Difference between revisions of "Logs:Isyath's Second Flight"

As ever, she is apt to share her delight with Cadejoth. The sensation- the presence of her- rolls over like an oppressive heat- something that's a shock to the system in the first breath, but becomes less and less noticeable as time goes on. The clouds beckon, and she is their mistress, soaring from one to other, the gentle patter of spring rain striking her glowing hide as she navigates the skies of her home. While wet, the spring wind is warm, providing a welcome, turbulent challenge. This is what she shares with him- something that could be mistaken as an open-ended invitation, if it was in any way easy to ignore. (Isyath to Cadejoth)

To Isyath, Cadejoth's boredom in staying so still upon this empty and desolate beach is palpable; it takes only the merest hint of Isyath's presence before his thoughts stray in her direction, yearning towards her freedom with a wriggle of chain and the clatter of bone. Warmth and challenge; freedom; an invitation. He's caught by this, and aching-- he wants to join her.

That desolate beach is invaded with the sense of the bright Fortian queen, the sensation of unrestricted flight, the need and want of something as yet unidentified. He should be here. He belongs here, today. (Isyath to Cadejoth)

To Isyath, Cadejoth yearns to be there, and yearns to join her. Maybe if he... he will try. His K'del enjoys talking to her Ali, does he not? There's no requirement that they sit out here alone forever. Company would be good! There are no words to offer, but his faithful promise is offered: if he can convince his rider, they will be there soon.

Is convincing needed? His rider needs this, just as much. Dragons must talk to dragons, people must talk to people. These thoughts pass through Isyath's mind as quick flashes of images, mixed in with other, more confusing things: something, greener than green, spreading warmth and sensation through the body. Colorful shapes, tiny, darting quickly away in the air when approached. The light spring rain cooling a heated face. The joy, delight, of a victory. One after the other, in quick succession, moments of emotion distilled into flashes of sensation, of aliveness. (Isyath to Cadejoth)

Victory. Cadejoth yearns and he wants, and now, finally, there's the sense of wingbeats in his thoughts, and of rising high through a cold, damp sky. There will be victory. (Cadejoth to Isyath)

Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr

This end of the bowl is grassy and serene with the pretty blue of the lake nearby as a draw for residents, riders and dragons alike. Since the earthslide collapsed in the spring of turn 23, a dramatic view of the mountain slopes that circle the Weyr has opened up beyond the lake, where a faint misty haze often shimmers above the small waterfall.

The feeding grounds are fenced off to on the northeastern end of the lake, just a short walk from the weyrling barracks, the Weyrleader's complex, the hatching complex, living cavern, and infirmary.

"Ali." It's spoken with more firmness than E'ten had intended, but it's with a growing frown that tags the rest of his words. Or the first ones as his head shakes in disagreement. "They'll remember the cards," he says, thankfully being relieved of saying anything else once E'dre returns. But those eyes of his are considering - does his brain ever stop in it's thinking pattern? Who knows, but it might pay off eventually as he looks to the hem and Ali's unhelpful attempts to wear the shoes. And there's a dilemma. "Now that he has the cards, will you wear the slippers," he adds, stepping closer with a hand extended to help the goldrider almost gentlemanly in the gesture. N'rov? Oh, he spotted something. For a moment, but a bandanna? Really?

Perhaps there might have been an answer from Ali for E'dre's cajoling, but whatever it was is washed away by that sudden, furious roar from above. Something panicked- fearful- appears in the Fortian's junior's gaze, a sharp inhale freezing her in place. Her "Issy," is barely audible, white-faced, fingers tightening where they rest against E'dre's shoulder. Her gaze is fixed upwards- where Isyath appears from between the clouds, soaring down, and down- making immediately for the feeding grounds. Her first kill is a quick, messy affair, tearing more than blooding, wings mantled over her kill.

Into rainy skies, Cadejoth appears - and his arrival is almost precisely timed (though no doubt coincidentally) for the moment after Isyath's dart for the feeding grounds. His timing prevents him from doing more than announce his presence to the watchdragon: even arriving as he does, he's already so quick to shoot for the feeding grounds, and follow the queen to her kill. At least once he's there K'del's got a moment to clamber down, whey-faced and shaking; he doesn't have time to remove his bronze's straps, though, and as Cadejoth shoots off to take to the kill, the bronzerider has no choice but to begin to wend his way roughly, vaguely, towards the bowl. Hi.

"See? Even E'ten agrees that slippers would be good. They'd be comfortable," E'dre continues to reason with Ali before the roar from the gold leaves the brownrider dropping the slippers into the mud as his gaze goes up. Ali's white-knuckled grip on his shoulder is cause for a grimace. He slowly pushes to his feet, hoping to take her hand from his shoulder and place it in his too-warm hands. Not in a possessive manner, no. Just compassion for the fear that he sees on her face. The signal of K'del's arrival erases E'dre's easy-going smile and replaces it with a frown. Wroth is alerted to the dive down and he takes his time to follow, waiting until Isyath has selected hers before launching himself onto his own. Broken neck and blood, delicious, warm, maw-splattering blood. The brown does not launch for another after he's taken his fill. He hovers near the discarded body and keeps his entire focus on the golden beauty. He's thrumming with excitement, his short, rudder-like tail tap-tap-tapping behind him as he waits.

Whatever the cause of the displeasure, the anger from Isyath is enough for Adiulth's upwards attention to ultimately send the bronze onto his hindquarters before launching himself towards the feeding grounds. He might be only moments in motion after seeing Cadejoth - a foreign among natives and the resulting movement finds E'ten lowering his hand in the split moment that his dragon takes off. Not so much as a 'do you plan to..', just up and off he goes. Only, he's wise this time. He'll aim for those beasts skittering away. Those are his prey this time, eyes always aware of where the gold is in relation to himself. If it was for anything different, there would be an admonishment already out of his mind and towards the dragon. Instead, he's been so focused on everything else that there's no words. Remaining at Ali's side, he does follow E'dre's line of attention with a press of his lips.

Above, Vhaeryth abandons stone for air in a dismayed rush of wings that's nowhere near settled: he hovers through several swift beats, recovering, and then... Isyath on the wind, blood on the wind, blood and chaos and he'd know the way to that queen and that blood if he were blinded. Even if there is... intruder alert. Intruder alert. He descends, a sharp burst of wind, claws out. Oh, he kills, he drinks, but then he slams that corpse toward the foreign bronze in a flurry of feathers and ichor-sodden, crushed bone. His rider has a far harder time of it, where to go, where they are, where she is, but it's a passing bluerider (that blue?) who grabs his arm and helps him instead of leading him astray. Over there. That group. That girl. He breaks into a stumbling run.

Practically shaking now, a white-faced Ali's breathing heavily, fear foremost in her expression- though whether for her dragon's abrupt, uncharacteristic fury, or the tearing of flesh that Isyath manages to get down before she can intervene isn't quite clear. Another heated roar surges throughout the Weyr in the wake of Elaruth's departure, but when Isyath makes her second kill, she obeys, however reluctantly, only blooding the creature. It's only belatedly that she seems aware of her hand in E'dre's- surprised and dismayed all of a sudden- she takes a step back from him, only to find E'ten there, too. She's struggling to keep a tight lid on her growing alarm, retreating, even as her attention wavers from Isyath, and her third kill. "Issy, please." Begging, or demand, or somewhere in between, perhaps. Perhaps it helps- the third kill is quickly dispatched, and the Fortian junior surges upwards, seeking the safety of those distant clouds.

Did Wroth just witness the throwing of a half-eaten carcass at that bronze? Did he? He shakes his head before he turns his focus downwards for a brief second to consider the carcass between his talons. Rrriiiiiip! He tears inwards and down before he flings it from his body. If it happens to head in Cadejoth it must be pure coincidence. It had to be shoved aside to make room for Wroth's launch upwards. For as Isyath go, he's quick to follow. He played a game like this before and so he settles just far enough behind her to give the gold room - and if others surge ahead of him - so be it. He has a plan. And those clouds with their rain splattering against his hide only aid him as he swoops into the swirling nebulas, slicing them apart with his wings. Back down on the ground, E'dre is not bothered by the dismissal of his hand. He moves to step back, resigned to stay even though he would've rather have gone. As others press towards the goldrider, he remains nearby to offer a buffer should she seek it.

Metal buckles clank as Cadejoth, having slaked his thirst on only a single beast, throws himself into the skies after Isyath. He hasn't managed to dodge the flying carcasses, and now his hide is blood splattered, but it seems not to bother him. The foreign bronze has a desperation to his flight, as though it's this or nothing - win or die. He doesn't know these skies as well as others, though, and that too is obvious: still, he's trying. His rider is still a ways off, forced to slog through the rainy bowl on his own, with a wild look in his eyes. If his bronze is ignoring the distaste of local dragons at his presence, K'del is doing so doubly: he doesn't seem to care. He looks... very little like himself, being honest, for those who know him at all.

He approves! Well. Adiulth would approve of his younger brother's actions, but there's that second live beast that he wants to use before he doesn't have the ability to store up energy. Not that he was in the skies before now. He's not in this to throw things at foreign, larger bronzes. He's in it for the bigger golden prize. With blood still splattering against his hide, it's a necessary hazard as he tosses the creature aside once Isyath takes to the skies, quickly following but also not determined to be in the end of the pack. As for E'ten, he involuntarily shifts slightly to give Ali that room that she seems to need so desperately. Of that, he's not too dense to acknowledge.

To Isyath, Cadejoth is freedom, and the promise of more to come; he is the future, and he is hers. Does she see what he puts up with, in order to be hers? He'd do it again.

Yes. That bronze. The one Vhaeryth's had to report to and report to and forget dragon memories, he hasn't forgotten this. He takes time from his second kill to roar even as his wingmate follows suit (couldn't be accidental, certainly couldn't be for Wroth's own reasons, surely it's because the brown's backing him up) and then... and then Isyath's raging higher and he is too, sharp and fast and unfraid to get in the way of others. Not that he has a plan, yet. Or rather, it's that his plan is very simple: up there and after her and find her, find Isyath. As for his rider? Even when he does catch up, breathing ragged from so much more than merely running, N'rov's not the man to help Ali: to give her room, to make room for her, the way E'dre's doing. Still so new to this, he can still barely master himself, if he's even doing that when he identifies K'del less as who he is than who he isn't, a mirror of Isyath's fury turned cold in his, "Don't you have enough queens?"

Isyath is slower in rising than she should be- perhaps partly due to the food consumed before she was brought to task? Either way- she knows the skies of her home Weyr better than few others- surging for one of the spring thermals, though it peters out far earlier than she probably hoped. Still, she is undaunted- her pleasure abounds, now- she skies are hers, they are hers, and today, they will reach the stars. Up and up, not bothering with anything fancy, an arrow into the sun. There's a long, low exhale of breath from Ali, fear fading away by measures, her gaze glued to the rising queen before the clouds begin to obscure her, and then her gaze drops. There's a slight widening of eyes as she sees K'del- her expression is clouded under her surprise (relief? concern?)- either way, it doesn't slow her retreat. The dark haired junior's not heading to the weyr like she should- instead, the nearness of all the other riders forces her back, and away, and to the side- in constant retreat.

The lingering of indignation and fury (how dare they?) fades by measures as the delight, and simple joy of freedom begins to override everything else. Possessive thoughts drift over Cadejoth. (Yes. He is hers, and not theirs.) He is worthy, but does he seek the stars with her? Could he? (Isyath to Cadejoth)

Wroth continues to let Isyath take the lead, not rushing his smaller frame by pushing to keep pace with her and the larger bronzes that have rallied to the chase. She can fly.. fly high, oh so high above him - her hide is such a glorious thing to view from here. And the stars, they must be up there somewhere, if only they could get high enough to touch them. He'll try for her, catching his own thermal to boost him up into a larger mass of white and gray to tuck himself into. Don't mind this brown, he's not pushing her. Yet. Though he does trickle out a tendril of thought her way. Just a touch of heat and a splash of thunder. E'dre had lived in High Reaches long enough to know K'del, though the time he has settled in at Fort has only added distance and distrust of the other man. He's wary as he notices the approach, eyes narrowed as he assesses his former Weyrleader. But then he has other things to focus on, like the woman at his side and the press of bodies that are heading towards her as the rain continues to drizzle down. E'dre glances towards E'ten and then towards N'rov as he challenges K'del. "Careful. He's not worth it." Who exactly is he speaking about? Probably K'del, though anyone could take it anyway they want.

There's nothing in K'del's expression: no smugness, no joy, no pleasure and no wariness. He meets Ali's gaze for only a single moment, and if he intends anything by the glance, it's hard to know what it might be. N'rov's coldness gets an answer, but there's no defense in it - it's all so very empty. "I have no queens," he says, in a voice that rasps with disuse, turning away so that he can watch the dragons above and pay attention to none of them. Above, Cadejoth makes up for some of his earlier lost momentum, improving his efforts now as they head into the clouds, hide-and-seek carrying him hither and yon. Stars? Oh yes. To the stars, and then back again, as far as his ichor-pumping flight can carry them.

Who else's could he be? No - Cadejoth is here, and isn't that answer enough? The stars are his destination-- and she, the brightest of them all. Chains whip and flurry; she called him, and he came, and is this not better? She has freed him, and he will take that joy in hand. (Cadejoth to Isyath)

Oh, there she goes: up, up and away, so simple-seeming for now, and if it's a deceptive simplicity then Vhaeryth is deceived. His anger begins to bleed from him, as though passing through those clouds were washing him clean of things darker than youthful desire, slowly, slowly. He flies, quickly, quickly, following Isyath's pace for now, a single caught breath with his rider's when that man turns away from the foreigner. Disbelief? Or, no: turning to Isyath's rider. To Ali. To, "Inside." He can't think. "Inside." E'ten. Clutchmate, competitor but can't he help? Even if it's not for him.

Adiulth isn't going to outpace Isyath, taking to the skies with a wide expanse of wings carrying him further aloft into the rain filled and gray skies. Wherever the stars are, they have to be higher. Much higher and he'll follow her there and beyond. Where she goes, he wants to be. Touching a thermal in these familiar skies, the coolness of the flight does little against his hide. Not even the rain, though it serves to invigorate and encourage him further. E'ten hears the words spoken, almost distantly given how focused he is on certain things. Adiulth and the chase, of course. But there's also Ali. They're not headed to her weyr but where? Breathing carefully, he's.. he'll have to try to be within distance to help. But there's concern that flashes in her direction. Something's wrong, could be wrong but he's trying to figure it out. But something is right. "Ground weyr." That might shake Ali enough. If she can't get home, then maybe there?

The clouds make for a tricky approach, the slick dampness clinging to heated dragon bodies as the pack surges upwards, Isyath in the lead. Glimpses of her are visible through the clouds, like a distant lightning, the sense of oppressiveness rising, overwhelming... until they breach the clouds. The sky, above, is clear, blue- beautiful and peaceful, and beyond, higher, is Rukbat, obscuring the faint stars of her destination. Today, today she will reach them: no fancy flying to waste her energy: pure muscle to weed out those less committed. Ali's breathing is still uneven, though her attention is wandering, caught between the flashes, the sensation of endless air under her wings, and the clear blue skies, and the more mundane sensation of the press of others around her. N'rov's words don't penetrate, nor do E'ten's- she's caught up, a distant, joyful laugh escaping her all of a sudden, the tenseness of her posture easing.

There's that visual again: of the darkened night sky draped in the ever-glow of starlight. So pretty, so bright. Wroth is beginning to feel the strain of the flight, his smaller physique not as quick to hold to the stamina of a bronze or larger brown. He's not going to give up, no. Not when she is so tantalizingly close. Out of the clouds he banks, finding a small swirl of warm air in the colder current of air to help lift him up, up, up. If there is to be no fancy flying or acrobatic antics, all the better. He can focus what's left of his energy at moving up, considering his actions, those around him. Some ploy must be in the works, his usual use of clouds removed from him now. Still, he's just two dragons behind her now. Only two to move out of the way before she can be convinced to be his. E'dre is too unfocused now, Wroth catching him up in the moment and taking him along as the two consider just how one might win a gold. It's up to the others surrounding them to usher Ali within, he just smiles indulgently at her laughter.

For that moment, that heartbeat, that endless stretch of time they are in perfect accord. He gets it, in a way that others have not. He deserves to be here, with her. He need only stretch, strain, reach for her- right there. (Isyath to Cadejoth)

"Leave her alone," says K'del. "If she wants to stand here, who cares?" There's no emotion on his words even now, as though all of it has been drained away and even flight - which ought to rouse them - cannot bring them back. "There will be time for the rest later." His arms wrap more tightly about himself, as though it's only through this that he's managing to hold himself together; is that a shake in his shoulders? It's so hard to tell. But Cadejoth-- his bronze has reached the front of the pack, now, and he is pushing onwards, fuelled by a certainty that cannot be denied. His confidence is overpowering, nearly tangible. He's got it; no one worry.

Once the oppressive grays slip away behind them, Adiulth only has what few dragons that are between him and Isyath. Are there any competitors? There will be until Isyath is his, bright as any of the other stars in the skies to be properly admired. Letting the wind brush against his wings with each beat, Cadejoth's not the only one confident in the skies. As if a foreigner's going to succeed. No fancy flying for him though, not unless he needs to follow the gold not so far ahead but it's just enough. Anything can happen. As for E'ten, it's concern - for Ali rather than any brisk comments from K'del that causes him to act. Enough to the point that he ignores the Reaches bronzerider outright as he reaches gently for the goldrider's hand and encourages, "We should get you inside." If his directional sense is right, then the flight weyr should be near. And above all, he doesn't want to make her panic. That, may be the last thing he wants. In fact, if she tenses, the hand will pull back as if the action never happened.

To Isyath, Cadejoth stretches and he strains - he reaches, both mentally and physically. He wants her: not just a queen, not just a female dragon, but Isyath herself. Stars amidst his chains; a perfection union. They understand each other!

Overwhelming, not solely the clouds but the now-unfamiliar closeness to his bronze: N'rov grimaces with it (with the others, the crowders, with not knowing what to do, with not knowing), until the slate's wiped clean with those clearer skies. Vhaeryth's less playing it simple than caught up in it, simply, until suddenly he calls warning. Vhaeryth's not at the front of the pack. But he's far enough away to see. As for N'rov, staggered a step on his Vhaeryth's outcry? Never mind K'del, no free show for the rest of them: E'ten's got the right idea, and gets a look for it that would be grateful if only he could. But. Forget politeness, because he's already stepping in: if she doesn't very immediately go, he'll seek to sling an arm around her waist and shoulder her bodily within.

Isyath's upward trajectory begins to falter, perhaps far sooner than would be expected- but they are high above the clouds, now. Is it the food that weighs her down, or- is it that lean, that surge that drives her back down into the midst of the pack, seemingly towards that unwanted, foreign bronze Cadejoth? Of course, nothing in certain in love, or war, and whichever this is, it's anyone's game when the Fortian queen ends up within reach of her suitors. Meanwhile, Ali herself remains oblivious to determined tugging and, far from panic, there's a distinct lack of engagement in response to E'ten's encouragement. Thankfully, she's not resistant, either, and between E'ten's tugging and N'rov's shouldering, allows herself to be driven into the ground weyr that serves as the flight cave.

That confidence may be nice and overpowering, certainly, but so predictable! Wroth cannot be bothered to consider these others. Bronzes, puh. Always the same. Never seeking to change. Has a bronze ever taken her to those stars and Rukbat? Clearly, not. So as another brown bows out of the chase, worn down by the length and height, Wroth puts as much energy as he can muster into the steady beating of his wings. He's gaining on them, even if Cadejoth believes he's in the lead and Aduilth is gaining. Vhaeryth is just ignored. There are no leads needed now. Just ideas. Ideas on how best to capture that golden-hued beauty. And here's the luck for the brown - she's not interested in sending them all higher. Drop down, beautiful queen, and later those stars can be achieved. Wroth makes his move in a sly, underhanded way, dipping down below a bronze in an attempt to shoulder him out of the way. He seeks to draw Isyath into his embrace, intent to tangle with her, lead her plunging down into the clouds and towards that far-away ground. E'dre lets E'ten and N'rov figure it out, K'del getting his best chance at focusing in on something or someone as Wroth continues to tempt him higher into the cloudless sky. He's wary of the Reachian. Wary of what he may or may not do. But he follows the others within.

Despite K'del's apparent disengagement, there's a pink in his cheeks, now, and a hitch in his breath as he turns, following the other riders into the flight cave. That he lags behind them can be nothing to do with doubt, for Cadejoth, above, is striving for the queen - the queen who has chosen him - and confidence seems reasonable enough. He reaches for her, even as the others do-- it won't be long now! And then, they can have the stars. First one to the right, and then? Straight on 'til morning.

No fancy flying. That's what Adiulth had not done. Not used his slightly smaller size to any sort of advantage until now. Once Isyath begins to falter and with Cadejoth seemingly ahead, if there was any time to do anything fancy to intercept, interrupt and sour the other bronze's plans it would be now. Beyond that, size. He's bigger than most browns and there's less of him to slow down in the attempt to catch the falling star.. queen. He can ensure that protection that every star needs to be safe, even if they are temporarily in the form of a dragon. They can always see the stars or become one - one very special star in the sky. What better fate to have, if only for a little while? Finding no resistance to the hand that E'ten reaches for is good. But the additional assist from N'rov proves him right. They did have the right idea of it, his directional sense only lasting so much longer with the flight's conclusion so close. But they're on the right path to be indoors. Somewhere.

Relief at that surge... untimely relief, though, as Isyath swings down? Because it's away from those others, but it's also within the thick of them. Until. It clicks. She's flying his way too, if Vhaeryth can only get their paths to meet, and that's what he must do, what he's got to do. But Vhaeryth doesn't take the straight course, attempting to shoulder through those males as Wroth does, instead abruptly swerving and could he be scared, skittish, or for that matter breathless like his rider? Because surely there's no way he can fly around all them and intercept in time. And yet he's not falling away, he's moving. With intent. Up. Like his rider, he's not (yet) letting go.

Hah. How they presume! It's far too early for her to be caught- the tease is half the fun, and Isyath is not yet done with them. Her veer towards Cadejoth is stymied by the shouldering of Wroth, sending the fire-touched queen soaring past both of them. Her buoyant sense of invulnerability begins to falter as she realizes her predicament, her position, right there, where they all are. Too soon- they haven't yet reached the stars. There's all sorts of jostling as Vhaeryth begins to shoulder his way in, but in her haste to escape, to get free, to continue upwards, Isyath surges straight into the arms (claws) of the smaller bronze Adiulth.

Now he'll (they'll) let go. Vhaeryth, in a flurry of wings. N'rov, with quick hard steps. But they won't like it.

There's a hissed noise of frustration from Ali. At Isyath? On behalf of? Hard to tell- her eyes are glazed over, barely aware, staring distantly at the walls of the cave they've finally (safely) made their way into. There's a shuddering, sharp breath- and she starts to cast around, blindly, her voice uneven. "Adi- E'ten?" She's possibly a little confused, twisting to locate him.

Wroth was so close.. and it was THAT one's fault, that ill-suited suitor, that nasty-smelling, wherry-brained Cadejoth that got in his way! Wroth is seething, absolutely seething, spewing dragon-like profanities and other horrible things at the bronzes around him. Lame! All of them! He drops from the clouds in a rush and demands E'dre at his side, leaving the brownrider to scramble away as the screaming Wroth had angled at the other dragons is now leveled on his rider.

What? What? Foiled, Cadejoth doesn't immediately seem to know what to do-- and has to hastily adjust his path to make sure he doesn't end up running in to any other dragons. He's adrift; he's confused. Below, his rider sags into himself, diving for the exit in a flurry of movements-- and some completely uncontrolled sobs. Is he crying over Ali? Over something else? It's so hard to know, but no doubt everyone can mock him later, as he leans up against the bowl wall and cries.

From the moment that E'ten feels the surge of knowing that Adiulth actually caught Isyath, he may as well been hit with cold water. Only, it's not cold. And it's not water. Tightening his hand about Ali's, they made it to the weyr just in time it seems as he murmurs, "I'm here." And thankfully, N'rov isn't. There are just some things... that even wingriders shouldn't share or have the memory of.