Welcome!

[Wolf Tears]

(OOC- The title is Czech, mostly because I was bored and wanted to translate something; roughly translated, it means "I will not forget."

Yes, my friends, it's the moment you’ve all been waiting for! >:D

NPC males, as well as PC, are allowed if those of you without males want to join in. No females please, though. Even though Zaja would happily pick one, it just wouldn’t make sense (really, what females would Chase? O.o), and also we would (probably << >>) be out of a clutch. So.

And without further ado- the Flight!)

It had to be now.

Zaja hadn’t slept so late in a long, long time. Like her rider, the gold preferred to be up and about as much as possible; despite always laying down and crashing when her internal clock told her to, Sinthera’s senior queen never slept more than was needed to stay alert and healthy.

It had been ten hours, with no signs of stirring.

It had to be now.

And it was long overdue. Lakiya, who ordinarily was willing to put up with Flights but by no means looked forward to them, was desperate for this one to start. She was stressed; the Weyr was anxious; it was time. They needed a Weyrleader- preferably before the other Weyrs and the craftmasters and the Lord and Lady Holders voted to kick her and Zaja out of their position. Some of them had wanted to do so for a long time; this not-rising business could be the leverage they needed.

But Zaja was still asleep.

And that still meant that maybe- maybe today...

The gold stirred, and Lakiya jumped up- and immediately regretted it. She had been sitting in the same spot, staring at her dragon from the same position, for a good long time now, and while sitting on your feet on a bed with your neck in the same position for hours could make anyone stiff, it seemed to be even worse for someone who was used to constant motion.

But that didn’t matter right now. Nothing did- not even the mountains of work that would be waiting for her after this because of the time she had neglected, or the sudden realization that she was tired, so bloody tired, and Faranth, she didn’t want to be- she needed to be strong this Flight, needed to be able to reel her dragon in, needed to make it count. They both needed to make it count. That was what mattered.

”Zaja?” Lakiya stepped forward, peering at her gold, wondering if she had imagined the movement. Zajadisth hadn’t moved since; perhaps she had merely been shifting in response to some dream. But the distant, blurry feeling of sleep wasn’t there when the Weyrwoman reached out to her dragon’s mind.

Mine.

Well, that answered that question. But the word brought forth so many more, and Lakiya nearly staggered with the weight of them. Zajadisth didn’t sound right. Not defiant, not proud or even angry- in short, nothing like a Rising female. If anything, she sounded- defeated. As though she had been fighting against something, and lost- something that cost her more than just her dignity. But what? Why?

I will not do it, Mine. I know what you want and I won’t do it. The eyes snapped open now, and Lakiya flinched away from the red and grey glare. Not purple- there was purple there, yes, and it was trying to break through the wall of red, but every time there was a surge of anger from Zajadisth’s mind, and the red washed over it, forcing it down- and then the grey would sneak in, little by little, until the purple made another attempt at finding its way to the surface.

I cannot do this.

It was a well-practiced dance, and Lakiya got the horrible feeling that it had been going on for some time without her noticing. Not so dramatically, not so that she could see the colors, but inside. Zajadisth’s emotions had been in turmoil, and she had been so stressed, so busy running back and forth from place to place and job to job, that she hadn’t seen it. She had neglected the gold without even realizing it.

What had she done?

“Zaja, what’s wrong?” Another blur of color lanced across the gold’s eyes, and Lakiya stepped forward, laying a hand on her dragon’s nose. “You’re tearing yourself apart. Don’t.” Poor Zaja. What must she think of her human now? Did she feel betrayed? She ought to. Lakiya felt horrible, worse than any amount of sleep deprivation could make her suffer. Her own better half- how could she...?

And they needed this to go right...

No! It will not go right. It will not go at all! Zajadisth stood abruptly, pulling her head away from her rider’s caress. You- cannot- make me. She shook her head violently, then backed a few more steps away, pressing against the wall of their weyr. Lakiya- LakiyaMine- help me...

“Zaja?” Lakiya reached out, then thought better of it and dropped her hand. “What’s going on? Tell me, Zaja.” The queen was acting like a greenrider on their dragon’s first Flight- desperate for it not to happen, trying to lash out at whatever was making them go through this and succeeding only in lashing out at themselves. She had never been like this before. What in Faranth’s name-?

You can’t make me forget him! A verbal roar accompanied the mental one, and Zajadisth bared her teeth at her rider in fury. Not even you can do that. I won’t let you. Desperation leaked its way back into her voice as the gold repeated her entreaty. Please, Mine. I can’t do this. He will not be there. He will not be there to Chase me...

Lakiya spread her hands helplessly. ‘He’ could only be Yidoxeth. If only she had realized... how close had the two been? Closer than she’d realized. She’d always thought it was a passing thing, because Zaja had chosen someone else, that Flight after the ferals went between. But he had always Chased... and she had chosen him again, in the end, though none of them knew, then, that it would be the end. And she had been so wrapped up in trying to calm the Weyr, trying to calm Pern... trying to convince them that a female Weyrleader was okay...

Faranth, what else had she missed?

“Let go,” she pleaded helplessly. “Go on. He wouldn’t want you to be stuck. You can’t hide forever, Zaja. You’re a queen- you have to Fly...”

No I don’t! I can be male. For as long as I need to. Azrayesth can be Weyrqueen, I will never be female again, but I can’t forget...

“I’m not asking you to forget.” Lakiya stepped forward again, not quite ignoring her dragon’s thrashing- she didn’t really want to get squished- but wanting to be closer to the gold, to find some way to help her. For Zaja to suggest that Azrayesth become senior queen was a drastic sort of thing, even in this state of mind. “I’m only asking you to move on.”

There is no difference!

With a frustrated snort, Zajadisth rose and spread her wings. Lakiya squinted at the sudden rush of air as her dragon flapped her wings- and then, suddenly, there was no more air, because it had all snapped to the place where, moments before, a dragon had stood.

Damn.

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

Lakiya didn’t understand.

And if she didn’t, none of them would.

Zajadisth didn’t blame her rider. Not in the slightest. It would be so easy, she knew, to bare her teeth and blame the Weyrwoman for neglecting her. But she couldn’t. Lakiya didn’t know; she had never loved someone, not in that sense. And even if she had, she wouldn’t know how hard it is to hold an image and a voice that threatened, in every waking and sleeping moment, to slip away.

She couldn’t loose what she had left. And Lakiya didn’t understand that.

It was why she had fought for so long. She was afraid, desperately afraid, that she might lose herself in the next bronze or brown, and let those memories escape. She had almost lost them, before, and had only barely managed to grab them; some moments had already been reduced to a faded shadow, barely remembered. She could recall the hatching of their children, of the first feral dragons, but she couldn’t remember what her son and daughters looked like. She could remember only scattered moments, and half of them may have been created in her own mind- at times, she honestly couldn’t tell the difference.

But she was Zaja, Sinthera’s senior gold, and she couldn’t be afraid. So she changed it to anger- at herself, at the natural order of things. And then she channeled it outwards.

Let them dare. Let them dare to come challenge her memories.

She descended on the first herdbeast, fully intending to tear into it, needing to direct her anger at something physical. But there was a voice in her head, heartbreakingly sad but equally ruthless, and it wouldn’t let her eat. She abandoned the kill, attacking another ‘beast, but again she was told to drink, and after a brief struggle she did.

The fourth herdbeast was drained, and as she began to glow she leaped away and above, peeling away from the earth beneath her and climbing into the sky, not bothering to wait for the ones who would follow. If they wished to, they would chase- but just see if they could catch her when fresh blood sang through her veins, and yet the weight of meat was absent, unable to bring her down to them!

See, then, if they could make her choose another.

Who among you? she hissed into the minds of the males, her voice cold and furious and yet oddly excited. She would show them yet. Who among you wishes to challenge me?

Yes, they would certainly be made to see.

[Tarra]

Guiyath and T'or

A rippling wave of anger, random in its strength and insistence, struck him with near-tidal force. His eyelids snapped open, and all at once red orbs whirled where dark bronze lids had been a half-second before. The heavy-built bronze raised his head with a deft uncurling of his forepaws, his eyes shading over into mauve hues as he rose with consummate speed for one so large. His wings unfurled as a low rumbling tone of desire, almost a whine, broke from his throat. His neck arched 'round as he regarded the Weyrwoman's weyr not far from his. His tail began to twitch.

She Rises.

Within the weyr, his rider caught breath with the sudden surge of his dragon's emotions. T'or dropped the scroll he had been reading, his heart beginning to race as he scrambled to his feet. Shadow, sitting on the bed, hissed and sprang to his feet with eyes whirling. T'or's own eyes were wideas he fumbled with his garbled thoughts a moments, then found himself once more. There were those who had doubted the sole queen of Sinthera, murmering doubts about her, saying she would never Rise again or that she was not fit to be a queen. But not T'or, and certainly not Guiyath. They had considered how to respond when Zaja next Rose for this a long, long time now - almost since Yidoxeth's win, in fact. What to do when Zaja would next Rise, how to do it. The vast majority of the planning had been Guiyath's initiative, but T'or liked to think he had had some say in it too. Sometimes, at least.

Well, at least there would be no holding back this round as there had been before - no excuses to keep them from the Chase. He started for the door even as the dark-hued bronze snarled a note of frustration.

She fights it! Why does she fight? It is inevitable.

Surprise knitted the young man's brow and made him pause in mid-step. Why indeed. Was that why she had held back for so long - because she had not wished to Fly? The thought befuddled him even as it confused his bronze - he had never before known of a Gold reluctant to Rise when her time was nigh. But there was no time to think on it. Guiyath rumbled again, his wings extended to their fullest extent as he braced himself against the ledge. With a mighty sweep he threw himself clear and angled on a straight course towards the Feeding Grounds. The echo of his thoughts rang in T'or's mind.

She goes to blood. We proceed as planned. Find Lakiya.

The bronzerider nodded in response even as he pulled the door to the weyr shut behind him, leaving Shadow hissing in excitement and trepidation on his bed. He began to run, his own blood pounding in his ears with every footfall as he dodged weyrfolk and cut 'round corners towards the Weyrwoman's weyr. Thoughts flashed through his mind, coloured by the rising emotions brought on by his dragon's feelings. Though he had never doubted this day would come, he had always had his private fears about what might happen when the time came for Zaja to Rise. Had always wondered what would happen if Guiyath's plans should come to fruitation early. Lakiya was nearly twice his age, twice his seniority and experience. Through Guiyath's eyes he had learned to see her as a prize; but as a child growing up in Sinthera he had always admired her courage and her strength. She had Impressed Zajadisth when she was little older than he at Guiyath's Impression. And she had shouldered infinitely greater burdens than he ever had. He gulped at the thought of winning her, should Guiyath win the Flight - it just felt...odd. Wrong even. Guiyath's mind clamped around his, shutting out his fear and self-doubt, and T'or opened imself almost gratefully to his dragon's overwhelming confidence.

The sought-after door loomed up before him. He reached for it, turned the knob...and found it shut quite firmly. Locked. With a small hiss, he fought down the frustration in his voice as he spoke through the door.

"Weyrwoman Lakiya, it's T'or. Please let me in."

Guiyath had reached the Feeding Grounds. He let loose a low roar as he descended on the opposite end of the area, leaving a good space between himself and the raging queen of Sinthera with her prey. Targeting the largest of the herdbeasts on his side, he launched on it with a stabbing flurry of talons, breaking its spine at once. The massive jaws lunged downwards, impaling the jagular. With quick, deep mouthfuls the dark-hued bronze blooded his kill, feeling the liquid rush down his throat in a hot flood. The flood diminished, spluttered, and the heavy-built dragon raised his head with blood dribbling his jaw as he half-raised his wings. He pounced. A second herdbeast fell beneath his talons, and again the ritual of blooding repeated. Adrenaline flooded his lungs and belly, flowed through his wings and limbs.

A vast shadow cast itself on the ground before him. Tearing his teeth out of the drained herdbeast, the massive bronze leapt up after its source. Powerful wings beat down in wide sweeps that kept him in good speed after Zajadisth, even as he licked stray blood from his lips. Her mindvoice reached out to all of them, and with a whoosh of exultation the dark-hued bronze opened his thoughts to her.

Fly, great Zajadisth. I, Guiyath, rise to meet your challenge.


(OOC> Sorry, I couldn't resist making it more difficult for the Chasers by having Lakiya's weyr-door locked on them If it's not ok please PM me and I'll amend that.)

[Lesa]

It was the headache that woke him. Deep and persistent, the staggering pain roused him from additionally pain-filled thoughts; Khrysi's claws and teeth were tearing open his cheek again. Unusually, there was no panicked upright jolt towards the end of this nightmare, brought on by the sudden influx of cold air against his cheek as she betweened herself. No, this awakening was slow, and let him feel every ache and pain and every fiber of the wool that encompassed his brain.
He really needed to stop drinking so much. Getting sotted every other night wasn't good for him...E'rik briefly wondered how in Faranth's name he'd remained Wingleader. Surely there had to be a rule about being this drunk this often? He supposed it didn't really matter much with no Thread. If only he could just sharding forget...

Mine.
"Ungh?" Now that was intelligent. Grunt at your dragon, he'll understand that!
Zajadisth Rises. I'm going to Chase her.
"Gwaah?! Ununah!" If only he could get his damn mouth to work. For the love of the Shell, no! Skepnadth couldn't Chase her, he wouldn't do that to him...would he?

I'm going to...she's so glorious, E'rikmine, I...I have to. I need to find out if I'm worthy of this radiant being. Skepnadth's voice paused for a moment, and then seemed to come from further away.

And you need a wake up call. Nothing else has worked...wake up, mo caraid, E'rik's heart twisted hearing his sister's endearment come from his dragon's mind...Khrystine...She is dead, yes. Khrysi is dead, yes. You got over Khrystine's death with my help, let me help you in dealing with Khrysi's. They would not want you to be this husk of a man, living in the shadows. I told you once before Khrystine is still in you. Khrysi is in you too, and me. Let them rest peacefully, mine, and come back into the light, into life. Live for them.
"Yes." With that word, whether it was in agreement to all of Skepnadth's statement, or just the beginning of an argument otherwise will never be known. For that was the moment Skepnadth's lust pulled him under.

Skepnadth must have been winging his way to the Feeding Ground during his pep-talk, E'rik realized, feeling the crumbling windpipe of the herdbeast, and Skep's swift piercing of the jugular. The sweet, hot taste filling the link between dragon and rider rinsed away the last of the muzzy headed feeling, and the horrible taste from E'rik's mouth, instead it was like had just guzzled a cup of hot spiced redfruit juice that had been laced with mint. The mint was from the few leaves E'rik had the forethought to grab on his way out the door, at something a little faster than a jog, but not quite an all-out run, his unlaced shirt flapping around him in his haste, too worried about keeping his balance to do it up, bare feet slapping on the dusty floor.

He didn't realize he had left his mask in his room.

Skepnadth regarded his next prey with a detached air, landing on it almost leisurely, his weight easily snapping its spine. A quick wrapping of his maw around the neck, and it was blood-less, and he was free. The large-winged bronze took a matter of moments to join his glorious gold and the rival in the air.

Soar, wonderous one, Skepnadth will follow to give and preserve. The bronze had felt her anger, her pain. He recognized it; it was the same his rider felt. The want to retain the beings of the past, those that had been so important, to the point that one refuses to live.

[NightSong]

Jerandith hardly flinched at the sudden whirling of senses that woke the rest of them, the great pale bronze at the heights of the weyr, watching those few that were awake below with the unerring stare of a bird of prey. The humans didn't feel it, at least not the dragonless ones below, but those in their weyrs would begin to stir. His own did not sleep, just as Jerandith himself did not, A'syr's concentration on a small wooden carving he'd been working on for a fortnight as he leaned against the mouth of his high weyr, one booted leg hanging lazily over the massive drop below. After all, what did his rider have to worry on? A'syr simply enjoyed the day's air, while Jerandith clung to a cragging of rock, watching all those below with the calm whirling eyes.

But Jerandith felt it, the knife-sharp senses focused on the sudden strange struggle that pulsed from the weyr's beating heart. Zajadisth was troubled. Then rebellious. And now she was a golden star of furious heat that would burn them all. The gleaming pale brone head lifted to glance at the morning's sky, almost as though he wished to check the flight's conditions. So it was time. Finally the ghost of the blue from so long ago did not keep caged their queen's rightful place among them. The gold was to fly. The last statement he shared with his rider, who looked up almost too quickly at the massive dragon that opened his pale wings as though he meant to embrace the weyr, his attention so thoroughly taken that he didn't even feel the bite of the slipped knife into his thumb.

In truth?

A'syr's eyes narrowed on his bronze, who merely affirmed before launching powerfully into the air above them, keeping his distance from the distraught queen as she attacked the herdbeast, instead coming down an easy dragonlength away and blooding his three, all the while keeping silent amethyst eyes on the gold. When she lifted her mouth away from her fourth kill, the bronze did the same, swiping at his oddly colored muzzle with a forked tongue. Her mindvoice make the muscles under his hide shudder with perfect humility, and her leap unfurled the massive pinions as he too took flight.

Who among you? Who among you wishes to challenge me?

Beating his wings to gain the altitude he needed, the bronze roared his answer to the world around them, but the mindvoice remained as it always seemed. Soft, unyeilding, and confident.

I am bronze Jerandith, of rider A'syr. I will take your challenge, dearest Zajadisth, and suffer the fury that you command.

[Mellody]

S A N ' T I A & O K A T H

Things were quiet in the bronzer's weyr. Father and son were both absorbed in hides. The boy was laying back on his father's bed, looking over the notes San'tia had written for his breeding program. A hefty stack of hides laid next to him, with just a few on the opposite side as he worked on deciphering the strange language that was his father's breeding records. San'tia sat at his desk, engrossed in papers that had been sent to him from other runner breeders nearby. He searched the advertisements for any stock that might be beneficial to his own line of drafts.

Was any stallion from Crom bred with one of my mares in the past six turns?

Sanlivon looked up at the question, and looked back down as he answered.

No stallions from Crom. They weren't big enough.

San'tia nodded and wrote down a note to himself.

Might be this-

He cut off sharply, and his entire body tensed as his heart rate suddenly doubled and his mind was swallowed by the overwhelming shadow of an Okath that hadn't existed for nearly ten turns. The bronze dragon had been sleeping when he had last been seen. Just as he always was. But something had finally gotten through. Okath was awake. And he wasn't going to sit this one out. A growling roar echoed into the weyr from Okath's couch, and turning his head slowly toward the door San'tia was shocked to see it empty. Sanlivon stared in confusion as his father stood sharply, dropping the hides and nearly upending his chair. The chair was grabbed sharply as the rider fought against the strange sensation he hadn't encountered for a decade.

I have slept too long, Mine. The Weyr has forgotten me. But I'm still here, and I will show them what they've missed.

San'tia's grew wide as his body responded against its owner's will to the signals sent to it by the pale bronze crouched on the ledge of the weyr. He couldn't do this. San'tia wasn't even a wingleader. He wasn't even a wingsecond, and it was all by Okath's decisions. They had a minor role in the Weyr because Okath didn't want to be roused from his apathy. He couldn't just go and change anything because he happened to be woken by an angry gold dragon. He had barely flown at all for turns, he couldn't keep up with a Queen. There was simply no physical way, and he would just hurt himself trying.

SILENCE! I am a bronze, San'tia. A king! I was the greatest dragon in the Weyr once, and I shall be again! No one can stop me, not even you.

With that, Okath roared again and pushed himself off of his ledge so hard that the stone cracked. He swung low to skim over the corrals, easily snagging a wherry and emptying it of ichor as he flew on, his eyes shining violet. San'tia was forced to sit again as he lost control, and covered his eyes as he fought Okath's control over him. When at last he could see again, he lifted his head and looked around, to see Sanlivon staring at him with wide, worried eyes. He looked away for a moment, then hastily stood up and started for the door.

Stay in here, Sanlivon. Don't leave until I come back.

With that, his father was gone and he was left alone. San'tia hadn't said it, but Sanlivon knew what was happening. As soon as his father's footsteps faded down the hall, Sanlivon dropped the hides and jumped off the bed. He snuck out to the entrance cave, and crept along the wall to the ledge, making sure to keep out of sight. He crouched by Okath's couch and looked out over the weyrbowl, at the dragons that had gathered over the corrals.

Come on, Okath...

San'tia fought against his dragon's influence all the way down the hall, and it could be seen clearly that it was not an easy fight. He kept his pace slow, but was so tense that it was obvious that he would much rather be running down the hall at full speed. Other chasers hurried past him on their way, but he kept his pace, his arms locked at his sides and his eyes stuck on a point far beyond where he could see. Under the rigorous control, San'tia had no idea what to think. He wanted to be Weyrleader. He knew he could excel at it, and that he deserved it by seniority. But Okath hadn't Chased since Sanlivon was born. And no matter of rank was worth Okath hurting himself trying to do something beyond his ability.

Okath had no such bounds. Let his rider fight it if he wanted. Let him worry. Soon enough he wouldn't be able to anymore. The bronze snatched a large herdbeast from the flock and carried it with him up. He alighted on an empty ledge and closed his jaws around the struggling animal's neck, pulling the blood out of it as its heart continued to push it along. When at last it ceased its struggles and the blood stopped flowing, Okath dropped it and fell back to all fours, leaning forward to watch Zajadisth. Blood dripped from his jaws and painted his teeth brown, and finally the carcass smashed on the ground far below him.

At last she was sated, and her hide glowed in a glowing beacon to show him that the time was now. She rose without warning into the sky, and with a roar Okath jumped after her. Wings that had gone for turns without this kind of stress were flung wide and filled with wind as they dropped, sending the green-bronze into the sky and after the gold. He paid the protests of his body no mind as he listened only to his instincts. There was a Queen flying, and he was a bronze. It was his time-honored duty to Chase her, regardless. When he answered her challenge, his voice was as full and alive as it had been so many turns before. Full of the thrill of flight and danger, full of the luster that had been waiting dormant and dull for this moment, this Flight.

I rise to meet your challenge, Zajadisth! And we two shall come away the victors this day.

[Wolf Tears]

(OOC- Wow... Tears never replies this fast, especially for Flights... o.o

I think it's been established that I just tend to write novels when it comes to Flights. So... yeah. Sorry 'bout that. Just... yea. *dies* And sorry if it doesn't always make sense; I just kinda started writing, got to the end, collapsed, and dragged myself up to come post it for ya'll. Flightposts... are difficult. x.x

Here ya go!)


What to think?

What to feel?

Faranth. They hadn’t had a Flight this confusing in a long time. That it was emotional was to be expected; they always were, even if not this type of emotion. But this was more- the frustration and lust and anger had been confined and restricted, building until finally, now, there was nowhere left for them to go but out. They were emotions that ordinarily, together, they could have dealt with; but they were too strong, they flashed by too fast, and her vision was fading in and out of Zajadisth’s with unnerving volatility...

A voice broke into her reverie, and she was back in her weyr again, clutching at the bedframe to stay stable. For a moment she wavered, forcing herself to focus in on the voice, on what it was saying.

“Oh, shoot...”

Stumbling only slightly, Lakiya made her way to the door; with shaking hands she pulled the latch free and pulled the door open, blinking into the bright hallway- there were more glows out there than she had bothered to set out in her weyr tonight, given that she hadn’t exactly been getting much work done. There were also more people, and with a slight jump she stepped aside. “Sorry,” she told T’or- he was closest- quietly. “I forgot...”

Lakiya shook her head and turned to scan the small crowd. Her point of view was starting to go again, and flashes of bronze and brown mixed with the human faces, but she recognized them no less for the mixing of images. T’or, of course, was standing right in front of her- T’or of Guiyath, a young pair, but clever, ambitious, responsible, and she never thought of them as young. Skepnadth- E’rik- oh, whichever one was standing in front of her at this moment, she knew them. Jerandith- A’syr. San’tia- Okath... All the wingleaders were here, as well as a few others, and even a several browns, which surprised her a little more than it perhaps should have.

Sighing, Lakiya turned away from them; her hair, free for once, whispered unheard secrets as it swished around her shoulders, answered only by the folds of her silver dress- she never had bothered to change after that meeting. More from the need to do something than actual crowd discomfort, the Weyrwoman turned away and crossed the room to a window, clicking the locks open and flinging it violently open. In the distance, above the corrals, a fleck of gold glimmered in the late light of twilight, and other, smaller specks flew up after her.

She closed her eyes, breathed in the darkening air, and cast away with her mind, reaching for Zajadisth.

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

They came.

On wings of bronze and brown they flew to blood, and upwards from there to her; and she turned away from them, flying higher, remaining always above and beyond, where she belonged.

Some of them spoke; others remained silent, and these, at least for now, were the ones she preferred. For who were these strangers, who dared to assume, to share her skies- who dared to Chase her? Never was she more a queen than now, in all her glory and fury, and yet still they followed, still they presumed to meet her challenge. Did they scorn her so? Or did they merely think themselves above what they were, and what she knew them to be? They were mere bronzes and browns; she was a gold. A gold that was not always entirely what was expected, but still a gold, still royalty, larger and brighter and more powerful than they could ever hope to be.

Even as Lakiya pulled open the door and scanned the faces of their suitors, Zajadisth was doing the same thing, pausing briefly in flight and twisting around to look at them. Black-bronze and umber, mahogany and tan rose after her in lines straight and spiraling. She waited there for a moment, a shining light suspended high in the dark atmosphere, just long enough for most of them to catch up. She was still watching, still waiting, because some part of her was still hoping...

No. Of course there would be no more swirling blue sky. He, who had somehow made night and day one, who made her star and sun in one- of course he was no longer here. Why had she bothered to wonder, to hope...?

And now a new question sprang to mind: who had known? Ilis had been murdered, that was known; what was unknown, even now, was the murderer. Had any of these known anything? Or their riders? Could she trust them- any of them?

Who was to know?

She dove, a golden arrow that dipped underneath and sped for the ground. Only when she was clear of them, beyond the loose circle, did she fill her wings with air and rise once more.

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

Lakiya turned, and now she did not stumble, and her expression was no longer uncertain. She was Zajadisth now, or at least some part of her was, and she stalked among the other riders with the smooth grace of her gold’s flight. Her smile was as feral as it was sensual; occasionally she reached out with a single finger-talon, as if to stroke blonde hair or bronze wing, but she always danced just beyond their reach, leaving her hair to brush past their hands, and keeping her dress as her only companion. They thought they could win her, but they were wrong; she would choose, and only when the time was right.

Mistrust, a feeling that somehow managed to be as exotic as it was familiar, lapped at the edges of her mind, and for a moment, she was Lakiya again, reaching out to try and calm her dragon.

Let go, my love. Let go.

It had been too long; they could never know. They could not live in suspicion of everyone in the Weyr, or they would live in eternal paranoia. They would always be trapped.

It’s high time, dearest. We must live.

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

I can live and remember.

It was a response that took no more thought than breathing; resistance to this idea was instinct, a motion of her heart and not her mind. She made the motion, and thought no more of it. There was no time or room, this day, to wage a war with reason; reason would have its day, but this one was hers.

Can you?

She was not prepared for opposition to her emotion.

Can-

Do you really? Zaja did not respond to the voice, but she did drown it out with her own, reaching out to the males who followed her. How can you truly presume to meet my challenge- to meet me? How many of you know what that means?

She turned on a wingtip, streaking away from the Weyr, slicing almost seeming to leave a trail of golden light in her wake. She dipped down, headed for the maze of mountains and canyons that surrounded Sinthera, intending to lose herself- and some of those who followed- in the ground that was not, rightfully, their domain, and which she would command anyway, because she was Zajadisth, and she was queen, and she could.

Within their weyr, Lakiya laughed aloud; with a wink to the men, she snapped down the lid to one of her glowbaskets, plunging the room further into darkness. There was only one glowbasket left, and with the light outside fading fast (it had already been late, and now the end of dusk was transitioning into true night), the Weyrwoman in her silver dress was quickly becoming more of an ethereal figure than a true corporeal entity.

Glowing gold, shimmering silver. In their minds, there was no difference; there was only brilliance, more beautiful than the metals their colors were named after, and endlessly stronger, more powerful, more real. Even as they faded into ghostly obscurity, they becawme more present- if not physically, than mentally. It was the aura of Flight around them- not necessarily of lust, but of power and majesty and intensity.

They were one, and this night belonged to them- and, if you asked Zaja, to memories, and remembering them.

Either way, it did not belong to the ones who flew behind them.

[Mellody]

S A N ' T I A & O K A T H

Quite suddenly, a crowd appeared before him. One moment there was free sky all around, the next there was a group of frustrated and hurrying men waiting at a door. And he was the last one to arrive. He stopped sharply, looking around at the competitors with the air of a suspicious dog. Enemies. At least now they were. At other times they were strangers to be regarded with some measure of respect. But this wasn't San'tia that was glaring around at the men that had beat him to his destination. It was a dragon with San'tia's face. A dragon that was, and always had been, excessively proud and incredibly territorial. A dragon that had claimed this room and its occupants as his own.

The collared bronze fought against the misgivings of his muscles, tearing through the air to keep pace with the strong Queen. His eyes were growing as red as they were purple now with the start of the race, and while the reason would likely be beyond the other males, or even Zajadisth herself, Okath had some justification for his anger. It was not directed at all to Zajadisth, and very little was for the opposing males. The majority of it would be spent there, but the source was his own weakness. The long-dormant daredevil within Okath had finally woken up, and he was pissed off at being shut up so long. The bronze's claws flexed and he arched his spine as he flew, snapping his tail as the curve reached its end. This Flight was far from over, so he just those muscles just had to shut up and deal with it. They weren't about to make him turn back now.

Okath snarled as other males drew near, baring his teeth as his eyes glared red before spinning back towards violet. The threat remained even as the red faded, and any hide that got too close found itself being snapped at with bloody fangs. One thing was clear: Okath was very serious about this business. The female may decide which male could catch her, but they had to make it to the end of the Flight first. And one less dragon making it there could only increase his chances of winning. In length he was likely the smallest dragon here, but he was at least as strong as the others, and being smaller he could fly circles around the others. Or he could have ten turns ago. Perhaps not now anymore. But dragons don't age the way that humans do, and the only inhibitor to Okath's performance in this Flight was being out of practice. At least he stood out from the crowd. Among all the dark bronzes and browns, he was at least as pale as the golden star they followed.

A door open, and the crowed dispersed. San'tia held back again, watching the other men with suspicious eyes as they preceded him into the Weyrwoman's weyr. At last he was alone in the hall, and in a few short steps he too was through the door, looking in as the swarm followed Lakiya around like moths to a flame. Like bronzes to a Flying gold. With a strangely unpleasant smile on a face that was usually so cordial and calm and handsome, San'tia pulled the door closed behind him, backing up so that it clicked into place as he rested his back against it. He stayed there as the Weyrwoman wandered through her room, his dull black eyes staring with confident satisfaction through the hair hanging down into his eyes even as she toyed with the other men. His chest rose and fell visibly yet slowly as his eyes remained locked on the glittering woman shining in the darkness.

As the queen stopped raising into the sky and instead fell and aimed for the mountains, a pleased smirk and growl escaped the pale bronze. He curved his wings and allowed himself to fall toward the canyons, his useless muscles able to rest now as gravity and physics took him where he wanted to be. Perfect. Let these monstrous beasts try to fight their way through stone. He'd done as much as a weyrling, and much more difficult and dangerous things over the turns. Any turn Zajadisth could make, he could make as easily. And more. For she, too, was bound by her size. He could find his own shortcuts. And prove to her that he was worthy of chasing her, of winning her. The Weyr deserved the strongest bronze as its leader, and she deserved the best Pern had to offer. She just had to be shown what she was looking for.


Before long, the dragons that had been shining so brightly in the corrals were gone, flying high above the Weyr in the dancing ritual that was a Flight. Not long after, even the points of gleaming light that the magnificent dragons had become where lost in the endless sky. And still Sanlivon crouched by his dragon's couch, staring wistfully up into the sky. One hand stayed on the stone wall next to him, but the other was clenched into a fist on his knees. He bit his lip nervously and strained to see what was no longer there. If only Okath would win this Flight...

[Tarra]

T'or

It was remarkable how Flightlust could change people.

The human side of T'or had time to ponder this as he all but tumbled into Lakiya's weyr, pushed by the mutitude of eager bodies that gathered in the corridor behind him. He stumbled once, regained his footing, and found his place in a corner near the bed as he turned to look back at the men now thronging the room. Some of them he recognised easily; most he did not. There was a strain in their eyes, a twist to their lips and an overall cast to their features that just made them...different. They looked at him like he was the enemy; and at the glints in their eyes he felt no cordiality towards them either. Flights and Flightlust were no strangers to the young bronzerider, but he had never been in the Weyrwoman's room during a Goldflight before. He surmised, with a crook to his own lips, that he probably looked no different, and turned back to Lakiya standing near the window.

She was beautiful - resplendent in silver with the setting rays of Rukbat behind her. The sight brought a skip to his heart and a sheen to his cool gray eyes. In the sky framed by the window behind her, he too could make out the distant flecks of their dragons in glorious Flight. The whole scene was a blaze of majesty and beauty that burned an image into his soul even as he felt his ever-quickening heartbeat within, drawn by the growing Flightlust into a cadence all its own. All at once he knew that, as with the first and only Hatching he had ever Stood for, he would never forget his first Goldflight no matter how many other queens Guiyath might choose to Chase.

The young man held himself, trembling. He longed to cross the room, scrambling or clambering or however he might get there, and join the Weyrwoman in her glory. But somehow, something in the way she held herself stilled him, kept him watching. Emotions were surging in him; feelings he had long buried and thought he had dealt with. Flights were known to bring up hidden emotions and fears - could his be part of it? His gray eyes remained on Lakiya. Having never known how she might feel about him, T'or could only surmise what it might mean for her to be loved by one such as him. A youngster, a lad not yet out of his teens; one who had been considered for years to be nondescript until Guiyath found him and changed everything. He had been a child who loved easily and gave everything when he loved. He had loved the concept of having parents too, once, and had found his love unrequitted. And nothing Guiyath did to work through those issues with him could change the fact he had been essentially abandoned. There was only the consequences left for them on move forward on.

For T'or, things were plain: to love was to risk rejection or loss, to aim high was to suffer the chance of defeat. But if your heart was strong and your goal clear, you would find yourself somewhere you wished to be, in time.

His eyes began to glaze as flashes of brilliant golden sky, lit with sunset, superseded his vision. The pump of massive wings at his shoulders made his breath quicken, even as the wind tore at his sails and his arching neck. His last sight was of Lakiya still by her window, the setting sun behind her, winking as she snapped shut a glowbasket. With his last shred of concious thought, he communicated the image to his bronze.

Not about us, Guiyath - or leadership, or rivals, or anything...it's about her. And Zajadisth. Honour them.

***********

Guiyath

The pure air of the dimming evening greeted him with relish, burning his lungs even as he gulped sensuous breaths of it like a thirsty beast at water. The wind flitted about his head, neck and wings, playful as a flirting lover. Guiyath almost roared at the sense of it, his tail twitching from side to side in the pure joy of Chasing as much as from a need to maintain his balance. He sorrowed only that he had been denied this pleasure for so long; handicapped by the fools who had considered his rider too young for responsibility.

Well, that was over now. T'or had matured magnificently; he deserved every once of respect anyone could give him. And Guiyath intended to ensure they were both well-rewarded for the patience they had shown all these turns of waiting.

The touch of his rider's mind made him blink a moment. The massive bronze snorted, considering what T'or had said as his wings beat a steady rhythm on the fast-cooling air. That had been part of the plan too: for T'or to report on matters within the weyr as long as he could, even as Guiyath made clear what was happening outside. But that stage was now over: he felt his eyes whirl a deep, pure shade of purple as his rider's mind closed with his into the full brunt of raging Flightlust. With a low rumble, the bronze dragon welcomed his presence, letting the young man's cool analytical nature rim his own raging passions with the steel of clarity. A partnership framed with desire, with one single goal in both mind and heart. Together they aimed for the great golden queen surging on before them.

She wheeled away and fell from the sky just then: a drop of gleaming molten metal diving for the mountains even as the caustic sting of her mindvoice reached back towards them. Guiyath endured the touch of her mind, and opening his thoughts to her began to respond. But the T'or part of him brought him to a brief standstill; for an instant rider and dragon dichotimised, each holding his own point of view. Then they were one once more, and Guiyath spoke.

You are right, mighty queen: we do not. Show us then, teach us. You set the challenge - we follow. Choose the one closest to your heart. This hour is yours - you will decide from our offered hearts who you wish.

The bronze dragon folded back his wings even as he spoke, and like okath befor him he too made a dive after Zajadisth. Unlike the older bronze however, he kept his angle shallow, that he might retain some height to see where the golden queen might dodge in the maze of cliffs and valleys that snaked across the landscape below. Even as he fell he canted his wings, allowing himself to rotate slowly in his fall like a great spiralling mass of wings and talons and long arched neck. The move was easy in the cool air of the dive - it scarcely took any energy from is frame to move as he did.

And if you wish, great Zajadisth, we will also show you what we can give you - before this is done.

[NightSong]

A'syr was one of the last to the weyrwoman's room, ducking at the entrance in silence and moving around the group of men and the beautiful weyrwoman that threw the window wide to watch the wide wings of her weyr's dragons give chase to her bond, the mystery and awe that was Zajadisth. The gold, his mind whispered, that could do or be anything she wished. The weyrwoman was beautiful indeed, the silver gown shimmering against the tall frame. She dwarfed a few of the men here, at best came to eye level with some... Lakiya was one of the few that came even close to his own height, but still was about three inches shy of the tall bronzerider. She put them all to shame, just out of their reach... A'syr leaned against the stone wall where it seemed a spot had opened up, feeling rather uncomfortable in the loose white shirt and dark brown breeches. Should he be wearing something more impressive? The protocol for a flight hadn't been needed for so long in Zajadisth's effort to be a recluse.

You need only be with her. And with me.

The last bit of the statement made A'syr grit his teeth, as the connection with his patterned bronze opened up another rush of lust, pouring into his mind and heating his blood. He watched as she stared out to the sky, and knew without knowing that for those moments she was just a human shell for the golden fury that flew above them. Locking his arms behind him, almost military in his pose, the hazel eyes unfocused, giving sight and mind to the bond whose eyes were only for his queen, keeping only the sense he had to speak with his dragon.

She is distracted. Seeking one not among us. Jerandith's mindvoice was mildly saddened, and A'syr nodded at the thought, holding his breath when his dragon clipped a current with his wing and twisted backwards to drop like a stone, pulling up shallowly in half the distance the queen had fell when she whipped upright once more. Using the currents to lighten the strain, the bronze arched up after her again, using all the strength he could muster to sweep up as near her as he could. He didn't dare brush her with a wingtip, even as a measure of comfort. He had a feeling Zajadisth would have no comforting just yet, and to her, they were all suitors. Enemies to the one she wished would come and win her. Jerandith would not be the one to push her, but he would fly for her. Yes, he would offer her a choice.

A'syr tensed at the overwhelming sense of protective caution he felt from his dragon, mingling with the death-defying urge to do anything to win her favor. He could feel the murmurs of the men near him as Lakiya weaved among them, and felt the brush of her movement past him, the unmistakable scent of femininity slipping past him as she slipped away. He fisted his hands back, fighting the urge to reach her. His queen, her choice. The mantra was a necessary one, and the massive bronzerider repeated it. He was there to serve should she call for him, nothing more. Jerandith was a steady beat in the back of his mind, a sensation of desire and hope.

Do not let your propriety disappoint her.

The bronze snorted, wishing to shoot back his own barb, when the gold's words filled both of their minds, making A'syr tense again with surprise.

Do you really? How can you truly presume to meet my challenge- to meet me? How many of you know what that means?

Jerandith, what-

Something's happening. The bronze's voice wavered in it's usual quiet confidence, and as Jerandith twisted hard to counter Zajadisth's unexpected turn, and A'syr's mind broke away from his dragons for a brief moment, his brow furrowing in concern.

What's wrong?

She goes for the mountains and caverns. I'm unfamiliar with this place.

A'syr's eyes unfocused again, his mind hinging from being his own to his dragon’s. The sharp unpredictable terrain was bad enough on a clear day for a single dragon going slowly. This place was dangerous. And what if the ferals...

We fly for her. You know this place. Guide me.

A'syr ran a hand over his head nervously, but immediately straightened to focus on the images that poured through Jerandith's eyes and into his mind. It was a shared conciousness, both keeping half senses on the world around them, Jerandith using A'syr's mind as a map... A'syr knew that as long as the gold kept them on a straight path, the bronze could follow without him, and blinked away from his dragon's sight for a moment to come back to...

Darkness. Night had come, and in it echoed the weyrwoman's laugh, as well as the flicker of silver. She had become the dancing playful spirit that Zaja seemed to reject, and between the two of them all the beautiful things of the world seemed pointless. Without their queens, without their beautiful guidance... the dragons were nothing. A'syr wanted to watch, wanted to stare with wide eyed wonder at the transformed entity of a carefree and uninhibited Lakiya. But if Jerandith was to possess the other half of this untrappable beauty, he needed A'syr. Resisting heavily the urge to stare dumbly at the silver clad beauty, he lent everything in himself to the bronze, who opened his feline-like striped wings, the milky pale and gleaming bronze tones in them gathering what little light there was left, renewing his sense of urgency. A'syr was left to his dragon, catching only the whirling, near drunken snatches of silver and gold.

[Lesa]

E’rik slipped into the the Weyrwoman’s quarters with the rest of the men, staying, like he always did, in the shadows, fighting the urge to move towards the center of the room. Skepnadth wanted him to be there, so the man could be seen by the human Weyrwoman, much as the dragon was seen by the golden queen. For once in a long while, Skepnadth let him retain part of his own mind for a time, instead of completely taking him over for the duration of the flight like he had while at Fort.
The glazed looks on the men’s faces around him actually startled him for once, as he was not one of them at the moment. He now realized why so many of the greenriders were so scared their first times. The ones strong enough to fight off the affects of their lust-driven greens’ minds had to face the lustful, empty gazes of men and women that they either knew and respected, or were complete strangers. Knowing that one was to sleep with one of those around them that looked so…inhuman…in a way, he pitied the greenriders.

Not that it mattered now; this was not some inexperienced greenrider he was facing. No. It was the agile, beautiful-here he recognized his falling to Skepnadth-quick witted and glorious Zajadisth.

With nary a word or feeling of refusal, E’rik welcomed the full binding to the bronze, as again the air became cool and rushing past at unbelievable speeds. The air streaming past flared nostrils was layered, tangy with the scent of decaying leaves, spicy from the evergreens and crisp with the chill of approaching winter, which wrapped it all in sweetness.

All of this was overlaid, consumed, by the enchanting scent of the wingéd one, Zajadisth. Even her own scent was built in layers: the delicate musk of lust, tart with regret, spicy with anger. The taste of her sorrow was thick on his tongue as it tasted the air, and tasted through all of her. Sorrow and anger built up the most of her scent, spiced and sharp, it brought to mind the little peppers E’rik had eaten once on a dare in Weyrlinghood that had involved pain and laughter and joy, and many tears.
Memories.
Memories weighted the deepest part of her scent, this golden arrow highlighted by the golden sun, but bathed not in light, but in regret and sorrow and fear, her scent the bitter sharpness of memories unforgotten, unforgiven.

A croon built unbidden in his throat, and gently floated out before Skepnadth could stop it. This croon, contrary to the happy-go-lucky bronze’s normal sounds, was not happy, or even particularly lustful. It was a sound of regret and pain and sorrow. It was all the things he could feel from Zajadisth, but things the gold would not let out. All she would show was the anger. He would not, could not, let her live like this, full of grief and rage and distrust.
So he flew onward, not just for the sake of winning her body, or even her heart; he knew part of her heart would always belong to another, as his E’rik’s heart would always have a part for his Khrystine.
He flew for her soul. Her beautiful, beautiful soul, twisted by grief and rage and pain. He wanted to let her be free to show that gorgeous spirit to Pern. If she would but lean on him…let him support her…then she might be free. Free to remember without pain, but to honor the memories she held so close to herself.

E’rik could feel the tears rising in his eyes, and he let them drip down his face, hands fisted at his sides. He would provide the emotional support his Skepnadth needed. The bronze could not himself cry, so that fell to the rider, as did the support and strength to keep the grief-laden wings aloft, until Skepnadth came back to himself with resolve, stopping the tears in their tracks, though one did still continue its downward path, following a clawed-furrow in his cheek until it met with the edge of his still-whole lips and he tasted the bitter tang of salt. Out there, beyond the dimming light of the glowbaskets, bathed by the dual light of the setting sun and the rising moon, bronze and gold flew in dance, their tale one of sorrow, lust and memories. Lakiya walked among them all, brilliant in her own right, sparkling, shimmering silver a counterpoint to her dragon’s gold. Silver and gold, precious to behold. Precious and rare, the meeting of silver and gold.

Gold dove down, weaving through the mountains and canyons surrounding home. A new home for the pair, but home just the same, an escape, for them, from painful memories, but the holdout of painful memories for the glory in front of their eyes. He knew he couldn’t handle the tight twists and turns the canyons and mountains gave, his body, lithe and limber, would allow the moves, but his wide wings would not. So he soared above, dark hide giving shadow to the golden form below.
We cannot meet you, lady, you will ever be above us, but we may be beside you, always there. Let me aid you, sweet spirit, gentle soul. Memories are to be cherished…never forgotten. You are so strong, lovely. Let your strong heart guide you to the one you feel is right. Skepnadth’s words were slow and measured, a startling contrast to his racing heart and pumping wings, as he aimed for the nearest updraft and let himself float, ready to move when the wonder below him did.

[Wolf Tears]

(OOC- It's about time, is it not? XP

Kind of fail, kind of not. But hey, it's a post. I'm happy. XD)



Who crooned for her?

Zaja twisted her head around as she dove, searching, but she could not find the source of the voice. It was a tormented sound, one that made her want to reach out and touch it, because maybe there was some sort of respite there, or someone who could at least know...

But no. She could not tell, and so as far as she knew- as far, perhaps, as she would ever know- there was nothing.

If only they would stay behind. Zaja didn’t want to be reminded that she had Chasers; she just wanted to Fly, free from duty or memory. She wanted to exist in a world all her own, where hearts were never broken- where even if they were, others didn’t try to fix them. A place where you could be alone if you wanted.

And what is that, Guiyath? What is there that is left?

It was with that cryptic comment that she dipped into the shadows, and what light was left ceased to glint on her hide, leaving only her own golden glow to show where she was- but it did so far too well, and the queen snarled in aggravation as she realized how easily she would be able to be traced. She shot through a gap in the rock, snapping her wings shut at the last moment to do so, but even a wall of stone couldn’t stop them; they would come after her, Chasing her as she knew they had to, and as she longed to force them not to.

So she had to convince them otherwise- but ow?

Her only thought was to outfly them. She was larger, and had the power of lust and anger behind her wings; her stamina was better than theirs, her wings stronger and faster. She would fly far and fast, and one by one they would fall away. She didn’t know how long it would take, or what would happen to her afterward- but what, realistically, were her options?

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

Lakiya ought to know, by now, what to expect. This was their twenty-second Flight, sixteen of which (including this one) Zaja had been the female in; at this point she shouldn’t have to be unsure and anxious, afraid of what might come next. She hadn’t been like that in a long time; she had learned how things worked, learned how to compensate and how to plan.

But this was so different. She had never expected- but then, who could? When had a dragon like Zajadisth ever existed, especially in such a scenario? How could she know how to react?

So she resorted to the only thing she could think of: she became the enchantress that Zaja could not be. The lust that her dragon would not admit was channeled to her through their bond, and she seized it for the sake of it being something familiar; even if it was not concrete, it was something she could hold on to. She accepted it, even though her dragon would not, and for now at least, that was the only difference between them.

T’or was still the nearest to her, and she drew closer yet, staring at him with the eyes of a dragon. Similar eyes, faceted purple, looked back at her, and she smiled, an odd mix of feral and coy, as she drew her nails down his arm, a gesture that should have been a caress but somehow was not. That word- ‘caress’- indicated something too gentle, something with human emotion attached, and Lakiya had let go of those. She started to press herself against the younger rider’s side, but slipped away before he had the chance to move, or to get any ideas.

There would be no choices here, not yet.

She swirled away from him in a glimmer of silver, not quite managing to light the shadows as she reached for E’rik. For a moment humanity flickered in her eyes, responding to the pain in his own, and she reached out a hand to gently tracing the path of his tear down the ruined side of his face. She lowered her hand to slip her arms around his shoulders, kissing him gently, almost but not quite lingering before she pulled back and turned. The shadows of sorrow had been blotted out by lust’s glow, and any humanity was buried beneath the slight smirk she gave the surrounding men. They thought they could follow- and perhaps, just perhaps, some of them could, but undoubtedly there would be those who fell.

They would just have to see...

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

Only one managed to follow her closely- Okath, she thought, recognizing him just as Lakiya’s mind supplied her with the name San’tia. She snorted, a little surprised- it had been a long time since she had seen Okath up to his daredevil tricks- but mostly ignored him, keeping her eyes where she was going lest she find herself plastered against some very big rock.

For her size, Zajadisth was quite lithe. True, she had often done such things as a weyrling, but she had been smaller then, and it had been a long time since she had skirted such narrow edges and done so this closely, and a few times she surprised even herself by managing to cut a turn that was barely possible. Her stomachs were getting queasy form being flung around, and twice she had to flip upside-down, causing her head to spiral.

It was exhilarating.

Once Zajadisth slammed into the canyon wall, but it was a purposeful slam; one of the bronzes had been getting closer than she would have liked, and so she dove to crash into the stone. She landed sideways on all four feet, and stayed crouched for a split moment before leaping away so as not to be caught in the avalanche of rock that smashed into the dragon behind her. One rock bounced toward her, hitting her wings and sending her off-kilter for a moment, but she fared far better than the bronze, who was forced to retreat between. A draconic smirk settled on her face, and she twisted up and away, not bothering to look back.

She should have. If she had, she would have seen the brown; as it was, she couldn’t hear him over the noise of the rocks, and he was able to sneak behind her and try to twist his tail with hers, to halt her wings and replace them with his own.

A touch from his tail, and she turned to lash at him with claws and tail; he cried out as ichor fell, his pride wounded as much as face, and vanished between just as she leaped forward. Snarling in rage, she dove into a crevice that only barely fit her, squeezing through to pop out on the other side- only to veer to avoid another dragon. Frustrated, she rose higher again, aiming to lift herself free of walls that suddenly seemed as suffocating as the presence of these others.

There was so much to escape- was there no place to do so?

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

How dare he?

Even as the brown advanced, the rider had slipped behind Lakiya, and when the dragon tried to twine his tail in hers, the rider reached out a hand to take the woman’s; so it followed that as Zajadisth struck out, so did Lakiya. She wrenched her hand back to her, for the briefest of moments cradling it to her stomach as though injured; then she leaped forward, nails raking across his arm and teeth grazing his throat before pausing, growling. She had become a shadow now, true, a human surrendered to her dragon, but still, even in the midst of Flight-driven anger, the dragon would not kill him. She released him; he collapsed; she paid him no more mind.

Half-snarling, she advanced on the other riders again, first smirking at A’syr as she met his eyes, then grinning playfully at V’len as she stepped past him, but refusing to take the hand that he reached out to her. They would have to show her why she should want them, first, or she would forever deny herself to them. She would have to know which she could trust, which was the best.

Because that was what she- they, the presence of Zajadisth reminded her- deserved.

The best.

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

She almost didn’t realize that she was coming straight toward Skepnadth; he had remained above, watching and waiting, and she had not expected any of them to do that. Luckily she was still watching where she was going, so there was no collision course, but it could have become a close call had she waited any longer, and one wingtip brushed accidentally against the bronze’s flank as she soared away, and as he began to speak.

Surprised, she turned back- not enough to move back toward the darker dragon, but enough to see him. She regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments, then turned away, still considering.

How had he been able to tell...?

Or was it only a guess...?

Such thoughts were distracting. With a shake of her head she pushed them away and surged forward again, paying no mind to the ones behind her as she rose higher... higher...

And slowly, the air grew colder...

[NightSong]

Now.

It was a silent order, and A'syr was suddenly assaulted by senses that he'd rarely felt prior. Jerandith had ducked under the rocks, into the tunnels where the gold had slipped and that he did not know. A'syr had played in these caverns as a young man, and he found himself with all Jerandith's mind thrust upon him. His dragon trusted him to guide him, so that the dangerous caverns the gold frolicked in would not send him between. The large man grit his teeth, eyes closing as he sought to give his partner the best direction.

Left. Watch your left side; the rocks are loose and sharp. Duck! A'syr felt the sensation of frustration, drifting between them as only snatches of gold eluded them. She gleamed, tormenting, and then, deft for a dragoness of her amazing stature, slipped free of the tunnels. It was too fast, and Jerandeth passed by all too suddenly.

Forward! There, where the light filters through! A'syr could feel his dragon's recoil, as the milky-patterned bronze lowered his head and shoulders to burst through the thin layer of rocks on the other side with a sharp hiss of pain, but opening scraped and battered wings from his place on the cliff and launched after the golden fury above.

The pain was not exclusive, oh no, and A'syr winced and pressed his back against the stone wall for a moment, opening the bright eyes to watch Lakiya slip from man to man. First T'or, then E'rik... Gritting his teeth to pull himself upright, the bronzerider straightened his shoulders and returned to his position among them, watching quietly despite the ache that man and dragon shared. Now only the end mattered. Seeing it through for their runaway queen... nothing less. He allowed his mind back to his bronze, who crooned appreciatively of Zajadisth's tricks, amused even past the ichors that stained the milky bronze hide. When the gold anchored herself to the canyon wall to force out an overeager suitor, the bronze rumbled with amusement as she whipped back to the sky. Following close, but not too close, there was only a backwing when the brown tried to slip forward and ensnare her. The bronze waited, growling with shared sentiment as she sent the brown packing, before diving down to the grip of the rocks below. Jerandith followed above, skimming over the rocks until she shot past, aiming skyward.

Was this it?

A'syr almost inclined his head as Jerandith did, before powerful wings that ached and burned with exhaustion and the pain inflicted through the rock walls of the weyr's caverns stretched wide, flexing powerfully as suddenly every ounce of power left in both bronze in man rose after the gold. Silence between them had remained, but it was Jerandith who broke it now, the warm mindvoice reaching for the golden queen.

Zajadisth... Whether we are chosen, or whether we are not, we are not here to disrespect your memories. We are here to offer the weyr new ones. And the only memories worth having are with you, my lady. Me and mine follow you and yours to whatever end you choose.

A'syr nodded, though the move was subtle, and in his wavering vision watched Lakiya move among them. She dispatched the brownrider easily, then watched them all with the coy look as though they had something to prove to her. Perhaps he did, the bronzerider couldn't know. Either way, the large man thought for a moment, his mind so wrapped in Jerandith that he couldn't know who truly spoke and who the vessel was.

"We are not men of words. Jerandith may not be the best flier; I may not be the most sensitive of men. But if you wish it, my lady, I will do to the ends of Pern to do as my queen wishes. My strength and all that I have are for you."

[Mellody]

S A N ' T I A & O K A T H

Okath didn't get it. This was a Flight. What the shell was with all the talking? Since when did that matter? The young dragons these days had their heads in the stars. It was acts that won the Lady's favor. If you weren't strong enough to hack it and had to resort to mere words to gain attention, you deserved to lose. In Okath's mind, this was a simple enough deal. The strongest, fastest, most qualified male won. Love was a stupid human dream. And Flights were where dragons got to be just dragons, forget what influence their humans had on them. Let Zajadisth keep her precious memories if she wished. Let her despise him if he won. He certainly didn't care. Okath is anything but romantic.

The pale bronze whipped through the caverns and crevices with as much ease as the golden queen he pursued if not more. His wings were perfect for this kind of navigation. And his shorter body made the corners even easier. If only his stupid body would respond. He growled at himself as his muscles protested their treatment. Since when did he have trouble flying? Especially in such a simple maze as this? The past ten turns of endless sleep seemed to have disappeared from his memory, and the young daredevil bronze found himself frustrated with a body that was not nearly as in shape as he wanted it to be. But this was all the better for him in the long run.

Another of the bronzes pushed ahead of him, and Okath turned red eyes on the younger as he bore down on their Queen. The green bronze growled and pumped his wings faster, trying to achieve the speed he was lacking, but immediately stopped when he saw Zajadisth crash against the wall. He swept up and attached himself to a stone bridge to watch the fun. It was clear from the beginning to him that she had run into the stone intentionally. She'd been at this far too long for such things to be accidental. So he just took a moment to watch as she loosed the avalanche that drove the presumptuous bronze from the race before launching after her. Only to once again pull up short as his eyes turned red in immediate rage.

A BROWN? How DARE he! Okath roared at the brown that dared to even think he might be worthy of their Queen. He could stand being beaten out by one of these other bronzes, but he would never tolerate loosing to a mere brown. If Zajadisth hadn't beaten him to it, he would have torn the whelp from the sky himself. As it was, he was still pissed off as he followed after Zajadisth, pushing past the other dragons as he fought with her to gain altitude. His heated breaths started to leave a trail of mist behind his head before it dissipated into the thin air.

A growl formed in San'tia's throat as he watched the shadow of the silver woman move among the other men. Lavishing attention upon them instead of upon himself. His dark eyes glared death at T'or, all memories of who the young man was gone completely. As she moved on to kiss one of the strange riders, he could stand on the sidelines no longer. The darker bronzer pushed himself from the wall and stalked forward on silent feet, his eyes still locked on the goldrider among them. He did not enter into the crowd, but he stood on the edges of it, making himself a presence among them. His feral need and the confidence radiating out to him from the banded dragon so many miles away showed itself only in his eyes. He refused to pressure her before she was ready. Others were not so considerate.

Two riders were forced from the room by their foolish dragons. A strange three-sixty perception allowed him to see the bronze that rushed upon their Weyrwoman, and how he was forced between to avoid her punishment. He then bore witness to the attack on the brownrider by the glowing golden star shining against the setting sun. Both riders were forced to retreat from the lady's anger, and still San'tia continued to stare ravenously at Lakiya, his expression still unchanged and any emotions he had muted by the roar of Okath in his mind.


At last Sanlivon was forced to move. He pushed himself from the wall and immediately fell to his side. His legs were completely useless, having fallen asleep from the cramped position he'd been in all this time. The boy winced as he straightened out his legs, both manually and with his hands. At last he was laying with his back to Okath's couch, and he pulled himself further out to continue straining to see the dragons that had disappeared so long ago. By the time the sun was below the line of the mountains, Sanlivon was asleep, his back still pressed against the edge of his dragon's couch.

[Lesa]

Pain to Pain,
Light to Light,
Heaven's Despair,
Heart's Delight,
Memor in the Mindseye:
Burns.

Life the Soul-ache:
Spurns,
Hell betwixt All
And Plenty;
Courage amid
Fall an'Time,
Forevermore
Speaks
Softly...

The words were unknown to Skepnadth, but he seemed to remember E'rik reading them once before, from a parchment in the time before he Hatched. "Heart's Delight...Memor in the Mindseye: Burns," he mused, winging his way above the cavern and canyon-placed flight. He had time, for a while, watching from above as Zajadisth pulled her tricks. Keen eyes picked out her deliberate stop on the canyonside, and a wry smirk more suited to his rider's face blossomed. Served the fool right.

A snarl tore from his grinning maw as whirling purple eyes caught sight of the brown's attempt. The snarl turned to a chuckle as two realizations came upon him. First, Zajadisth was fully capable of dolling out her own justice to the benighted, besotted and stupid brown. Second, it was Ulakith of J'ndor, a member of their Wing. Many, many drills for this offense, if not outright demerits. To force a Queen on their Flight! The pair would be in pain for weeks, once He got through with them.

E'rik tracked Lakiya around the room, watching as she ran a hand down T'or's arm, hands still down by his side, unable, unwilling, to unclench his fists as he was afraid of what he might do. Dragon and rider had switched emotions this time, gone was the wild dragon, in favor of the calm, rational bronze that now flew in the night. E'rik bore the brunt of emotion, and was not yet used to the ebb and flow of feeling pouring out of him. It was so long since he'd really felt anything besides sorrow. Skepnadth had always been the one to force him to show any other emotion, happiness, even anger were currently foreign to him.

So deep was he in thoughts, and connection, that the hand on his cheek startled him. It had been so long, a Turn, at least, that he had been touched on that side of the face, however briefly, and the nerve endings nearly wept for the attention, finally healed enough to not make him want to scream from the sensation...no, this time he was nearly ready to scream from the lack of it when Lakiya's hand dropped away. She had touched him! Yes, it was under Flight-lust, but for the first open affection he had allowed to the ravaged, inhuman part of him-he wouldn't even let his mother touch it-the feeling was wonderous.

Her kiss, feather light at first, gained slight pressure. This was not a kiss full of claimed Flight-passion, but the one given as a greeting or farewell to a beloved weyrmate. It was like...hers...but more meaningful. Hers had all seemed cold at the end, more formality than any affection. This brush of soft lips was, while not a homecoming, an expression of hope to the deprived Wingleader. In the back of his mind he heard Skepnadth rumble in approval even as Lakiya stepped away to rejoin the crowd of riders.

His was becoming His again, Skepnadth was happy to note, and startled, as his rider had been at the hand...so was he, at the wing against his side. The golden beauty's look back at him bolstered his courage further, as much as the sensation of hope and lust and even anger did from his rider. The wide-winged bronze rocketed up after the golden angel. He would help her, he could help her. Memories were important, they were to be kept safe, and sacred.

"Memor in the Mindseye: Burns...an'Time Forevermore Speaks Softly. Softly, sweet one. Softly shall the dawn break anew, for the night, the Pain to Pain t'will end." Skepnadth's words were as eloquent as his rider's, or as much as his rider's were, when his rider decided to put in the effort.

[Tarra]

And what is that, Guiyath? What is there that is left?

The touch of her mind sent shivers up and down his spine, trembling through the sweep of his wings and the twists of his tail. Long had Guiyath dreamed of this moment - of being heard by the golden queen in the prime of her Flight; of being answered personally by her in her glory. His maw parted as a low rumble of pure joy and desire left it, and his purple eyes whirled all the faster with the surging beat of his soaring heart.

Even in the grip of such emotion however, caution did not leave him. Something pricked at the back of his fire-driven thoughts - T'or, sensing something in the way Zajadisth had spoken to him, was giving him a warning. The heavy-built bronze heeded it out of sheer instinct to obey his rider, and even as the throng of dragons vanished into the shadows after their radiant queen he spread wings to steady and then flatten out his rotating dive. The momentum sent him shooting out across the heights, a good distance above the twists of the maze below but still near enough that he could track its happenings. He was young, well-muscled and powerful, but from where he was he could see all that came to pass without encountering the dangers of the rocky cliffs beneath. There was always the danger that Zajadisth would be caught by another male beneath, of course...but somehow Guiyath doubted she was going to allow that just yet. Not now, not so soon, and certainly not when being caught in a maze of tunnels spelt sure doom for the pair as they fell.

The vast panorama of the sky and the sure tinge of his dragon's thoughts were wrenched away as someone touched his arm. With a sharp jerk T'or found himself back in an evening-darkened room, lit with the light of a single glow. Disoriented, he blinked once, and then his Flight-lusted eyes were drowning in the wild purple-hued gaze of a women who was both familiar yet strange at the same time. Lakiya. He stared back at her without fear, all trace of the half-shy, admiring youth having long disappated, and reached out...

But she was gone. She had slipped through the crowd, and was disappearing. Resolute, his heart set even as his dragon's flight was, the young man slipped in after her, treading soft but purposeful in his pursuit.

Guiyath watched the drama unfold beneath him, the last rays of light catching on his great glossy wings and sending splinters of mellow brass reflecting off the rock as he sped over the great mass of cliffs. A rumble echoed at the sight of Zajadisth's agility, at her remarkable speed and accuracy even in the space she flew. The rumble became a low roar as she thawted a bronze, sending him out of the race with a cunning placement of rocks from above. His anger bellowed out with the other bronzes as a brown made a bid for her, and died away into a croon of calm approval as she turned on the smaller dragon in a snarl of fangs and talons. Ichor splattered the rock beneath, and again a soft T'or-warning in his mind told him she would not pushed. Not this Flight.

But she could be asked. She could be convinced. She was fluidity and grace, power and majesty, matched with the cunning and wit of a true monarch. Yet there was something more to it all, something the young bronze had seen from the first but been unable to place.

Till now.

Sorrow. Sorrow lent shadow to great glowing golden hide, gave it shape and angle and a thoughtfulness of Flight that was somehow precious. Somehow so beautiful. She was everything a queen should be, and more; and Guiyath knew now why her this Flight was so unlike any others she had Flown, and different also from the other emerald queens of the Weyr in their youth and fearless pride of lust. Sorrow. Somehow it made everything so much more, so much less powerful, yet infinitely more meaningful.

The dark-hued bronze flung back his wings and threw himself forward into a sheer spinning dive - almost alike to the move he had pulled earlier but with far greater velocity and speed. The lines of light reflected from his wings became a roiling twist on the ground beneath, lovely yet haunting as they flickered by. Pulling up with a sudden thrust of wings, he transferred the momentum of his dive into a steep climb, coming up almost vertically for a swift moment before flattening and banking left, then right, his massive wings light as a quick blue's on the heavy air of growing dusk. Guiyath danced his own dance above the great Chase playing out beneath, delighting in his fire-driven passion and the great sky spreading out above him. And every move and play of wingmanship he made, he shared with the golden queen beneath - images dancing through her mind of him, an implicit welcome to come up once more, to join him in the joy of the open sky.

You asked what is left, the roll of his thoughts were smooth; the consistency of rock was in them as ever, but their feel was almost gentle, And I say everything. Everything - or nothing at all.

Zajadisth shot back out into the sky once more, and with a rush of energy the young bronze danced up after her, his great wings flung wide to embrace the air in the shadow of his golden queen. A soft, rolling song rumbled from his throat, reaching out to the gold above him even though air still stood between them, and in it he offered her renewal - the renewal of his strength, his firey youth, his passion and the fresh life and hope of a new day. A young soul.