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| RL Date: 8 June, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: After the leadership flight, and their near win, A'rist goes home with Lythronath. Relatively unscathed. |
| Where: Lower caverns and bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 12, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Miravea/Mentions |
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| A'rist didn't know the name of the girl he'd found in the caverns. He recognised her face. She was about his age, and he knew she had favoured him. Had. He expected that would change. It always did, now. He cleaned himself up, knowing he should find some words to give her, some apology maybe, but it was hard meeting her eyes. In part because of how tentatively she moved. In part because she wouldn't look into his. In part because he just wasn't interested. He left, not the only one taking his leave of a quiet corner, a convenient partner, even if he was pretty sure most others would stay the night together. That was for them, though. He thought of Miravea, briefly. Then, Lythronath. Lythronath. « A'rist. » Tasting blood and ichor. Adrenaline. Frustration. Defeat. This was the first flight that the tension between them hadn't worked. So close. So close. They'd tasted her. Boiling ichor. Searing. Ha! Had he felt a snap from that bronze- from Cadejoth, he had a name again, Cadejoth, and when A'rist thought it hard, thought it at his bronze, then Lythronath could feel the pain coming off of his victim. Normally, his dragon would laugh. Now, it was just frustration. Was it a snap? A'rist wasn't sure. What if they had pushed that little bit harder? What if they'd held on, torn her away? What if A'rist hadn't held his dragon back? Things could be different. Very different. A'rist knocked a mug off the table on his first grab, and stared at his hand, flexing it. His hand. He took a deep breath, tried to settle into that cold metal part of him, where Lythronath's talons could be, where they wouldn't knick the surface. He reached for another mug, seized it, poured klah, careful, controlled. Perfect. And he left the pieces of pottery where they'd fallen. Just like they'd left Cadejoth, the weyrleader's bronze, K'del's bronze. They were lucky to have that. To have both those things. And Hraedhyth. Lucky to have all three. A'rist made his upper lip uncurl. Enough of this. He focused on the klah. Where are you, anyway? He could smell old, dried blood. Get up. I'm not walking up there. He'd need to rest and let his head clear. This wasn't a green flight (although he'd give Lythronath one of those soon enough, soon as they found one). And it had been close. A'rist's stomach tightened, and he knew it wasn't the klah. That was good, though. By the time he was out in the bowl, he could feel his dragon's approach. Seeing those wings, those darkened talons, he let himself ride that last wave of pride. Whatever else it was or could've been, it was close. Their first gold flight, and they barely lost. He ran his hand over the dragon's leg, inspecting the muscle. This was just the beginning. |
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