Logs:Eliyaveith's Second Flight
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| RL Date: 16 May, 2015 |
| Who: Lilah, R'hin, C'stian, G'vri, A'rist, V'ros, J'dain |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Eliyaveith finally rises, gets caught as they always do. |
| Where: Northern Bowl / Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| There is no subtly to the way that Eliyaveith's flame seeks out his cool winds, an unmistakable golden glow even to the flicker of her thoughts. « It is almost time, » she tells him without hesitation, not caring what he is doing or why. Come, is the silent command from the queen who so rarely commands, not a suggestion. « She will want him. I may want you. » (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith) He resists; tries to, at first. She is not his queen. The elusive bronze is not so easily caught, nor lured; when she nears he skitters away, though the beat of something dark and hot rises within the stirring of frigid winds slowly heated by her flame. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh) Eliyaveith's focus is only drawn more intently on Leiventh as he resists, unexpected certainly and enough to catch her attention now as she allows heat to linger there. « No, » she asserts as he resists. « Come. » (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith) A moment of stillness falls, and all wind dies. And then, abruptly, High Reaches winter winds turn into a hot desert scourging, heated and intent and focused on her, as she wishes. There is no neat order to his thoughts, like the wind they scatter this way and that, pulling in a thousand different directions all at once, though beating darkly throughout. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh) The molten fire of Eliyaveith's mind pours over the Weyr, any softness of the queen lost in the scorched heat that focuses on those bronzes and browns in her Weyr. Her dragons, whether they are or not. « Be ready, » she will warn, however, as she watches over the Bowl below. (To local dragons from Eliyaveith) An odd combination of intense interest and casual dismissal radiates from Tovriath's presence as he watches the queen from his claimed territory on the rim. He's been ready since there was something to be ready for. (To local dragons from Tovriath) Rain continues to pour over the Weyr, making today a sodden, grey thing. But the rain does little to extinguish the glow along Eliyaveith's molten hide, the wetness doing little to drive the queen inside today as it normally would. Instead, she is wide awake and alert, her intent focus over the Bowl below her from where she sits perched, alone, on the sunning spot. And then, suddenly, there is a heat that flows over those bronzes and browns that have been watching her, encouraging them to ready themselves. Flushed, drawn by her dragon's warning as well, Lilah steps out from her weyr onto the junior ledge that connects to it. She wears only the plain, threadbare grey uniform, as if in defiance of what a goldrider should wear on such an occasion, a scrub brush forgotten in her hand as she lifts dark eyes to where her queen waits, ready and tense. Another bronze appears, low over the Weyr. Whatever exchange is made with the watch dragon happens quietly and undoubtedly quickly, for the hook-nosed High Reachian is soon settling in the bowl. Leiventh seems unbothered by rain, his rider perhaps less at ease, a moment's battle played out in the stillness of the pair, before R'hin begrudgingly slides down to the ground, boots splashing in the rain. His clothing is awkward at best for betweening, thin material of his dusty, ill-fitting coat rather unsuited to the stature due a Wingleader. His expression taut, if nothing else the stalk of his path across the puddles in the bowl bespeaks his mood well enough, heading directly for the junior ledges. Leiventh, left the winner of whatever battle played out, turns head inevitably Eliyaveith-wards. By habit alone, Leiventh is nowhere near showy enough to make his presence felt, nor to flex his mental muscle in the face of adversaries -- normally cold winds heated by Eliyaveith's flame, the High Reaches bronze could pass unnoticed amongst the voices of the local population. (To local dragons from Leiventh) The bloom of brightness brushes against Leiventh's thoughts as he looks towards her, pleasure matching the heat of Eliyaveith's mind as he wins. « Yes, » is a soft encouragement, a touch of pride in finding him here like she wanted. (Like Lilah wanted? It doesn't matter anymore. They both are pleased.) (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith) To local dragons, Lythronath has been alert since entering Fort airspace. That alertness is slowly turning itself into readiness, a sharp and pressing intensity, not pinpointed quite enough, not yet, to manifest into words. But it's there. He's there. And not leaving. To Lythronath, Eliyaveith's attention draws naturally to the foreign dragon there, a testing flicker of flames against the dragon's mind. Does it remind him, much, of another golden queen, or perhaps it doesn't, but it's there all the same in interest. One more joins the eagerly awaiting crowd, as Liesanth drops rather abruptly from his weyr ledge above, coming to a stop in the mud with his wings outstretched. The excitement of the scar-backed young bronze is almost palpable; as always, competitions -- races, chases, anything where he can potentially win and show he is the Strongest or the Fastest or the Most Clever -- have his temper up. His rider, however, is nowhere to be seen at first. It takes several minutes before C'stian arrives from the dragon infirmary, pulling on a coat with a somewhat annoyed look. Flights wait for no one's errands, it seems. To Eliyaveith, Lythronath doesn't test back. It's no test. It's a hard press of focus, an invasion, sharp as his teeth and claws. « Eliyaveith. » Surprise flickers across Lilah's expression even as R'hin starts in her direction, her fingers tightening on the scrub brush as she watches the wingleader. "I didn't ask her to--," she starts, unable to continue as Eliyaveith rumbles a low noise and pushes herself off of the sunning spot, as if the one piece of the puzzle that she were waiting on has fallen into place. The queen isn't a graceful, agile one; her path towards the feeding pens is cut simply but with the power that is offered through her large build. « Yes, » identifies the queen, some measure of indignation rising by that invasion even as her flames draw hotter. But there's a challenge that meets it, a silent one that marks that invasion as unwelcome, unless, unless--. (To Lythronath from Eliyaveith) If there is any further resistance, by dragon or rider, it isn't apparent in the reaction -- a white-heated flaring of light, an unceasing movement that isn't reflected in his physical presence. He is here; she is here. He is pleased at her pleasure, and there is an anticipation in the crouched, ever-watchful form of the statuesque bronze. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh) Two struggling figures appear from the lower caverns, high-tailing it towards the junior ledges, both of a similar height and coloring, but that might be where the similarities end. It's V'ros that's trying to fight the superior hold his friend has on his riding jacket, trying to jerk his shoulder away, to no avail. "If you don't.. fucking.. let go, A'rist.." is growled low, in an unusual-for-him dangerous tone, that's undoubtedly attributed to the skulking brown at the other side of the bowl. He looks a little wild-eyed, and close up, reeks of liquor. Zmeyth stays on the peripheries, with the smoldering smoke of low burning bonfires and the subdued, subtle buzz of multiple whispering voices. (To local dragons from Zmeyth) R'hin's pale, intent gaze is unwavering on Lilah, jaw tightening visibly at her attempt to dissemble; he doesn't look when she cuts off, but he doesn't need to; he can undoubtedly feel it through Leiventh if nothing else. "And yet, here I am," he mutters, fingers clenching. Leiventh doesn't launch aloft, just yet -- waiting until she feeds first, waiting to take account of his competitors; who can say. The familiar voice jerks the Wingleader's head around, and a scoffing laugh breaks free as he sees V'ros and A'rist. Ferrying one of those (damned) Southern weyrfolk back from said Weyr after a quick family emergency, bronze Sekuth's rider finds himself nearly ejected from his lifemate's neck (that poor passenger, too!) when the scent and sight of glowy Eliyaveith lure him into the upcoming flight. Quick as a lumbering hulk like him can do, once those pesky humans are away, he's hurling himself into the pens with a merry growl, and picking off the nearest of Fort's bovines for a quick pick-me-up blood snick-r-snack. Looking like he would prefer to beat his head against a wall rather than be here, tall and thin and quiet J'dain silently sizes up the competition while trotting towards the main group of gathered riders. Flame is drawn to smoke, Eliyaveith's heat slowly licking at the edges of Zmeyth's subtle thoughts as he stays there on the peripheries, curious. So curious to find his intent. (To Zmeyth from Eliyaveith) A'rist, indeed, has a wiry strength to him. It keeps hold of V'ros, until they're well into the bowl, until the young bronzerider has made eye contact with his dragon. It wasn't permission that Lythronath was waiting for, and it's not permission A'rist gives. But after that look, the fiery-winged dragon is in the air, seeking out a beast for himself, no mind to waiting. A'rist then gives V'ros a hard shove and release, glaring at his best friend, and taking his own course. It coincides with that of other riders, but A'rist doesn't walk with them. And he doesn't speak, either. Tovriath bugles from his position on the rim, amber-bronze wings mantled, ready to drop into the bowl more than trying to show off. Once Eliyaveith heads for the feeding pens, he's in a quick descent to follow her. G'vri takes longer to appear from the inner caverns, accompanied by a Southern brownrider who looks similarly distracted, but more surprised, by the impending flight. "I told you it would be soon," he says to her, sounding more smug than he might actually intend. « Lythronath. » Dropped amidst the flame, exulting in her indignation, barreling through that challenge as he takes to the wing. (To Eliyaveith from Lythronath) Liesanth tracks Eliyaveith's progress into the feeding pens with an attention focusing on the obsessive. The young bronze is already half-crouched, his wings outspread. He will not, it seems, miss even a /moment/ of the chance to fly, not this time. In contrast, C'stian seems to be trying hard to focus on the competition instead, as he makes his way over to the rest of the crowd. "Here we /all/ are," he remarks a little dryly to R'hin, as he overhears the other man's remark. R'hin's laugh draws Lilah's gaze from the wingleader to trace where he looks, instead. Apparently, the sight of the two dragonriders doesn't amuse her nearly as much, since it only draws the etch of a frown onto the goldrider's lips. Perhaps it's the pair that does it, or C'stian's dry remark there, that has her turning on a heel and striding back into the safety of her weyr and away from them all. She doesn't even wait to see her dragon pin down a herdbeast, though her focus is kept on Eliyaveith as she struggles to force the queen to only draw in that warm blood. A'rist's shove almost sends V'ros to the ground, but he manages to catch himself and jerk on the front of his jacket, straightening the lines, at the same time. His glare isn't wholly for A'rist, but all of the other dragonriders making a beeline for Lilah too. He might even notice Savannah's wingleader, amongst the horde, but just now isn't the time to be paying respects or shaking hands; mostly doling out dirty looks and paltry smirks. Zmeyth is eager enough, his prowling of the far end of the bowl coming to a halt when the queen rises and makes her way to the feeding pens. Quickly, he follows, latching onto the first beast he hurtles into, and blooding with devilish delight. « Lythronath, » repeats the queen, burning the name between them. It isn't acceptance of his invasion, more of an acknowledgement of whom she faces. (To Lythronath from Eliyaveith) In response, the buzz of voices dies down and the sound of barely-crackling fire takes precedent, pairing his smoke perfectly; he doesn't need to be loud to get his point across. His attention is solely hers, his mind set ablaze by her flames. (To Eliyaveith from Zmeyth) Leiventh is deft and precise in his blooding; he expends little energy to hop the fence and select a suitable buck, using the weight of his body to quickly kill the creature, before blooding. A second soon follows, chosen by grace of the poor luck of the bawling animal to be streaking near enough for him to strike at. His rider isn't near as focused on the blooding, a snort from R'hin answering C'stian's remark. "This is your Weyr, not mine," he growls in an undertone by way of response. He's quick to follow in the junior's wake, his stalking posture doing little to dispel his claim, despite his words. Soft encouragement brushes at the bare edges of Liesanth's thoughts, encouragement in her brother, as always. Even now, Eliyaveith can't help but do that. (To Liesanth from Eliyaveith) C'stian's exasperation only seems to grow as Lilah stalks off; the bronzerider crosses his arms in front of him, and grimaces at the goldrider's retreating back. "I see her mood's not improved," he mutters, more to himself than those nearby. When R'hin growls and stomps off, he turns to follow as he adds, "And apparently contagious." Liesanth, however, could care less for his rider's moods; he bloods one of the smaller herdbeasts quickly, and with only half his attention as his focus remains on Eliyaveith. Lythronath's first beast is gore, a pronouncement of presence and purpose, a warning. The second beast... is also gore. Because he can. It's not as efficient, but it's quick. There's a third to follow. There's carnage left behind. A'rist has clenched his teeth, and has his hands out at his sides, fingers splayed, tense. He looks over his competition. He looks for the goldrider. And then he looks back out, toward the feeding grounds. Shakes his head. Closes his eyes. Re-grits his teeth. "Bad idea," is snarled, whether V'ros is nearby or not to hear him. J'dain's silent, withdrawn countenance gives away no hints of the inner heat his more intrepid lifemate is currently provoking, hazel eyes sweeping just a hint nervously over Lilah's retreating form before he dares to follow the group of other bronze and brown riders on her tail. The more he hears the talk, watches the 'walk' between the other participants, the less he wants to be here. Too late, buster brown. Beyond the humans, Sekuth impales another, large bovine, and gleefully settles down to sucking it dry of most traces of blood, while the massive bronze rumbles and mantles his prey. Whirling, red eyes rarely fail to focus on showy, glowy Eliyaveith...and soon he's gliding down a wherry, ripping its head near-off before suckling eagerly from the stump of its neck. Delicious! The zephyr of Liesanth's mindtouch is filled with eagerness, anticipation, and the confidence -- as always, misplaced or not -- that he will make his sister proud. Another competition, another chance to prove what he can do, and this time -- as with every time -- the belief he will win. (To Eliyaveith from Liesanth) A beast is blooded with little focus because it's all on the gold. Tovriath ignores the other males except to rumble when one gets too close to his claimed space before promptly ignoring them again. It's unimportant. G'vri nudges his companion and gesture for her to follow him along the wall of the bowl toward the weyrs where they'll find Lilah's. The inside of the weyr is spotlessly clean, not a thing out of place or sitting out except for that single scrub brush that Lilah has placed on her table; it even smells of a soapsand cleaning solution, as everything shines subtly through fresh cleanliness. She retreats entirely to her own private quarters, with it's neatly made bed and continued whiteness, though once she's there, it seems the goldrider doesn't know what to do next, yet. Eliyaveith, of course, does not have that issue. She bloods and watches, a certain gaze there on Lythronath's gore and a lingering look over Leiventh. She finishes and stills for a moment, continuing to observe her bronzes and browns, before she finally launches herself, with a heavy and powerful beat of wings, into the air. There isn't much inspection or indeed, interest given the weyr other than a cursory glance by R'hin as he passes inside. Even the bed only gets the barest of glances, the Reachian bronzerider's attention instead fixed on Lilah with an intensity borne of either anger or lust, or perhaps some combination of both. His fingers are curled into balls as he strides up to her, exhaling a breath as he rocks back onto his heels, before he deliberately turns away. Leiventh has no such hesitations; his third beast is quickly dispatched and drunk, leaving a mess of sprayed blood only as he launches skyward moments after Eliyaveith. Looking as bulky and perhaps even as 'ungraceful' (cad!) as Eliyaveith might on the ground, Sekuth also sweeps his broad wings in a massive downstroke to fling himself skyward after the queen, only his roar of challenge to all the other males in the pack allowing the 'stumped' carcass of his last wherry to fall from his mouth, where it lands awkwardly upon a rising brown...who shakes it off and hisses angrily at the Southern bronze. Idiot! Or was that planned? Inside Lilah's personal weyr, J'dain keeps to one of those pristine walls, planting his long back lightly against it while looking all around at a place he'll likely never see again. At least it keeps him from perving over Lilah, or wrinkling his nose in disdain at the other riders gathered here with him. Still, the weyrwoman's hair holds a silent allure for him, and hazel eyes seem to return to those locks over and over, like a metronome...while within, half his brain is already with his ascending lifemate. In contrast, C'stian pauses rather deliberately to examine the painting on the shelf; possibly this is done with some degree of genuine interest, but more likely as a way to avoid another confrontation with Lilah herself. If so, it doesn't work terribly well as a distraction; he finds his gaze continually drawn towards Fort's redheaded junior queen. Meanwhile, the instant that he sees Eliyaveith take to the air, Liesanth crouches low and /pushes/ himself skywards with as much energy as he can possibly muster. This time, however, he does not attempt his usual trick of gaining altitude at the beginning so as to drop down on others later in the chase; the strategy has not availed him well in the past, and so he simply sets his sights on the gold and moves to pursue more directly. Once they arrive, G'vri and the woman he came with stand together, either seeming very interested in the weyr itself. His gaze is more focused on Lilah than the brownrider's is, but they're speaking quietly to each other regardless of where the Southern bronzerider's attention seems to be. As soon as Eliyaveith takes to the skies, a powerful stroke of his wings sends the whiskey bronze after her with a bugle of eager, lusty enthusiasm. Lythronath lifts with a roar; it's harsh, it's borderline unhinged. His mind is jagged as he beats his wings. A'rist is barely into the weyr when he digs one of his claw-hands into the wall. It's hard to say who sees whom first; Lythronath Zmeyth, Zmeyth Lythronath, A'rist V'ros, V'ros A'rist... but that tension. That restlessness. It erupts, just after Lythronath has managed to gain some altitude on some of the other chasers. It's an attack, on his part. It's a yell, on A'rist's. Two 'Reachian dragons tangle and fall, two 'Reachian riders never make it fully past the entrance to the weyr, and the results... well, those will have to be seen once wings and dust and maybe punches have settled. R'hin isn't the only one whose expression flicks with a mingle of anger and lust, especially where the wingleader turns away from her. Sparked by her dragon's drive, Lilah suddenly has something to do; that is, she walks pointedly away from R'hin as well and towards G'vri. He seems to be chosen more at random than on purpose, but the goldrider wraps her fingers into the front of the man's jacket and brushes a kiss over G'vri's lips. Hello, there. It cuts off, of course, at the sound outside the weyr, startling her though the fight of the foreign bronze and brown deters Eliyaveith none. No, Eliyaveith has certainly learned from her maiden flight, not allowing any to get close to her as she spins one way, and then the other as soon as any of them seem to adjust, climbing ever higher. In the tangle of dust and wings and movement, it's difficult indeed to discern what happens on the way down to the Reachian pair. Too, it's near impossible to see what happens that Leiventh's near-silent presence suddenly becomes a white-hot, lancing light, and moments later he's heading all-too-fast for the ground. R'hin notices, of course -- he can't not -- the way Lilah moves away, and there's a press of lips, balled fingers tightening further. He rocks on his heels a moment, even taking a step before his eyes go distant, and a sharp exhale expels, staggering back a step, before he rockets out the door. When Lilah walks over to grab G'vri, C'stian can't help it; his hands clench into fists and tension sets into his shoulders, telegraphing just how incredibly badly he wants to walk over and /punch/ the other rider, enough so that the ruckus outside barely draws his notice. Unwilling to make a retreat, he starts to pace the area, pointedly trying -- and failing -- to ignore the almost-kiss. Outside, his bronze is equally unwilling to pay attention to the fall of competitors; he refuses to let himself be distracted. If they're tangled and injured, then that's simply two less who Liesanth has to defeat. He has eyes only for the gold he pursues single-mindedly. Don't worry about him... but maybe don't come too close either. That's the ambivilent expression upon quiet J'dain's saturnine, bookishly handsome features while he observes the reactions Lilah has to R'hin and G'vri, his adam's apple bobbing a bit in his long throat as he gulps once, hazel eyes widening. It's not the look of untried youth, or of a prude, but a mix of a man both entranced by lust, yet fearing to drown in it...and so seeking to hold himself as aloof as possible. Again, good luck...for Sekuth is flying into the fray like a piledriver, his hugely muscled form steady on the go as he observes Eliyaveith's youthful moves with delight and eager want. His joy in pursuit, however, doesn't stop the Southerner from glancing a shoulder into a competitor, or practically running down a smaller brown, after the bronze has gained more airspeed. Damned aggressive driver! Back with the weyr, R'hin's sudden leavetaking on that note of potential pain has J'dain both concerned and triumphant. G'vri is surprised, to say the least, by the lips against his, but he seems pleased by the attention, too. Even the scuffling of the Reachian riders doesn't completely remove the grin from his face when it distracts Lilah from him. The brownrider he came in with is looking at the goldrider with a strange mixture of annoyance and lust, though, as if she can't decide whether she wants a kiss, too, or if she's jealous. Either way, she doesn't actually say anything. Tovriath ignores the Reachians as much as his rider does, hanging back far enough that he doesn't waste energy on trying to follow Eliyaveith turn for turn, but close enough that he'll hopefully be ready to turn up the speed when the time comes. No one else gets a kiss; not with Lilah's distraction growing only sharper as R'hin disappears. She doesn't remember to draw away from G'vri, either, for all that her dark gaze lingers on that door, her hand still clutching the man's jacket there as knuckles go white for a moment. Eliyaveith has certainly climbed higher than her last flight, lasted longer, and there is a rush of exhilaration in the young queen for that fact alone. She is in control, this time; not her rider or her chasers, but the queen herself as she continues to climb as high as she can until her energy starts to wear out. Even this gold's strength does not last forever, and she twists to look behind her (in what is likely a bad move on her part) to see who is still with her. Liesanth's lust has boiled over to C'stian entirely, and the Hematite wingsecond's pacing brings him closer to Lilah and G'vri almost unconsciously. Outside, Liesanth is certainly still right with Eliyaveith; the scarred bronze has continued to follow the gold with single-minded determination, utilizing none of his usual 'clever' tricks. In many ways, this has worked better for him; being smaller for a bronze, and having spent literally turns engaging in endurance races and 'who can fly higher' competitions, he's been able to keep gaining altitude at a relatively consistent rate. As he spots Eliyaveith flagging, he gathers his strength to hurl himself foward in a burst of excitement, heedless to the other dragons around him. Victory -- and the prize -- is almost within his grasp! Helloooo Eliyaveith! He's just as tired as she is, but with the youthful gold's look over her shoulder comes a burst of longing, thus momentary speed from hulking Sekuth, the bronze nearly threatening to run her over in his gasping need to reach the queen before everybody else. Keeping his claws out of the mix, frontal digits go for a grasp at the female's shoulders while he seeks to foul her wings with his own, a strangled croon more than-inviting her to « Join me... » Down on the ground, J'dain first crosses long arms over his chest, then soon enough flings them wide open with a start as his lifemate goes for the grab, his now-open features only partially seeing Lilah as he stagger-steps towards her and G'vri...the latter a mere, small obstruction to him. Pardon me, interloper. A sudden, firm *bump* of his tall, though thin frame is offered to G'vri's to convince him to move off from the redheaded woman. At this point, he doesn't even notice C'stian. The Southern bronzerider doesn't seem to mind Lilah's hold on his jacket very much, but his brownriding friend is already stomping out after the other handful who are leaving now that it's more obvious who are still contenders and who aren't. G'vri doesn't attempt to regain the goldrider's attention and he keeps his hands to himself, but whether it's because that's the sort of guy he is or because he's lost in his dragon isn't very clear. He barely even pays attention to J'dain. But then, the redhead moved on him, not the other way around. Tovriath surges forward with the last, powerful remnants of his energy stores when Eliyaveith glances back. He wants her and, as far as he's concerned, he'll have his neck and tail twined with hers in short order. Too late Eliyaveith realizes her mistake, and if it were for skill alone, Tovriath would certainly catch her as she falters. She even seems to briefly consider it, before the queen changes her mind at the last moment (as is her prerogative). Sekuth's invitation isn't considered, since he is as foreign as Tovriath, before she practically throws herself into her bronze brother's grasp and the familiar. Lilah's fingers tighten, briefly, on G'vri's jacket before they fall away and she steps towards C'stian, any lingering worry for the wingleader who has left erased in the moment. Foreigner! Damn it. With Eliyaveith all but hurling herself into her brother's grasp, she manages to evade Sekuth's grasp, the Southern bronze giving a disappointed growl as he just partially furls his wings to fall away, down, towards the Bowl, where his now-retreating human half beats feet. It'll be back home for them, and then a long soak in the ocean...plus a cold shower for J'dain. Once it's obvious that another has claimed her, Tovriath breaks off with a roar of frustration. His rider is more gracious. G'vri watches Lilah for the moment where her fingers tighten, and then he turns to leave once she's released her hold on him with none of the same frustration of his lifemate. No doubt he'll find someone else to ease the tension. Maybe that friend of his who's probably mad at him now. When Liesanth's surge of victory -- and lust -- touch him, any last thoughts of the ongoing stalemate with Lilah are chased from C'stian's mind. With a wordless growl he steps forward to take her shoulders, pushing her back towards the wall of her weyr. Under her dragon's influence, there is nothing cold or stale between them, not as Eliyaveith twines with Liesanth far above them and it drives Lilah to need C'stian in a way that she never has before. Later, there will likely be some awkwardness, some sharper words that come so often from the goldrider, but right now, she is his, completely. |
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