| Xiorayith was perfectly aware that she was going to rise at any time. The light-gold took it in stride, and displayed little of the irritability that she was feeling. She made sure Viresa was aware and prepared as well. But this, this was a lovely day, cerulean-skied, and with some of the heat of the tropics coming back without dampness. The light-gold stretched easily, each wheat-gold wing in turn, aware of several dragons' eyes -most outWeyr, though there was a single Ryslen brown-following her movement hungrily. The sun and wind stroking her hide made a wildness well within her breast, and those prismatic eyes' dumb vigil irritated her beyond belief. Muzzle held high, she quashed her annoyance and bore their regard stoically. I think it is time, Xiorayith said softly to her rider, and walked--walked--with decorum toward the Feeding Grounds. It took the five males a moment to catch on. Tshoth of Talor Cliff, an awkward, cheerful brown, was the first to figure it out, and he leapt into flight with a startled bugle, snaring a beast before Xiorayith had done more than look at them. As the pale queen vaulted lightly onto the wind's back, the sleek, gold-tinged Ordeth, a green's-clutch bronze from Aneris, sprang into the air at the same time as the much older Dark Moon bronze, Horuth. They snorted at each other, jockeying for position even as they killed and ate. Another Dark Moon bronze, a two-toner by the name of Alleonith, was quick to follow, his muscles rippling under brassy skin. Close on his tail was the last of the chasers, the Ryslen brown, Fivrith. Alleonith killed his beast rather bloodthirstily; Fivrith matched Xiorayith's scientific precision, though he and Tshoth took fewer beasts, lest even the blood weigh them down. Xiorayith even paid heed to her rider's firm reminder to blood, slaking her driving thirst on the life fluid of several beasts. She was larger than any of her chasers, though they were all older than the light-gold. To the air, she commanded coolly, and the wind made oil-shimmers on the gradients of her flanks. Platinum-tipped spars stung the air seconds before darker-hued wings began to beat. And they were away! The skies were spring-cool, brisk and brittle, and they fit Xiorayith's mood. She let the swift breeze blow through her as she shot past the clouds, too intent on her task to even take note of which riders were where on the ground. What did she care? That was Viresa's domain, and Xiorayith knew that her rider could handle it. The light-gold assessed the situation logically. Closest behind were the speedier browns, neck-and-neck, while below their flanks small Ordeth flew. Horuth and Alleonith had taken up side-positions-dangerous if she swerved into them, and too far away to recover should she dodge suddenly. She decided to test this theory. With a snap of her wings, she plowed into Horuth, sliding nimbly away from the startled bronze's grasping talons. Already too far away to regain his place, Alleonith keened his frustration and fell in tandem with the older bronze. Three left, she told herself, and though her pleasure was sucked away by the driving purpose, she knew that she couldn't shake all of them. But two more, at least... A pity that there was only the one bronze left. Ordeth was handsome, but he was going to get a surprise in a moment... Sacrificing speed for altitude, she shot up at a steep angle, cupping her 'sails as she flew to force herself to greater heights. And as she had suspected, the young bronze overshot, keening wistfully as he turned his head toward the Weyr. Two more to go. Both browns-well, browns were agile enough, especially this pair. She'd have to outlast them... So Xiorayith flew at a breakneck pace toward the horizon. She could feel the burn on her shoulders and keel, and had no doubt that the browns were feeling it worse than she was. When her breath came short, she risked a look behind her. Far, far back, the disconsolate form of one brown fell. Which one, which one? Who had won her fairly? Wild with impatience, she dropped back and down, waiting for brown claws to ensnare her. And they did! Cinnabar wings echoed her own as her catcher's forefeet brushed her neck. Fivrith! she caroled as she at last caught sight of him. In very deed, Al'jan's brown replied. As her lifemate fell soft as thistledown beyond her sight, Viresa smiled at an awed and exuberant Al'jan. He had gotten his wish. But although Al’jan was happy, Viresa did not want him. It was clear even before the large clutch hatched. For all his worries about Jhetarya, it was he, devil-may-care, ever-cheerful Al’jan, who ended up with a broken heart. He stayed for a long, long time in his weyr. Fivrith, too, was unhappy, for all of his offspring, his precious children, had abandoned themselves at birth, refusing bonders at once. It grieved the brown. His bond with Al’jan was so very tight, and his love so strong. That his children would never know such pleasure hurt him deeply. After some time, when the wounds had healed a little, he chased again, and lost. Fivrith had known that Duskannyranwalatath had a mate in mind. It was only setting himself up for failure to chase her, but he did. The brown couldn’t outlast the big black, and he returned, depressed, to the Weyr. After that incident, Al’jan and Fivrith began to roam far afield. At first, it was only across the Old World. The two felt the need to find /something/, so it was not surprising that Fivrith actually sniffed potential in a young lordling. They had found a Candidate. But Revlis was arrogant to the extreme, and would not come with them. They had to yield their right to the candidate to the fast-talking T’mael and his blue Alnath. He came, eventually, and Impressed well, to a silver-purple female named Cszaiath, but the glory was reserved for T’mael and his lifemate. So at last, they sojourned offworld. Fivrith felt a deep yearning for his own kind, but Al’jan’s hidden depression demanded a constant change of scenery. The melancholy that came over the rider was too much for his dragon to bear. He ‘ported far, far away, to another world. /Here/, he knew, the scenery would be foreign enough to catch Al’jan’s interest. The planet was called Icarus; their host, when they finally, wearily came to earth, was Mi’ihen Castle. And there they found, not dragons, but /draks/. <<They are so beautiful,>> the brown whispered, staring at these furred, multihued cousins. Al’jan watched them with a dazed sort of awe in his eyes. “They are. I never knew there were offworld dragons with two pairs of wings. I never thought they’d be that graceful, either.” <<Not dragons. Draks.>> Fivrith was enjoying Mi’ihen’s hospitality, even if the people with ‘normal’ dragons here were very…strange. <<Look at /her/!> He eyed the water drak appreciatively. <<Look at how she’s colored!>> “You just can’t get over all the hair,” Al’jan said, half-cheerful. “I think she’s looking, Fiv. Look at her pose.” <<That’s Valeiski,>> Fivrith informed his rider softly. <<And she /is/ looking for a mate. But her Paired is in love with her brother’s Paired.>> “Why don’t you try, if you fancy her?” The curly-haired young man smiled lopsidedly up at his lifemate. “I sure as fire don’t want any romantic entanglements. I’m through getting delusional about your light-of-love’s rider.” Fivrith’s emotional sending seesawed between worry and delight. <<You really mean it?>> he asked at last. <<You give your consent?>> “Freely and unconditionally,” the ex-farmer said, patting the brown’s ‘hand’. “You deserve to try for a dragoness that /you/ desire, for once.” Fivrith practically purred. He was still not devastatingly handsome, but he was gaining in good looks as he aged. His terra-cotta ‘sails were still his glory, contrasting sharply with the rest of his body, which was the rich, dark hue of good earth. With the sunlight shining on them, the faint green tracery of the brown’s veins was visible through the thin skin. He was strong and agile both, his movements equally powerful in the air or on the ground. But Fivrith also had an endearing personality. Much like Al’jan’s beloved cousin, the Ryslen brown was stubborn, honest, and forthright, with something of a temper. He loved and grieved openly. Fiv was not hard to read, and Al’jan loved him for that honesty. His lifemate was also honorable. A treacherous thought had never crossed his mind, and if some thought him simple or stupid for it, so much the better. Fivrith may have been blunt, but he was also very intelligent. Al’jan watched his brown pad up to the lady in question with a half-smile. This would be something to watch…. |
| Al’jan stalked moodily through his weyr, flopped bonelessly on a chair, and sighed, head in hands. <<Cheerful today, are we?>> Fivrith said dryly. The rough-built brown spread his broad wings a little more, enjoying the spring sunshine on his ledge. The ex-cotholder sent a snarling glance toward his lifemate. “That…/creature/ has gone and won Jheta’s flight, the no-good time-hopping cat-man.” Fivrith /looked/ at his partner. <<You groused about that last week. If you’re this upset over Arosambyth’s choice, I’ll eat my leathers. I am your dragon, your lifemate, your friend. Tell me what’s really eating you.>> Al’jan was quiet for a moment, stroking the sleeve of his tunic. The fine cloth was nearly worn through, and it caught on the rider’s rough fingers. “Viresa,” he mumbled, rubbing the weaver’s mark on the black cuff. <<I like Viresa. What is wrong with her?>> The brown sounded defensive. Images of the Weyrweaver’s kindness flashed through Al’jan’s head on clay-tart dragonspeech “Viresa is wonderful,” he agreed morosely. “Believe me, I know Viresa is wonderful. I’ve had my mind on her for the past two Turns.” Fivrith snorted. <<And?>> “She Impressed a light gold, you know,” Al’jan replied, stung. <<Your point /is/?>> The tall, craggy-faced rider catapulted himself out of his chair. “Xiorayith is /flying/.” He kicked savagely at an errant rug-corner. “And you know what luck we’ve had with light-golds.” The brown uncoiled and ducked his head inside the weyr. <<You are referring to Zheyth’s flight? But you did not love Naera. Or Asien, for that matter.>> He padded a little closer, thrusting his nose at his rider’s chest. <<Be of good cheer, Al’jan. I will try my best for you.>> “And if we don’t win?” Al’jan sighed, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’ll sound like some kind of moron, mooning over a lost flight. Will she even think I care about /her/--not her position, not the prestige of flying a light-gold, but about Viresa?” <<You are very earnest, my Al’jan. I tell you, I will do my best. I have experience now, and will not fall for any more silly tricks. She will not shake me with any sudden stops—I know what those look like now—and I will not flinch away if she swerves like Quith did.>> The brown stepped outdoors, curvetted, mantled. Even Al’jan’s stormy brows lifted as Fivrith’s shoulders rippled. His lifemate arced his wings a little, and let the sun shine through their green-veined cinnabar. <<I am not handsome as dragons go, Al’jan,>> he murmured, <<but I am strong and tough and broad-winged. I fly the high currents with you every day, and they have made me strong. I do not have your silver tongue, but I am stubborn. And faithful,>> he said softly. <<Faithful as my golden sister. Put your faith in me, Al’jan. I will not disappoint you.>> Al’jan smiled a little. “You have forgotten wise, Fivrith. But they are all bronzes, thus far, that chase her. You will not be put off?” <<What is a bronze but a brown without manners?>> Fivrith purred. <<See, look at you. Those black curls, that rugged nose, those melting blue eyes. Have confidence in yourself, stupid,>> the brown said affectionately. <<You’ve never suffered from this lack before. Go sign the flight board, and I shall sally forth to defend our honor and your heart.>> Grinning, Al’jan went. |
| Rough-built Fivrith was up early, and Al’jan with him, stretching and yawning as Rukbat’s rim shimmered at the horizon. Drowsily, the handsome brownrider dressed in the well-tailored but worn leathers that composed five-sixths of his wardrobe, eyeing the teal-dyed wherhide with a quirk of his lips. “Our Jheta’s a character,” Al’jan remarked, tying back his dark curls. <<Oh? More than usual?>> the brown replied curiously, arching his mahogany neck. Fivrith really was looking handsome lately, with frequent oilings and steady meals. His awkwardness during his Weyrling days had fooled Al’jan for a time, and his skinny build after Jhetarya’s illness had nearly convinced him that his lifemate was no more a beauty than his cousin. Now, however…. “Yes, indeed, my fine Fivrith. She won’t wear anything but browns and grays, but look what she gets for me. Teal! Really!” The ex-cotholder smiled up at his dragon. “Although, I must say, now that /you’re/ here, I like Fivrith-shades much better.” Opalescent eyes gleamed back at him. <<Compliments are fine, but I’m hungry. Can you manage without me?>> Al’jan peered over the ledge’s edge, warily. “Only if you’ll be back in time for me to have /my/ breakfast. Are you eyeing that poor green down there?” <<I am getting valuable sustenance!>> Fivrith said hotly. More smugly, he commented, <<You just don’t want her to see my hunting prowess. I’m almost as good at hunting as I am at being stubborn. You don’t want greenriders swooning at you.>> Al’jan winced. “A trifle bluntly put, Fivrith.” <<Oh? Then you /like/ being drooled over?>> “Let’s just say,” and Al’jan hesitated, “that it’s only fun when the feeling’s mutual.” <<So only pretty greenriders,>> Fivrith stated with a snicker. Mock-scowling, the brownrider slapped his lifemate’s hindquarters. “Off with you, O stater of half-truths! You don’t need to dine on my ego!” <<Naera already did that quite nicely. Accusing me of being over-eager…the nerve! And me just recovering from a long, foodless vigil. It’s not /my/ fault that Zheyth’s contrary.>> Fivrith minced daintily to the stone shelf’s edge, and beat his wings a few times to warm his muscles. Their terra-cotta ‘sails contrasted sharply with the rest of his body, which was the rich, dark hue of good earth. With the sunlight shining on them, the faint green tracery of the brown’s veins was visible through the thin skin. When all Al’jan did was snort, the brown took off, swooping down toward the feeding grounds like a particularly long-tailed hawk. Talons fisted, he broke his chosen prey’s neck with a falconish dive, wasting not a drop of blood. Clutching it with his strong, pendactyl claws, Fivrith leapt into the air again, returning to his ledge with a gracious dignity. Nearby, a lithe green from the clutch following his sprang into the air from a nearby ledge, her elegance distracting the brown from the tidy consumption of his meal. She might have been showing off—there was a well-thought-out grace to her movements that wasn’t that common in dragons choosing their breakfast—but Fivrith didn’t particularly care. She was quite attractive, and the slight lambency of her adventurine-hued hide suggested that she might fly soon. <<Isn’t Quith a pretty young thing?>> he asked Al’jan, head following the green with interest. <<They grow up so nicely, here at Ryslen.>> The rumble of his words suggested to Al’jan that he’d better agree. “Gorgeous, my lad. Has the mighty Fivrith been smitten again?” The brown ignored him, eeling along the ledge like a feline, his dinner finished and forgotten. Fivrith was also preoccupied with the slim beauty of the green’s build, and not watching the warning whirl of her eyes. She made a low rumble in her throat, but he was unsure whether it was a growl or a croon. Tentatively, he flicked his tail closer, squaring his wide, glossy shoulders. She snarled and snapped at where his tail would have been, had he not jerked it out of the way in alarm. Taken aback, Fivrith slunk back to his own ledge, very much disheartened. “She’s a /green/, Fiv,” Al’jan said patiently. “She’s probably proddy. And when they’re proddy, greens don’t like males around, even if they /are/ flying flirty. Although,” and he stole a mournful look at the feeding grounds, “I don’t know how you’d tell.” <<I thought she /liked/ me,>> Fivrith mumbled, sulkily. “Why don’t we forget about the suddenly O-So-Lovely Quith, and fly down to the Bowl? I’m starving, and it’d do you good to get your feet on the ground,” Al’jan suggested. <<Fine. It’s all well and good for /you/ to brush it off,>> the brown grumbled, but a bit of good humor returned to the prismatic eyes, and he offered his rider a foreleg without being asked. Al’jan saw Quith’s rider at breakfast, a delicate little thing a head shorter than him. Her smooth, classically beautiful face was very appealing—and Al’jan appreciated the mix of dark hair, pale skin, and those enormous, vivid blue eyes. She was polite and cheerful, as far as he could tell, eating lightly between bouts of conversation. Unfortunately, he couldn’t simply take a seat near her and strike up a conversation—the length of the table where Asien sat was jammed with hopeful maleriders. The brownrider rose thoughtfully from his repast, and made a beeline for the flight board. Blue eyes intent in his pale-auburn face, he scribed his name and Fivrith’s down beneath Asien’s crisp entry. If he couldn’t introduce himself politely, the least he could do was show his interest another way… |
| Fivrith flexed his broad, earthy wings, turning his craggy profile toward Al’jan. <<I feel as strong as ever, Al’jan, truly, I do.>> The blue eyes of the brownrider stood out vividly against his auburn skin. “Are you sure, Fivrith? I know these last few months have been terribly hard on you. We were all so worried about Jheta…” The brown tossed his head, sunlight glancing off the prisms of his eyes. <<I feel fine. I will chase the beautiful light gold Zheyth, and win, if she wills it. And you will talk to Naera.>> Al’jan shook his head, setting his dark curls to dancing. “I don’t think it’s the best time to get to know someone, Fivrith. She’ll think that you and I are only trying to win her dragon’s flight, and that kind of attention rarely puts goldriders in a good mood.” <<But you are a gentleman,>> Fivrith said firmly. <<You could have been the Lord Consort, if Lady Aschiane had not favored someone else. You know how you feel about Arosambyth rising—just treat her as you would have a suitor treat Jhetarya.>> “I don’t even know if I like her. If you weren’t so determined to prove yourself, my mettlesome, meddlesome brown, I’d have to back out, playing by my own rules. She’s pretty, but that’s /all/ I know about her.” <<But you’re intrigued. Just be yourself, Al’jan, and let me do the rest. I am swift and strong, and I have gained back my old skills now, even after those weeks of ground-pounding. I am not the handsomest of browns, but, I think, I am the stubbornest.>> "You are correct, sir," Al'jan murmured, smiling ruefully. Fivrith had no illusions, and the ex-cotholder could only hoped that he was the same. |
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| Chasing |
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