Keelie was just finishing her lunch when the feeling started. Down in her belly, a kind of wonderful terrible ache, pulling her out of her daydream. » Gruff? Where are you? « She drops the sandwich, forgotten, on the grass, and scrambles to her feet. The world shifts and she feels a strong desire to get to the stables. » What is going on? «

« It wasn't time, but now it is. And she is beauty glorious! The most beautiful dragon I have ever seen. She glows golden, like a queen. » The cheshire cat sounds suspiciously… drunk?

The young brownrider stops, blinks three times. The sky is reeling, like a kaleidoscope. That's unusual. » Gruffith. Are you rhyming? «

« How else can I hope to impress, the beauty that is this empress? »

Keelie can't help it. She giggles. » Ok, change that. You are rhyming badly. «

Her feet carry her, at a sprint now, across the fields, towards the Weyr stables, where a crowd is growing inside. She pushes open the doors, and the tension is so thick, it freezes hay particles in the air. A male greenrider she doesn't recognize is the focal point of the scene, surrounded by black silhouettes. He is lit from a break in the planks above, beautiful, golden-haired like the sun, his athletic form blooming like a flower. Like the rest of the dragonriders milling about, Keelie can't stop staring at him.

« She carries rainbows under her wings, with every sweep the sky does sing! Choose me for your suitor, Queevath, and we will fill the sky with our music. »

Keelie can't think straight enough tell him that doesn't even rhyme. Her slender fingers curl in what feels like hay. She thinks she might be sitting on a bale of it, and the musty smell of runners fills her nose. It isn't unpleasant. If anything —

And then it all disappears and she is Gruffith, who has already blooded his kill, and is playing catch-up with that beautiful golden green goddess bestowed with rainbow wings. He spouts more bad poetry, which Keelie can't recall; it sounds echoey and strange. They ignore all the glittery blues and browns that dip and swirl, trying to catch her attention. Gruffith is steady, solid, true - a proud, redwood-coloured, barrel-chested bat soaring serenely alongside the buzzing flies. He is a proper gentleman in the air. Keelie feels dizzy. Why didn't they cover this in weyrling training? OH RIGHT, THEY DID.

« I will bring you sandwiches. » Gruffith has moved on from rhyming and is making promises. Maybe he needs to work on his pick-up lines. « I will never ask your rider to wear a parka. »

Indeed. It appears that clothes are disappearing at an alarming rate as Keelie comes to. Her own scout jacket is puddled on the floor. How did that get there? Red hair strays across her eyes, and she is aware of her breathing. Heavy. Hot.

Maybe Queevath isn't that into sandwiches, or maybe that blue was just too quick, but the flight is soon over. And won. But not by Gruffith.

« Well, I never. » Gruffith peels off from the fray, falling from the sky like a stone.

The young redhead turns away from the erotic scene unfolding before her eyes, and rushes into the closest pillar, pressing her palms and forehead against the cold stone.

A strong hand is at her back, smoothing her hair, rubbing, comforting, and as she turns, two males are talking to her in lowered voices - is one of them in her wing? He has black hair, his pupils enlarged. She blinks, and is suddenly aware they are trying to entice her away, into one of the empty stalls. Well, one of them - he was crouching down to talk to her. Suddenly a fist comes out of no where, and his face disappears. Keelie is reeling, and hurries her feet to get away. She feels her shirt being grabbed and ripped at her shoulder, and she aims a punch at whoever's hand that is! It lets go.

"M'noq." The girl has a singular thought as she snatches up her jacket and staggers out the double stable doors.

She pauses at the water trough, splashing her face and squinting in the bright sunlight. Her face still feels hot. Her entire body feels hot, and tense, aching —

« Keelie. Are you ok? »

Gruffith wings down, suddenly there, and she leans into him, sagging with relief. His mindvoice is back to normal; the calm crash of ocean waves, a resounding bass felt rather than heard, reassuring. « Come with me. We will find your mountain boy. He will help you feel better. »

"Gruff. I love you, but please do not do that ever again." Whether she means the chasing, or the bad poetry/promises, remains to be seen.