Logs:Fortian Ciath's First Flight

From NorCon MUSH
Fortian Ciath's First Flight
RL Date: 11 October, 2007
Who: Acadia, Jenna, M'yr, N'thei, P'draig, T'rien, V'delin, V'ryce, Zahava
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
Where: Fort Weyr
When: Day 21, Month 10, Turn 13 (Interval 10)

Blacker...

Blackest!

You suddenly emerge...

Wyaeth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

You spiral down and backwing to a neat landing on the bowl floor.

Inneth is in her element, admiring all the male dragons one by one. She spends a little extra time checking out Chameth, giving him a rumble-croon the other males don't get.

Wyaeth> Ciath sleeps soundly in the drizzle that greys the skies but does nothing to dim the subtle luminescence of her hide. Pale wings drape around her form, her tail tucked in tightly against her body. Soldreth's lumbering along the bowl toward the collection of dragons near Ciath. When he's close enough, he swerves, his side giving Loketh a goodly jarring bump. Close to losing his own balance, he rights himself, staggering a little to one side.

Seith lands, his rider doing a sliding dismount. A brief, curious glance is cast to the various dragons around. "Go on, go get comfy while I visit." murmurs the young rider as he heads indoors.

The fact that N'thei is unfamiliar with Fort Weyr could not be more obvious. First, Wyaeth mosies along through the sky, dipping here and wheeling there, getting the lay of the place before he lands with a teeth-jarring thud. Second, once on the ground, the bronzerider gives the scenery a wholly bemused once-over while he unravels his scarf and pulls off his gloves. A look passes between dragon and rider, and the latter trots toward the living cavern with his brows all knit together.

You head into the Living Cavern.

Wyaeth> Loketh rumbles basso profundo on the air, the big bronze posturing a little for his lady love's benefit. And while others snap and growl, he simply arches his neck and spreads great pinions, hoping to attract Ciath's attention. And then he's staggering a little, too when that cad Soldreth slams into him -- making Loketh curl his lip and sneer at his sire. Then it's back to showing off again.

Wyaeth> Solath ducks his head to sway it to one side as a dragon crosses his path, blocking his view of Ciath - and the other males taking up position around her. Frantically when the other dragon remains in his path, he side steps left and then right, and then left again, nudging passed a few other males to edge his way closer, but not too close.

"Luminescent," repeats V'delin, tasting the word with relish. "Apt descriptor." The mug of cider is abandoned, forgotten, though the flames reflecting near Sal'ros's chosen area of contemplation are considered briefly before his eyes focus on the party containing the Weyr's leaders. "Probably a test of the fabric could be undertaken by the Weyrleader," he smirks, "since I'd estimate his occupation otherwise would be...advisible."

P'draig knocks back some more of his klah then drops the strip of cloth back into the basket. "Hm." He runs his free hand over his hair and down the back of his neck. "Not fond of too much heat myself," he murmurs in response to T'rien and finishes off the last of the liquid in his mug, setting it down where there's a smidgen of space on the table. The brownrider's arms fold across his chest and he leans one hip against the edge of the table, chin dropping a little to regard the baskets, seemingly lost in thought. V'delin's remark earns a quick grin though. "There you go. Or the Weyrwoman and Weyrsecond, eh?" he winks over at the young bronzerider.

Wyaeth> Cavoth slowly gets to his feet, his muscles shuddering along his flanks and back, sending a cascade of water shimmering around him. He ignores the antics of his gathered fellows for the time being, instead turning about to place one eye toward the living cavern and the other on Ciath.

It's just about now that V'ryce loses track of the conversations he's been holding, the tall young man blinking almost comically as he staggers slightly -- echoing Loketh. "Yes..mhmm.. positively luminescent.." he singsongs in vapid answer back to V'delin, but his green eyes are now all for Zahava.

M'yr's body twitches to the side suddenly, sables losing their focus in the activity around him. A shudder, then a jolt, as he stares once again toward the bowl as his lips move without words. Acadia's mention of the trips he's sent her on do stablilze him somewhat, as well as a few quick blinks. "Hmm?"

E'rik seems quite happy he's not been noticed yet. It gives him time to try to spy the one he came to visit. And there he is. E'rik manuevers around the room to end approaching P'draig. "P

T'rien glances over at the 'discussion' occuring between the Weyr's leaders, hiding his expression behind his mug. Once lowered, his face is emotionless once more. "He can't stay," he murmurs, to no one and everyone. "She won't let him."

E'rik continues. "P'draig. Check it out, no more weyrling any more." he boasts.

Zahava swallows, cup of wine held in one hand as she slowly nods to Jenna. "Yes, I think so," she says, her husky voice soft, easily lost in the din. She looks back to M'yr, her expression conflicted. A hand lifts slightly towards him. "You have to," she says finally.

N'thei walks into a busy living cavern with eyes that widen for the population. It's difficult for someone of his particular size to shrink into the shadows, to wallflower very well, but he makes a good show of being unobtrusive. He carries a pretty bottle under one arm, looks like liquor but more the gift-giving kind than the drinking-alone kind, and wears an 'oh' for his lips. Realization dawns, written all over his face.

It doesn't seem anything interesting could pull Sal'ros out of his contemplation, nor his eyes away from the continuous licks of flame and waves of heat. His hands have stopped rubbing but he has leaned closer to the hearth, trying to warm up his limbs that have long since been affected by the drizzling weather in which he spent his entire day in. A quiet groan is given as stiffened joints are stretched again, and his back straightened, then hunched over again.

V'delin's lip curls in a bemused sneer for V'ryce's utter surrender to the glossy-eyed distraction. "Have you no self-control, wingmate?" he jibes. "Keep this up and you'll be salivating on the cavern floor." T'rien's sudden reticence also captures his attention briefly. "This is a moment to celebrate, T'rien! Not to mope about. Your lifemate is strong - you might just wake with her tomorrow."

Wyaeth> Seith's brown head slowly swivels to regard the slumbering gold, the colors deeping and spinning a little faster as he watches. He shifts his pose subtly, the young brown's wings folding back with a quiet snap.

P'draig nods soberly along with T'rien. "Yep." It takes him a moment to look up at E'rik's greeting and smile. "Hey E'rik, yeah I know. I was there at the party remember? Brought everyone sweets. Didn't miss you did I? Congratulations again."

Jenna shoots a tight smile at Acadia. "Should've wrapped them up to take with us." She shifts on the balls of her feet, the slight movement her only concession to the driving impulse to get Niyath away. As Zahava speaks, Jenna shoots her a swift look of pride. "You," she says lowly, though her voice resonates clearly through the conversations in the room, "Will do well for Fort." The faint stress on 'you' seems to indicate both halves of the dragonpair. Then she looks to Acadia again, "They should be broaching some ale kegs, and bringing up wine. Get 'em all good and drunk, Acadia." Then, formally to M'yr, "I'll meet you in the bowl, Weyrleader."

"What's to control myself over?" Val chuckles lightly to V'delin, then chiming in back with, "Mm, she looks so very lovely, doesn't she?" ALready he's moving over towards Zahava, but it's not clear which female he means.

E'rik grins boyishly. "I didn't see you there. And thanks." he fiddles with his knot absently. "So we're free now and stuff so I figured I'd visit Fort a bit." another boyish grin flashes.

T'rien's eyes swivel quickly toward V'delin and there's something flickering there that one doesn't see very often. "I was referring to the Weyrleader," he murmurs, gesturing toward M'yr with his mug. "/I'm/ staying." Draining his mug, he sets it down on the table between the baskets. "I've waited too long..."

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath flies out of the aerial entrance to the Hot Springs cavern.

Wyaeth> Soldreth is nervous and it shows, the bronze's head swinging from one side to the other then back again. He even bugles at the group, the sound carrying a mixture of sensations. Now he snaps toward Chameth, but it's spent on the air, not making contact with the dragon.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth catches on quicker than his rider, thankfully. With all these dragons around, the gritty bronze swaggers right down to park where he can get an eyeful of Ciath, issues a rumble that's difficult to parse: Warning, threat, boast, greeting?

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath spirals down and comes to a landing on the lake shore.

Jenna heads out of the cavernous entrance to the bowl. Jenna has left.

Wyaeth> Loketh seems to enjoy Soldreth's nervousness, but he doesn't focus on it, instead taking the time to try and woo his clutchsibling, even if she's not awake or even paying attention.

Acadia nods to the clearly distracted Weyrwoman, and polishes off her wine. She then finds a drudge and sends him off for more ale, pronto! Lots and lots of ale.

Wyaeth> Jenna doesn't entirely /run/ towards where Niyath has landed near the lake. But then again, she always moves at a pretty good clip. Blue eyes flicker over Ciath, gauging her color, and then she's gone.

Wyaeth> Cavoth shifts his position ever-so-slightly, wings dripping as rain collects over the membranes. His attention is now completely riveted on Ciath, though he spares a long, narrow-eyed view of Soldreth first.

M'yr touches Za's hand with his fingertips, digits that shake at her touch. He's certainly not himself at all. "I.. uhm.." he stutters, then watches Jenna leave. "Probably best to go and see what she wants.."

"Well you picked quite the afternoon to visit E'rik." P'draig reaches over to clap the young rider gently on the shoulder and leans down to murmur something to him in an undertone. His gaze flickers over to T'rien and V'delin and he nods once.

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath wings up from the lake shore.

Wyaeth> Chameth raises his head, eyelids opening fully as his Sire snaps in his direction. The brown doesn't seem inclined to right, but he gives off a low grumbling rumble. Either a comment or a warning not to get too close isn't exactly clear, but the color of the browns eyes makes a subtle shift.

Wyaeth> Imirath obligingly snaps back at Soldreth, his stocky body puffing up in a petty show of strength across the distance that separates them, heedless of the other's status in the Weyr. Damp rivulets trail along his haunches, puddling on the ground as he sits up and back, more fascinated by the posturing and casual threats than he seems to be in the pale gold's present bright shade.

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Niyath wings higher up above the bowl.

Wyaeth> Soldreth gives one last bugle, snapping at the air all around him now, angry at something or another. He turns to leave the bowl, spins around again, then stares at the group before leaving for sure.

E'rik is all grins for a minute. It's all about the freedom for him and he's enjoying every minute of it too. Though as P'draig murmurs quietly to him his color seems to fade a little and his eyes near bug out of his head. Somehow he manages to keep his tone down.

M'yr heads out of the cavernous entrance to the bowl. M'yr has left.

Zahava's hand shakes slightly before it drops to her side, a shallow nod to M'yr. She doesn't look away until he's vanished into the bowl, and then she buries her face in the wineglass, tipping it back to drink the rest of the glass down at once.

Wyaeth> Inneth may be slow, but she's not entirely dumb. When the males flee for the feeding grounds, even she knows what's up. She stays right where she is, and only sends a despairing rumble after the male dragons before settling in for a wet nap.

Out of his element, clearly an outsider, N'thei makes the best of a bad situation. Heedless of exactly how rude it comes across, he flags down someone who looks like a kitchen assistant-- someone who could be the Headwoman for all he knows-- with quick comments about a corkscrew, ifyouplease. "At least I came prepared," he tells whoever happens to be nearby, bottle held up by the neck, nevermind that it's some kind of sipping wine hardly suited for Flights. "Who's the lucky lady? Anyone?"

Wyaeth> You travel west, toward the fenced pens of the feeding grounds.

C'nroy finds his shoulder being tapped. He looks up to spy someone hovering there. The fellow leans over and whispers something in his ear. The brownrider sighs and downs the last contents of his mug. "Glad to." Levering himself upright, he trudges off, following.

Wyaeth> Jekzith paces restlessly in the feeding grounds, to and fro, to and fro, tail twitching back and forth. He seems to be eyeing the herd meaningfully, but hasn't launched himself after them yet.

V'ryce is simply..standing there. Looking at Zahava with delight. Just staring like some idiot teenager.

Acadia answers N'thei, "Yes, Zahava's dragon is glowing. Inneth reports that the males are all leaving for the feeding grounds."

Wyaeth> Seith leaps up with no warning, on the heels of some of the other males as they leap to the feeding grounds. By pure instinct he brings down his first kill with a quick swipe of a paw. He lowers his muzzle to begin the blooding.

Wyaeth> Cavoth drops into the feeding grounds carefully, plucking out his first selection before settling down on the ground to dispatch it. His neck jerks quickly as the neck of the beast is snapped and his jaws close around it, muscles pumping as it's life's blood is drained.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth is utterly graceless. He carries his rangy girth over the fence into the feeding grounds with a barely coordinated hop, more a swagger over the fence than a proper leap and glide. But it serves to land him in the middle of a cluster running in terrified disarray, and he swipes tarnished gray talons at those passing. He succeeds in scraping from shoulder to flank of one poor buck, who limps off for a slow and painful death, and grabs at a littler doe, happy with his capture for all that it was clumsy.

P'draig nods E'rik's way. "All right then, lad. Steady as she goes." He claps the younger brownrider on the shoulder then detaches himself from the table with the baskets with a nod and heads over to where Acadia and Zahava are seated. "Need a refill, Za?" he asks casually.

Wyaeth> Loketh is more direct than Jekzith, and arrows in on one beast his calculating eyes have already singled out as his. A quick snatch from above and a hard shake break the herdbeast's back, the large bronze then gliding out of the pen to drop and feast off the carmine vitae.

V'delin's giving in to the state of near-reverie as well, the threads of chatter about fabric and will-he or won't-he around the Weyrleader unravelling steadily. "Hm, wine?" N'thei's request grabs his focus next, and he smiles welcomingly to the tall man. "Green dress," he helpfully offers.

E'rik's gaze snaps to the bowl, growing slightly more paler. Looks like it's too late to run if that were considered. The young Istan lad is here to stay it seems and he swallows nervously. P'draig gets a distracted nod as his shoulder is clasped by the Fort rider. His eyes watch him go over to the table and his attention shifts to Zahava. He stay where he's at, standing beside the table, one hand resting lightly on. Briefly his eyes unfocus as he speaks with his lifemate in the corrals.

Wyaeth> Jekzith continues to hover on the edge of the feeding ground, clearly wanting to get in on the action, but something's holding him back. A couple of times he stops his pacing, body tensing to spring and then with a low-voiced rumble, desists and starts pacing again, tail lashing back and forth more violently with each pass.

T'rien leans against the table, hunching his shoulders as he wraps his arms around his torso. He closes his eyes briefly and, when reopened, fixate on a point near his feet. "Not for me, Cav," he murmurs. "For you."

Two drudges roll in barrels of ale and set them up by the meal table. A third one brings bottles of wine, and Acadia starts offering drinks to any and all interested parties.

Sal'ros still remains in the comfy chair by the hearth, though his eyes have redirected toward the rider of Ciath, trying to see her amongst a throng of bodies. Sighing though with the effort and not even getting a glimpse, straining his neck on top of it sets his vision back on the flames, his cheek propped up by a fisted hand.

Wyaeth> Imirath is slow to leap toward the promise of gore in the pens beyond, but finally it is the instinct to sup that wins out over the desire to shuffle for ranking among his peers. His landing is hard, bone-crushing, the reverberating echo of snapping joined by his snarls during his meal.

N'thei smiles beatifically at Acadia, his one hand outstretched to collect the corkscrew from the now worried-looking kitchen girl. She scuttles off like her hair's on fire. "Which one is-- ah. Green dress." So he turns, working the corkscrew, to find that green dress; "Could be worse, could be worse. I usually fancy brunettes, but beggars can't be choosers." He turns the partially opened bottle toward V'delin, friends until their foes anyway. "Dessert wine, raspberry. I expect a wicked ripping headache. Game for the same?"

Wyaeth> High above the bowl, Niyath disappears into Between.

The door to the kitchens opens. Trays of glasses and mugs are being carried out. C'nroy brings up the rear of the column, a tray of mugs in his hands. Kinda looks like old times for the brownrider as he sets his tray atop the other two near the ale casks. Quietly, he moves off again.

Zahava takes a few steps, sinking down into a chair, head shaking slightly at P'draig's offer of more. Now seated, she's even harder to see for those who are trying, head buried in her hands.

Wyaeth> Solath lands neatly on the outskirts of the feeding grounds, watching the other males scatter the flock for him, he patiently waits as he slithers forward, a growing thunder in his gut as he picks out a target that gets chased at him. A pounce followed by a grizzly swipe that takes the animals head clean off. Solath even goes so far as to catch the body of the animal before it flops onto the ground wasting blood. Instead, he caught it with his mouth and hefts it easily upward, guzzling it down like a drunk man with a pitcher of ale - spilling runs of blood down his muzzle and neck.

V'delin looks the Reachian visitor up and down, arms folding across his chest, his cider long abandoned on the table. "I'd rather expect a few shreds of green dress fluttering in the breeze, but the headache's far more likely." The ale's arrival causes a smack of his lips, and he welcomes Acadia's proffering of that as well. "We'll share? Ale'd be a good choice if you plan to down any amount of it. Shame to waste the dessert wine on ...something other than dessert."

No matter Zahava's sitting, Val is right there next to her, simply standing behind her chair with one hand resting lightly upon it's back, smiling like the daftest idiot in the region.

T'rien rubs his chin with a hand, still staring at that obscure point on the floor. "We could wrap the straps with the cloth strips, I suppose," he murmurs, his voice distant. "Might have to actually attach them to helmets and jackets...though I wish we could figure out some way to preserve the luminescence *between*."

P'draig nods just once at Zahava's refusal and stays put nearby, eyeing the swirl of activity in the living cavern, the pairs of eyes increasingly turning Zahava's way. His jaw tenses after a moment, eyes vague and under his breath he mutters a directive: "I said, /no/." He straightens then and takes up a casual stance just to one side of the goldrider and quirks an eyebrow at V'ryce, likely for the 'daftest idiot' look on the bronzerider's face. "Mind hooking me up with a glass of that 'Cadia?" he nods over at Inneth's rider with a wry grin and her array of bottles.

Wyaeth> Seith drains the first kill and leaps forward half a dozen feet to watch the beasts scatter. For several long moments his head swivels this way and that way as he watches the other dragons feed. He's got confidence though for such a young brown, despite he is a fair size, and he casually knocks down a large 'beast, claws raking it open down the middle before he lowers his muzzle to blood once more. He's not overly vicious or bloody. Every movement he makes is energy efficient as he draws more energy from the beasts.

Wyaeth> Loketh finishes supping on his beast, and without a though or much of a look, launches himself again towards the pen. Snarling roughly at a foreign bronze who nearly gets in his way, the Fortian soon enough singles out what he wants -- a delicious looking doe -- and then swipes one taloned paw at her, neatly impaling the beast and ending her sudden cry. Back again to the ground, and Lo' fastens his teeth into her, suckling greedily.

Wyaeth> Ciath comes over from the east. Wyaeth> Ciath has arrived.

N'thei spends more time grinning than returning V'delin's once over, just enough of a look upwards that gray eyes can rake the scrawny fellow briefly. "I plan to down any amount of it." And he breaks the cork right then, dons a satisfied beam. "Win and I'll toast your victory. To... Whom?" For someone on the verge of a Flight, he's remarkably lucid.

Wyaeth> Ciath transitions from sleep to wakefulness in an instant, a wash of emotion rolling off the pale gold - fury and passion exploding. She suits her actions to her mood, uncoiling from her sleeping pose and launching into the damp, grey skies towards a bleating ovine that has caught her attention. She dives out of the sky, dispersing the herds in her passage as she focuses on the one that has caught her attention. She ignores the gathered males in favor of a swift dispatch of the hapless creature, tearing into its soft belly without hesitation, mere seconds after coming awake. Crimson runs down her muzzle as she feeds on the flesh, ripping and tearing with each hurried mouthful.

Sal'ros brings an item out of his pocket, his brows knitting as he flips the item over in his hand, smoothing it with a finger before stuffing it down in his pocket. In that moment of contemplation, he sits straighter, his eyes squinting as he helps his mate out in the drizzled plain. Folding an arm on the chair, he strays a look toward the crowded table and those crowding around in a certain area - a place where the man suspects Zahava to be.

V'ryce grins widely, thickly up at Paddy, then giving the Weyrlingmaster a quite salacious wink and wiggle of brows. Thankfully for the brownrider, his intent gaze slips back to the more likely object of his desire, poor Zahava most of his world, right now.

Zahava bolts upright, empty wineglass falling to the floor to shatter there, her eyes going wide and sightless as her lifemate's emotions crash into her own without warning, her spine stiffening as her hands call into white-knuckled fists. Her parted lips draw in a gasp of breath, stunned by the transformation. Disoriented and confused, she forgets to breath, her glassy eyes sightless, attention far away.

Acadia fetches a glass and pours it brimful with good, strong ale. "Here you go P'draig. Drink up quick--Inneth says Ciath has started blooding!"

V'ryce gently moves in towards Za, not touching her, but staying near her in every step. "Mm, it's okay, Za. Just be with her, control her. You're fine.." he murmurs reassuringly.

Wyaeth> Imirath joys at the spoils of the gray afternoon's entertainment, burying his head in the warm flesh of the beasts made to sacrifice their lifeblood to draconic lust. He raises his head to sniff and snort at the air upon Ciath's awakening, nostrils flaring and neck bulging and tensed. Soon his greenish-bronze cast has a red tint, the drizzle washing away the dark droplets to a fading of pink along his burnished muzzle.

Wyaeth> Cavoth lifts his muzzle from his kill as Ciath arrives, tongue licking over his stained muzzle. His eyes are tinged with amber and red as watches, a low rumble coming from somewhere deep within his chest. With a sudden snarl, he whips his head out quickly to snatch up another herdbeast, teeth sinking hard into its fat neck before he lowers it to the ground to feed.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth was just all happy being messy and ruthless. But now there's a /lady/ here, and he reins in his more uncouth tendencies a little there. Instead of just hack-and-slash, he's now actually using some finesse to catch a limping buck as she makes a crooked pass in range. With this second kill clasped merrily, he turns toward Ciath with a look-what-I-did trumpet!

C'nroy comes back out, side by side with Maryliza, both carrying trays of bowls. He's commenting. "Probably something quick and hot. Broth or soup with the weather like it is." he looks up, hearing Acadia's voice echoing. He stops in his tracks and looks at his friend before moving over to put his tray of bowls down atop hers.

E'rik has fallen silent, his once tanned face is quite ashen as the reality of his first flight is a Gold flight. He stands still, having not fallen yet, by the table and his eyes roam, seeking a glimse at least of the lovely rider to Ciath.

T'rien looks up as Zahava's gasp reaches his ears, even through the low murmur of the crowd around her. His own body tenses and there seems to be a brief bunching of his muscles, as if he's about to move toward her. Sanity, or something else, seems to prevail and he stays rooted right where he is.

Wyaeth> Solath throws the discards away, having time for another quick pick even though his movements are sluggish, abhorring to the methodical kills he has to make - as if it drains the energy he has attempted to store. Attention faulters from his intended kill as Ciath bloods, causing the coffee crisp brown to moan with dejection as the beast he was after turns too quick for him to catch. A third beast, a less likely meal, perhaps better for a blue, has to be taken down to fill what was prime for a brown like him. The chore is done with less precision than the first kill, the dragon being childishly picking as teeth snare down into the gangly things neck - at first revolted for the lack of meat therein. Only after a few tries does the brown return to vamping blood from the beast.

"To Ciath," V'delin murmurs, not entirely aware of the specifics of the question but enough in the moment to speak what's on his mind. "Er, I mean, I'm V'delin. You're visiting, then?" Brilliant assessment made, he chugs the first glass of ale, soon ready for another.

Wyaeth> Puddles of scarlet at Loketh's fore soon grow pinkened at the pattering rain's diluting, the coppery bronze draning his beast utterly. A call of desire and elation to the arriving Ciath, and his chest puffs to twice its normal size for a moment as he shows off for her. And then it's back to finding food for the upcoming Flight, Loketh deftly breaking the neck of a juicy wherry male, then drawing it close to him for white teeth to set into.

P'draig only gets a sip of that wine in before Zahava's glass crashes to the floor and he puts his own down very deliberately and takes a half step over towards the goldrider. "Zahava." He speaks calmly but firmly, a voice most of the recent riders at the Weyr will remember from Weyrlinghood. "C'mon, Za. Remember who you are."

Wyaeth> Seith pauses in his blooding to watch with some awe the arrival of the glowing queen. Her beauty fills his vision and for several long moments once more the inexperienced brown stops his blooding to watch. And watch he does, staring as if to memorize every shape of her golden form. Eventually though he does take down one more smaller beasts before he feels his blooding in complete. He crouches low, ready for the spring off when she shall leap up to the skies above. The light misting rain bothered him none yet.

"Ciath," Zahava breathes at last, almost as though it's her answer to the Weyrlingmaster, her lips forming other words without giving them voice. All of the sudden, she tears away from P'draig's hands as she bolts for the bowl, threading and dodging past those in her way until she escapes into the rain.

Zahava heads out of the cavernous entrance to the bowl. Zahava has left.

Wyaeth> Jekzith is still being restrained and growing more frustrated by the minute. Finally something happens such that the mental leash on the brown goes slack and as soon as it does, he arrows out into the feeding grounds in a single bound and tackles the first beast that comes across his path, felling it with a blow of one paw and bearing it down to take a long, deep drink.

Zahava's sudden move out into the bowl puts T'rien's feet into motion at last. Scooping up his riding jacket, he's after her in a heartbeat, knocking down and nearly stumbling over a chair in the process.

Oddly for him, V'ryce levels a disapproving stare on P'draig as he monopolizes Zahava. But the young bronzer doesn't do much more than that, simply nodding and smiling in agreement with him, then giving that same goofy look to Za. And quickly, he's on the pair's heels, following them wherever the woman leads.

"To Ciath. Er, I mean, V'delin." N'thei raises his bottle, gets it to his lips, then seems to think the better of it and looks to have a mug deposited in his mitt instead. "Can you really call it visiting now?" he asks with a roughly amused chuckle. "I was looking for Persie, but that will have to wait. N'thei, for what it's worth." He's just about to offer a hand-shake to V'delin when the mug arrives and he just tips it that way instead. "Looks like we're moving." And he falls in.

Acadia takes two steps after Zahava before stopping. "No, no, no. Stay out of the way." She puts her own words to good use, moving away from the exit to the bowl as fast as she can.

V'delin's only woefully in the midst of glass of ale number two when Zahava finds her feet and is hastily exiting. "Persie," he repeats absently, then tips his head in assent, joining the departing rnaks. "Allow us to share the more, ah, picturesque parts of our fair Weyr."

Sal'ros isn't one to rush after the weyrwoman, there are plenty of saps willing to do the job of wiping away tears and nervous anxieties - even more who truly long for the woman. It seems comical to him that a throng of men would be right upon her heels, an insight of what the flight was to be like for sure. For him, like his lifemate, it's almost a burden to be caught up in the malestrom of the flight, an unlucky chance for them to return from duties. So he took his time to put his jacket on, knowing pretty well the direction of where the herd is going. His shoulders snap forward as he throws on the jacket, flipping the collar up, stuffing his hands into pockets before striding outside, feet unhurried as he goes.

C'nroy walks along the wall as the throng begins to part and bodies begin to move. A brush in one hand and a tray in the other, he circles longwise and patiently to where Zahava's glass shattered and pulls three cloths from the back of his belt. Kneeling down, the browner starts to brush up the mess, shaking off the offer of help from a Cavern worker.

You head outside to the bowl.

Zahava runs through the mud and rain, darting for the edge of the feeding grounds, climbing up onto the lowest railing, her elbows locking over the topmost as she glares through the drizzle at the creature her lifemate has turned into.

E'rik follows a bit more slowly, slightly distracted as if he's running through a mental checklist on everything that supposed to happen in a mating flight. Think think think. This lesson wasn't that long ago. But it seems so different with Seith in the grounds and really feeding. He doesn't approach Zahava but instead he watches from a far, taking in her form much like his Seith looked over her Ciath.

Wyaeth> Ciath's jaws snap shut on another gulp of flesh, barely chewing as she near-inhales the raw meat. After swallowing it, she hisses at a brown who she has deemed to be too near her, her wrath palpable in the chilly air. She growls low in her throat, her tail tucking in tightly against her body as she struggles with her rider. Another bite is taken as Zahava bolts towards the fence in the hopes that proximity will reinforce her demands. By now the queen has consumed most of the easy flesh on the ovine at her feet, and as the goldrider scrambles up onto the fence, the gold turns again to hiss at her.

V'ryce grins widely back at P'draig, then letting Zahava consume his gaze again -- ignoring the gathering of other men and women.

Wyaeth> Imirath's indulgence consumes meat and fluid alike, the sooty bronze careless and contemptuous of his destruction and of his fellows. The approach of some human watchers only intensifies his ichor pumping, and tension causes his wings to snap against his seemingly inscribed sides, wicked delight in whirling eyes for the queen's triumphs over her rider.

Wyaeth> Cavoth finishes his latest - and apparently last - kill, lifting his head once more. Traces of blood remain on his jaw, soaking into the coppery brown hide despite the steady trickle of rain. He settles back on his haunches, flexing his wings slightly in preparation for what is to come. Red-tinged eyes never leave Ciath now, narrowing into contemplative slits as he considers her glowing form.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth shoulders by the hissed-at brown with a look that goes beyond smug satisfaction, complete with a flicker of tumbleweed wings. In a bad-influence way, he turns a croon toward Ciath after her second bite. Though his eyes still whirl fast and heated, there's a new approval in his view of the queen-- like a pale-dawn gold in the midst of Flight-lust give's two shakes about the approval of a dust-and-leather bronze. At least he's happy in his delusions. He snacks on the blood of a wherry stupid enough to be in grab's reach, glug glug.

Wyaeth> Loketh thrums deeply at the hissing, eating Ciath, rising to his haunches and spreading his great wings in a display touched by heavy droplets of rain..just as he'd predicted. The moisture rolls down his bright hide in tiny rivulets that only emphasize his glory, and then the bronze launches out one last time to the pens, to silence the screams of another wherry buck, which is hurled out of the corral with a restrained viciousness -- Loketh sucking heavily at it's body for the fluid to fuel his need.

Up until now, P'draig's been keeping a pretty cool head, but with Jekzith breaking away from him, he's looking a little more rattled, jaw working as the brown launches himself whole hog into the feasting in the grounds. He joins the goldrider on the fence, eyeing Jekzith with a distinctly less-than-pleased expression. "C'mon Za. Hold her back. You can do it. Blood only. Blood only." It's an age-old mantra for goldriders since time immemorial.

Lingering far behind the crowd with less enthusiasm for the event than the others, Sal'ros stops short of following the throng, staying so far back that he'd mostly be considered an observing party than one whose got a dragon participating. Shrugging his shoulders forward he grimaces at the cold, having hoped to spend the better part of the evening tucked away in a warm weyr than out here where the drizzle threatens to seep underneath his jacket.

V'ryce steps quickly up to the fence to join Za and Paddy, nodding daftly at the Weyrlingmaster and his good friend. "Blood blood, it's all in the blood.." he chants merrily.

Zahava locks eyes with the furious gold, clinging to the fence, heedless of those who've followed her out into the rain, her hair darkening as the soaking mist wets it, sticking it to her face and cheeks. She shows no sign of hearing P'draig, but her lips form the same words silently.

Wyaeth> Jekzith is up to his headknobs in gore now and abandons the limp carcass of his first catch to leap onto another one, again quick to toss the beast down and gets busy getting every last drop out of the nag-backed creature, a weather eye out for Ciath, though for the most part he seems to be ignoring her intent on this task that his rider seemed so determined to keep him from.

T'rien stands apart, bareheaded in the rain. He seems to have the wherewithal to shrug into his riding jacket eventually, closing his eyes briefly as a shudder takes him. Whether its from the chill or the emotional tumult eminating from his dragon it's impossible to say.

N'thei repeats with a lascivious relish, "The more picturesque parts, you say?" His eyes trail Zahava, darkening in a way that has nothing to do with the step outside or the rain leaking past his eyelashes. The smirk fades by degrees while he walks a good distance behind the goldrider, his head steadily tilted till it's at a wholly questioning angle; "Maybe I just didn't pay enough attention as a weyrling-- which I don't doubt-- but she really shouldn't be /eating/ like that, should she? Your goldrider, she's dim?"

Not Val. No forethought, or much thought at all lies within him, the tall young man exposed to the rain in his shirt and vest and trous only. He hardly seems to feel it, though, so caught up in Loketh's heat is he.

E'rik runs his fingers back through his damp hair, causing it to stand up in uneven spikes. His attention flickers from the grounds with Seith to Zahava standing there. He watches the silent battle she wages with her queen.

Wyaeth> Seith's tail lashes this way and that as he's not blooding any more but watching the queen. His eyes whirl quickly with shades of deep blues and purples tinged with red.

Wyaeth> Loketh drains the last precious drops of blood from his kill, and then violently tosses it aside with a proud shake of his head -- maybe hoping to distract some other male who might happen to be in the way. A low croon of delight at Ciath's furious form, one more posturing for her, and then the canny bronze flicks his form up and away to..a nearby ledge twenty feet above the bowl's floor. His whole body quivering with anticipation, he crouches low -- wings already spread -- waiting..watching his glorious clutchsibling.

Wyaeth> Solath thankfully seems to flick the unsatisfying beast away once he's drained it dry, going so far as to draw his back leg high over it so he doesn't have to step on the wretched thing! Solath begins to meander around the other dragons, tail held high as he plods along with his gangly light brown self. Its only when he finds a rise in the feeding grounds that he stops, head swayed to one way and then to the other, plotting his stake in the pack as he squats on the uplifted ground - a good place to take off from. Any advantage is better than none. Ensuring he's enough wingspace to actually take off, the brown extends his wings - not just once, but numerous times, over and over again, spinning in his spot to ward off competitors. Flash of brown, spray of wings, show of teeth - it might be a good start.

V'delin's straggling along, his cup of ale shielded by his hand thought the damp invades at will. Every so often, he halts to take another invigorating gulp of the weak drink, managing between them to focus his blue eyes on the figure in the green dress, particularly as droplets begin to cling to it. Somehow he manages a reply, though it comes out stilted. "Dim? I'd've thought her to be bright? But for her newness. First flight, strong willed gold? Some talk of her not rising turns since she shelled."

Zahava barely seems to breathe, so intent is her gaze on the uncontrollable Ciath. Her lips press together, sweat joining the drips down her face as she struggles against the savagery of the gold.

P'draig shoots a look out at Ciath, head shaking back and forth. "C'mon Za," he mutters, for now still able to focus on what's /not/ happening that should be amongst the shuffle. He repeats the words again. "Blood only. Hold her, Zahava. Hold her."

Wyaeth> Ciath returns her rider's stare intently, her jaws slightly parted as she and Zahava contest with one another as never before. Her hide, already gleaming fiercely seems only to heat by the moment. Abruptly, she looks away, taking to the skies again, abandoning the ovine to the firelizards who swoop in to make the most of her leftovers. Her second kill is a wherry, and again she goes for its belly, tearing into it before it has stopped moving, gulping down a bite. Her head twists around again to growl at Zahava's persistant pressure on her, her jaws snapping closed on the empty air before she turns back to feed again. Several bites more are swallowed before she last turns her attention to the beasts neck, though her previous actions have already started the blood draining from the other wounds, quickly reducing the supply. Dispatching a second wherry, she goes straight for the neck, blooding deeply from the carcass. Her pale wings flutter open as she drinks the crimson fluid, spilling its lifeblood into her throat.

Sal'ros looks from the savage Ciath toward the woman half righting herself over the fence, his eye sight able to pick up the tension even from the distance he stands back at. He clenches his teeth, brows drawn down with determination as he stands alone, placed away from the other men and women, focused abruptly upon the task at hand - uniting two savage beasts, his mate and that ruthless cloud-pale gold.

Wyaeth> Jekzith pounces one last beast to the ground, drains it dry and shakes it loose, sending it flying so that it coasts along in the mud nearly to the fence itself. He lets out a loud bugle, head swinging back and forth, practically dancing in place, wings open to catch the spray from the sky, ready now for the fun part: the flying.

N'thei gives up on the ale, tosses it out of the cup with a splash that lets it join the puddles of rain, but he frowns some at the loss of a good drink. "I see, I see. So not dim, just wea-- new." He let just enough of that syllable go to make his point, and clipped just enough of it that he tries to smooth it over with a smile of understanding and apology, a smile that looks pretty grim and funky under the circumstances. "There she goes. Crisis averted." He reaches the fence in time to deliver his line, leans on the railing some fifteen feet clear of Zahava.

Wyaeth> Loketh gives a rumbling approval to Ciath's newfound blooding, and V'ryce echos the sound in a weird croon uluating from his own throat. Both males are poised and ready for gold/woman to take flight.

Wyaeth> Seith unfurls his wings partially, eyes only on the gold as she finally bloods fully. No more meat to weigh her down. He shifts with impatience, ever on the ready to leap to the sky behind Ciath.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth and N'thei have absolutely no interaction, and the one hardly seems to mind the other. While N'thei is off being jocular, Wyaeth is lining 'em up and knocking 'em back, draining his fourth kill so far. His dusty form, sheathed in rain, even moves to interrupt his rider's line-of-sight to Ciath, and he chucks his last corpse aside in such a way as to land in a mudpuddle apt to splash at least one competitor.

Wyaeth> Cavoth folds in his wings, the muscles of his hindlegs bunching as he prepares himself for the inevitable leap into the sky. That low rumble in his chest resumes, eyes briefly scanning the ranks of his competition before returning to Ciath once more.

Wyaeth> Solath continues to do his sweeping twisting dance on that uplifted rise of earth, his head bobbing as the dragon flashes the gore still attached to his teeth. He doesn't even make an attempt to fly when Ciath sails through the air - chancing it to stay planted and getting rewarded when Ciath does indeed take another kill instead of actually going for the sky. This is when he makes one last ditch attempt to clear his immediate air space, snapping at a bronze that gets too close in his daft attempt to trundle near toward the feasting gold. Coiling his body down close to the ground, the lurking gloom merchant basks in the drizzle as it layers over his hide.

Wyaeth> Rippling with a muscular tension commensurate, Imirath lowers his head only to find his chosen coated with a layer of grime mingling in to mud from the force of his companions and their vigorous manglings, particularly a toss from Wyaeth's leavings. The forged bronze makes a gutteral noise deep in his throat, a tempestuous growl rich with yearning, and slashes the next victims with unleashed fury, only settling to restrained tautness again after his prey is dispatched.

Zahava's eyes close only for a moment as Ciath finally does as she ought, though she takes only the barest moment to relax before refocusing her attention on the dainty gold.

"There you go Za. That's it. Keep holding her." P'draig continues to speak the encouragement, whether it's heard or not, still leaning on the rail just beside the goldrider. With Ciath seemingly under control, his gaze swings back to Jekzith and another battle of wills starts to take place as the Weyrlingmaster tries once more, to keep his brown from taking off after the gold.

Wyaeth> Seith's rumble as he's splashed from the mudpuddle is low and warning even though his head only swivels around to eye Wyaeth for the briefest of seconds. The mud on his hide though isn't easily seen against his brown coloring and it'll dry soon enough. Again hs shifts his weight, watching and waiting as he's never done before. His firmly linked with his rider, the pair of them waiting waiting waiting.

Val has no such compunctions at P'draig does, the tall young man simply smiling broadly at his once Weyrlingmaster, then grinning up through rain-soaked hair limp in his eyes at the siren-song Zahava so near. A hand reaches out slowly, almost in entreaty, and then cautiously comes to rest opposite Paddy's own -- on the other side of the fence near the junior's.

V'delin too approaches the railing, his action more to support his suddenly weakening knees, a chuckle at N'thei's observation giving way to a little frown in poked-at pride for his Weyr. "She'll learn, I suppose," he mediates, scanning over the lineup for familiar and unfamiliar faces and actions among those gathered. "I likely won't recall it after an eyeblink, but who is it that Fort's queen welcomes so enthusiastically?"

Wyaeth> Ciath, still feeling the pinch of hunger in her belly, makes a final kill, taking out a large bovine. Once more, she goes straight for the creature's neck with seemingly no urging needed from Zahava, filling herself with the blood. At last, sated, her hide takes on its final luminescence, brilliant against the dismal skies. Capacious, bleached-pale wings spread again, and this time her head lifts towards the clouds as her wings sweep down, carrying her up and out of the feeding grounds into the thickening fall of the rain, each stroke lifting her higher, away from the browns and bronzes who've been drawn to give chase to her this afternoon. She veers away from where Loketh has perched himself to wait for her, surging towards the opposite rim of the bowl.

Zahava wobbles, slumping as her struggle ends and Ciath finally takes flight for good, her mind carried with her lifemate into the Fortian skies. Her grip on the railing of the fence loosens.

N'thei laughs heartily at V'delin, a big laugh from the oversized bronzerider. He pointedly recalls his words from the living cavern; "N'thei, for what it's worth." With his arm dangled over the fence, his thumb corking the wine, he angles the end of the bottle toward Ciath-- or what he can see of her with Wyaeth messing up his view. "I won't hold it against you if you don't send me a card afterward." Aside from a new flush, he still looks pretty together.

Wyaeth> There! THERE she is! The swelling of Loketh's hearts is almost painful in intensity, and as Ciath rushes by him, he propells himself upwards after her from his chosen ledge with a massive thrust of lean, powerful muscle. Giving a bass roar of challenge and lust, his wings pump hard to gain altitude as fast as his massive body can allow, some of the smaller browns and bronzes pulling even with him already. Good thing he had those extra few feet.

Val's hand on Paddy's shoulder makes the brownrider jump. "What?" he focuses briefly on the bronzerider and whatever control he'd gained over Jekzith snaps instantly. Off like a shot, there goes Jekzith and P'draig's face goes all thundercloud briefly, as he drops off the fence just in time to realize that Zahava's losing her grip. "Hey, hey ... Za, stay with us ..." The brownrider moves forward to loop an arm around the goldrider's waist so she doesn't fall right off the fence.

Wyaeth> Cavoth launches himself into the sky in a blink, his powerful legs lending height as his wings pump once, twice, gaining altitude quickly. All too familiar with the qualities of luminescence of late, thanks to his lifemate's current obsession, he chases after Ciath as his rider chases answers, both looking toward the dismal sky as the rain continues to drift down upon them.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth reacts to the growl from Seith with something like a dragon's shrug, a ripple of his shoulders and a flicker of arid-washed wings; not his problem. If one should hope to catch a dragon grinning, Wyaeth would come close to obliging now. Fleeting, though, fleeting. Like a shotgun blast, disarrayed and inaccurate, he hops upward, beats down with his wings, and takes the air. It takes him an extra half-lap around the airspace over the feeding grounds to orient himself to Ciath's direction, not exactly quick on the draw.

Wyaeth> Seith is actually caught by surprise for all that he was preparing to launch up so quickly. He takes a few steps to give himself room to leap up and suddenly he finds he's ran into a young bovine, his talons somehow entangling within the tail of the creature! With a loud roar he tries to gain momentum into the air, slowly though by the beast. Two feet up from the grounds he's able to shake free, the bovine falling to the ground with a loud sound of protest. And then Seith is off, nearly lumbering through the skies as he gains height with powerful strokes of his wings.

T'rien lifts his face into the rain as the flight takes to the sky, water trickling down his face as he does. With one last look toward the heavens, he finds Zahava's form against the railing and waits, patiently, saying nothing as always.

Zahava seems for a moment to no longer inhabit the body she has lived in the last quarter-century, slumping against P'draig as he catches her, her fingers coming entirely free of the fence. She rouses a little after a beat, shaking her head in confusion. "Have to... east..." she murmurs.

Wyaeth> Jekzith leaps into the sky lightly the minute P'draig's commands to stay ground bound evaporate and he's off, wings beating fast and furious at first to keep up with Ciath. Free to fly! Free to fly. « Yes! » His jubilation washes out all over the place past various and sundry dragons, plainly audible by anyone with any sensitivity within range. Wind rushing, water soaking, /Ciath/ flying. Yes.

V'ryce intakes his breath in a wonderous gasp as he takes to the skies on Loketh's wings, the bronzer's green eyes cast upwards to the weeping clouds. But Val is not crying today. No, the Fortian is laughing softly, fully enjoying the sensation and the thought that Ciath/Zahava may just choose /him/ this day.

Wyaeth> Solath watches the clouds above moving closer, appearing dissatisfied as the ground is left behind, the direction sckewed in the spread of wings of browns and bronzes - the darkness of the task lying before him as he surges up in the throng. Hopless for wind, the brown has to use his might to carry on after her, the gold left alone in that first pristine moment that she flees. Her only protection is the sky, and perhaps a set of brown wings, though that is long from this moment, left to the winds and the turns of tails. He scrapes his talons into the air, striking through the growing rain as he climbs higher, higher, caught up between two other males, a third and forth blocking his view of Ciath. A mournful cry rides the air with him as he sears the sky with his wings, water bouncing off him as he veers for that glow, the beam of light in the scape of gloomier prospects.

Wyaeth> Imirath slashes the air, the force of his sudden turn almost tumbling the stocky bronze over onto his side and his whipcord tail flailing very near some of the chasers leaning on the fence. No scenic vantage has he, his veracity such that he even drop his head to drink again from a freshly-felled prey-beast before joining the beating of wings filling the gray Fortian skies, all in pursuit of the glimmering slender golden queen. His rear leg reaches out, talons scraping against another latecomer, and the resulting flow of ichor only fuels his fervor.

"Yep, we're going, Za. C'mon." P'draig half-lifts the goldrider down off the fence and helps her get her feet on the ground. "Lean on me. We'll get there." He shoots another look over his shoulder at the dragons vanishing into the dark drizzly skies and Val's laughing and shakes his head. "Faranth preserve us," he murmurs under his breath, then gently, leads Zahava across the Bowl towards the Flight Cave.

Zahava heads into the flight cave. Zahava has left.

You head into the flight cave.

Zahava stumbles along beside P'draig, leaning against him as he guides her in the right direction. Once there, she pulls away from him, tripping a little, but finding a seat in one of the chairs arrayed in the room, sinking down into it, her head tilting back.

Wyaeth> Above the southwest area, Loketh wings up from the Feeding grounds.

"Card?" V'delin dully repeats, a small flicker of recognition returning to his eyes. "I like to play cards. Dragonpoker, roundhand, what have you. Won't send you any, though. Get my decks from home." Clearly he'd missed enough of what was said to improvise, his legs carrying him by rote. "Moving again."

T'rien wipes the rain from his face, shaking his hand through his hair in a vague attempt to unstick it from his head and neck. The action only serves to tousel it further, giving him a just-rousted-from-bed appearance. Despite the warmth within, he lingers near the exit, hands shoved into the pockets of his riding jacket as he leans back and watches the gray-fogged sky.

After following the dazed goldrider into the small cave appointed just for this circumstance, V'ryce smiles blearily through runnels of moisture tracing over his forehead and cheeks. Following where his friend leads, Val appoints himself a second guardian of sorts over Zahava, taking a tense yet relaxed stand somewhat nearer to her -- the man simply grinning and humming tunelessly to himself as he waits.

Wyaeth> Ciath climbs dizzyingly towars the heights, passing out over the rim, letting the mating flight spill out over the mountains around the Weyr. She heads upwards at a shallow angle, her direction carrying her towards Fort Hold and the low-lying lands around. Her lithe form allows her to twist away from the premature advance of a young bronze, moving with more agility in the skies than he expected. She quickly returns to her intended course, though she redoubles her efforts to leave all of her persuers behind, frequently checking their proximity as they sort themselves out behind her. As she surges forward, she leaves the mountains behind, soon soaring above lower hills as they move farther from the high peaks of the Weyr. The weight of the meat in her belly seems to have kept her from rising as high as she might have otherwise, but the course has compensated for it, the land falling away below.

E'rik draws a sharp intake of breath as suddenly all the dragons launch up. He looks away from his lifemate just in time to follow behind the other dragons. He stumbles slightly, managing to regain his footing before falling flat on his face. Somewhere he finds a place to stand out of the way, his unseeing gaze on Zahava.

N'thei deduces jovially, "And you're sure you play with a full deck? Or conversation just eludes you presently?" Moving again. He lets Zahava and her lean-tos get a fair distance ahead of him before falling in near the back of the pack, leaves himself with a little extra time to toss a look over his shoulder as Wyaeth wheels back around on the right course. In out of the rain, side-stepped out of the entrance, he pulls his thumb off his bottle, wipes it across his thigh, and tastes the sticky-sweet contents with his eyes mostly clenched.

P'draig squeezes her shoulder briefly as he steps away to find a spot against the wall to lean against. He seeks out E'rik then and clears his throat, voice going rough now that his own control is starting to slip, the closeness of his bond with Jekzith ramming through any restraint and tearing away that which makes Paddy, Paddy and leaves only a dragon's need staring out of the brownrider's eyes. "Hang in there," he advises the younger brownrider, then subsides into silence, chin dropping to chest as he does what he typically does during flights: lets go, goes within and shuts everything else out until the end.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth struggles against the rain, the unfamiliar aerial terrain, and his late start. He arcs a long, too-slow loop back until he's got Ciath in his sights once again, then hunkers down with his head just below the horizon of his 'sails. With water splattering in his eyes, sheeting off his desert-blasted hide, he angles toward the queen to make up for his bad beginning. The queen's lack of altitude, her full belly, is a saving grace.

Wyaeth> Cavoth slips over the rim of the weyr in pursuit, his powerful wingbeats bringing him to a height equal to that of the fleeing gold. He lingers behind, his strength lying in endurance rather than speed as he keeps up the chase, following Ciath past the mountains and into the hill country. He's gone silent, for now, keeping his peace as he conserves his massive quantities of energy, belly light from a quick blooding yet full of energy from the warmth of the kills.

Wyaeth> Jostling is a preferred activity of Imirath, and where threats and snaps and growling rumbles fail, his bulk helps to clear his way in a more direct fashion. However, his indulgence below has placed him near the rear of the pack, intense wingbeats promising early strain on his translucent sails if he doesn't demonstrate restraint. Heeding the burning, he resorts to more subtle tactics like remaining airborne and seeking genial currents among the wind and threatening rains.

Wyaeth> Loketh glories in flight, both his own and Ciath's, the great bronze warbling his joy to the thinning Fortian air. He knows the meat within the whisper-fleet lady will not aid her swiftness, but he doesn't underestimate her, either. No, Loketh grew up with Ciath, and he knows her rather well. As the delicate gold swirls and rises, so does he, utilizing strong muscles to drive him onward to keep pace with her bewitching form. The mountains, hills provide an autumn lushness -- their divergent tones only accenting Ciath's splendid hide.

Wyaeth> Seith slowly but surely gains his height, his attention fully on the glowing speck growing further away in the distance. He seems unconcerned by the distance between the two as he maneuvers through the unfamiliar currents. He darts between a bronze and brown ahead of him, darting forward and up.

Wyaeth> Jekzith swings higher and higher, course changed to match the guiding star that is Ciath. His shadow spreads over the neat fields outside of the Hold and brief trumpet of greeting sent towards Harper Hall for some reason and then he focuses back on the flight itself, pushing onward on fleet wings. As always he is so full of delight at the feeling of the flight itself, that he is all joy, all happiness as he speeds onward, not much in the way of intensity or lust broadcast outward, only elation.

Wyaeth> Solath is engrossed with the imagery that Ciath plays before him, a sun setting to leave them all in a dismal regret, a regret that would fester without her wings beside them - beside him. He ached as he watched her skim the clouds, unable to reach the heights her fury should be able to take her. It was such a beautifully macabre sight, her conquest of the highest skies defeated but her course still so stern and proud - precise. It riled this coffee light brown up, his wing muscles pushing harder, his tail twists quicker - changes in his flight pattern sudden to keep up with the female's choosen course. The crowds above were moving closer to him though, and with one wrong move, one of the other males could cut him off from the path of his intended direction. The shadows below did not phase him even though he knew his proximity to the sharp peaks, he dared not veer his gaze from the streak of light for he could lose it. His muscles worked in unison, his wings thrown forward as much as possible, whipped back in his deep wing sweeping thrusts. His speed allotted him a place in the front of the pack, drifting on the outside to forego his entrappment or entanglement with the wrong dragon.

E'rik's brown eyes snap to P'draig. His own voice is rough as he clears his through a few times before saying. "Hanging in there, sir." he manages a lopsided grin. A deep breath is taken in slowly and exhaled slowly, his emotions all tangled up inside. To Zahava he can't stop looking, watching. "Soon." he murmurs though it's a comment that was mostly said quietly to his lifemate.

V'delin blinks, shaking his head enough to return an awareness to his sharp blue eyes. "Presently," he settles for quelling any ire in laughter, "I beg the cause of distraction. Though others might not call your observation out of line; I do fly in the wing that plans to test-fly luminescent clothing at night." He, too, takes advantage of the halt to gulp his rain-flavored ale, then steps inside, shuddering off the caress of raindrops and casting a quick glance about for Zahava, the first indication of his concern for her wellbeing hastily hidden in a veneer of lust.

Zahava's grey-green eyes are vacant, her whole vital force aloft in the skies, rushing away from the Weyr as swiftly as Ciath's wings can carry thim. Every so often her lips press together or part as though on a word, but her throat never gives voice to them.

N'thei tries very very hard to reason through V'delin's words, even while he's finally given over to having his eyes pinned on poor Zahava, one girl in a wash of testosterone. Eventually, after another tight sip, he just gives up on 'luminescent clothing;' "Why?" Never looking away from the goldrider, he holds the bottle toward V'delin-- or to anyone who happens to be quicker than V'delin and also in arm's reach.

Wyaeth> Now well out of sight of Fort Weyr, rolling hills distant beneath the flight of the dragons - almost invisible in the worsening rain, Ciath veers to the right, trying to lose some of her suitors in the decreased visibility of the darkened skies and dismal light as the rain grows thicker, pounding against thick hide. Her pale golden form summons them to greater efforts, though those who've tired most quickly, fallen behind, have likely given up and begun their return. She snakes her head under a wing for a moment to check their positions, watching a brown dwindle out of sight and vanish as he gives up the chase.

V'ryce is rather vacant-eyed, too, his body tied to Loketh's, his actions a subtle mimicry of his lifemate's. But never does he lose track enough to stray far from Zahava's side, though his smile is upturned to the rocky ceiling.

Sal'ros eventually comes in behind the rest of the crew, having tried to stem his feet from carrying him in this direction, but being unable to do so as his dragon was captivated in the chase - and he too should be. Although, as he broke through the flight cave's entrance, his eyes shook off the in depth connection with his dragon, a grimace on his face as he has to stand by someone else, presently that happens to be T'rien. Sal says nothing though, keeping his hands in his pocket, letting the rain drip dry off of him.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth lets Imirath plow through the back of the pack for him. He shadows the stockier bronze's right wing, a few lengths behind, and only gradually increasing his speed to draw nearer. Despite what it will cost him in precious energy later, he rumbles a much-obliged grunt, a friendly counterpoint to Imirath's threats. He fills the space left by the brown now spiralling back to the Weyr, a brief gleam of gunmetal-gray and barren-bronze for Ciath's backward glance.

Wyaeth> Cavoth is not poetry in motion. He is not graceful or slick. He simply /is/. He is Cavoth - sure and steady, soaring through the drifts of rain toward that little patch of sunshine directly ahead of him. His wings carry him ever-closer, leaving the faster dragons behind as their stamina begins to wane. A slight dip to the right and he's on her scent, never faltering, attention riveted, pursuing out of hope that his wings might just entangled hers and keep her from falling.

Wyaeth> Seith boasts to be a larger size of brown, thinking he can do much outside of his limits. He reaches into his energy gained by the blood of the beasts within the feeding grounds and he uses that to push himself further into the sky. He drives himself against the propelling rain that hurdles from the heavens as if in an effort to stop him, an Istan brown, from catching up and drawing near to the sweet, sweet gold ahead. A merry chase she's leading them on so far and his sole concentration is on keeping up with the others and her in sight.

T'rien's eyes seem to refocus for the moment, all that /he/ is presently contained therein. This chase is for Cavoth, not for him and, although he gives a brief glance and nod to Sal'ros as he stands next to him, his eyes drift away from the exit and the sky beyond toward Zahava. His lips part, as if he's about to say something, then close as he shakes his head, reconsidering.

Wyaeth> Keeping to the rear of the foremost group of suitors, Loketh drafts off them, letting his preceeders do more of the work up keeping up with glorious Ciath for him. His large form cuts through the deepening dim light, the growing pound of rain with a seeming carelessness -- the hunter quiet and patient on the trail of his beloved, for now. Long wings cup and stroke the heavy air with a strange, predatory grace, never letting him fall far behind, never letting his sibling too far from the hope of a sudden surge to win her over.

Wyaeth> Jekzith is long and lean, an arrow in flight, sure-winged and fleet, matching Ciath's course changes. He's tempered the impulsiveness that used to have him chewing up all his energy early in flights from when he was younger, with time and experience. However, it's a big pack and there's some rowdy younger browns in there. Two of them get into it a little and one of them gets knocked off course, jostling Jekzith on his way by. Knocked off course and spirling out of control for a few wingbeats, when the motley brown gets control again, it's too late. He's fallen too far down and with a mournful bugle, drops down and back to the Weyr.

Wyaeth> Onward forays Imirath, hot solder in his eyes as he ripples along the windcurrents, ill at ease with the rangy and leathery bronze who has taken up position in his shadow. Consumed with and by the competition, he may seem to have forgotten the beacon burning beyond, but for the occassional glance to determine her flight path, made rough by the pelting rain. A voracity propels him onward, his direction largely guided by the darker forms in the foreground, the dipping of one wing providing a pivot point for an angular turn in his aim to discern the slender queen's destination.

Shaken out of his flight meditation, P'draig's head lifts suddenly and awareness blinks back into his eyes, followed by visible relief. Quietly he pushes away from the wall. He pauses by T'rien to clasp the man's shoulder then he's ducking outside hastily with only a brief backward glance for Zahava and he's gone out into the rain.

Wyaeth> Solath thrives in the melancholia the weather produces, in fact the dragon seems to be brought to life as he taps into his resources, letting the blood from the beasts he killed (even the unsightly one) drive the lust for the queen straight to his head - his eyes liquifying with it as he navigates through a skyscape perfect for his mentality. He races toward the gathering gloom, keeping his gaze fixated to the brief glimpse of light that is slowly dimming now that the rain shields her, the clouds misting lower as he rides the shadow of the day. In a daring move that could make or break his attempts, he splits from the front pack of competitors, using his strength to propel him forward - so that he's riding a line parallel to Ciath - but still at a distance. Abruptly he changes courses again, veering dangerously in front of a few bronzes, but his method worked enough to gain him a dragon length or two from where he was.

Wyaeth> Ciath begins to tease the dwindling pack of beaus who've managed to keep up with the initial long endurance race. She slows suddenly as she rises steeply, letting those closest to her overshoot her position, testing their strategies. She arcs to the south, and a siren call drifts back to the males, urging them on, enticing and demanding at once. Eddies trail off her wings as her passage disturbs the downpour of rain, drenching her as though in attempt to extinguish her brilliance. Her escape is no longer quite as swift as it was in the first portion of the flight. She arcs again, heading east towards the sea, allowing more of the males to approach her as the move trades forward motion for sidelong.

V'delin's not moving with rapidity or grace, but that bottle of sweetened tonic promises better than his rain-soaked ale, so he takes it, a hasty thanks before a swig's taken of the delicate dessert wine's contents, the Reachian rider's query lost entirely. "Sweet," he cleverly comments. "Bet she's sweet, too. When she's not being sour." He chuckles roughly, voice catching in his throat, as though he's clever. "Drink, Sal? T'rien?" comes though the drink's not his to offer.

Zahava's breath comes faster as though it were her own limbs propelling her through the air, her own body drawing on the blood and flesh of the beasts Ciath dispatched. It is perhaps a blessing that she is unaware of those around her, not even twitching as P'draig makes his way out of the cave.

Wyaeth> Loketh lets a fraction of his attention be drawn away by Jekzith's mounful dirge, the bronze watching the older brown spiral down and away for a moment, then reclaiming the sight of Ciath far ahead. Purple spinning eyes take in Solath and Imirath about him and the others as he cranes his almond-blanched nose this way and that to size up the competition, and with the thickening fray growing about his own bulk, Lo' chooses to break from the pack some, losing a little forward motion as he climbs above the main flight, and parallels sumptuous, sleek Ciath. And then she suddenly slows a little, drawing them closer again by chance, causing Loketh a thrill that permeates him from nose to tailtips, the bronze calling back loving, eager croons to answer his sister. His own hide will not be put out by the downpour -- shining bright coppered-bronze to meld him against the autumn trees so long left behind below.

Wyaeth> Seith isn't close enough that he's in any way going to overshoot her. He is slowly but surely making his way through the suitors in the sky, gaining precious ground bit by bit. Ducking under a slower bronze, Seith uses his slightly smaller size and agility to turn on wingtip, intently following the path of the queen who suddenly seems oh so nearer. But not to near and he fights to be closer to her. Through the rain he zips on, arching with the wind some to help his movements and save some of his strength.

Sal'ros startles as someone actually speaks to him, his shared thoughts shaken as he becomes aware of the offering, his throat suddenly feeling dry as if it wasn't raining all day and there wasn't moisture to spare out in the air. The man straightens and pulls a hand out of his jacket pocket, "I'll take a splash of it, but Solath doesn't do well when I'm liquored up.. though a swig would be good right about now..." he grumbles, a hand out turned toward V'delin's offer.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth really must be made for shotgun-style strategy, just flying every which way with absolutely no finesse. A slow, easy turn would have suited just fine to keep his track on Ciath's, but he jerks and jars and first overshoots her easterly bend only to have to correct afterward with another stuttered turn. His vanity unfazed and his ardor undimmed, he splatters through the rain after the clever girl, gaining now that she's lost swiftness for all his wreckless flying.

Wyaeth> Cavoth angles himself upward, keeping the pace and growing ever-closer as the pack dwindles. Rain slices over his coppery hide as he cuts through it, unfaltering. He does not take the bait as Ciath lays it, sparing his energy, following her toward the sea. Her sideways movements bring him just behind and to the left of her and, finally, caught up in the moment, he answers her siren's call with one of his own - exuberant and heartfelt - a bugle that causes the rain before him to shimmer and fall away in tattered drapes.

E'rik barely notices the fact that P'draig has left. Now he stands alone which is fine for he knows not anyone else in here. His eyes stare unseeing at Zahava, his lips moving in silent words of encouragement to his brown up there somewhere in the skies above.

V'ryce arches and weaves his long body in harmony to Loketh's, his eyes now shut as he concentrates all his inner resources in aiding his brave soulmate. Soft sighs and subtle chuckles roll through the young man's lungs every so often.

T'rien shakes his head at V'delin's offer, eyes turning back toward the outside once more as he leans back. "Maybe later," he murmurs, the first words he's spoken since the blooding began.

N'thei retires to a space of wall, giving off the air more that he's supporting the wall that vice versa. Now empty-handed, save the mug that he dangles by its handle off his index finger, he folds his arms and lets those tranquil gray eyes meander looks at Zahava and her quickened breath, bestill his heart. "At this point, she could be no sweeter than a mouthful of brine and I doubt we'd be complaining," he mumbles, much subdued.

Wyaeth> Imirath lingers behind, distance once given not regained. He falters, hovering in a long moment between wingbeats, his strategy soon revealed when another current-riding brown is forced to veer and fight to regain position rather than collide with his extended talons. Streaming rain provides cover for the sooty bronze, momentum carrying him in her direction, his arced wing taking him below Wyaeth's jerky turn, the gold's more agile maneuvers unmatched in conservation of his strength, his course roughly aligned with yet lingering below hers.

Wyaeth> Solath rumbles in surprise when another brown comes up from below him, the coffee creamed dragon having to spin out of the way before another brown became entangled with him - narrowly missing yet anther dragon above him! The near misses were to be greeted with a mouthful of teeth that snap at the air, the brown not giving up stride yet as his avoidance rolls only put him on a better course with Ciath as she takes a turn east. Rain shears ripple down his sides as he does another twisted underhanded move that scares a fellow competitor - dropping him too from the race. It all works to line Solath up better with the easternly direction - subsequently pushing himself to the limits to make for a parallel attempt yet again, though he does have a height advantage as he's not weighed down by meat consumed, body tilted as he tries to keep steady enough so that he can make a slide side ways toward her.

V'delin releases the berry-flavored dessert wine to Sal'ros with a nod. "Had to cut back for him? I hear you." He frowns for a moment, then smirks, gaze settling on the girl of the high cheekbones and shorn blonde hair. "Mmm, isn't that the truth. Take you up on that, Wingleader, especially if Cavoth prevails." Discretion absent in the flare of hot desire, he notes, "He's been after her for turns, I'd wager."

T'rien moves his gaze from it's contemplation of the rainy sky to V'delin's face, where they focus again in an unsettling display of clarity amongst the clouds of desire. "No," he says simply, a bit of a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Not him."

Wyaeth> Ciath checks continually for how many remain in pursuit of her, and their positions. Driven to height by her rider's insistance, she is deprived of some of the tricks used by greens to shake those who tail her. Her inexperience produces a repetition of the same stunt she used before, pulling up, rising swiftly. Her delicate golden body rises towards the underbelly of the clouds as she lets the forerunners catch up and pass her. Then she folds one citrine-spangled wing, trying to cut down through a gap in the ever-thinning pack.

Sal'ros shrugs, "Been like that since he hatched.. can't take the liquor.." he rolls his jaw before pushing back the wine toward his lips, letting the berry-flavour restore his parched throat, having not realized how intent he was upon Solath's attempts. Putting his lips together he passes back the wine to V'delin, nodding his head in thanks before settling back with his hand sliding into his pocket. He regards Zahava now with a curious look in his eye.

It's just as well V'ryce is all caught up in his lifemate's efforts. He likely wouldn't care for losing his smooth, easy reputation in this room, what with the hormone laden talk circulating around. He simply stands loosely near the junior weyrwoman, staring ahead at a seeming nothing, smiling..

"Tastes like pink breakfast syrup, doesn't it?" N'thei imparts this sagely, now that the drink has made the rounds. Somewhere between being the outsider in a cluster of Fortians and being, well, rapt with Zahava now, he gives up his conversational input.

Zahava's dry lips part, wetted briefly, her only movements aside from the quick breaths and flutter of heartbeat at her throat. Then, suddenly, she stiffens as Ciath makes her little dive down amongst the males. "Ciath! No!" she whispers, too late for the gold to respond.

Wyaeth> Wyaeth lacks the wiliness to read Ciath even after her second go at the same tactic, but fortune favors the bold! After a rat-tat-tat series of stunted half-turns that barely corrected his course, he breaks hard in the direction that Ciath's dive is most likely to put her, if luck will have it. Stretching, straining, all the usual, he reaches and reaches for the queen. If luck won't have it, his current trajectory ought to make him very cozy with Imirath in a couple of moments. It's down to the wire, this last-ditch effort to cut off Ciath before she's utterly away from him.

Wyaeth> That spangle of bright citrine is Loketh's signal, the siren-call of sweet Ciath's hide rising, then falling calling him home to her side, finally. A deep, thrumming note issues from his huffing, tired chest, coppered-bronzen hide falling in a controlled fashion after pale gold. Recklessly cutting across the path of some other males with snapping teeth and lashing tail, Loketh sidles quietly up beside the respendent queen, talons unsheathing, tail seeking to curl and twine with her own, even as he falls alongside her. The hunter offers himself fully, without hesitation.

Wyaeth> Cavoth keeps his position to Ciath's left, her uncertain movements bringing him in even closer as she tries to out-maneuver the pack. His wings beat once, twice more in powerful succession, trying to prevent her escape. His tail dips, wings fold backwards, then down, reaching out, toward, near...

Wyaeth> Seith's large powerful wings beat in steady stroke in an attempt to gain him one last burst of speed needed. He's lasted this long through the chase, the distance, the driving rain that coats his sleek brown hide. Now he lunges, spinning on wingtip and finding the golden queen is so much closer to him than he thought before. Without thought now he dives down, coming at her from above in an attempt to reach her. Silently he's a brown shadow in the sky, stretching. So close....

Wyaeth> Imirath is still banking, his forged-filthy frame shunting at an angle, his attention on further eliminating competitors rewarded as another breaks away and spirals downward. Again the queen is lost in the heavy, pelting rain, and again he pauses in futile efforts to hone in on her, when lo! A streak of citrine on a golden flank hurtles into their midst from above, and however futile the gesture may be, he scrambles to throw his wings out to buoy her fall, his tail seeking to unite her streamlined beauty with his - and if they both should miss, it's a forceful embrace with Wyaeth that awaits.

Wyaeth> Solath is a forerunner, but that does not mean he'll go soaring passed her like the inexperienced ones do. He's flown with well versed greens who could out wit even the cleverist of dragons. He was ready for something outstanding from the gold, something that would shake every other dragon from the chase, but no, it's the same action as before. His wings cut through the wind, his tail straining as he twists full force to meet the rest of the males head on, distracting them as he goes through them with wild abandon, clipping wings with a few, skimming his head agaisnt another's tail. Rain now prickles over his entire body and in the vortex of gloom - of all the other dark gloomy brown and bronze bodies - is the light, caught up in the vacuum of males... and he, a pale light brown makes to join her in the gathering of luminosity... He sweeps through a crack in two males and reaches out for her, and should he miss, he'll have to make one hell of a dive to avoid a head on with Wyaeth.

V'delin chokes on his half-formed reply laugh, almost getting out the questioning "You?" to his Wingleader before he has to smack himself on the chest to stave off the cough. "Aughh," is much more likely for his lifemate's antics, his own eyes finding Zahava, then half-closing in dreadful anticpation of the impending and potentially unintended close quarters in the skies.

V'ryce just arches and leans in towards Zahava/Ciath, the young man totally committed to his lifemate, and seemingly to the weyrwoman. A low moan escapes his throat, and green eyes lock onto her with all the fire and intensity that might otherwise never be his. Not without Loketh.

Sal'ros clenches his teeth, his eyes dropping down from Zahava as he tries to help keep control if Solath happens to miscalculate his wing-space...

N'thei's got nothing. He's there. The wall's there. Zahava's there. The rest of the weyr might as well not exist. He stares at the goldrider, teeth filing across his lower lip anxiously.

Wyaeth> Ciath realizes her error as she sees Cavoth's wings too near to her, and Imirath's encroaching as well. Her own flutter open as she jerks down and to the right to narrowly escape their grasping talons, putting more distance between herself and Seith as he comes down from above. The move brings her nearer to her bronzen clutchmate, but she sweeps her wings forward to avoid Loketh's clutches. Now both Wyaeth and Solath hurtle towards her, converging from both sides. Try as she does to twist away from them both, it is Wyaeth who reaches her first, the young gold bugling in dismay as she feels him take hold.

Wyaeth> Seith's youth doesn't help him as his inexperence perhaps keeps him from reaching the Golden beauty in time. He twists in mid air, bugling in frustration as he swerves at the wrong time and she's able to put distance between him and her. Veering sharply he sails away, dejected.

T'rien blinks at V'delin, looking faintly amused by his wingrider's surprise. "Yeah, for all the good it does." He closes his eyes as Cavoth makes his attempt and, then, something seems to slowly deflate within him. After a long, long moment, his eyes open and fix on the sky once more. "I'm sorry, Cavoth..."

Wyaeth> Loketh screams, how he screams in rage and denial at Ciath denies his embrace for the foreign bronze's! The sound shreds the thick air as his form artlessly peels off from the mating pair -- a final, loud bawl of protest railed onto the skies before he blinks *between*, back to a a cold lake that wil provide scant comfort for him.

E'rik's eye snap open suddenly and he looks about in surprise as if he were unaware of his eyes even being closed. He steps away from the wall and manages to find a way out of the room.

Wyaeth> Cavoth folds in his wings and sails away, his head hanging in defeat as a low, plantive croon murmurs from his throat. Slowly, reluctantly, he flies back toward the weyr, toward home.

Wyaeth> Imirath's burnished wings are so extended that the sails catch very little wind, and his reliance entirely on forward momentum carries him closer and closer to Wyaeth and his surprise prize. At the last moment, he bugles in frustration and in horror at the impending arrival of Solath to the front, and he surrenders to the air current, which whips his wingspars upward, causing him to drop like a large, sooty-bronze piece of firestone, barely escaping sandwiching with the Reachian and the closeknit pile of Ciath's admirers.

Wyaeth> Solath has to buckle down his wings and drop quick to avoid missing running into Wyaeth and Ciath, a quiet knowing sound snorted back at the mating pair, as if he knew it wasn't going to happen any ways. It's the way of the females, the way of flights, the way of the pessimist. He falls away toward the earth, gliding back toward land, an unsatisfied quail shrieked wickedly into the rain cast night where he disappears into...

Wyaeth> Wyaeth goes from braced for impact to bracing Ciath from certain doom. In the same careless-but-lucky fiasco that has been the whole of his flying, he scoops a wing to help brace the gold, twines neck and tail with hers, and leaves it to the skill of Imirath and Solath not to crash into the pair. For the rest... you'll just have to buy the book.

And V'ryce..well, his eyes open in utter disbelief, staring like a mortally wounded man at Zahava -- his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for liquid air. His own deep groan falls out of his lungs, and with a quick whirl, he's jogging out of the little weyr, gone to tend to his lifemate arrowing towards the cold lake.

V'delin's not even left with the wine! He frowns as Sal'ros leaves, taking the syrupy beverage with him. "Shells," he exlaims, followed by a few words for less polite company, and he's quick to follow the flow out of the weyr, making eyes at a glossy-eyed female brownrider as they fall into step, murmurs of spirits and rendezvous as the pair's left to the cave. How -you- doin'?

N'thei is not so much, um, gentle and loving and such, but at least it will be a fun ride? A raspberry wine-flavored ride; poor Zahava.

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