Difference between revisions of "Logs:Hraedhyth's Maiden Flight"

Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia.

Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy.

Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries.

Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.

To all High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth has been on tenterhooks for days: loop upon loop of coiled chain unwreathed and pulled tight until it has nearly a hum of its own. Now-- it's Iesaryth and Hraedhyth both, and there's a moment of confusion and indecision, and then the tawny queen takes hold; he is lost. A moment later, he's within the air - soaring, lunging - as he heads for the feeding grounds, the promise of more.

Azaylia's pull is overwhelming; it brings Taikrin swirling along in her wake like so much jetsam. Despite that one moment where it looked very much like she was going to take a swing at H'vier, she's otherwise chased helplessly along. Not so, Szadath. After Iesaryth's sending has him roaring irritation to the skies, the brown leaps off of his stolen ledge to join his sire in the feeding grounds with much snapping and hissing. "Sharditall, where is she?" Possibly Taikrin does not mean Azaylia, given that she's staring right at the goldrider.

Azaylia and Hraedhyth are like two ships passing in the night. One's a really, really pissed of galleon heading for the feeding pens, howling her fury. The other, her rider, is ignoring the way her dress rides up as she takes steps two at a time. She's oblivious to the others already beginning to follow her, Taikrin included. Once home, shaky legs don't look like they'll hold her up as she drifts with wobbly knees. "Stupid boots." Her dragon's frustration taints her own words, looking up at Taikrin. "Shut up about her!" Yeah, she actually did hear that. With a hunger that burns as hotly as her need, Hraedhyth lashes out at the nearest moving thing. The bronze's back leg is mistaken for food, jaws snapping short as he moves away just in time. Another attempt, teeth sinking with a crunch of herdbeast bone-- the sound of rebellion.

High Reaches' dragons are not the only ones to darken the skies this day. When Hraedhyth's presence spreads out to claim the skies, she catches the attention of a certain Monacoan bronze whose rider was visiting the Hold. Instead of the expected leap between back to the warm skies of Monaco, R'hin finds himself unceremoniously dumped onto the bowl floor of his former Weyr. His posture is tense, rigid: it's clear here is the last place he wants to be, yet Leiventh has other ideas. The bronze is already leaping for the feeding grounds, the foreign cat amongst the pigeons.

H'vier is close on Azaylia's heels as the goldrider retreats to her weyr, mostly ignoring Taikrin in favor of paying attention to the one here that really matters. He seems less worried about another gold anywhere else, though outside Reisoth is rumbling in frustration of his torn attention as he joins the others to blood.

Cadejoth makes it to the feeding grounds long before K'del makes it as far as Azaylia's weyr -- though at least he seems to have been safely on the ground to begin with. Damp haired, with his jacket flapping about his waist, High Reaches' former Weyrleader enters Azaylia's weyr at a jog, swearing furiously under his breath. His, "Fuck" is at least intelligible, though the long collection of syllables after it are very definitely not. His gaze falls towards Azaylia, and suddenly, his mouth is snapping shut, hard.

Z'ian arrives much after the rest of the chasers. There was an intense disagreement over which gold they were supposed to be chasing today. With Tsanth quelled and confined to the weyr, he's made his way to the feeding grounds. The smaller bronze lands neatly in an area not full of much larger dragons and takes down his kill. His muzzle bloodied, he aggressively lashes out at anything that gets too near to him. His rider meanwhile slinks into the weyr, confusion is written across his face as he assessing looks on at Azaylia.

Ineuth's daydream-spun castles collapse from within between the calls of Iesaryth and Hraedhyth. Unable to resist the calling that beats through what suddenly feels like every grain of his being, the weyrling brown sweeps toward the feeding grounds, full of starry-eyed optimism and at least a little caution once he's entered himself as Hraedhyth's youngest and smallest suitor. Perhaps speed can prove to his advantage, if adolescent fumbling doesn't end up being his downfall. Hey, she liked his wind chimes; maybe she'll like him! As for his rider? Kinory's a long time in making her way to Azaylia's weyr. It's with her arms wrapped protectively about herself and a scared stare that she finally edges in, looking for all the world like she's about to burst into tears.

There's nothing but the predator in Taikrin's toothy grin, and in the loose-limbed way she advances closer and closer to Azaylia. "I don't need her," she assures the goldrider in a voice gone husky. "Riorde just gets in the way." Szadath, quiet for all these days, doesn't hesitate to bugle his threat to the bronzes that would crowd him out of his rightful place. His startling aggression of flashing claws and bared teeth have a larger, more timid bronze backpedaling-- and then Szadath is snatching a herdbeast right out from underneath his nose. He throws his head back and roars again, to the sky, to Hraedhyth, to distant golds and jostling competitors: SZADATH IS HERE.

Azaylia is too used to her dragon's will by now.Just Blood. High Flight. Long Flight. Her lips move soundlessly, concentration failing at the sight of bodies filling her home. "Riorde?" Who is that again? Hraedhyth is all too generous with her males, once they begin to arrive. The warrior queen shares with them the faint pleasure of drinking deeply, tilting her head back to fill her maw with herdbeast blood. Any relief is miniscule, paling in comparison to that pulsating lust, rolling over bronze and brown alike in a possessive heat wave. Distracted dragons risk the wrath that's carried in an ominous drumroll, the gold charging forward just to see one such male flinch. She doesn't stop in the feint, forward motion used to push off so that the hunt can begin.

No polite hanging back here; Leiventh makes his presence known, makes it obvious that he heard her call and obeyed. The icy chill winds of his mental touch are sharp and biting, seeking to stoke the fires that already light in her thoughts. (Leiventh to Hraedhyth)

K'del is not so distracted that he can't catch sight of Kinory out of the corner of his gaze-- and for a moment, his expression is pure sympathy. But Cadejoth is draining his beast with earnest enthusiasm, marking his territory with a mental link of chains that reminds everyone that he has, for a very long, been High Reaches. Sort of. The net result is that K'del shuts his eyes, finding himself some empty wall to lean against: to breath against. His bronze is focused and intent, launching himself skyborne mere moments after the club-bearing queen. His club-bearing queen.

What?! It is not Hraedhyth's objection, but a voice that is usually much more timid. For Leiventh, she burns him inside out, fills his lungs and mind with smoke that tastes of her. She doesn't need to be stoked, but perhaps his chill might be enough to win her? Put her out. (Hraedhyth to Leiventh)

Leiventh is on familiar old ground, here; he's quick and decisive about a kill, his low-throated growl a warning to the other suitors, the whirl of his eye drawn inevitably towards Hraedhyth. With a last, ineffectual, steely look towards the feeding grounds, a stiff-backed R'hin stalks for the queen's weyrs; he knows where to go, at least, unguided. The collection of riders gathered in the weyr doesn't slow his pace, though it does elicit an undertoned growl that, intentionally or not, echoes Leiventh's. He doesn't hang back -- he pushes in, searching for Azaylia. Yes, that foreign bronzerider is attempting to take hold of their goldrider's arm, leaning in towards her to murmur something in her ear.

You sense R'hin's whisper is throaty, full of strain, but present in the moment for all that is going on: "You've got her under control, kitten. Just keep doing what you're doing. You'll be fine."

Maybe it's because he doesn't have as much bulk to power up, but Tsanth is quick to take his kill down and quick to guzzle the blood until his herdbeast is dried and used up. He's one of the first to launch out of the feeding pens after Hraedhyth, trumpeting mockingly at all those that are still trying to get off of the ground. Z'ian finds a space, as far away from the rest of these other riders as he can possibly get in the weyr. Once there, he slides down the wall and crouches on the ground. His eyes sweep the crowd of riders. The sight of most aren't met with any surprise, except for the weyrling and unknown-to-him Monaco rider.

Reisoth bloods with startling efficiency, focused on the task rather than the other males, a contrast to all that his rider is a posturing ass so much of the time. The dark bronze is focused only on Hraedhyth, no use wasting his passions on anything but her. H'vier's attention is not quite so focused as his dragon's and he must feel some right to proximity with the goldrider because it's close to her that he tries to position himself, shoving some younger rider away with a growl.

Kinory sways dangerously on her feet as Ineuth finally manages to snag a kill. It takes him a few minutes longer than the others since everyone is so much bigger than he is, but he's able to drink for all too short of a time, to share in Hraedhyth's pleasure. Surprised by her sudden launch, he abruptly follows suit, barreling ahead with all the blind enthusiasm he can muster. It's a good thing that there's a wall behind the human half of this pair; Kinory slides down it to curl into herself, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her head in her arms. Her shoulders shake considerably, but it's a safe bet that she isn't laughing.

Taikrin's snarl and half-raised fist at R'hin's intrusion is halted only when the brownrider's figure sways unsteadily as Szadath takes to the air in a powerful show of force. The brown is sparing nothing today: no pacing, no tactics, only raw strength on display as he claws after Cadejoth. He bellows once last time, then grows eerily silent as his lungs work furiously to fuel his considerable effort. "I'm going to get you," Taikrin growls for the pair of them, though it's not entirely clear if she's talking to R'hin or Azaylia or one of the dragons; her gaze is fixed entirely somewhere in the middle distance.

Is that satisfaction? No. Leiventh belongs here, after all, he radiates the chill of High Reaches' peaks, yet the winds grow warmer in response to the nearness of her intense, growing heat. Put her out? No. Not yet. There are greater heights to be reached, by both of them first. Them and only them; he has heeded her call. (Leiventh to Hraedhyth)

Azaylia stops. Standing center in the main cavern of her weyr, he closes her eyes and breathes deeply-- no smiles here. She's already looking disheveled despite nothing having happened yet, hands clutched against her chest. Her eyes pop open at R'hin's touch, first looking as though she might embrace him. Him? Him. Arm is yanked away, eyes wide until her face twists into something totally unfamiliar. Is she scowling? "What did I say?" Voice soft, the hiss is harsh. Hraedhyth's flames need little encouragement, so much pleasure threatening to turn to pain. An idle threat, of course..? Fog is beaten back by the gold's bone clubs, what she lacks in speed she makes up in power. She reaches the darkening heights all too quickly, leading them with a trail of smokey desire. A taste of something sweet awaits the victor. Or spicy.

Z'ian is spending entirely too much time staring at R'hin with a patented 'Who the fuck is that guy?' expression when he goes to speak so quietly to Azaylia. His hands creep up and he runs them through his hair, fingers clenching tightly and knuckles whitening. It's then that he notices the shaking Kinory, not so far away from him. He bares his teeth before he moves across the floor and tries to put a hand on her shoulder. Not aggression, just what little companionship he can give her now in this place. Meanwhile in the sky, Tsanth is owning other dragons. Small and fast, he's distracting and confusing the ones he flies basically straight through. Some are bailing others are forced to slow down, enough that they won't catch up. It would be obvious to anyone after awhile that he's clearing a path. For himself? No. But for who then?

"Kin--" Does it surprise anyone that K'del knows the name of the only brown weyrling in a group of seven? Surely not. But though he's managed to catch sight of her again, he can't even get through the entirety of her name. He's licking his lips, instead, and turning his head so that he can see R'hin - his eyes narrow - and Taikrin - he scowls. But there's Azaylia, too, and she's-- the reason he licks his lips again, fists forming at his sides as he wills his dragon on. Above, Tsanth is clearing a path, and Cadejoth is-- following it? Like he's following a glowing trail (and perhaps he is), and taking advantage of a snowplough. Onwards. Short a sharp.

To Cadejoth, Hraedhyth's growl is much more a groan, so frustrated with these games. And still, she won't be caught yet, her fire burning his chains until they're white with the heat of her. How can ethereal smoke feel so good, twining within his links? Would he show her what that is like? A vicious streak of fire runs through her body that she shares only that with Cadejoth. Would he like to be her Alpha again?

Hot. Red hot. White hot. Burning and yearning; fire and more fire, and that metallic spark. He would like to be her alpha again. He would like them to be alphas together: their pack, their home. « Together, » he breathes, the word not quite a word, and yet so obvious, caught in the smoke between them, spelt out. (Cadejoth to Hraedhyth)

There's a faint surprise in R'hin's strained gaze, too. A bare flicker of gaze lands on Taikrin before he refocuses on Azaylia. "I forget, that was days ago. Focus. Not me, her, kitten." Yet he probably doesn't make it easy, given he lets her shake off his arm in favor of edging in closer, something dark and intent in his gaze. Leiventh's second kill is only barely dispatched, the carcass thrown to one side, when Hraedhyth lights the sky. Muscles bunching, the Monacoan bronze launches skywards after her, drawn straight upwards like an arrow: no fancy flying, no tricks -- this is the time to keep pace.

Reisoth is in the air and after Hraedhyth in perfect silence save for the sound of his wings drowned out by the other dragons. He moves fast and easy through the air after that glowing beacon of primal lust, surely an old pro at chasing even if not at catching. But this will be his day and Reisoth moves with a confidence that suggests as much. H'vier is more focused on this guy trying to touch Azaylia, gaze slightly unfocused but enough to try moving to get between the goldrider and R'hin. He's not the sort of guy afraid to use force, either. "Back off," he rumbles.

For a youngling who is still figuring all of this out, Ineuth could be doing much worse than slowly getting near the middle of the pursuing pack. He still has some growing to do, so it's hardly a surprise when he apparently begins to flag and fall behind, a distressed vocalization getting lost in the currents as he strains to regain a position, any position. Suddenly, he's dropping, wheeling downward with another cry. This isn't just the disappointment of a first attempt ending quickly; he lands hard on the bowl floor, bellowing in the direction of the weyrleader complex. His cry echoes in Azaylia's weyr as Kinory abruptly gives a loud sob, lurching to her feet and looking like she's about to be sick. Pushing unseeingly past Z'ian's hand, she stumbles out, shaking dreadfully. She does lose dinner in short order (hopefully she made it to somewhere out in the bowl) and spends a long time afterward collapsed against her brown's nearest limb, face ashen and tear-streaked.

Szadath is hot on Cadejoth's tail, using the bronze's fortune for his own advantage. The strain of effort is clear in the bunching muscles beneath his padded bulk, and in the way his jaws gape open to suck in as much air as possible. Likewise Taikrin is gasping as if running that sprint right along with him; nevertheless, it doesn't stop her from growling, "Get away, get away! I'll get you!" She even swats, blindly, in the general direction of the encroaching bronzeriders... as does Szadath, whose gaping jaws were perhaps dual-purpose after all: he lashes out at the back end of his sire, claws and teeth and hard purpose.

Azaylia bares her teeth in a manner that is all too Hraedhyth, "Don't call me kitten." There's fire in her gaze, as hot as the trail her glowing queen is tearing through the sky. She's already upset when Hraedhyth makes a turn that might be called lazy, using her powerful muscles to keep ahead. That's when she notices-- she's losing them. Because of Tsanth. Because of Szadath. Those bailing dragons earn a roar of « COWARDS. » as Hraedhyth turns, flames consuming all rational thought. Not that Azaylia has much left, fist curling at her side as she tries to put distance between her and R'hin. Ichor rains from the sky, spurned on by her rider's fury as well as her own, the amber queen lashes out at her suitors. Jaws, claws, her own mind turns inhospitable during her rampage.

Cadejoth is spared Hraedhyth's ire-- but only because Szadath's claws and teeth see true. His scream is echoed by his rider's; the bronze drops, not quite like a stone but certainly without grace and purpose, and his rider slides near-bonelessly to the ground, gasping for breath amidst his cries of shared pain. That... was not supposed to happen.

To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth hurts, but it's more than the physical pain: he's losing her. He's lost her. All is lost. Hraedhyth. Hraedhyth. He still burns for her.

Z'ian ends up dropping his hand onto the floor, remaining crouched near the spot that the weyrling just vacated. As if seeing the brown dragon's descent to the bowl through his own lifemate's eyes, he winces when he lands. Hanging his head for a moment, "Oh, shit." His attention to that is short-lived however as he's pulled back into the mayhem in the weyr. Hraedhyth's loud roar in the sky shatter Tsanth's resolve. She's scary, okay?! Okay. Not only that but his own stamina is not exactly awesome, he begins to bail. But not before he takes someone else out with him. With an abrupt veer to the right, the bronze crashes into the biggest target he can find that's close to him. Reisoth. Mustering all the force he can, he slams into the larger dragon and sends them both on a tailspin down to the ground. A tangle of wings, claws and teeth until they manage to separate before becoming a ball of dead dragon on the ground. His rider lurches to his feet, dazed and looking slightly as his horrified eyes find H'vier.

K'del! It's felt deeply, matching Hraedhyth's own furious cry for Cadejoth as he falls. Without him, without so many of the others, will this ache never end? It's too much. He hurts? She's scorching from the inside, a sensation that is driving her to madness. To violence. (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth)

The cries of the dragons are unheeded by Leiventh, so focused on his target is he. Except... she turns, and she angles towards them. The hook-nosed bronze veers, sharply, but not quickly enough: the mental howl is more felt than heard as one of Hraedhyth's lashing claws catches his side. There's a sharp shake of head from R'hin, likely some witty retort for Azaylia on his lips... when H'vier interposes himself. Perhaps he might've taken it in stride from a 'Reachian, but from a man that is more foreign to the Weyr than himself... no, that earns a growled, "You back the fuck off." And he's moving to push past H'vier with a deliberate shoulder aimed at the other rider's, moments before he lurches, gritting his teeth, attention abruptly elsewhere.

To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth hurts, but his rider is not entirely gone: Leiventh, his cry is. Go for Leiventh.

Does she hear him? Can she hear anything beyond her roaring flames, her furious drums? A not-so-satisfied growl as fangs and claws bite into hide: be careful what you wish for, Cadejoth. (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth)

To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth should probably give up before he's completely behind. You know, any further. Shit.

It's jarring to both rider and dragon when Tsanth collides with Reisoth and the pair wrestle viciously toward the ground. "NO." That's not supposed to happen! H'vier's increasingly aggressive attention directed at R'hin is quickly transposed to another target, however misguided that might be in eventual hindsight. The Istan shoves past R'hin and he's heading straight for Z'ian looking absolutely murderous. But emotions are high. He probably won't actually murder him. He will charge, though, and unless the other man moves, he'll find himself shoved up against the wall with a fist aimed at his face.

Noise. Noise noise noise. It is drums? Is it fire? None of it makes any sense, all there is, all Hraedhyth can be now, is pure chaos. Chaos pointed in Szadath's direction, vengeance on her tongue. « YOU. » (Hraedhyth to Szadath)

No sooner do his teeth and claws find purchase in Cadejoth than Szadath is releasing his sire to fling himself out of the way of Hraedhyth's mad dive and the ensuing chaos. There's ichor everywhere all of a sudden: on his claws and muzzle, raining down from the others-- and yet Szadath appears to still have his hide intact. He wrenches himself over and around and through the chaos in a tight maneuver he'll surely be feeling once the draconic-adrenaline has faded. Taikrin grunts with the effort, twisting herself around to stare hungrily at Azaylia. She hasn't the werewithal to interfere with R'hin, not with Szadath twisting and jostling his way through the madness.

« LOOK! » There's nothing mitigating the ungodly noise of Szadath's mind, all gale-winds and echoes. « FOR YOU! I DO BATTLE FOR YOU! » Ichor, in his mouth and on his claws, grown so frigidly cold that it burns like fire. « I FIGHT FOR YOU! » (Szadath to Hraedhyth)

Z'ian liked his face the way it was originally. If they can't do a good job in the infirmary later he's going to have to like it the way H'vier decided to re-arrange it. Also? Having your nose broken really fucking hurts. The crack can be heard through the weyr as well as the sound of his lean form crashing into the stone. Blood pretty much covers most of his face. Not totally unable defend himself however; he manages to force H'vier off of him. But whatever aggression coursed through Tsanth's veins is now in his. He'll throw himself at the other bronzerider in a totally uncharacteristic display of rage. They'll take this fight outside though and hopefully, maybe, someone outside will break apart the Istan transplant and Reachian native. Before they do too much damage to each other's beautiful faces.

Is she too far gone? Only just, as Azaylia grits her teeth and tries to take hold of her dragon. It burns. K'del's cry has her eyes popping open, seeing both he and Cadejoth fall all at once. "K'del!" She doesn't move, knowing deeply that there is no point with his bronze so far. Hand curled into a fist, she'll swing for R'hin-- Taikrin might get a nasty surprise. Hraedhyth feels a vicious pleasure that isn't quite what she's looking for as claws mark Leiventh's hide. Passing Szadath, her own sudden turn wrenches wing muscles. No more games. Her jaws part, battle cry echoing over the Weyr as the warrior queen takes one last charge.

K'del's eyes open wide at the sound of Azaylia's cry, and the look on his face is-- just desperate. Just lost. Horrified. No. Nonononono. Swallowing back saliva, he attempts to wrench himself back to his feet, manly tears forming in the corners of his eyes; that must be because of the pain Cadejoth is in. Taikrin? He'll deal with her later: right now, it's all he can do to stagger towards the doorway, holding back only to find out for sure who it will be.

To Szadath, Hraedhyth sees what he has done. This is why his fate will have all of the pain, and none of that pleasure she was so willing to offer moments ago. Under the cover of that choking black smoke comes a mental blow that matches her physical, drums suddenly falling quiet. Deadly silent. A husky, savage whisper, « I fight my own battles. »

Taikrin wouldn't be Taikrin if she couldn't take a hit; still, Azaylia's fist catches on the jaw and staggers her over into R'hin. In the air, Szadath bellows as Hraedhyth goes past. So close, so close-- with a tremendous effort he reaches out again, heedless of claws that tear and rage that threatens to flatten him from the sky. He knows this game, he revels in this game. As the brown surges, so too does Taikrin: she's pushing and pulling and not entirely sure of who she's grasping at. Is it R'hin's clothes she's trying to tear at, or Azaylia's?

The snap of wings is loudly audible, as Leiventh arrests his speed, visibly hurt, and yet... the cause of the pain, and the possible release of it is right there. He's too large to turn fast, and yet he yearns to do so, straining towards Hraedhyth despite being too far back. There's a gritting of teeth, and a pained grunt from R'hin that's a reflection of his dragon's state than his own. "Get her under... control her, kitten." He might've made another lunge for Azaylia, but Taikrin's between them, perhaps mercifully in this case, and he grabs her reflexively with a low growl.

To Hraedhyth, Szadath flourishes on this pain, thrives on it, NEEDS it. « I FIGHT WITH YOU! I AM WORTHY! I CONQUOR ALL IN YOUR NAME! » Though he flinches under the blow, his enthusiasm redoubles as he surges back to seek more pleasure/pain/need. « ALL! »

To Szadath, Hraedhyth is not slowed, but a flower blooms within her flames. She understands. She accepts him. She wants him, at the very last second before tangling with the brown. He is worthy. Szadath. Hraedhyth. Ice and fire burn together, pleasurable pain whisking the young queen away just as he does. They are the greatest.

Hraedhyth hurtles through the sky straight at Szadath, gaze filled with murderous crimson which taints otherwise lusty purple. Azaylia suddenly snaps out of it, perhaps by the sound/feel of her fist on Taikrin's chin or by R'hin's hated petname for her. All too soon she's there to sooth Hraedhyth's fury, to soothe Taikrin's pain. Knitted wool is offered up to grasping hands, lips finding where she's struck the brownrider and making it better. Then she bites. Less better. Gold and rider war with emotions, twisting until they're one, just as Szadath and Hraedhyth are. The dragons collide in the air with a meaty thud that is heard, and then felt, drums pounding in a rhythm of pleasure. He won't escape unscathed, wounds to be licked later. "Taikrin." Azaylia whimpers, doing her best to maul the older woman in a similar fashion.

No words, because Szadath is far too gone into instinct for mere words to convey. Need, drive, burning in his muscles and in his mind, all sublimed away. She wants him. But he needs her. And he WILL take her. (Szadath to Hraedhyth)

K'del has another swear word to expel on a hissed breath - but he still leaves. Fuck.

There's a noise of frustration from R'hin as he releases Taikrin, but his gaze is on Azaylia. With a last, vexed growl, and one last look in the pair's direction, he stalks out towards the bowl.

When Azaylia comes for her, Taikrin suddenly has an all-too-clear look at who it is she's grasping. "Get off!" she grunts, raising a knee to clear space between herself and R'hin. Because there's Azaylia, she needs to touch her, to pull her hard up against her own lean frame. Smugness will come later: for now it's only the thrill of victory in a battle hard-fought that curls her lips upwards. Pain? What pain? Taikrin feels no pain, only the burning need to remove all of the clothes. NOW.

To Szadath, Hraedhyth consumes him in a blaze that burns so sweet, so unlike her, for as long as they remain joined. The brown has conquered the warrior queen, inexperience leaving her little choice but to bask in it. In Szadath.

Is it the queen or Azaylia herself that matches Taikrin's rough impatience? There's not much thought left to give as the goldrider tears them both down to the floor with as much intent to touch. Couch? Bed? Too much work. She has to conserve her energy for her wingmate-- no matter what the influence, Szadath and Hraedhyth aren't the only ones who are going to be sore in the morning.