==== January 12th, 2014
==== Kyara and Liareth, Trek and Kanyith, S'kyre and Atsusath (PD - Tallarn, handler), N'cal and Iolarth, T'ral and Esanth
==== A warm autumn afternoon finds Liareth rising once again. What is it with this latest crop of Southern riders winning Igen greenflights?

Who Kyara and Liareth, Trek and Kanyith, S'kyre and Atsusath (PD - Tallarn, handler), N'cal and Iolarth, T'ral and Esanth
What A warm autumn afternoon finds Liareth rising once again. What is it with this latest crop of Southern riders winning Igen greenflights?
When Afternoon. There are 2 months and 26 days until the 12th Pass.
Where Central Bowl, Igen Weyr

KyaraIcon.jpg trek08.jpg Twins1.jpg Ncal15.jpg t-ral_um_what.jpg


Central Bowl
Cradled, childlike, in an easterly mountainous embrace, the steppes of the central bowl nestle cozily between lake and weyr. The latticework of dusty adobe paths spider out from the southerly Weyr Road, the wagon-ruts of which curve lazily to the northeastern bazaar, the adobe sprawl of the New Weyr reflected in the lake that dominates a large portion of outdoor Igen. A small footpath, just as abused, ambles away from the shores, travelling over rock and hill to the northern dragonet complex and branching itself due west to end at the entrance of the blessedly cool inner caverns. One cracked path, faint with disuse, leads southeast to the crumbling ruins of Igen-that-was. All around, the dizzying heights of the caldera's sharp-sloped sides are pocked here and there with ledges, the weyrs' draconic occupants needing no path to guide their way.

Liareth insinuates a rolling fog of humidity across the minds of all who deign to hear - a tease, a challenge, delivered in remotely flickering firelight upon sweating marble and dark, roiling waters. « I tire of waiting to see who might match me. » Whispered laughter taunts from shadowed corners, but who can see the one who laughs? « Come then. Who will follow? » A tantalizing brush of moonflower wafts through the heat with the faint tinkling of a dancer's bells and then pulls back from all, inviting and waiting, still again.

Kanyith has been a dark speck on the horizon for several minutes now, winging his way home from north of the Weyr. He begins a tight spiral down to the bowl just as Liareth puts out her call, and as he lands, it seems he can't be rid of his rider soon enough for his liking. Trek's dismount is interrupted by a shift in the narrow blue's stance. She doesn't fall, but she's certainly not making the most graceful approach to the ground, either. She thumps him hard on the shoulder, then sighs as she removes his riding straps. Let it never be said she's one to hold back her dragon from a flight. It's only after she's gathered the riding straps in a somewhat collected tangle that she starts to look for the glowing green and corresponding rider.

S'kyre is leaned up against Atsusath's side. Lounging really, so the movement of the brown he's lounging against gets him looking around. "Huh, what's got y'er dander? By the way, did you give Liareth a wherry again?" No accusation, merely idle curiosity.

Great minds think alike, it seems, when it comes to Arroyo's lead dragons. And their riders. Iolarth is circling above as N'cal comes wandering in to the Bowl, dragon and rider searching alike…though Iolarth has seen Liareth already. He's just biding his time. The tall bluerider shakes his head, smirk both amused and resigned as he glances about and happens to spot his wingleader. Still too far off to say much, he sends a shrug her way before continuing on.

Atsusath rumbles, low like distant thunder and lingering just the same. « Two. But I, ah, ate one of them. » He shifts and nudges S'kyre off his shoulder, coming to his feet, head trained fixedly off into the distance.

Perhaps it's because she's been able to go through it from the very outset this time. Or perhaps it's because she's been through it once already. Perhaps it's both. Regardless, Kyara isn't wandering the furthest shores of the lake in an attempt to avoid what's coming. The same, though, is her garb - sandals, skirt, sleeveless shirt in an effort to combat the slow burn that still smolders beneath her skin and will continue to do so until this is all over. She's perched on the low wall separating the Bowl from the Dragonhealer Yard, expression neutral save for her eyes, which survey all who pass by with deep calculation - particularly men. Occasionally, she forces her gaze elsewhere, resigned, but otherwise…she sits silently. Waiting, as her lifemate does.

Esanth circles high over the Weyr, his greetings to the watchdragon long since issued, but he's been floating on the desert air. Watching. Something has caught the sturdy Southern blue's attention and he wheels far above. Dry. T'ral's first real impression of Igen is DRY. It's enough to make him itch just thinking about it. And all that grit. He'd dropped his father off at the Weyr first thing in the morning, then dropped in himself to make a polite presentation to Weyrleadership who weren't present for his presentation. He'd spent the rest of his day on the part of this trip that he hadn't told anyone about. Stressful and strange, he'd retreated to Igen's Archive -the musty tomes and fragrant hides a balm. Let it be said that T'ral knows how to party - reading! Oh yeah. Look out, Igen. A book selected, he'd gotten some of the strangely spiced skewers and headed out to explore and eat and have a bit of a read before it was time to pick up his father and … uh, lightly kidnap him. SO ITCHY. And scratching doesn't seem to help. Esanth seems to be feeling the same way, there's a sense like an unscratched itch coming from the blue high above, but…it's different. He stops mid-amble and stares up at Esanth. "Huh," T'ral comments cleverly. Harper eloquence on display, folks.

Once Kanyith helpfully identifies the glowing green, Trek's searching hones in on Liareth's rider. She watches for a moment, curious - not creepy! - then heads in the slightly younger rider's direction. "Does she normally choose the hottest days?" she calls over, grinning. Her blue's riding straps are set down, out of the way, soon followed by her own riding gear before she melts to death. Kanyith, meanwhile, is vying for Liareth's attention, though quietly at the moment. He'll just show off his stunning musculature for a moment. Flex. And check out these wings.

S'kyre is pushed off of Atsusath's shoulder. "Well, then," said with a sly chuckle. Somewhere there is a pretty little green that he's pretty sure Atsusath has decided to show interest in. "Think I'll go for a stroll," and there he goes, wandering towards the dragonhealer's courtyard. There's someone he needs to apologize to. "Ats," called over his shoulder, "Kyara tells me that Lia's allergic to wherry. Can we stop giving her presents she's allergic to?" Hmm?

Iolarth sends a warning upon the brisk, chill wind of the highest atmosphere - he sees all, he sees her, and she is his. No words, save for the piercing cry of a bird of prey upon the breeze to all who come near. The peril is theirs. But toward Liareth, his winds are warm, the sunlight of daybreak inviting and soft upon trees and grass surrounding stately ruins hidden upon an island in a lake.

Liareth is quiet for now, her only acknowledgement of those answering her challenge coming as further rolling of hedonistic fog. She sees you, Kanyith! And duly admires, though is handily distracted by the beautiful warmth of Iolarth's light and wind. Coy, she shifts from her lounging upon a low ledge, stretching and flirting her own physique before sitting again, her gaze landing on the pens at the far end of the lake. Any moment now…

Kyara's gaze snaps over at the sound of Trek’s voice, and her smirk in response is rueful. "She hasn't gone up enough for me to determine 'normally,' wingleader," the greenrider answers, her voice low, quiet, and dark in mirror to her lifemate. The she spies S'kyre not far away and slips off the wall with a bit of a growl, her eyes narrowing as she passes someone else - N'cal, most likely, though he doesn't really register. "You!" Coming up within inches of the brownrider, she punches him in the shoulder, and then grabs a fistful of his shirt. "What did I tell you about warning your dragon what he brings her, hmm?" Her grip lingers, eyes snapping as she looks S'kyre eye to eye with her mouth set in a straight line…that's quickly becoming mischievously less so. With a low chuckle, she finally lets him go, glancing between the riders suddenly present around her. Is there another approaching? Probably. Only vaguely familiar. But she does notice.

S'kyre chuckles and shrugs. "I did warn him. He likes wherries, so everyone must like them." Ah, the logic of dragons. The other riders are noted, and he grins again. "I'll be sure to be on his back when he brings her presents again." Wink.

Trek nods in answer to Kyara's explanation, then glances up toward the green, following her own lifemate's focus. Kyara leaves to approach S'kyre, so Trek remains where she is and starts rolling up her sleeves. She announces she's going to look for some chilled wine, then hurries toward the caverns at a brisk pace. Meanwhile, Kanyith has noticed Liareth's attention on the pens. His tail lashes slowly, and the color of his whirling eyes takes on an almost daring shade. He's already poised to follow her lead, paying no attention to his retreating rider.

N'cal slides his own gaze between the other riders, doing his best to school his face to coolness in spite of the spike of quiet, fervent determination from Iolarth. His lifemate is a little…aggressive, when it comes to flights. Sorry, everyone. Watching Kyara's confrontation of the Whirlwind brownrider, he chuckles as well, clasping his hands at his back. "Warned him how many times?" the tall bluerider queries, more for an excuse to speak and clear his throat than anything as he watches Trek's retreat. Then he fixes an intent look upon the greenrider, taking her in at length - though that is most certainly more Iolarth looking Liareth over as he lights on his own perch above the pens.

The darkness of the baths and swirling mists resolve above into inky darkness dotted with stars. The darkness is vast, killing-cold and empty. Save for a defiant spark, a bright thrum against the vast, unknowable void. It is a haven in the emptiness, a deep thrumming, like the beating of a heart. A valiant bastion light against the dark, warmth against the cold…warmth that reaches out across the vastness, thrumming, rumbling felt more than heard…lights blink on a console, tracking the progress of another vessel. T'ral blinks, tracking Esanth's progress. Oh no. No. Not here. Nuhnuhnuhnuh. Head thrown back, he walks, feet taking him towards the wall of the Dragonhealer yard; he glances down only periodically to make sure he doesn't put a foot awry.

Atsusath flows over the ground, running easily. Flying was expected. Atsusath, like his 'mate, preferred the unexpected. Head low, the lithe brown dragon moves like the mists of Liareth's 'scape, rising to flow over, around, past rocks, fences, boulders, startled weyrfolk, teeth flashing, eyes glowing a gold, bright against the brown.

Kanyith slips below the radar, his mindvoice blending with their natural landscape, complete with the mirage-like shimmer of heat. Then he speaks, his words smooth and flowing in a deep baritone that might seem out of place with his lithe frame. « Good day, lovely Liareth. I do hope you are enjoying the view from your vista's vantage point, for from down here among the milling masses, your radiance reflects your ravishing beauty so brightly I cannot look away. » The mirage fades on a breeze of clean, tropical air that carries the heady scent of citrus spiked with cinnamon.

Liareth makes a lightning-fast leap upward, smoothly winging past the waiting blues with a soft hiss as laughter echoes between shadowed carvings. « Your words match what is seen, Kanyith, » a husky soprano teases. « But prove your admiration in action. All of you! » With that, she pins her wings and drops into the pens, her victim's neck neatly rent as she drains it of life's blood. Fuel to the fire.

Esanth's thrumming is insistent, rising. « Where else? Some chase has to be my first, neh? » The tracked vessel moves suddenly, a klaxon honks the alert, redlight spinning, flickering. The stars wheel and T'ral floats, both caught and falling, floating in Esanth's 'scape. T'ral's having trouble orienting himself, adrift in Esanth's mind as klaxons spin up, wailing and honking. T'ral moves faster, urgency to move, to follow, beating into him from Esanth. His eyes fixed upwards, he staggers into someone. But… I don't know these people. « More's the better.» T'ral rebounds off of said someone with a shout; he blinks at the greenrider, "Excuse me, I'm so-" Hey, lookit that. T'ral does know somebody here. Kyara. E'don's friend. GREAT. His mind reels back to the months-ago graduation and the laughing eyes of the visiting Igen greenrider who'd danced with E'don. He dredges the name up, "K…Kyara?" Her eyes aren't laughing now.

Trek returns with a skin of wine, still dripping water from the ice bin that held it until just minutes ago. She glances toward Kanyith, who quickly follows Liareth to the pens, though he only watches the blooding. Perhaps he recently ate. The bluerider's eyes glance from face to face, feeling just a little outnumbered by all those males. Alas, such is life. She approaches Kyara again and waggles the wineskin toward her invitingly while giving T'ral a quick study. She smiles quickly at N'cal, smirks at S'kyre, then turns her full attention on Kyara. "How about we find some shade?" she suggests in a low drawl. Sorry, kids. She just can't help it.

Kanyith adds a heavy dash of bourbon to the cinnamon and citrus, his mindvoice shimmering as Liareth suddenly moves. « Words cannot match something so singular, » he counters, words rolling along like leaves caught in that tropical breeze. « We could as well reach for stars as attempt to match your incandescent zest. » Streaks of vivid red flash through as Liareth makes her kill. « Do not fight this feeding frenzy that endeavors to end your eager appetite. Drink, my dear, drink! Will your wings to wield their wily strength, and draw us in your wake. »

As her lifemate strikes out to begin her blooding, that surge of intent snaps through Kyara as renewed heat through her veins, and a hand rises to her throat at the vicarious sensation of blood burning down through it, enlivening and stirring an energy about to be unleashed as Liareth's mind slowly takes stronger hold of hers… And then COLLISION, and amber eyes blaze into the blue of the man in front of her - the somewhat familiar one, and she's got fistfuls of the poor guy's shirt out of the necessity of steadying herself. A name? Had she ever heard it? "Esanth's…" That bit supplied out of the haze by her lifemate, and a nagging memory from a few different venues. "T'ral," she gets out finally, her voice lightly rasping more from the sudden contact than anything else. If she had more presence of mind, she'd most certainly be apologizing to him. What a way to meet a bit more face to face! Lips curl in a subtle, sensual smile, fingers tightening slightly before she's letting him go, taking a step back as her gaze swings back around to Trek. "My rules," Kyara/Liareth replies to that suggestion with a near-growl as she grins, and then she's backing further away, to the wall and past it to where the mouths of the ground weyrs yawn.

S'kyre saunters slowly after the retreating greenrider. "Of course your rules," S'kyre agrees as his mind sinks into that merger of dragon/rider. "Always your rules." Oh, look. Someone's flirting - such a strange sight, really, given that S'kyre isn't known for flirting.

Trek's smirk looks a little out of place, compared to her far more serious visage as of late. "I wouldn't want it any other way," she drawls in reply to Kyara, moving past the intruding Southern rider to follow the greenrider's path toward those waiting ground weyrs. So she helps herself to some of that chilled wine along the way? It's hot outside!

N'cal, in the meantime, observes the others in silence, steps slowly carrying him after Kyara's slow backing away, jaw clenching and unclenching as he battles against Iolarth's own grip overcoming his mind. But when that Southern bluerider knocks into the woman, he glares, nearly unable to stop the hand that shoots out to pull T'ral away from her. His. No. Iolarth's. Stop that hand he does, though, opting instead to snarl at the younger man. "Watch yourself, boy." But that isn't him; he scrubs a hand over his face, casting a tight look between Trek and S'kyre for their words as his own steps pick up speed to follow Kyara.

T'ral's mind steadies with the shock that it is Kyara's 'mate that Esanth is circling. Steadies and reels at the same time. He becomes aware of the other riders, lurking, looming…hovering. They'd given them classes on this, but the reality of it was something else. The thrumming from Esanth is vibrating through T'ral's very bones; that itch…it's not the heat. It's not the sand. (It's the sand, but not ONLY the sand). He looks at the others, feeling well out of his depth. …Esanth. We take our first vacation in over a turn and this is what you do? The thrumming stutters. « Pot meet kettle, kettle, pot. » T'ral casts a frustrated glance upwards. "It's not the same and you know it!" Ah…that was out loud. He falls back a step, massaging his palm with a thumb, neck prickling. "Ah…what do we do?"

Atsusath slinks across the ground, crouched low, nothing but neckridges and elbows and bony spars visible as he lowcrawls towards the object of his desire. Doodledooodledooodle. He'd have cartoon sound effects to accompany him slinking from boulder to boulder. Sneak, sneak, sneak. Had a flight ever been won before it had begun? Maybe he could pounce her right as she took off. Yeah. That would be boss.

Liareth puts an end to yet another beast, but her blooding of this one is quicker, her impatience mounting as instinct drives her skyward, and no, Atsusath, you're not even getting close to the chance. Because Liareth is already airborne and away with a defiant bugle, and it's up to all those around her to prove their worth. No tricks allowed!

Who needs tricks when you've got skill like this? Kanyith has been paying too close attention to be caught off guard, and as he watches Liareth take to the skies, he follows suit. Narrow, long wings mean he has to fight for altitude, but he was made for this, and fight he will, already trying to close the distance.

There's the leap, and along with it vanish the last threads of Kyara's control over her own consciousness. The dance upon the air is taken up as her own once more as she moves between the riders on the ground, taunting in her movements and scant seconds of contact. It's T'ral's question that triggers the rich ring of laughter from her, and fingers brush teasingly across the bluerider's chest as she passes. "You follow," she informs him softly, eyes dancing up at him in accord not her own before she's moving on, completely at the mercy of her lifemate.

« HA! » Lightning strikes down towards the baths, the winds of Atsusath's mind swirling up and dropping hard onto…empty mists. Atsusath springs into the air, landing in the messy blood and entrails of the gutted beast. « Ha? » A lashing of wind and cloud, howling. « GRrr… » He licks at the blood. MmmMMmmm, it's not wherry, but, yum! Liareth was grace made flesh; tricks were the only thing that would snare her. The brown surges into the sky. He's bigger, faster, stronger and cleverererer-uhoh-ererer than the rest of them. With powerful strokes of his wings he gives chase, the winds of his mind flowing along, drawn by the challenge in Liareth's bugle.

S'kyre's grin is almost more of a leer as he continues his slow saunter into the ground weyr. His mind is split right now, and he can't help the snicker at the image of Atsusath trying to sneak up on Liareth. Nice. Still he can feel the wings snapping open as Atsusath launches after the green. Mmm… No, that's a distraction. Chase the green. Or rider…or both?

Esanth's heart swells with the thrill of Liareth's challenge. He bugles a grinding roar of exhilaration as he folds his wings and swoops, falling like a stone towards the gathering chase. In his mind the thrumming roars, the heat of falling into the world, vibrating, humming heat, the draw of Liareth like gravity, pulling him…now that he's in it's grasp, her grasp, inescapable. Inevitable. He roars again, leaning into the stoop, eyes tracking the lithe green's movements, searching, scanning, devouring her for any hint at which way she'll go next…

Iolarth shoots after Liareth with startling precision, immediately swooping in to disrupt Kanyith's attempt to get closer with a piercing warble of challenge. « Ignore them, most beauteous one, » a dark, fervent baritone implores from tree and stone and sky. « Fly, and lead us on, for the poetry of the sky is writ clear upon each curve of your exquisite form. Only the winds are worthy of you! » Except, by flowery speech like that, it's clear he's hoping to get her to see him as worthy.

Liareth rolls and dives out of reach - barely, from Kanyith and Iolarth…and caught off guard by Esanth coming down from above, she roars and jinks yet again. It's an energy-spending maneuver, but well worth it. She is not going to get trapped by something like that again. Still, that young blue has some spirit, trying to come upon her that way…

His gambit to end the chase sooner rather than later scuttled, Atsusath goes straight for Liareth, trusting to his strength and speed and clevererererishness to carry the day. Clouds pour over distant mountains, shrouding the valley in obscuring mists… Atsusath's own mists flow towards Liareth's, twining, turning, stretching. There's nothing subtle about his advance now, he throws everything he has at getting closer to the speeding green. He flutters sails and trims spars to keep out of the way of the other flouncier, showier chasers.

Wings snap out and back, bleeding off the speed of Esanth's downward momentum into a flashy roll that slows his descent and then he banks hard, rolling again, momentum of his stoop feeding into his climb back into the chase. The stars of his 'scape wheel and turn, coalescing into a blazing comet, gathered starlight, a column of cold fireflies that swirl and roll, flowing towards the welcoming warmth of the baths. The column of stars shiver and flicker with another wild, bellow from the sturdy Southern blue, the vocalization shuddering through his mindscape, flesh following thought, thought following flesh. Esanth following Liareth.

Liareth is having none of that, Ats; sorry! Her favorite brown of the wing he may be, but he's going to have to use a bit more finesse than that to really impress her. While the twining of mists through her mind is received with a most appreciative glee, she waits ‘til the last second…and turns abruptly, hugging a ridge. If this were a wood floor, everyone behind her would likely go skidding into the wall, so sudden is her change in direction. Her appreciation for the pursuing blues remains, however, laughter amidst the dancer's bells melodic, complimenting the unheard music of her dance. « You impress me. But only one of you may join the dance. Who shall it be? »

Iolarth shrieks insolence at the brown making his way straight for the green, lashing out with moonlight talons as he tries to slash the brown in passing. His!

She wants a show, does she? Atsusath's mist rises up from the valley floor, pouring into towering clouds that grow dark and heavy. The sky flashes with bolts of lightning that twist earthward, driving, diving as Atsusath surges forward, flashing talons and teeth at the blues twisting and dodging around him. He twitches his wing out of Iolarth's way, a bolt headed towards the irritatingly insistent blue. He stretches forward, teeth baring, claws opening, a rumble rising like thunder in his chest, lightning crashes, flashes, a display of the raw power of the mind that lay under the easy-going brown's demeanor. The lovely Liareth would be his. And he would bring her ALL the wherries.

Who knew Esanth would be so noisy? He's usually pretty quiet. At least, not loud. He roars with the thrill of dodging the other chasers and flares a wicked set of claws at Iolarth. He has them too -flash- see? He stretches forward, eyes whirling a brilliant orange-shot blue. His muscles, draw and stretch, pull, twist, tense, turn drop…flying. This. This was his purpose. Flying. The whirling column of stars flow forward, wreathing Liareth, a crown for the queen who had given him such a great excuse to fly like he never flew with his 'mate aboard. The warmth of his heart flows forward, the valiant little brightness that stands against the vast cold, and the shimmering cold column of stars turns golden, gilding Liareth's bath with a thousand, thousand drifting motes of light and life. Whoever won the chase… THIS was life.

There are times when Iolarth can be his own worst enemy. This is one of them. So enraged does he become at Atsusath's interference and avoidance that retaliation begins to interfere with his focus, and his speed falters as he lashes out again at the brown yet again, aiming for a haunch. He may not know it, but this chase is over for him, his hunter's single-mindedness faltering enough to throw him off for good. But whether it's truly all due to his wish to fight, or due to something from his rider's mind, is hard to say. Still he flies…but it's a vain chase, now.

Liareth is only just tiring, but the fact that she is pleased with those who remain in pursuit is clear. A low croon sounds from her throat, lithe curves flicking and teasing at those who remain. Atsusath's misty storms? Kanyith's admirable aerodynamics? Esanth's valiant maneuvers and swirling stars? Yes, and how brilliantly that starlight plays across the waters beneath the fog - a complement to the remote shine of firelight still flickering orange and red upon shining surfaces…but should would she not do better to accept one with more experience? Even so, that imagery is what wins her over, and she veers, catching an upward draft into Esanth's path and slowing juuuust enough that it'll seem like his idea.

Kanyith has been in enough of these to know when the choice has been made. Wings fold as he dives beneath his prey. Nothing but turbulence. He barrel rolls to the left and away, seeking the comfort of Igen's precious waters.

S'kyre stumbles to a stop, his mind slowly sinking out of the merge with dragon. What? Wait? Oh. No catch, and he's making his way out of the area, because no catch, massive…erm, need for being someplace else.

For whatever reason, N'cal hasn't tried to rein Iolarth in from his combativeness toward the others. For one thing, he knows where Iolarth's sentiments will lie once all is said and done. For another, there's the matter of where his own sentiments lie - something he can, indeed, search out even in the midst of this flight. Not that Liareth isn't worth catching…but he and Iolarth haven't been here long, and perhaps it would be wiser to give Kanyith or Atsusath a chance. Yet even that doesn't happen; it's the Southern blue that gets her. N'cal finds himself bracing up against the wall as the frustration from his lifemate ebbs. Iolarth, as is his way, will go to hunt now, and N'cal…must now find his own way to burn off the aftermath.

Trek comes down slowly from that rush of the flight, eyes slowly focusing here rather than through Kanyith. Blinking a few times, she looks to Kyara, then away. Spotting N'cal, she slaps what's left of the depleted wineskin against his chest. It's still cooler than Igen's air, at least. She then heads out of the ground weyr, either to find a different one, or to find some other distraction.

Atsusath roars his dismay, rearing back to gain height, baleful red overtaking the blazing orange of his rapidly spinning eyes, at the height of his climb he stalls, glaring down at the twining pair. He flips over and back with a toss of his head. Something would need destroying. And soon. But what… what… « Let's go wreck something. »

Esanth dips, just a quick adjustment and…she's caught. He bellows a grinding roar, exultant, neck twining in a single twist along Liareth's, the force of his bellow rumbling into her as his talons catch and tail twines. The arc of their trajectory, now shared, shifts. Esanth twists, rolling the two of them in his exuberance, and they fall, spinning. The glory of the flight thrums through Esanth's body and mind, stars shimmering and continuing to fall in the swirling mist of the baths. On the ground, awash in the wonder of Esanth's pursuit, the blaze of that unbridled joy, buzzing in his bones, his brain, his flesh, T'ral closes the distance to Kyara in a few swift strides, an exultant shout echoing Esanth's own, a broad grin as he lifts Kyara and spins her off towards the ground weyr.

A far less surprising end to things, this flight, and Liareth's happiness with the outcome is clear as she willingly eases into a delightful tangle with Esanth, firelight brightening and fog clearing to reflect his stars in crystalline waters. But the heat doesn't wane, wrapping pleasantly about the mind of the one with her…and spiraling outward to engulf Kyara as well. Though the greenrider is still quite overtaken by her lifemate, her awareness is no longer in the sky, the shout and the grin and the strong arms lifting her registering enough through the haze enough that she smiles in turn, arms catching around T'ral's neck as she lets herself be carried off. Never mind that there's likely going to be a good deal of awkwardness afterward; that'll be addressed. It was a good flight - and that is where the focus now lies for both dragons and riders.

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