Miraneith's Maiden Flight

Ista Weyr - Southern Bowl
Compared to that of other weyrs, Ista's bowl is small, and incomplete - northwards, one wall was blown clear away several millennia ago, leaving the view clear towards the plateau, the jungles, and the ocean beyond that. Somewhat elliptical, the breadth of the bowl seems to run Northwest to Southeast, the bustling epicentre of the weyr being here, towards the southwest. Several large entrances have been dug into the great bowl walls here - north east are the hatching grounds, south the Living Caverns, these being the two largest caverns in the weyr.

To the east, a small entrance leads in to the ground weyrs - the ledges of these line the bowl wall above, often filled with dragons of gold or bronze; westwards is another ledge, but with a staircase built into the wall, allowing access to the Sable Sands. The infirmary is located towards the southwest.

Mid-day at Ista Weyr — with Rukbat blazing overhead, this is the time when many might wish to be taking a bit of a afternoon siesta, relaxing away from the tropical heat that comes at noon. Normally, the mustard-and-ivory form of Miraneith might better be found tucked away into the cool darkness of her weyr, the young gold content to snooze and nap throughout the day in preparation for her nocturnal walkabouts. But — this is far from normal. Ista's youngest queen can be found here, in the blazing heat of the day, seated regally in the midst of the bowl, plump stumpy tail curved against her haunches. Ungainly though she may be, she seeks admiration, and being spoiled — but then too, she seeks something else entirely, leaping skywards in a pouncing leap, a snarl breaking from her as she stretches overwide wings, and arrows towards the feeding grounds; her rider dashing out of the living caverns. "Oy Mir!" comes Enka's yell, "what timin' you got!"

X'hil? X'hil is standing in the bowl, frowning at Kinseth. For once, the man's pair of five turn old shadows of the past few days are nowhere to be seen, but, by the look on his face, he has deeper mysteries to ponder right now. "D-don't you have /eggs/ to be watching?" he asks of the bronze, in a mutter. "Ten of the ugliest eggs on Pern, I believe they were your doing?" he points out, pointedly. The man is eyeing Miraneith, and his tone is saying 'don't be greedy', but the bronze doesn't listen. He launches just moments after the young gold, following her with a single-minded purpose, leaving X'hil to stare up at the sky, with a grimace.

Really, A'ra was minding his own business. Completely minding his own! He's even luckily free of duties at the moment, which has given him a free afternoon to practice /other/ things, like much neglected harpering. Of course, he's found some shade to do that in, content to ignore most of the goings on around him. Until Kapalith's limped gait brings the bronze by in a flash of metallic rainbow. "Huh? Kap, slow /down/ before you go and trip and..huh?" Well, at least Kapalith took /off/..therefore tripping threat is kept to a minimum. Wait, what? There's an odd look given after his dragon, before peering at the emerging Enka. "What time is it?"

Engaged as he is in deep conversation with some vintner or another, M'gaal appears rather oblivious to everything around him. The two are chatting about the contents of a stack of papers, not yet haggling over prices, but just comparing this and that and this other thing that /might/ work. Of his lifemate, there is no sign … but that's purposeful, oh-so-deviously purposeful. When the young gold makes for the feeding grounds, it causes the older rider to stop dead in his tracks and to shove the papers at the vintner with a low-growled, "Later. It looks good, but- have to talk with Ninatta about the specifics." Lower still, there's a barely articulated, "Gonna strangle you one of these days, Zaq." The old bronze, it would seem, is already smugly waiting at the feeding grounds — the rumor mill has proven correct once again.

M'nol is visiting Ista… again… It seems Faraeth has finally managed to convince him to return to it's warm climes. He's unsurprised that the large, craggy brown makes his way to croon at Miraneith as soon as his rider dismounts. The lad looks a little rung out, but there's no smell of alcohol at the moment.. just tired and perhaps a hint of beach. Glancing around, he latches onto the one other person he recognizes: X'hil. "X'hil.. I mean, WeyrLeader… I'm looking for Sigam… I mean S'gam… despite Faraeth's apparent interest."

A momentary blot appears against the blaze of sun overhead as a smudge of bronze winks into existence, a framed silhouette of wings and tail sweeping through the pristine air overhead. With characteristic grace and elegance, Halinith wings in a tight spiral from above, easily touching down upon the hardened bowl surface with nary a sound. Ae'gus dismounts with much less grace, his stout frame looking extremely awkward in the light of the svelte lines of his dragon. There's a wobble, a twisting and a loud THUMP as the man's booted feet hit the ground, causing him to stagger momentarily in place. Immediately he pulls a sour face at the excess heat, a hand automatically going to smooth back his hair, which looks as though he just rolled out of bed. Half of the mass sticks up on end and the other half is carefully smoothed down. The casual pass does little to fix it, though he seems more concerned in looking confusedly around the bowl, as though searching for something, "Shards, Hal. Where did you —" Fingering the message attached to his belt, he swivels on his heel just in time to see a massive bronze shape winging to the sky - without him. Comically his mouth hangs agape, his thick bushy eyebrows rising nearly to meet his hairline and his equally bushy moustache making the expression even more amusing. " … did you go .. ?" he finishes lamely, his shoulders slumping as he finally realizes what's happening. Halinith, on the other hand, is already happily winging towards the feeding grounds after Miraneith.

M'iken and her Meluth have just gotten back from a tour around the island and after climbing down with an arm full of papers and folders, it seems the brownrider is being left alone. A tip of the head from her lifemate is all she really gets as she watches him head off in the direction of the feeding grounds. "Great, no wonder you were so eager to be back just now." She mutters under her breath. She in turn heads closer to the living caverns.

S'gam's mood has been generally declining as the morning wears on, until, at this point, he's brittle and on edge. Constant furtive glances up at the top of the bowl reveal the source each time the Dragonhealer strides from the caverns to the infirmary and back. Ittisieth's coppered hide is easy for the bronzerider to pick out from the rest, the beast appearing rigid and overbearing, though he's been sitting in the exact same spot for hours, unspeaking. "Sharding lunatic," S'gam grouses under his breath, arms stacked high with supplies as he makes yet another trip from storage to the infirm. Miraneith's loitering has become acceptable, almost ignorable, her departure earning a curious glance but nothing more. Ittisieth isn't nearly as negligible. Rising slowly, an ancient statue coming to life, the bronze wings once, twice, and then launches himself into the air, aiming directly for the feeding grounds. "Faranth's eggs." Mood hardly improved upon, Sig slumps his shoulders where he stands, only looking up at the sound of his name. That voice sounded familiar…

Enka was expecting this. Truly she was. With Miraneith growing brighter by the day, and the gold's sleeping patterns shifting more and more to what might be considered normal — well, the young woman was prepared as best she could ever be. Still, caught flat-footed and somewhat off-guard .. and in the middle of lunch, no less, to judge by the fact that she's got a cloth napkin clenched in one hand as she turns towards A'ra, her expression wavering between grim determination and mild surprise. "Mid-day," she answers him, "was eatin' my lunch," If she has anything more to say, it's lost as the girl's gaze slides away from the blonde-haired bronzerider, and strays towards the newer arrivals. Swallowing, mouth gone dry, her fist tightens on that cloth napkin, expression grim now. "Blood it," she's muttering, rather crossly. "Don't go eatin' anything, BLOOD." Her breath is shallow, fast, as an internal battle between queen and rider wars within their minds.

X'hil winces a little at M'nol's quest, and shakes his head slowly. "Do yourself a favour," he mutters, a slight growl carrying under his tone. "Leave it for another day… When Faraeth, isn't, er…" He waves a hand at the sky. Chasing, man, just say chasing, it's not a difficult word. "It won't likely end good." he adds, with a grimace. But, then S'gam appears, and X'hil shoots the dragonhealer an almost apologetic, but certainly awkward, glance, and takes a step /away/ from both riders. Just in case. He's keeping his distance from Enka too, though he seems reluctant to tear his eyes from her. "Lunch… I ought to, I was, er." he glances in the direction of the Sable Sands, and then sighs.

Miraneith> Miraneith descends upon the feeding grounds — ungainly, awkward and inexperienced. Gone is the dreamy little girl, left in her place is a force to be reckoned with. The force of the queen's plummet drops her squarely onto a panicked wherry, the gold's weight tipped by ivory talons snapping avian neck and wings before her own too short-neck dips towards the carcass. Jaws gape, teeth bared to consume her prey before something snaps the gold's head up, a loud hissing snarl erupting from her. Her plump tail lashes, thumping against the ground as talons dig deeper and deeper into wherry flesh, stained by ichor, until at last she relents to that inner struggle, tongue lashing out to lap at blood.

A'ra can't really stay completely clueless forever. What with Kapalith in the feeding grounds, and the blooding going on..and Enka herself muttering to herself about..stuff. "Oh. /OH./" Yes, very good, he's now on the same page. He makes a slight face though, fingertips scratching at the back of his neck a few times. "Hooboy. Well." There's a bit of a lump in the bronzerider's throat, but he too seems a bit disinclined to ignore Enka, or run off in terror in some other direction.

Arms folded with a tired resolve over his chest, M'gaal approaches the growing knot of riders with a momentary glossing over of his eyes. The silent communion is shortlived and the Iernian rider heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Just keep yerself together," is advice offered freely to the inexperienced — or perhaps just a means to keep himself firmly anchored in the here-and-now, in the calm before the true storm begins.

Miraneith> That's the good thing about being big. The actual act of /killing/ prey is extremely easy to pull off. Kapalith has discovered in fact that just by landing on an animal SNAP well..there ends up being a bit of a flat mess of herdbeast. Minimal effort, maximum result. It's rather nice. There's a puffed out rumble in his throat though as he grabs at the neck of the poor beast, teeth sunk into it.

M'nol's ears perk at S'gam's voice, then he nods to X'hil, blushing slightly, "Yeah… just gonna say hi… F'yr nearly bit me last time I accidentally said hi during a flight…" He turns, ducking through the gathering throng to tap S'gam gently on the shoulder, "I know things are about to get tense, but I wanted to say hi…" He glances after the retreating dragons, then sighs softly, "Every time…"

Miraneith> Kinseth circles around the grounds once before landing, and, by the time he does come down, he's got a target in his sights. The large bronze picks out the biggest beast in the pen, as if to show off. He dispatches the beast quickly and cleanly, and then lowers his muzzle to its belly to tear a messy hole in the carcass, slurping up the blood that flows. Miraneith is watched, always, the bronze allowing precious blood to seep into the soil as he lifts his head to regard the queen, ready to launch at a moment's notice.

Miraneith> There is nothing so classless as simply slaughtering the first thing one sees. Zaqalekhth takes his time, burning just a few precious seconds to survey the beasts to be had before finally snaking a forepaw out to drag the legs out from under one beast and neatly flip it onto its back. Its terrified noise-making is promptly silenced as he leans over, hungry maw gaping to latch onto its neck and foretalons reaching to disembowel the creature in the selfsame moment. Blood is rapidly drained and a satisfied glance given to the rapidly cooling entrails. His maw gapes in approval, a rusty rattle of a noise escaping him. Yes. Yes, this is good.

M'iken can't help but catch bits of conversation as she nears the caverns. She smiles at the other riders and nods her head to them. "At least it's a plesant day out." Her eyes flick to the skies, her arms folding over her papers and hugging them closely.

Ae'gus fidgets where he stands, glancing first towards the feeding grounds and then the growing knot of riders nearby. Perhaps silent pleas to his bronze have gone unheard, as he soon starts to edge his way over towards the riders instead. "Nice ah … nice day," he manages, hesitantly. It's either the extreme heat, the flight or nerves but he seems to have dissolved into anxious self-grooming. Absently he rubs a finger over his bushy mustache and then over his hair, making sure every strand is in place. Not that it does much good - each pass just seems to make the hair worse. He seems to realize this after a while and merely drops his arm to his side, letting it swing like a pendulum awkwardly, "Eh. Hal has th' best timin', I swear."

Miraneith> Faraeth's mountainous form descends from above, nearly crushing the buck he lands on to a pulp before latching onto its throat and sucking it dry. He wasn't just a brown. He was the second-largest brown on Pern and he was determined to make this queen his and finally prove that he could sire a clutch just as well as a bronze. Prove that color doesn't matter!

S'gam returns X'hil's glance, but he's at least patient, offering a tight little nod and smile for the Weyrleader. No words - instead, he steps back into the infirmary entrance and shoves his box back inside. Work will have to be taken care of another time. The bronzerider's mind is obviously elsewhere by the time M'nol speaks to him, eyelids flicking haphazardly, lips shifting as if he's speaking to himself, but he answers the brownrider in the end. "Hey, M'nol." It's short and clipped, but a smile flickers briefly across his features. "Horrid time for you to show up, hmm?" The man's eyes rotate knowingly towards the feeding grounds unerringly before a sideways look is aimed at Enka and the napkin she's twisting in her hands. "This will be interesting." At least he wasn't shying away?

Miraneith> Meluth easily hops the fence, crooning lightly to Miraneith before stalking after his own beast and striking it down with a swift hit from his bulky foreleg. He tears the animal open, getting more blood on himself than actually down his throat. Growls begin to eminate from him as he watches his competition around the field.

Miraneith> Dirt and debris raise into a swirling funnel cloud as Halinith downsweeps mightily, the tips of his wings and tail just barely nicking the top of the fence as he swishes past in a daring display. Nearby foliage bends under the gusts of wind as he passes overhead, scattering the herdbeasts into a fine wild display. For a few brief seconds he seems to revel in this and banks to the left first and then the right, forcing the panicked animals into strange formations. Then, with a snap of his wings, he drops like a stone amidst a circle of the milling creatures, sending the remainder scattering outwards in a flower petal sort of pattern. Fancy. A delicate croon is offered to Miraneith before he sinks his teeth into the throat of the herdbeast he almost squished, draining the blood swiftly with little finesse. He can't add much elegance into a blooding, alas.

Miraneith> Ittisieth follows Miraneith in the same careful, sequestered way he uses always, never stepping a toe out of line, always in control. To be any less would be… monsterous. Below him, and below her as well. Rather than barging in, the dragon circles once, twice, before setting his sights on a singular beast. It never had a chance. /Crack,/ a quick buckle of the spine between extended paws, and then the bronze descends. The mechanics have long been explained to Ittisieth, and though natural instinct thrums through his veins, he makes his spilling of blood as neat as possible. Gore? Hardly tolerable, no matter how freeing it could be. He drinks from the beast nonetheless, whorling eyes fastened always on Miraneith.

"Hi," Enka's fidgeting nervously now, her booted feet scuffling through the dirt and sand of the bowl floor as she glances between riders — all too acutely aware that she's the object of most of the attention, latching onto the words spoken by M'iken and Ae'gus as hough it were a rescue rider's lifeline. "Yeah," comes her weak chuckle, the girl wringing the napkin through her fingers as she swallows — the sensation of her blooding queen lapping at blood an all too alien feeling for her. "Least it 'aint rainin'." Because rain would be a real damper on the moment, wouldn't it? "No use eatin' now," the junior's comment is for X'hil next, gray eyes latching onto the presence of the Weyrleader. "Ysa aint gonna kill me, is she?" Since he's here, and all. "I'm tryin'!" Her words to M'gaal not quite a wail, but definitely strained, as she pivots away from the riders, her attention shifting towards the feeding grounds again. "She keeps tryin' to eat. No!" That's a growl, unusual for the girl. "Ya better blood it, and blood it good, Mir."

X'hil blinks a little, and frowns at Enka. "Now, why, why would she, er… It's… It's not…" he scowls at his own inability to complete a thought, mutters something about picking a /fine/ day to sober up, and shakes his head. "She wouldn't kill you. Why would she kill you?" Apparently he just genuinely doesn't see a reason. Of course, he /might/ get in trouble if Kinseth were to chase a gold in another Weyr, but that trouble would be on him, and thankfully Kinseth hasn't been interested. "I, I… I'm surprised, though. Thought he was only /interested/ in Ellamariseth, since I got this knot." He frowns a little, and turns his attention towards the feeding grounds.

"You'll do alright, just focus," M'gaal intones toward Enka, though the words seem to come from a strange distance. His eyes are hazy now, man and dragon verging on complete mental fusion already. "You'll do," is partially echoed and his jaw clenches, choking back any other words that Zaqalekhth might feel compelled to make him say — all the same, his throat works and a vague, inarticulate noise escapes him. His arms remain resolutely folded over his chest and his gaze drifts, simultaneously seeing and unseeing, to the feeding grounds as if he might be able to keep an eye on his capricious beast that way.

Miraneith> Miraneith scuttles sideways from the carcass, curveting towards one of her suitors — was it Halinith? — before she's nearly bowled into by a frantic herdbeast. Not her choice of battle and hunt to be sure, but the gold's head snaps about at the movement of the creature, and she launches herself upwards, only to come crashing down on the creature in a mighty pounce. Jaws snap, the gold managing to swallow a gobbet of flesh before she's hissing and lashing out with talons as once more her rider exerts control over her. Once more that short blunt head dips, and the sound of slurping can be heard, crimson staining jaws and lips, splashed across the ivory underside of her jaw, and dripping down across her ivory-toned chest.

M'nol nods, "He has a knack for it… and it will… Faraeth's never caught a gold, though. Good luck. I'll talk to you… some other time… when our dragons aren't after the same girl…" He looks at Enka. He'd seen her impress not long ago… the whole thing was a little surreal, but he was here and his dragon was doing his thing. He coughs, "Good to see you, man… and Thea says hi…"

Ae'gus swallows visibly, one of his hands clenching and unclenching convulsively, as though he were mirroring his dragon's actions. It takes a little shake of his head and some effort to get that to stop and he smiles rather weakly in Enka's direction. The expression is nearly lost in the bushy moustache gracing his upper lip, "Ah. Yeah. Rain .. wouldn't tha' be a bad thing. Water .. from th' sky and all." He opens his mouth again, though soon snaps it shut when he realizes he's rambling. It's bad enough to be caught in a strange Weyr during a gold flight without making a fool of himself. Though he may have done that already several times over. "Pity about the not eatin'. Lunch is always good," he adds in a chipper voice. There goes the fool again and he visibly grimaces. Obviously all the grace is in Halinith, not Gus.

M'iken smiles encouragingly to Enka. She's never been quite in the same position, but she remembers her first flight well enough. "Ysa wouldn't kill you." She adds along with X'hil's comments. "Meluth is rather fond of Ella too, but it's not going to stop him from chaseing another." It's either try to make conversation amoungst the riders or sit back and just watch.
Miraneith> Kinseth finishes draining his first, though he'd been quite inefficient about it, no wonder he picked the largest beast - so much of it just went to waste, seeping uselessly into the ground. He snarls and whips around, tail near taking one beast out, purely by accident, though he seizes the opportunity, leaping on the dazed beast and snapping its neck, greedily guzzling the blood. He may not be the most efficient, and he's certainly a show off in the beasts that he picks, but he has no trouble blooding instead of eating, at least.

Miraneith> Another one — yes, two will be sufficient. Zaqalekhth utters a rusty rattle-rumble and slinks forward to grab a panic-stricken beast by the face, clamping his jaws down on the animal's skull with a horrible wet crunch. He clenches down, sending the creature into wild convulsions before it finally expires. He releases it, guts it, and then lowers his head to the neck to suck the thing dry. As before, he finishes only to study the way the offal is strewn about and his pleasure is nearly palpable. As it is, he's gape-mawed and ready, yet far from satiated. That's when his searing, rose-madder gaze falls upon the ungainly young queen; he sees none of that, merely a beacon of warmth and light, a thing that might fulfill his never-ending hunger.

Miraneith> Faraeth raises his bloody maw from the first beast long enough to croon temptingly to Miraneith before reaching out without even taking flight and snagging a wherry in the air, sucking it dry before it even hits the ground. His powerful legs and wings soon find his mountainous bulk atop a smaller doe, breaking her back in one smooth motion before latching onto her throat. He'd never failed to only bleed. He was determined and his eyes never leave Miraneith as he drains his third beast.

S'gam's face lightens up a bit with a flicker of amusement, brows raising up as his eyes shift over to Enka. "Worse, we could be further north and have it snowing." Of course, at that point, they would likely have to move things somewhere more sheltered. The idea makes him uneasy, and not for the first time, the Dragonhealer mentally praises Ista's sun. Some inner thought makes the man's eyes widen, voice breathy in its articulation, but he manages. "Dragons've been doing this for thousands of turns, and before them, the flits managed without us. If you think about it, we have an advantage in, ah…" He pauses, gaze going in and out of focus. "In this, I mean. We have an advantage in this. Y'can always ignore us if it'll help ya," he says, sinking into a rusty old drawl. M'nol's comments earn a fierce little grin, anger slowly dissipating as Ittisieth's earlier reticence becomes more understandable. "'Luck to you too, M'nol. I'll… we'll talk later." Mention of Thea only brings a confused shake of his head, unsure where he stood on that, and too mentally garbled to work it out.

Enka's attention is dragged away from the feeding grounds for a moment, the girl's expression sullen and stubborn, her hands tightening once more on that napkin she's holding — if she manages to pry her fingers from it, a poor and sorry scrap of limp cloth it might well be. "Heh," comes her watery grin, lips parting slightly as she takes in the bronze and brownriders clustered around her, suddenly wanton in poise and gaze. "Rain would be awful," she remarks to Ae'gus, her eyes lingering on the Western rider before she's looking towards X'hil. "Yeah, can't see her gettin' too mad, dragons choose an' all." She'll cling to that timeworn adage even now, even as she's nodding briefly to M'iken and then towards M'gaal, meeting M'nol's eyes for a moment as he looks at her, and then like her queen, her head is snapping around, swung in S'gam's direction. "Mebbe…" a pause, faltering, "we oughta move this t'my weyr." There, in her abode, she might feel stronger, more sure, and she's already moving towards the section of the ground weyrs, and the stairway of her weyr, retreating from the male riders in a parody of the draconic chase soon to be enacted in the Istan skies.

Miraneith> Meluth tears his beast to shreds before going after another, stalking closer to Miranieth before grabbing a fleeing beast. His jaws sink into the back of it's neck before lifting it clear off it's feet and slamming it into the ground. He rips into it's gut, slurping down more blood this time as his tail lashes out to hopefully hit one of the other males around. It's not often he gets like this, only when there's a female involved.

Miraneith> Splatters of blood and gore fleck Halinith's muzzle as the last of the life is drained from the carcass with a very ungentlemanly slurping noise. Talons and teeth sink deep into flesh and with a loud SNAP his wings open, sending a further flurry of dirt in their wake in an almost deliberately artistic movement. Down go his wings and up goes the bronze, carcass still in tow until he gives it an expert flip - end over end the thing rotates until it lands spread-eagled on the field below. Score! With droplets of red blood running from his bronzen hide like paint, Halinith circles once more for his next victim. Each pass brings him lower and lower as he forces the herdbeasts into a maddening spiral. Around and aroun they go - where they stop? The bronze dragon surely knows, as he suddenly drops amidst the panicking herd. Those that weren't crushed explode outwards with leaps and bounds like they were in some choreographed routine while the unlucky buck beneath Halinith's forepaws gets a snapped neck and begins to lose its blood forthwith. With his mouth full of animal neck, he manages a soft croon to Miraneith - forever mindful of the lady nearby and his need to put on a show for her and her alone.

M'nol nods, in many ways understand S'gam's confusion from one perspective… after all, Thea hadn't even come to see him, for all she'd recommended it to Morl himself. "Later…" He looks at the other gathered and finds himself stoutly among strangers. Meeting Enka's eyes brings a feeling he doesn't fully understand. Desire, sure… attraction, definitely… but what was that other tingle? He simply doesn't recognize it. Still, he nods, "Yes… out of the sun… b'fore we all burn…"

Miraneith> Ittisieth raises his voice in a snarl - something that surprises even himself - for the beast that /dared/ to trample so close to Miraneith. She was no fragile flower, he knows, but a possessive thread stretches to tautness in the bronze's mind. Though it wasn't his way, the coppered dragon cannot help but fiercely admire Miraneith's new decor, red against the golden hues. In a tempered whirl, Ittisieth spins and seeks a second herdbeast out of the chaotic herd, swinging his tail deftly to trip it up before his head plunges in, teeth fastening onto its body, allowing the blood to drain into him from twin rows of punctures. The drive to bite down and rip, tear, comes and goes quickly. The blood was what he required, burned for, almost as much as he needed after the gold. Invisible against his hide, a gentle rivulet of blood leaks down the bronze's chin before it is flicked away, head shaking as he finally releases his second beast. Purple eyes focus unerringly on Miraneith. Wooing he had no skill with, really (a rumbling half-croon is all he has to offer up to her); it was the action he anticipated.

X'hil seems to be slipping a bit, eyes glazing over just briefly, but several times. "Mmm… tastes… er, what?" he murmurs, and then starts. He was off with his bronze a tad. He forces himself to refocus on the here and now, the bowl, the riders. Enka. "It's… it's not like we're weyrmated or anything, it's, it's flights, it's only flights, it's always flights." he murmurs, glancing briefly to the ground weyrs, hesitating a moment, before he again zones out, licking dry lips as his dragon bloods. "Er. Right." he mutters when he snaps out of it, quickly following Enka as far as the ground weyrs, at least.

Perhaps his eyes will meet Enka's; perhaps not — either way, there's something lingering in the depths, something just waiting … and then it's blinked away. His pace is measured, even … but only as a result of much, much restraint on his part. M'gaal follows Enka, expression blank and unyielding — though it certainly doesn't hurt that he's chewing the daylights out of his inner cheek to keep his expression in place. Er, well, it will hurt, but later. Right now, it's the only anchor he has left; not even his clenched hands with nails biting into his palms is doing the trick.

Miraneith> Even in the fury of mating lust, Miraneith wants to be spoiled, pampered and preened upon — and the croons of the bronzes and browns are temptingly seductive indeed. Aching her short neck as much as she can, Miraneith prances in a sideways skitter towards Faraeth as he croons temptingly at her. But then, there's Halinith's call as well, and she freezes, head snapping around to stare avidly at the bronze. Indecision wars — the gold tense now, streaked with sanguine herdbeast blood, jaws stained green by wherry ichor — so many about her, all who see to spoil her and woo her. Just what a dreamy little girl wants. But she's no dream child now — and desperation drives her, the need to take to the sky suddenly rising like the incoming tide. And in a flash of wings, she's airborne, overlarge wings opening with a resounding crack as she flees the feeding grounds, arrowing out over the waters of Ista Bay. Now the game has changed, the queen seeks to hide — her goal, the waters where the blinding sun reflecting off the sea can hide her, cloak her in radiance and purity, where only a truly determined chaser can find her.

S'gam's dark eyes swivel around the bowl, chin dipping in a nod for Enka's idea, though his own inner motives are much different from hers. It still made him nervous, to be in any kind of enclosed space with the goldrider and so many vying opponents, but they were far too out in the open here, the entire spectacle obvious to the eyes of any number of passer's by. Suddenly, /he didn't like it/. Spurred on by his bronze's protectiveness, the Dragonhealer doesn't once question the move inside. He merely follows with a hard lingering glance back over his shoulder for the feeding grounds.

Ae'gus inhales deeply and lets out his breath in a puff, his cheeks expanding comically on the exhale. Judging by the glazed look in his eyes, whatever attention he might have had before is starting to fade in light of the impending flight. Still, that nervous grooming seems to take over and a hand absently pats at his hair, which is already in mass disarray. "Rain," he echoes distantly, thoughtfully rubbing at his moustache. It's only when Enka starts to move away that he snaps out of it with a sudden shake of his head and a rapid blinking of his eyes. "I .. yeah," he stammers, staggering forward and moving to follow the goldrider like a lost canine puppy. Well. He's short enough that he might make a passable impression with his stocky proportions. Either way, his less than graceful walking skill is even more evident with each stride he takes.

Miraneith> Faraeth bugles his challenge to the other chasers loud and clear as he pushes off from the ground, not dropping the carcass for several wingbeats. He doesn't watch it fall back to the ground, but fall it does as his powerful wings pull his large form up after the beautiful mustard queen. His mind reaches for hers, caressing it with silk and velvet and even a gentle scent of lilac, « Radiant beauty, why do you seek to hide your gloriousness. » He doesn't need to see her to follow her. He's not as nimble as many, but flights over the water are something he's more than familiar with. His broad wings catch a thermal, climbing slightly above so he can see her more clearly.

Miraneith> Kinseth is rather not a pampering sort, not until after the flight, which really won't be much help to him /now/, so he quickly tries to drain a small beast, a third beast, to give him any advantage he can wrap his talons around. He's only halfway through the beast when Miraneith launches, and he instinctively takes off after her, only releasing hold of the wherry once he's several dragonlengths off of the ground. Whoops! He snarls down at it, and pumps his wings to try and close the gap between himself and the queen in flight, though he roars once he takes her trajectory into account, and fixes his eyes on her and her alone. If he were to lose sight of her, even for an instant, it might be most difficult to /find/ her again.

Miraneith> As she ascends, so does he, propelling himself with a powerful leap, a lashing of his smoke-wrought tail, and one, two, three beats of ember-chased wings. His inner flames are not stoked to their highest peak yet, no, no; the start of the pursuit is just enough to start to fan them properly and taking the sight of her into his burning, burning gaze helps. Zaqalekhth's lithe form smolders with lust, lurid red-purple eyes fixed only on /her/, the only thing that truly matters. She can try to hide all she wants, but he will inexorably find her, as a moth is drawn to flame.

M'iken nods softly as the thought of moving to Enka's weyr is voiced. She simply smiles and follows along. She's inhaling deeply though, to try and keep herself from lashing out at any of the men around them. It's hard when you're usually well mannered lifemate gets aggressive.

Miraneith> Meluth suddenly forgets his herdbeast as Miraneith takes off into the sky and is quick to follow after her. Crouching low to the ground he leaps into the air, his wings whiping out to catch and beat through the air after that shining gold. He bugles brightly as a rush of excitment runs through him at the chase. His attention is mostly on her, though a growl rips through him whenever he notices he's too close to another of her suitors.

Miraneith> Ittisieth stretches his wings out to both sides, body tensing partly in anticipation, and partly in agitation. All the cooing and prattling was quickly getting on his nerves. Didn't these debase creatures understand the proper way to court a queen? A gentle glance, a sly twist, the proper gestures, all would bring about the response they desired with much more respect left intact. Didn't they know? No? Then he would show them. Lifting onto his hind legs, he pumps his wings once, twice, before launching, momentum taking him high into the sky. The gold was crafty indeed, something he could admire, in hiding herself in plain sight against the waves, but Ittisieth was patient, inexhaustible. A deft flick of his wings tilts him down in a hard dip, foreclaws grazing the waters, eyes focused, seeking. From this angle, the sun-beaten waters would surely lose their advantage. Sooner or later, he'd see her course change, and then, oh then, the game would be on.

Miraneith> Rivulets of deep red roll across the bronzen armor of Halinith's hide as the final remnants of life are sucked from his kill, every muscle in his body seeming to bunch and clench with the added power rolling through his system. It's almost as though he were some sort of eligible young male on the beach flexing his biceps at the giggling young lady, complete with soft croonings intended to woo. Bunching his muscles tightly and arching his long, sinuous neck, he gives a powerful flick of his head with the limp carcass still flying free from his jaw, obviously intending to show off his strength and ability to hurl dead animals long distances. Whoosh. The carcass corkscrews throguh the air and nearly knocks into a panicked group of wherries, skittering them aside like bowling pins. Halinith barely has time to celebrate his greatness, considering the object of his showing-off is suddenly escaping. There is little flair, pomp or circumstance as he flicks his wings open and swipes them at the air, pulling his bronzen bulk airborne. Upwards he spirals and outwards he goes, trailing a line of blood droplets in the air as he rockets upwards. A fitting and artistic exit, considering the droplets splatter like paint upon the ground below. The chase is on.

Ista Weyr - Enka and Miraneith's Weyr
In this great vaulting cavern — meant to house even the mightiest of queen dragons — it seems that a young girl's dreams for a place of her own have finally come to roost. From the tunnel leading out to the queen's ledge, the outer portion of Miraneith's weyr gives the gold plenty of room — and the clever placement of folding canvas screens about her upraised couch lends a semblance of a hiding place. The couch itself is like a dais, piled with rugs and cushions from which she can regally lounge — royalty enthroned.

Branching off from this cavern, a short tunnel leads into a smaller room, cheerfully decorated in tapestries in Enka's favored colors of pastel blue and green. A wide bed and fancifully carved bedstead dominates this cave; the feathered mattress covered with a lovely 'quilt' and plenty of plump pillows — and at the head of the bed, several plushies can be seen, among them, a 'runner' and a 'wherry' and a 'gold dragon' lovingly arrayed atop the pillows. There is a large chest at the foot of the bed, and several more line the walls — covered by flat pillows to provide additional seating should the need arise. A small writing desk can be seen, a comfortable chair beside it, and atop it, scrolls and paperwork can be found. On a shelf above the desk, there is a 'jewelry box' and what looks to be a 'seawher' mascot beside it. Soft rugs and mats cover the floor, warding off the unforgiving feel of rough stone.

The entrance to a tiny bathing camber can be seen, hidden by a beaded curtain, just past the bed. Within, small pots of sweetsand and toiletry items line the rim of the bathing pool, large fluffy towels piled on a rack nearby.

Enka retreats down the tunnel corridor from the outer section of the weyr, past the folding screens set up about Miraneith's couch, and into the sleeping chamber proper. "Sit down, if ya want," she's offering to the male riders, gesturing towards those pillow covered benches as she moves towards the bed itself. There's a moment's hesitation as she pauses, drops onto the soft mattress to unlace her boots and tug them off, the leather and wood boots clumping to the floor atop one of the rugs. Making a grab for her stuffed dragon, Enka clutches it to her chest, expression solemn as she's suddenly lost in the moment — bound not to this bedstead, but rather to the warm air above the dazzling sparkle-bright ocean; at one with her lifemate, body, mind and soul. /She/ is Miraneith, skimming the waters, fleeing from those who would catch her.

X'hil does hesitate at the actual entrance to Enka's weyr, glancing to his own. It's /right there/. He could just slip inside, lock himself away, wouldn't that be for the best? No? Another jolt of Kinseth's mind invading his own does make up his mind, and he slips into the weyr of the junior weyrwoman, moving blindly past the gold's magnificent dais, and onwards, finding himself staring at the bed when he finally does stop. The bed. Enka's bed. He backs away, continuing until he hits a wall, and leans against it as though he meant to do that. "Shouldn't /be/ here, no, /there/, should be on the sands, why… why are…" Whatever he was about to say is lost, as his eyes glaze over, and he slides down the wall, until he's sitting on the floor.

M'gaal finds himself, as he usually does, against a convenient section of wall that permits him to lean against it. He doesn't sit … no, he prefers to stand for this sort of thing; the better to make for a quick escape, if need be. Arms still folded, mouth still drawn to a side, teeth still worrying at his inner cheek — only his eyes, alternately dead and blazing, the emotions of man and dragon battling it out fervently, betray him. Eventually, Zaqalekhth's desires win out and his eyes are wrenched from studying the bed's construction to the dragon-toy-clutching woman upon it.

M'nol's entrance to the Weyr is… tentative. When he first enters he skirts the wall, finding a comfortable place to lean against, but as the flight goes on his mind merges with the determined brown in the skies over the bay and he leans forward seductively, predatorially, even, and croons in a fine imitation of of the brown, murmuring, "Pretty… be mine, pretty…"

It's amazing Ae'gus makes it into the weyr, considering his state. With his glazed expression he might as well be a 5'5" moustached zombie rather than a bronzerider. Jerkily and haltingly he walks, stopping every so often as some happening up in the sky wrenches his attention away from simple things like moving feet. Words escape him, but he somehow registers the invitation to sit and all but flops onto one of the pillowed benches, his hands clenching at the cushion fitfully. He tries to stare at the floor for a time, but considering that's fairly cold and unforgiving he soon finds his eyes wavering to rest on Enka. Then it seems like some inner Gus seems to realize he's staring and he tears his gaze away to peer at the ceiling instead.

M'iken is looking for a safe place to put her paperwork down. Really it would be safer if she weren't holding it and a jr. weyrwoman's weyr is as safe a place as any, right? But then she'd begiving up her own bit of foundation. Eventually she puts them down on a table before moving to one of those pillowed benches and crossing her legs and arms. Her eyes are fixed now on Enka and her stuffed dragon. No more conversation from her it would seem.

S'gam doesn't seem to possess any sort of meekness, but his own entrance is slow, bordering on calculated. No move he makes is without purpose now; his focus has been achieved, and at last, they are secure. Some small part of him itches to place a comforting hand on Enka's shoulder, fingers even twitching out of their place at his sides, but just as quickly the idea is squashed. Instead, he takes to pacing back, then forth, finding a small section of floor uninterrupted by benches and rider's legs. Unable to deal with his own hands, the Dragonhealer clasps them behind his back and lifts his chin in an attempt to study the room. Furtive glances are aimed at Enka, the corners of his eyes softening at the sight of her clutching the dragon plushie to her chest, but any attempts to speak end in a shake of his head and another sharp turn on his heel, brows arched up pensively.

Miraneith> Miraneith rides the air above the water, inexperienced as she is, she's far too low — but certainly not touching the water — as she skims across over the waves. It is here that she seeks to hide, golden-bright against the dazzling motes of sunshine shimmering across the ocean. Bright gold against shimmery blue, blinding motes of light to lance back against the gazes of her pursuit, and wrap her within the reflective brightness where she can camouflage herself. Not truly is she a creature of the day — the night is more her element — yet still, here in the heat of noon, and the blazing of the sun, she's in full flight. They say what goes up must come down, and no longer is Miraneith content to soar across the ocean, instead, she seeks to climb, rising in a nearly vertical streak towards the sun far above. To Rukbat she will fling herself, right into the merciless brilliance, glimmering radiance seeking to become lost in the force of the heavens.

Miraneith> Faraeth croons again, gently but insistently. His glide is smooth until unexpectedly Miraneith turns upwards. It takes him a moment to recover and even longer to adjust the trajectory of his bulky form to a more upward angle, his wings beating strong against the moist ocean air to help him rise, not quite as high as the gold. He trails behind some of the other chasers, half by design, half due to his bulky form. Still, the pale mustard gold is his focus. He emits another soothing, sensuous croon, making another push for altitude, but still expecting a dive.

Miraneith> Kinseth pushes himself in underneath Miraneith as she starts to rise, as if to push her higher and higher. A long high flight, wouldn't that be magnificent? But the truth of the matter is, he's simply trying to keep up, pushing himself onwards and upwards, desperately trying to keep her in his sights. He's jostled by a cocky little brown from Telgar, and he snarls, lashing at the competitor with his tail. He very nearly lost Miraneith! That would /not/ do! He roars defiantly at the bright noon sky, and at the queen ahead, as he's forced to stare almost directly into the sun to keep her in view.

Miraneith> Higher, further, faster; Zaqalekhth burns, burns for her, for Miraneith in all of her unconventional and elusive glory. Smoke-forged wings pump with increased fervor to bring him higher than the other males by just a bit, the blood-fuel burning properly now and the very act of flying sufficing to fan those inner flames into a proper blaze. His blood-spattered, fire-bright maw gapes slightly, jaw muscles twitching with the very idea, the very hint of a thought that maybe, maybe, maybe … ah, but that will have to wait. For now, it's all about the chase, the hunt, the /hunger/. The other males? Nothing more than shadows in her presence, a smothering smoke meant to be dispersed to properly let her shine in his fire. As she rises toward the heavens, he's not far behind; the sun is bright, but she holds brighter still in his hungry, hungry gaze. To hide from him? He that seeks so ardently? So purposefully? She will have to try harder.

Arms tighten around that gold-colored plushie, the girl snugging it tight to her breast as she slips her toes under the quilt covering the bed. She's lost, dazzled in the brightness of the noon-day sun, and one with her lifemate, melded into a glorious creature who can only seek to reach for the sun itself. Ambitious, perhaps, but then Enka had always dreamed of finding her own place in the sun. Her gray eyes are slightly glazed, straying towards the assembled riders within her weyr as she lets out a cry. "Fly!" comes the words, "fly darlin', up up up!" And at that moment, Miraneith is rising, that vertical climb towards Rukbat, to lose herself in it's dazzle.

Miraneith> Ripples cascade across the water below as Halinith breezes overhead, casting radiant reflections over the roiling waves and catching glimmers of sunshine on his bronzen hide. Everything below reflects back like a giant mirror - a doubled masterpiece of brilliance, sun and speed. Waves crash at his talons and lash at his tail as each stroke of his wings disrupts the pretty picture being formed, sending up rainbow spray to further dazzle the vision and mind along with the blinding rays of sun. Once again the show-off begins to shine through as Halinith banks to the right and then to the left, creating scenes of swirls and splashes with his movements as he zooms forward, intent on his purpose. What is life without a little finesse? A little bit of a dancer's soul? Each movement is calculated and thoughtful - designed to paint a beautiful picture for Miraneith. Even her sudden upwards climb is taken without surprise, as he uses it to his advantage. With a loud CRACK and a WHOOSH of water, his wings sweep downwards and cause a picturesque geyser of water to follow his path skywards. Up. Up. Up. A trail of dazzling diamond water droplets follow him as he croons at the gold ahead of him, keeping his wingbeats sure and strong as he climbs.

M'nol seems to eye, nearly leer at Enka. One eye finally spotting the plushie and his breath catches in his throat and he murmurs, "Cen…" before Faraeth re-asserts control and he's inching towards her, almost reaching for her.

X'hil lifts his head, staring blindly at the ceiling, narrowing his eyes as though staring into a bright light, but never blinking. Not once does he blink. "Go, Kinseth, go, Kinseth, go," he's chanting under his breath, over and over, fists constantly clenching and unclenching as he struggles to keep /some/ control, but it's obvious his mind is in the sky, with Kinseth, and all he cares about, in this precise moment, is the flight. Winning the flight, hopefully.

"Burn it all, Zaq. /Burn/. If you're gonna do it, do it all the way." Scant words of encouragement for a beast that needs none. M'gaal lapses into silence again, his eyes for Enka — open but unseeing, mouth clamped down shut against anything further that might work itself free from his throat. Tensed and rigid and waiting now; he sweats a little, a bit of his bond's residual heat finally manifesting in him. He doesn't try to wipe it from his brow; indeed, no other motion is attempted, not yet. Not now.

Ae'gus clenches the pillow he happens to be sitting on tightly, the knuckles whitening as what was once a loose grip turns into a death-grip. It would almost seem as thoguh his gaze is burning a hole in the rock ceiling, if that were even possible. Finally he can't seem to stand it anymore and he turns his attention to Enka herself as the flight rockets onwards, his entire body tense. Tense and waiting for the release - the end of the flight. His lips move in a silent murmur - silent encouragement to his dragon, perhaps.

Miraneith> Ittisieth's head snaps hard to the left. There, movement!, the kind of which he has been waiting for. Not the bolder blaze of bronzes, or the more solid mountains of brown, but /this/ - the glorious flicker of crimson-splashed ivory and gold. Lavender eyes watch keenly as she rises into the sky, enjoying from a distance while a plan formulates in his mind. Sheer willpower and strength had its advantages, but Ittisieth is a creature of wits, and it would be these that he employed in his quest for Miraneith's affections. Puzzle pieces slowly begin to click together and then - yes! A stiff ocean breeze ruffles past, and with a sparkle of a thousand mica-colorwed spiderwebs, the bronze throws his wings backwards and propels himself up into the air with little effort, riding the wind up, and up, imitating Kinseth in his fearsome focus on the climbing Miraneith. Even Rukbat couldn't hope to outshine her, he has the presence of mind to consider before a heavy downwards beat of his wings levels him out, chasing across the skies to close the horizontal distance between himself and the gold. The vertical he would worry about later, when the delicate dance of courtship required him to. Now was a time for fervent admirition, expressions of interest, dips and bows. He would treat her right; she deserved no less than that.

S'gam's fist clench behind him, eyes narrowing, a fervent murmur quickly formulating into words. "She's moving up, you sharding idiot," the man hisses, pacing stilling to a stiff halt, but there's nothing to be done, no way to exert any form of influence now. If Ittisieth had anything, it was his propriety, and he couldn't be pursuaded to act in any other way. Blind chasing was intended for everyone else; his bronze had a plan. "Fine," the Dragonhealer grates out after a moment, eyes fixing themselves on Enka in a way that borders on obsessive. Shoulders hunch and ripple, body finally succumbing to the overwhelming influence of his lifemate, and finally S'gam goes completely silent. The pacing resumes, but it seems agitated, as though he's on the verge of some other, more violent action. Perhaps running, as far and as fast from the room as he could manage. Only his lifemate's propriety seemed to be keeping the man in his skin, dark eyes shifting away from Enka to stare at one of the benches, practically willing it to ignite under his gaze, then giving the wall the same treatment as he turns and paces in the other direction.

Miraneith> Like an arrow to the sun, Miraneith's course is straight and true. Overlarge wings strain, pulling her upwards into the sky with each massive downbeat, a whoosh of air lofting her still higher with the upbeat, and onwards she climbs. Higher and higher, unwavering in flight, the ungainly queen rides the thermals, mistress of the sky as she seeks to brush shoulders with brilliance, seduced by the dazzling lure of Rukbat itself. But desire and lust can only be so great, outdone by wits, the young gold finds herself on a trajectory with the coppery bronze form who had intercepted her path. There's no chance for evasive maneuvers, the gap is closed too quickly, and in a tangle of wings and limbs, Miraneith is caught, ensnared by Ittisieth, won by luck, and wits. A brief tail lash, even as she seeks to wiggle free and continue her blind rush to the sun. But passion takes over, heated by dazzling brilliance, and she capitulates, a dreamy croon breaking from her. Spoil her, lavish attention and love upon her like the queen she is, however awkward she might look.

Miraneith> Faraeth bugles his defeat and pain, turning out over the sea to glide until he couldn't glide anymore. Another loss. Another opportunity missed. Another gold had chosen a bronze before him. The pain in his heart mirrors his lifemate's, but for now it's only him.

Miraneith> Kinseth flails a bit as he tries to chance course, to intercept Miraneith, again having a minor run in with that blasted Telgar brown, who somehow managed to keep up, through some miracle. However, it is not to be, for either of them, as another bronze catches the queen. Kinseth rumbles deeply, disappointed, very much so, but there's no point dwelling on it. The large bronze simply turns tail and soars back to the hatching grounds, to guard over the ugliest ten eggs on Pern.

Miraneith> With a whistling ZIP noise, Halinith whistles right past his prize within inches, his forepaws snatching at empty air. There's a noise of frustration and, despite losing, he manages a showy sort of circling motion as he heads back for land. Time to go back to work and finish the errand he actually was supposed to come here for.

Miraneith> Thus is the game done. Zaqalekhth gapes his maw in a terrible bellow, a near shriek of utter rage that sends him twisting on a wingtip and plummeting sharply toward the waters below. Only there will he find his solace now, to put out the fire within. And if any male dares cross his path, they will be met with a surly lashing of charred talons, his rage a nearly tangible thing. Another chance missed; another flight lost.

Miraneith> Ittisieth's mind veritably explodes in a dense whorl of maroon and an overbearingly heady scent of port. He, /he/, /Ittisieth/, had managed to catch this most candescent of creatures! Nevermind her outward awkwardness - she had a light that shone from within, and upon that the bronze would serve and dote. A wooing man he may not be, but she would never want whilst in his embrace. He would see to that with the same single-minded efficiency that characterized his every action. With a return croon that echoes of as much tenderness as possible, Ittisieth winds himself sinuously around her shining body, dark against light, levelling their flight into something long, lavish, and doting.

M'nol gasps loudly as the catch is made, his consciousness rushing back to him like it was shot from a bow. His second gasp is more of a sob. Not only is the loneliness in his heart suddenly and violently doubled, but there was no way he'd be able to confide in the friend he'd come to see. There was no help for that. But all the harder because he was now needing something he couldn't have and was trying so hard not to turn to drink to control his pain. His hands clench, tears springing to his eyes as he turns, dashing from the Weyr before he can see his friend and the queen's rider begin to twine in imitation of their dragons. There were some things he couldn't face right now, and that was definitely among them.

M'gaal pushes off from the wall, a deep breath being sucked in and released. Relief washes over him, even as he lifts his hands to his face to scrub dryly at it. "Back to work," is grunted more for his sake than anyone else's, the last words that anyone within will hear him say as he makes his way out.

Ae'gus nearly falls off the bench as the flight suddenly and abruptly ends, though manages to catch himself before he can make an utter fool out of things. It's a bit disorienting to be suddenly and surprisingly thrown back into reality and he ends up blinking several times, momentarily stunned at the feelings of loss echoing through his body. Shaking slightly, he gets to his feet and, with one last glance at Enka, meanders out of the weyr. Halfway to the door, he actually seems to remember the message on his belt and absently touches it to be sure it's not gone missing. Nope. Duty and sanity finally restored, he disappears out towards the bowl.

X'hil stares. Kinseth… Miraneith… Kinseth… Sand? "No, I'm /not/, no, she's… /No/. I'm going to /my/ weyr." he's muttering as he staggers to his feet, blinking as he comes to his senses once more. "Still got that /ale/. Gonna /need/ it. Oy." he shakes his head, and stalks out. Could have gone better, true, but it's hardly the pair's /first/ flight loss, and it certainly won't be their last.

A golden dragon plushie goes flying, falling out of limp arms, as Enka tumbles off the bed with a mild curse as she hits bottom, scrambling to her feet, and standing there, eyes wide as she stares … simply stares at S'gam. She's aware, dimly aware of the departing 'riders, and a faint half-apologetic smile is wrenched from her before she's caught up in the emotions of the flight — and the passions of lust and desire that her dragon now experiences. A strangled sigh comes from deep within, her gaze turned back to the bronzerider as her arms open, a plea read within that movement — inviting him into her embrace.

S'gam tenses, breath catching in his lungs, eyes shuttering closed with the sudden whirlwind of emotions battering through the connection with his dragon. Blunt nails dig into his palms, hard, the temptation to move, react, do /something/ practically overwhelming him. He couldn't open his eyes, or he'd pursue one of two courses - tackling Enka right there on the bed or fleeing the room entirely… but before he can steel his resolve, the sound of Enka's fall reaches his ears. Brown eyes snap open, infinitely intense, to regard her across the open space, body quivering, unsure. It isn't until her arms open that he moves, any possible words drowning in a low growl, as his arms tuck about to pull her against his chest and wrangle them both to the bed in imitation of their lifemates' flight far across the ocean.

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