Six of them. In the Weyr. He wouldn't let his guard down. They had seen the battle but neither of them had received any injuries. With most of the adversaries entangled with one fighter or another, they had simply had the pleasure of watching while they stood guard over a section of the lower caverns. In the wake of the fight, K'ber fretted that he had been a coward, despite the cool, confident assurances of his dragon. The iron had no doubts in their choice of action. Had it been necessary, he would have killed one of their opponents like Ripariath or Kalith. It hadn't been, and he had successfully held his guard post. Becoming wearier, K'ber moved to stand beside the King. With a sad croon, Piteous arose and settled on his shoulder.

A stolen child, invisible crimes we all have seen.

P'nay was sleeping. However, his furs lay untouched where they were less than neatly arranged on his cot. He lay beside Annith on her couch with his four firelizards. Annith wasn't sleeping. She stared out the entrance of her weyr with slowly swirling eyes. They hadn't fought at all. It wasn't cowardice that had left her sitting in her weyr with her rider at her side when the battle had started. She hadn't wanted to fight. Despite the crimes of the renegades and the fury of her Queen, she hadn't wanted to fight. In the dark of her weyr, she had mourned the violence and the causalities that had been suffered. When the peace had been ordered, she had been thankful, and wheedled P'nay into sleep. She didn't mind the renegades presence. They were Dalibor dragons after the point at which Kalith offered them shelter, flawed but still a part of them.

Seven are lost beyond, and the dragons keen.

F'lan and Seceth hadn't bothered to go to sleep. They'd gone days without sleep before, and the idea of rest was far from their minds as they sat in the middle a Weyr full of a great many people who probably thought it would be better if they were dead, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. The general gist had been passed out. They were staying at the Weyr. They'd be a part of Dalibor. The awful part of Dalibor, of course. They'd get limited privileges and no one would like them, but they wouldn't be dead and they wouldn't be hunted. While he doubted some of the others would be so happy with the circumstances, though he put most of them to be the sort to deal with it until some better opportunity came along, he accepted them with open arms. Seceth had, from the beginning, turned it into a good thing. Hey, hey, Enlith?

Mother of all, a copper Queen is turned.

Bri knew something was wrong. Though she was locked up inside the candidates' barrack, she still knew what had happened, at least most of it. Dragons weren't supposed to fight each other. Whers often beat each other senseless, but dragons didn't fight dragons. The air sang with the deaths she knew had occurred. From what she'd heard outside, all the roaring and screaming, she knew at least three had to be dead. Were they some of those renegades, who seemed like fables to her except for the fact she acknowledged they were most definitely real? Were them from Dalibor? Both? Face scrunching up in disgust, she surged up from where she lay on her bed. Her hands formed fists and she slammed the bottom of one against a wall without a thought for Talouse, her roommate. She prowled back to her furs, where a cowering Soc lay.

The Red Star rises, and the right is learned.

W'al and Kerath had moved from their post at the weyrlings' barrack up to the rim, over by the waterfall. The weyrlingmaster would have to make sure his weyrlings, far to big for the barracks, in truth, now that they were over a turn grown, were settled back into their weyrs later. Until later came, he was leaving them alone. He needed to be alone anyway. Through the battle, the slender purple had stood tall and strong, guarding the young, new and old, from the traitors. Up on the rim, he slumped, letting out a few odd keens even though the four dragons that had been taken from Dalibor were long gone. He slowly set them behind him. In time, he would be better. Frowning, for once, W'al gave him an absent but comforting pat. He tried to keep his mind blank, but it kept whirling back to things he didn't want to think about. Renegades. C'elin.

I whisper this story, in hopes of more time.

Out across the bay that surrounded the Weyr, Cambyses, Lord Holder of Crescent, stood on the fireheights and stared out across the water. The screams and roars of the dragons had echoed over the ocean. Only a few in the hold knew what was happening. One them was him. The watchrider had told one of the guards, who had told him, before he had disappeared. The lord doubted it would be kept quiet for long. All of Pern would know. They would know that dragons had fought dragons at Dalibor Weyr. It was a saying. Five words. Dragons did not fight dragons. It had lasted the test of time. Then it was gone, disappearing to recesses of light within the mind. He sighed; it was a heavy sound. He was tired, his body feeling weak without enthusiasm and his mind exhausted by the night. A guard approached him klah and bread. Careful, he smiled.

Sing to your children, show them how to fix this climb.

Her voice trailed off. Paget lowered her head. She'd composed a song. Her parents would be so proud of her. With that bitter thought and the bitter memories that came with it, she turned away. She walked towards her room with slow, swinging steps, the sort of pace that seemed like a drawl even though its a pace and not a tone. She walked as if nothing was wrong. She walked with sarcasm for the world. Perhaps it would be a comfort to someone to know that some things in the world hadn't changed. Under her breathe, the harper hummed the bars of her composition, filling in the notes where her voice had failed her. It would be better performed by someone else, but no one else could have written it. As she hummed, the scenes of what she had seen played back through her mind. Still, the music offered relief, and she breathed.

Breathe in and breathe out,
Breathe in and breathe out,
Breathe in and breathe out,
Breathe in and breathe out.

[theknightwhosaysni]

Can you lay your life down, so a stranger can live?
Can you take what you need, but take less than you give?
Could you close every day, without the glory and fame?

The world had been shaken on its very foundations. Dragons had fought dragons. Blood and ichor stained the ground. People and dragons were dying, and she couldn't help! That had been the worst part of all. P'rth had taken off without word, leaving her and her terrible worries behind. She'd heard the terrible screams of dragons fighting, of humans and dragons dying. Her face was streaked with tears, and she sat beside Veejarth, tears still crawling down her face. Everything was going wrong!

Dragons didn't fight dragons! Amara let out a strangled sob, burying her face in her hands, letting the salty liquid spill across her face without inhibitions. It didn't matter anymore - everything was going to change.

Dreams of flight were far away from her now. She didn't want to be a dragonrider, if that was what it meant. Fighting, oh, Faranth, she hated it. It had been bad enough when she had had a stake in it, but now, when she could only watch, it was a slow and painful death. She rocked back and forth, crying openly, dropping her hands into her lap, and licking her lips. Salty tears spilled across her tongue.

It was all wrong. People and dragons were dead now. Dead...

Veejarth stood at her side, his gaze locked on the sky. He let out a comforting croon, All is not over, Mine. Things will change for the better. They will.[/i] He sounded so sure, so certain, but he wasn't. He would be strong for His, though. And one day, they would soar through the skies together, a force to be reckoned with. They would be the greatest there ever was, and oh, it made Amara feel better to feel his thoughts giving her strength.

She found it inside herself to get up, to walk forward. Veejarth followed. They would always be together, for better, or worse...

__________

He'd been shaken when the dragons had taken to the sky, screaming, roaring, tearing clawing. Dragons shouldn't fight dragons. But now, it seemed, those ancient words were nothing but words, just broken, useless things that he wanted to repair, but he couldn't. T'lar sat silently, only his eyes betraying his worry. There were dead, and he wasn't sure who they were - Fajra and Kalith could be dead, for all he knew. He sat stiffly, moving as little as possible.

His nose itched.

He didn't want to scratch it, though. He was going to be right here, still struggling to understand when someone told them they could leave.

Feeroneth was not going to stand for it, though, Mine.[/b] his voice was uncharacteristically loud, Snap out of it. Please...[/b] he was worried about His, about how much this had scared him.

Yes, the traditions had been broken, and he knew that on some level, that had been deeply, terribly wrong, but they had to look forward, to look into the future. They would have to put their best faces on it and cope.

Please...[/b] he repeated again. Things were different, but this silence, and the way he'd been blocked from T'lar's mind by his singular focus on what was going to happen next, were scaring him.

Something got through to T'lar, and he turned confused eyes towards Feeroneth, "Things are changing. It will be strange to go out into the world again after that." his words were heavy, but beneath it, Fee sensed something that made the young Purple sigh in relief.

Things were going to get better after this. They'd hit rock bottom, and there was nowhere to go but up. And the very least they could do would be to start the climb in nice clothes.

T'lar sighed, but he didn't deny it. His clothes were dirty and worn, they were his work clothes. He turned woodenly towards the clothes that had ended up crumpled up at the foot of the bed before his meeting with Kjara, and wriggled into them somehow.

He wasn't quite sure how he got into them, nor did he care to dig through his memories and find out why. It was enough that they were on, and that it was time to face the future...

Could you close every day, without the glory and fame?
Could you hold your head high, when no one knows your name?
That's how legends are made, at least that's what they say...

[/size][/right]

[matsi]

P'rth didnt know where to go, or what to do. His thoughts were racing.
Death....So much death and pain, he thought silently, more to himself than Aith. He stood outside, not really knowing where he was. He knew where the Weyrling barracks were and that was it, so he decided to stand there.

Mine, it will get better...I promise. Aith spoke softly from her spot only feet away from Hers. Her front paws were crossed as she lay there, watching Hers just stand there. She felt almost helpless for her rider. She thought about flying in the clouds, happy and free, and let her eyes dance with a relaxed color as she thought about it, But it was short lived.

Aith, what shall we do? what if they see us as Renegades? What-
Mine! Have no such worries! We are NO Renegades and we will not be seen as such! Her voice was sharp and a slight growl was her in chest, but it was quickly replaced.

They will know. DOnt worry, [/color] She let out a sigh as her eyes slid shut.

P'rth stood there, he was looking at her now, a small smile on his cold face. He hoped she was right...

[Kila]

O’sho was exhausted, but not unique in that fact. The battle had physically drained him, but it had emotionally drained him as well. They had so much to do and explain now, but everyone needed time to recuperate. He sat slumped, fast asleep, in a chair next to Fajra’s bed with Fiera curled protectively around his neck. O’sho needed to be close to this family then. Fajra’s close call with death had shaken him and he wanted Osro in his sights and arms indefinitely. They were closer to a happy family then as they slept then they ever were awake. As insignificant as it might seem to an outsider, O’sho was grateful and content only to be allowed to slumber near them.
Daidoroth stood silent sentry outside, watching over them all.

~

D’lios paced contemplatively to and fro in his weyr, Perbiath watching him curiously. He had not emerged to engage in the battle for obvious reasons. To fight against the Renegades would have been to breach his contract with them. He had given them supplies in exchange for the chance to impress Perbiath, and while their agreement did not explicitly extend beyond that he would have felt like he wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain. And D’lios always held up his end of a bargain. He was capable of betrayal, but he had already gotten what he needed from the Renegades and didn’t need to involve himself with them further. Besides, if Dalibor killed them off it would be less trouble for him. When he returned to Western they would only serve as a nuisance in his politics.
Perbiath keened quietly and mourned the passing of his wild mother- always having felt more loyalty towards Alizadehth than Kalith. He did not cry, though, or let His hear him. If he had learned one thing from D’lios it was not to show his weaknesses.

~

Nadya and Nadysk had not participated in the flight either. They had been awakened and notified in the middle of the day when things had first blow up and had been awake since. Looking from the Lower Caverns they had seen the whole thing unfold before them. Nadysk had bared his teeth and been prepared to go fight, but Nadya had not let him. As much as a brawl would have been a welcome change, there was nothing they could have done on the ground. Now they wandered the tunnels and looked in coldly at the Renegades. They were expected to be cold, even though they had not been involved or even personally affected, but Nadya was already interested in them. She wondered if they were dangerous. She would very much like to meet them in the dark.

~

Sol sat by herself in her weyr, confused and still slightly horrified by what had happened. Her eyes were red and stung from how much she had cried earlier. Every time her breath wavered and she began to think of the death that had been dealt that day, Eccolath soothe her, crooning and wrapping her body tenderly around her. Sol was temporarily comforted each time and snuggled closer to her bonded. She had not been cut out for what had gone on- she did not want to kill. Eccolath had been ready, though, and that scared her. It scared her that HerOwn was willing and able to kill and also that they had been so divided. It felt wrong. It was something she would have to sort out herself, but she needed time. Time would heal all wounds.

~

Y’nis walked across the now-deserted Weyrbowl, Yusriyath at his side. Signs of the battle- blood and ichor- still stained the ground and cast a ghostly feel across the open expanse. He had gotten permission to take care of D’ror and Varya’s bodies, which remained untouched on the ground. No one else was eager to accept the task, so he had been allowed to go. He was not looking forward to it, but it needed to be done, and they deserved it. He would have felt wrong knowing that someone who didn’t know them had done away with them somewhere. Reaching Varya, he knelt, looking over his old friend sadly. Yu put his head down beside him and nuzzled his lifemate comfortingly. Y’nis smiled and hung onto him with one arm. We have a job to do, Yu. They would take them between and let them fall. There they could find their own lifemates and (Y’nis hoped) each other.

[zeis]

Candle-marks later and sun was just beginning its ascent, which meant the Weyr would soon be rising to start the day. Zeis, as always, was sad to see the dark and quiet of the late night/early morning go. With the dawn would come the rest of the kitchen staff, including his mother, and his monotonous daily routine would begin. True to his expectations the other staff-members began filtering into the kitchens almost at the mark he predicted, rubbing at their eyes and mumbling in quiet worried voices to each other. Zeis, who was idly setting out the ingredients for todays meals, looked up from his work, and offed a polite smiling nod to the newcomers. "The fires are already lit, and there is plenty of food left over from the feast still..." He trailed off, taking note of their weary and pallid appearance. "Is something the matter?"

In response, an older man he knew to be a friend of his mothers paused in rolling up his sleeves to give him an incredulous look. He snorted, and reprimanded him angrily. "Are you sharding mad? Show some respect!"

Zeis quickly wilted beneath the journeyman's angry gaze, and let the topic drop completely. He turned around on his heel so quickly that he banged his knee on the table leg, and simply stood pretending to work for some moments blushing furiously down at the leftover spice-rolls that were staring him in the face. Show some respect? He was very respectful wasn't he? What was he even talking about? The boy dusted off his apron longer than was exactly necessary, puzzling over the resentful stares and oppressive silence that now filled his workplace. He snuck glances over his shoulder to observe the people whose faces were usually smiling, and friendly. What could have upset them so?

Was it the Weyrwoman's child? He had heard that the Weyrleader's only son had gone missing at some point during the feast, and the kitchens had been bustling with rumors. Some had said that he had been stolen by a dragon rider, but others like his mother had claimed that the child being so young had probably just wandered off and gotten himself lost. He personally put more faith in the second explanation. Dragon riders didn't just steal children out of the blue, did they? Regardless of which was true, there had been a great deal of roaring that night, and almost everyone had left the feast early with their spirits dampened. He too had left the kitchens and gone to his bed early, where he had fallen into a restless sleep wrought with that nightmarish screaming. Those sounds had been in his dreams, hadn't they?

The oppressive mood held until his mother, Cerena, entered the kitchens with a scowl on her face. Apprentice cooks and bakers moved out of her way as she stalked to her usual workplace beside her son, wisely sensing that recent tragedy registered as anger in the old trader than as sorrow. Zeis glanced sidelong at his mother, expecting a terse greeting, but she said not a word to him and instead went straight to slicing up a red-fruit. He paused awkwardly, unsure of what to do in a situation where everyone was acting illogically but himself. Even his mother, who had impressed in him above all the value of good manners and respect. The confusing and utterly embarrassing silence continued, broken only the the sounds of the kitchen and the rhythmic chopping of his mothers knife.

"Mother...?" He whispered quietly, laying a hand on the table and dropping all pretenses of working. "Whats happened?"

Cerena huffed at his question, but didn't turn to look at him or meet his eyes as she replied in a hushed tone. "You must have slept like a stone, boy. Didn't you hear the roaring? There was a war last night."

Zeis' hazel eyes drifted to the fruit on her cutting board as she spoke, watching the glinting blade relentlessly slice the fruit and stain the wood beneath a deep red color.

"Faranth knows how many were lost..." She continued not pausing the experienced motion of her hands on the cutting-board. Without giving him a chance to reply, she swept the slices off the board and into a bowl. She thrust the bowl at him, and swiftly changed the topic. "Make sure there are no seeds in these."

Zeis accepted the bowl and looked at his mother a moment more as she walked away to see to other errands. His gaze dropped to the bowl, and the glistening slices of red-fruit which seemed to him like flesh and blood.

[arratra]

A'tra stared at the bandages that covered his arm, then looked across at his brother, who was in similar shape.
Physically, he was, at least. Mentally, he was in even worse shape than his brother, staring blankly ahead, the hammer he had snatched from the forge still clutched in his hand.
A'tra turned his attention back to Margras, who was in appalling shape; while attempting to protect his master, he had recieved a number of serious knife- and claw-wounds. He was wrapped head-to-tail in bandages.

Avartiath hadn't taken part in the battle, merely observing the battle from the edges, disgusted.
She is not my clutchmother, and he is not my sire! Avartiath said vehemently, startling A'tra, They are not my blood! They are traitors and cowards! Stealing a hatchling! Of all the low things to do!
Margras seemed to whimper, and A'tra winced. Matren finally looked up, and sighed.
"The Renegades," he said, "They have broken the fundamental laws of the riders. Dragon has fought dragon. Nothing will ever be the same... and it is they who are to blame."

(OOC* A'tra ran out to his ledge, but slipped, and fell, breaking his arm and leg. Both are splinted now. Matren was hurt by some rocks, dislodged in the middle of the fight. I hope that explains where they got their injuries.

[purnip]

Unlike most of Dalibor's residents, L'am had managed to sleep for a few good hours before the sun rose. Lebeth's head was on the bed while the rest of him was on the ground next to it; a sleeping position that would probably leave him sore upon waking. He was however, not able to remain unconscious as long as his bonded was. He had an itch. A terrible, terrible itch. It didn't take a lot of thought for Lebeth to remember that he was born yesterday. His hide needed to be oiled.

He did not feel the will to move. He couldn't ignore the impact of the fighting that had occurred overnight. His rider's words were eye-opening, but they provided only temporary comfort. A travesty has been committed. Blood was drawn from dragons by fellow dragons. The young Bronze knew deep within, like an imprint, that this was not meant to be. L'am was right. Only people could evoke such things from their dragons, otherwise it wouldn't have come to that.

The boy was slowly beginning to wake, despite the shortness of this rest. He didn't need a whole lot of it. He turned his head and wearily looked to Lebeth. He could feel and tell by a glance that the young dragon was still shaken by the war; who wouldn't be? Himself, for starters. L'am couldn't evoke something from himself he didn't have to begin with unless it was to save face. He had to make an effort to care however. He would soon be an important figure among these people. What better time to start showing support? It was hard for him to think of it a different way. Rhysia was right about him. Every one of his actions had purpose behind it. Nothing was spurned an authentic emotional response. "Let's go, Lebeth," L'am said, placing a hand on the dragon's head. He felt the scaliness of the Bronze's hide and remembered that young dragons needed constant oiling.

It was a detour he was willing to make. In the end, Lebeth was most important to him, then himself. It was so strange caring about someone other than himself. "Lets get you oiled up, then we'll visit the infirmary."

Lebeth's eyes lit up instantly. L'am wondered what might have cheered him up all of a sudden. The oil or the visit? That sounds lovely, Lebeth responded in a rosy voice. Though I should also like a snack before we visit the injured ones. The Bronze wasn't being insensitive. Truly the events that unfolded just several hours ago were terrible and heartbreaking, but he was alive now and his itch would be tended to. In that way, so might his growing hunger. Then they could do whatever they pleased. Lebeth had remembered something in particular at that moment that L'am had told him the night before, just before they went to bed. We will embrace life, even when no one else does. They couldn't embrace it by dwelling on the horror that may be included. Those words let him sleep, however short a time. They brought the light back into his eyes upon the memory of hearing them. He would, as he had replied last night, hold him to those words. Starting then and now.

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

Rhysia had not slept a wink all night.

One might say she was traumatized, but that wouldn't be entirely true. She couldn't forget the sounds of fighting that endured through the dark. She could not help but notice the yellows in Raeterith's eyes when a sound would rip through the air of claw or tooth tearing flesh. Her Green had also remained awake for the passage of the battle. They were cuddled together on Rhysia's bed, holding on to one another like children waiting for a severe thunderstorm to pass. Raeterith was trying to calm her bonded down at first, but they both had gone silent at one point as they tried to visualize the battle in their minds.

Raeterith was able to retrieve no imagery from the war, but she could visualize what was going on like a blind being with heightened senses. She did not tell Rhysia when and who someone passed between to forever be lost. She could not do that to the poor girl who feared all this fighting.

They had been betrayed. The Weyr, in its kindness, had been stolen from and betrayed. Rhysia hated those renegades. They had broken code and spurned their dragons into battle recklessly. She hoped that most of them had gotten what they deserved, but then again she did not want their dragons to go between because their bonded humans were so terrible. She wanted the lot of them locked away to have the sense knocked back into them. How could they? Sometimes, Rhysia's eyes would fill with tears due to the frustration. The lot of them had really messed things up.

Raeterith could sense this growing sourness within Rhysia. She felt the same herself. Those renegades have caused all this to happen. They were the catalysts in this equation. The fighting's over, Raeterith soothingly told her. It has been over for some time. She wanted Hers to get up now. She wanted them to face the aftermath together. The result of what has been would help to serve in the prevention of what could be.

"Is it?" Rhysia sounded a bit bitter. "It's not going to stop now. They started something that doesn't just stop. It keeps going and it just ends up getting worse." Tears were slowly welling up into Rhysia's eyes. She was never good at handling death, since always.

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

{Meanwhile, later that day...}

"WHAAAAAT?! There had been a war?! Dragons fighting dragons?!"

B'wie stopped what he was doing instantly, a handful of volcanic rocks tumbling from his desk to the floor. He adjusted his glasses and looked to Sjanseth with a particularly frazzled expression. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" His voice was still high and frantic, though not as energetic as his first exclamations. "While we were at the Sands earlier--that might have explained why the Weyr was so empty!"

Sjanseth snorted. You get so loud, Mine. You will attract unnecessary attention in this way. He seemed to dodge the question.

"Seeeeth, come now! Tell me this instant! Surely this is of grave importance!"

If the White had brows to raise, he would have done so. Indeed, but I did not think this would interest you. You know none of these men and women. Sjanseth sat in his usual, hunched way as if contemplating something. He sat up just now to tell his rider this bit of news. He was never all that consistent for a dragon. He felt pity for those lost once he heard the news, but he felt little of it now. The more he thought of the concept behind the quarreling, the more pointless it all was. It got to a point that he wanted to deny that such an event happened, but that would be foolish now wouldn't it? It happened last night. The renegades kidnapped the child, yes. They returned the boy and the renegades attacked Dalibor. He related these events as a man might relate the news he reads in the daily papers.

"Oh! Oh..." B'wie quivered slightly, but he bent to pick up the rocks and place them back on the desk by the samples of Hatching Sands. "One needs to be aware of these things, my dear," he added. He turned to face the White with a queer look. "You're alright, no? This is big, isn't it? A first."

Sjanseth ducked his head in a half-nod. I am as well as I can be, considering the situation. Let others do what they will; I know we are not involved.

B'wie managed to smile just a bit. He couldn't grin that brilliant grin of his at this time with what had just happened, but to see that his White was bearing through this with his mind and not his heart was oddly comforting. "We certainly are not! But that does not put us beyond community service, does it?"

What? Sjanseth got up as B'wie fetched the coat he had hung up by the entrance.

"Come come! We haven't properly introduced ourselves and I'm sure they could use a bit of help in the infirmary!"

But you know nothing of medicine! This couldn't be good.

[hatori3070]

If the healer hadn't given her something awful tasting to help her sleep, Jasra wouldn't have been able to. Of course, the fact that she'd lost so much blood had something to do with it, but she didn't want to dwell on that. Izkeeyerdath was curled up next to her cot, and Jasra couldn't exactly remember how she'd gotten there, or who had given her a mat so she wouldn't be laying the floor. She must have been stupider than she'd thought, waiting around like she had before getting help. Geree, just awake, chirped in indignation, reminding her that the Pink had been the one to go for help all on her own. Jasra smiled as her other two flitts woke and gathered them all in her arms and just held them close.

Last night was fresh in her mind, for all her fogginess. A clean bandage was on her leg, which was smeared with numbweed underneath. The pain was being kept at bay. That meant her mind was free to focus on other things, things she wished she didn't have to think about. She couldn't remember how many had died, but even the death of one pair was too many. Anthe and Dioia mounted her shoulders and snuggled in close on either side of her face while Geree pushed herself up against Jasra's chin. A single tear dropped from her face and splatted on the pink hide of her loyal little friend, but that was all she allowed herself. This wasn't the time to come apart. Izkeeyerdath needed her, if only to temper and contain the volatile red. Which, when she thought about it, she hadn't done too great a job of last night.

Stop being foolish. Izkeeyerdath had woken up and was getting irritated by Jasra's melancholy state. What had happened had happened. No amount of moping about was going to change anything. There are more important things to think about, things that need to be done. She was of course referring to her need for a bath and an oiling. Jasra had no idea how she was supposed to do that with her leg stitched up. The healers had told her not to use it for a few days so it could heal faster. What was she going to do?

((Knight, you can insert Amara in there if you want ))

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During all the roaring and fighting taking place in the skies over the weyr, Talouse had been huddled in the room she shared with Bri, covering her head with a blanket and trying to wait it out. Sleep had been impossible, even after the actual fighting had ended. Her imagination had run wild with the sounds of the battle, summoning up images of huge, full-grown dragons slashing each other and their riders. Ichor and blood had rained down in her imaginings, reinforcing her irrational fear of the giant beasts. Bri's fist slamming into a wall jarred her back to reality and she slid out from under her blanket to look at the other girl. No words came to mind however, so she just dangled her feet over the edge of the bunk. Everything was about to change. The question was, would it be for better or for worse?

[Reky]

It wasn't what they'd expected going into this. No, it was far from the bloody and miraculous victory, and the spilled entrails of holier-than-thou Weyr-dwellers, and the taste of enemy ichor in their mouths and the thrill of it all. It wasn't so much great fun anymore, as it was scary as the Red Star itself. X'ni was shaking in his boots, but at least he had calmed down. Enlith was grateful for that. She agreed, though - it was crazy. Part of the Weyr? Part of the system again? Though, they were not a part of the people yet, and they never would be. They were never meant to be. They never wanted to be.

Her neck was arched defiantly. She would not, in her wildest dreams if dragons did dream, adopt a demure pose. She would not submit. This was not defeat. It was still the battle, but it was one of wits now instead of strength. If anyone thought they'd behave themselves, they were fit of the title wherrybrain. X'ni and Enlith? Behave? Since when? Rules weren't made for them. Rules could go and be made for everyone else, but not for them. Rules wouldn't hold them down. Not for long. X'ni at her feet, though, leaning against her dark hide, seemed much less enthusiastic. (His heavy sighing betrayed this.)

Yes, Seceth? she said, looking over at the blue. He was not far from her. She didn't want to leave him and His, and neither did X'ni.

---

The world was spinning for her. Lin tucked her knees to her chest, staring blankly at the seam between the wall and the floor. She hadn't signed up for this. Thank Faranth that she and Memnorooth hadn't been in danger, but shards... This was crazy. Dragons fighting dragons. Somehow, this had managed to suck Mem's perpetual happiness from her. Instead, it had been the same thing over and over while it happened.

Mine? Mine, there are dragons... what is it? Fighting, Mine. LinMine! Fighting! LinMine! she'd shrieked, at first. Not long after, she'd forgotten what happened. LinMine, what is happening? Mem is scared.

And again, LinMine, what is happening?

Again. Again.

No, she hadn't signed up for this. Not at all. This wasn't supposed to happen with dragonriders, was it? All they had to do was fight Thread. At least, that's how it was supposed to be. Right? She felt sick at the thought of her and Mem fighting other dragons. Thread... she'd get used to that. But other dragons? She couldn't. It wasn't supposed to happen.

"S'alright, Mem," she soothed, the frazzled green's head in her lap. "S'over. Won't happen again, hey? S'alright." More than anything, though, she was trying to calm herself down. It'd be fine. It would.

---

Cleo was exhausted. Andry was always exhausted, but now he was doubly so. Draped around the healer's neck, he sighed heavily, grumbling to himself in his little firelizard chitters, slowly losing consciousness. Cleo, on the other hand, was trying to stay awake. It had been a long night. A long night of running back and forth, tending wounds and talking people calm, and not to mention stress. Stress and fear and nasty things. Her heavy eyes surveyed the room, barely standing.

Dragons' wounds had been tended to. She had personally seen to the Weyrwoman Fajra, poor dear, and now she was sleeping peacefully with her child and her Weyrleader and their firelizards. In the back of her mind, Cleo was jealous of such a family. She often wished she had her own special someone, and kids, but her job and Andry were all the family she needed. And, if she craved more, a trip home was only a hop between away. She put it high on her to-do list, then, to see them at least briefly - mom and all her sisters. After this night, she deserved a little break at least.

She couldn't tell if morning had come or not. She was so tired and so sore that it really didn't matter. Sighing, long and drawn out and full of relief, she dropped into a chair by the wall and allowed herself to drift. If anyone needed help, they could holler - she'd wake.

[arratra]

A'tra looked around the infirmary for a moment, then, using his good arm, pushed himself to his feet.
"A'tra," Matren said, reaching towards his brother, who was wincing, gripping at his shoulder. Avartiath's tail intervened, however, the two tips curling around his hand.
No, the dragon said, his eyes whirling yellow, He must do this.
A'tra limped towards the entrance, as Avartiath released Matren's arm.
"Where is he going?" Matren asked, his voice somewhat panicked.
Fajra... Avartiath said, mixed pride and concern in his voice, He goes to see if Fajra is going to recover.
"But," Matren said, looking up at the dragon, "Can't you carry him?"
I would, but he cannot climb onto my back, Avartiath replied, using a wingtip to tap Matren's shoulders, He needs both arms to do so.
A'tra limped towards the weyrwoman's weyr, but he stopped halfway there, suddenly looking reassured. "Kalith lives," he mumbled, "Diadorath is outside the weyr. Fajra lives."
Now you may go, Avartiath informed Matren, who went to stand, but stopped. Stay there, Avartiath continued, limping out of the infirmary himself and unfurling his wings so that they caught the wind, I shall go myself.

Avartiath landed next to A'tra, who nodded. Avartiath laid down, and A'tra used his good arm to climb on. Soon they were back in the infirmary, back on the bed. A'tra refused to lay on the bed, instead lying down next to his dragon. Avartiath curled around him, careful not to agravate his injuries, and the two of them fell asleep, with Margras in A'tra's arms.

[Birdy]

Seiseth was perched on the edge of his weyr looking down at the remains of the battle. He had watched the entire thing, though digging his claws into the ledge as the fighting progressed. Sure he could have fought but he was so small and he’d seen what Ripariath had done to the renegade black. His eyes whirled in frustration, but a glance back at His calmed him slightly.
Chelo had not gone to the ledge with the black, preferring the slightly edited images provided by Seiseth. He had convieniantly forgotten to show her Kyrillion’s shining moments, she didn’t need that image in her head. How would she have taken it if it had been Seiseth up there ripping the other dragon to shreds? She shuddered, shooting forward to cling to the black’s neck.
The horrible noise of it all had been bad enough, the keening and screaming of dying dragons, and their riders with them. One poor rider at been literally decapitated by a renegade Iron. Shards, that was NOT how she wanted to go.

---

Invidiath had an entirely different view on the fight. She too had been forced t o watch from her weyr. To stand by as others got to dig their claws in to renegade flesh. Why hadn’t that been her? All of those dragons had been able to why not her? But no, K’lay had refused to let her, they were just weyrling he had said. Just weyrlings? She still had claws yes? And wings?
K’lay stayed at the other end of the weyr, it wasn’t as if Invidiath hadn’t acted like this before. Waves of intense envy were emanating from her very core as her eyes whirled furiously. He supposed he should calm her down but the Pink seemed to be ready to fight at the moment, he saw her flexing her claws as she watched the renegades surrender.

---

Paralee had spent the entirety of the night curled up in a tight ball next to the ever vigilant Tomarth. She knew what was going outside, lots and lots of fighting! She could see through Tomarth who must have seen through some other dragon in the bowl. And the keening was the worst, Tomarth’s high voice joining the lower ones of adult dragons as he mourned the death of a dragon he had never met.
The whole time Paralee tried to block out the whole thing. Sure, she hoped Dalibor would win surely they outnumbered the opposing force, but she just wanted it to be over! Horridness! Tomarth had stood alert by her side the whole time, trying to think of other things to occupy His’s mind while at the same time fighting off the feeling that he needed to DO something. To help in someway, but suddenly it was over and Paralee was stroking Tomarth’s head and sighing in relief. “Glad that’s over right Tomsies?” she said kissing the blue on the nose and grinning.

[fidelli]

OoC ;; GUYS. Those who have anybody hurt, throw them in the thread with A'mor - really swamp him, it'll be fun. XD As it is, he's the Healer that has treated everyone, because B'nyur has been working on the NPC Green that was hurt very badly.

It was morning, with the sun rising over the horizon, staining the new day in the blood red that one came to associate with blood. F'del shuddered as he, for the first time since the hatching, allowed himself to settle back down against Altith. The Purple had not moved from the Weyrling Barracks. The too thin dragon was curled at the entrance, laying peace down for the day old dragonets. He did not touch W'al's charges - the Purple was much more worried for the young and Theirs.

F'del had been running around, getting everyone situated. First, he had taken Jasra to the Infirmary, and then it was finding Nim and making sure she staggered up to bed. Then, it was the Weyrlings - all had been asked to try and sleep with Their's - they would have lessons the next day, he told them quietly. They couldn't skip out on lessons, anyway - they were too important when the dragonets were that young, and the Weyrlings would want their questions answered. F'del only hoped he could answer them.

Altith and he had not fought that night because, honestly, he couldn't bring himself to do it, and Altith had not been able to lift a claw against another dragon. Yes, he understood about Flightlust, and if a King or a Subking swung at the other in the middle of a flight, so be it. But this... This was plain murder, and the two could not stand it. He had had to stop Nim from fighting though, and he was glad that Zucherroth had been there. Without the White to carefor, she would have taken them on, dragonback or no. She had guarded the Candidate's barracks instead, and only now had she slept. He had finally laced her klah with the smallest amount of fellis and sent her up to bed, where she curled with Zucherroth on his couch.

A'mor was still in the infirmary, trucking along. He was alone - B'nyur had not left the Greenrider, and he didn't think that the Healer could at this moment. It didn't matter - he was handling things decently well, he guessed. Hatoter was in the Candidate's Barracks, twitching everyone the keen sounded of death. He was trying to sleep now, but his eyes were dry and empty, and Tonii was in N'yrl's weyr, finally asleep after all the death. R'sey was itching to leave the room however. If it wasn't for Desay listening to Altith - not happily, I might add - he would have been out in a heartbeat, but the Blue was a stickler, and he wouldn't let R'sey do ANYTHING. "Arrrrrrg." The Bluerider picked up his fiddle for the sixth time today and stared at the wall, scratching out a random odd tune or two whenever he wanted to, staring at the wall and ignoring Desay.

[lesa]

C'fael sighed as R'sey started up again. Retched fiddle. Normally he didn't mind it, but right now? Oh, but was it getting on his nerves. At least the tunes weren't that bad, all things considered. Could've been worse. He certainly had heard worse, when Irale had switched Halls. Just remembering some of the pieced played then by his friend sent chills up his spine.

Ansyth, please just ask her! he cried out, itching for something to do. He was a Healer! He was supposed to heal people! And here he was stuck in the Barracks when he had been hearing screaming of both humans and dragons during the night. There was no way A'mor and B'nyur could handle it all themselves, he could help. Even just as an extra set of hands, he could help! Noyth, C'faelmine would like to know if he may come and assist Yours with the Healing?

The blond flopped back on the bed, and groaned. Who knew if even when he got a response, he'd be allowed to go? Probably have to ask F'del first, and he had a feeling that would be a dead end right there. "Sharditall!" he swore, pounding his fist into his bedding. Trying to tell him not to help Heal was like trying to tell Basker not to sleep. It wouldn't work. He needed to help Heal, he needed to feel useful! At this rate he was even contemplating goading R'sey into a sparring match, just to have something somewhat productive to do. It'd get them in the Infirmary, like as not.

But likely also get a lecture from both F'del and A'mor. Hmm. No. That wouldn't do in the least. He groaned, throwing an arm across his eyes, even as his other hand searched below his bed to rest on Ansyth's head. "Rem, if you're going to keep up that infernal racket, could you at least, oh, I don't know, make it something a little bit pretty? And don't scoff at me!" It could be said the pair knew each other much, much too well. Then again, it had been said. It was the truth.

((If R'sey and C'fael are at this point in their seperate rooms, this will be edited... I just need to know. ^_^))

[Admin]

Keep it slow,
Let the future pass,
And don't let go,
But tonight.

This is gonna be fun. That was all the unnervingly cheerful blue said to his green friend, glancing at her and grinning a dragon's grin at the sight of her defiant posture. He seemed quite sure of himself. He faced the sight off the dawn before him with child-like eyes full of swirling wonder. Being in a Weyr didn't bother him. They hadn't left Weyrs because he found something wrong with them. He'd had a problem with the people in the Weyr, and Dalibor was entirely different. Dalibor got into short, little dragon wars with renegade sects and hatched blind whites that could find hidden people and Impressed overly aggressive browns to girls. He knew a few stodgy old timers he'd upset a time or two in his life who couldn't stand the fact that a few girls out of dozens and dozens of boys rode browns and purples. Seceth barely managed not to cackle with cheerful but twisted glee.

Perfectly aware of his dragon's enthusiasm for the situation and somewhat steadied by it, F'lan peered over at the nearby forms over Enlith and X'ni. He wavered for a second. What were they supposed to do? Just sit there forever? This was their new home. He wasn't much of one for homes. To him, home had to do with people. Home had been his sister, though she was now kept far away from him. Home was X'ni and Seceth. Squaring his shoulders, he started to march forward, his dark eyes intent on the greenrider in front of him. His hands slowly curled into tight fists with each of his steps. He didn't feel confined. The anger that he felt wasn't really anger. It was simply a passion. An irrationality. He reached down and hauled X'ni up by the scruff of his collar, not taking any refusal or struggling. He planted a firm, long, desperate kiss on the other rider's lips.

See this heart,
Won't settle down,
Like a child running,
Scared from a clown.

[Reky]

Well, at least someone was in good spirits about it. Hopefully, Seceth would make His happy and His would make X'ni happy. She wasn't about to put effort into cheering him up herself, because he was mostly hopeless right now. Sometimes, it was like half his entire mind just shut down, leaving him with enough functionality to mope and nothing else. He was a little confusing sometimes and stressful to deal with, but she loved him anyways, as she should. Well, she said to Seceth, It'll be something different, at least.

Speaking of limited functionality, X'ni didn't even look up as he heard F'lan coming. His eyes, watering and distressed, did dart up to him as he was dragged up to his feet, though. The only sound of protest was a quiet and confused muffled gasp. The kiss did something, at least, and afterwards he was able to stand on his own. He leaned back against Enlith, though, for the comfort of feeling her there. He was in awful shape. Right about now, he couldn't explain why he felt so sharding bad. Everything he was feeling just felt magnified, especially the negative emotions. There were a lot of times he couldn't explain why he was feeling what he was. His brain was perpetually a garbled mess, wired different than most peoples'. He heaved a sigh; his chest felt heavy.

"Shards..." he breathed, and that was the only coherent word he managed.

[Admin]

A strong distaste for confrontation,
Leaves no room for self expression,
such a strain to remain so docile,
Though don't you know it all takes its toll.

Seceth was happy with different. He could deal with different. He could work with different. After all, he had been born different. He had picked someone different to be his rider, just as Enlith had picked someone very different. They weren't meant to be normal. From the moment they had hatched, they had been drawn into a life that wasn't normal. Not living with normalcy meant change every once in a while. Otherwise, whatever they had became normal. Extremely pleased, like the oddest child, with his wandering wondering, Seceth stared up at the sky.

F'lan stared at X'ni for a moment. A curse. That was all he got. His mouth was agape. That was it? He was going to sulk like a spoiled child? Oh, wait, how could he had forgotten! X'ni was just a spoiled child. Just like his sister. Just like Seceth! Except Seceth was way more wonderful and fulfilling! Gritting his teeth in disgust, he gave X'ni a shove, forcing him harder back against Enlith. Then he turned around and stalked off, throwing his hands up with defeat. Seceth stood and ambled after his rider as he continued along at his prowling pace, not listening to any protest. The former renegade easily turned native would go find himself a nice, comfortable weyr, that was what he would do! And he would sleep and eat! He would live! And then he would come back later and drag X'ni into that weyr and beat some sense into him. He smiled faintly at his plan. Seceth smirked too.

And I'll say what I should,
And just hope you believe me,
But it never gets easier,
No, it never gets easier.

[Reky]

Enlith simply sighed. She didn't hiss, didn't snort at F'lan. She wasn't annoyed at what he'd just done. She didn't think Hers had done anything particularly wrong, other than doing... nothing. He was broken, wasn't he? Hers was broken. She didn't like it when it happened because she never knew how to fix him. She much preferred him when he wasn't being so useless. Thank Faranth he wasn't like this all the time. Well, if he had been, she would have went and picked someone else, way back seven Turns ago.

X'ni squeezed his blank, damp eyes shut, grimacing at the impact, and simply kept his eyes closed until he knew F'lan and Seceth were gone. What had that been for? He hadn't done anything, had he? He couldn't think... It was hard to think. He willed his mind to pull up its socks and act properly, but it apparently didn't feel like complying. He wanted to be a little more cheerful, look on the bright side, but he wasn't capable at the moment. So he just sighed a sigh to match Enlith's, and leaned against her. She rumbled deep in her chest for him to feel. Yes, Hers was definitely broken. Ugh. How to fix it?