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

Nabrimeth> Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr(#570RIJas)

Nabrimeth> The wall of the ancient caldera arches upward and outward in a graceful curve here at the eastern edge of the bowl, where the weyr's flocks and herds are corralled for the dragons to feed upon. The air here is relentlessly dusty due to the the lack of true pasture necessitated by Thread; what little grass does manage to grow is either grazed or well trampled by the herdbeasts. Cow herdbeasts lead their calves to drink the clear water of a tongue of the weyr lake which extends into these fenced off grounds, and feeding troughs ring the perimeter of the paddocks. A group of wherry hens, wings clipped, squawk noisily under the natural overhang which shelters the creatures during bad weather; the wherries' cries reverberate against the stone walls around you. Behind you is the gate that leads west, back to the bowl proper.

Nabrimeth> Obvious exits:

Nabrimeth> Bowl

Nabrimeth> In the gloaming, the weyr is still and quiet. A powdering of lacey snowflakes sprinkles down, covering the grounds in glistening whiteness while footprints and blemishes are wiped away with forgotten memories to leave a pristine and untouched bowl. In the feeding grounds, the herdbeasts are resting, their silent forms are dark blotches against the gathering snow, fading here and there with some semblance of camouflage as patches of the falling snow gathers along their backs. The winter wonderland that is High Reaches Weyr seems to brighten with the brilliant white of the unrelenting snowfall.

Nabrimeth> On a low ledge overlooking the bowl, a shape stirs, stretching a shadow over the snow-covered ground below as the draconic from lurks on the edge of the stone outcropping. Talons grind the rock underfoot and a piercing shriek resounds, challenging the sleeping world to rise and face their doom. Wings unfurl and rattle with pent up rage and emotion under the gentle snowfall, glints of rose-flecked gold and sisal show the lithe frame of Nabrimeth, her hide aglow for all the silent world to see. Purple and red fight for dominance in her eyes, a battle of will contends with one of instinct as the colors change and blend. Again she calls her challenge to any would presume to meet her in flight, a spine-tingling sound that is sure to have the weyr's residents up well before dawn.

Nabrimeth> Through the silent falling of flakes, only recently arrived but drawn in by the siren call of the rising gold, Jekzith leaps into the feeding grounds, all eager anticipation. His leap from the Bowl is light and swift, a speckling of snow spattering against the maple of his wings as he glides over the huddled forms of the herdbeasts and arrows in for a rapid, neat kill.

Nabrimeth> Sareith has only just arrived, his rider dropped at the living caverns, bearing an awkwardly wrapped towel parcel. The bronze is uneasy, even before Nabrimeth's challenge rings out, pestering his rider to take off his straps. "What in the world is wrong with you, Rei?" Gr'din nevertheless complies, managing to get the heavy straps off and into the shelter of the caverns overhang, grumbling, "If this kills those flowers we brought, you /do/ realize we're in even more trouble..." Abruptly, the air is rent with the queen's cries, which slews Grae's head around to stare towards the queens ledges. Sareith's attention is already fixed there, his hulking body quivvering in anticipation. At Gr'din's startled oath, Rei's swiftly into the feeding grounds, instinct dominating inexperience - for now.

Nabrimeth> Talurith has been waiting in the bowl for some time, and now it becomes evident why the dragon was so watchful: at the first movement from the young gold, the Istan dragon launches himself into an easy soar that takes him into the feeding grounds. Snowflakes melt the moment they touch his hide, coating him in a sheen of clear water that makes him glitter like a fish in a river. He returns Nabrimeth's challenge with a bold bugle, chest inflating. He snatches a herdbeast, silencing the screaming creature with a deft landing that snaps the bovine's neck. As he dips his head to drink fo the creature, his red eyes focus on the gold, and on his competitors as they arrive.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth is winging into the feeding grounds with the glimmers of dawn lighting the bits of glint off his hide. With the slickness of water against him, there's indication that the muddy bronze was only moment's before in the lake, and he's yet to dry. His eyes whirl in anticipation in red hues, landing sharply only a second before changing vector and going to snag one of the herdbeast trying to get out of his way.

Nabrimeth> For a long moment, one Fortian bronze lingers at the edges, eyeing the fattest beasts with an appraising look. Mmm. Tasty. And then his eyes fall on the other males. Then ... he hears that challenge. Something *clicks* almost audibly. Oh, oh, /oh/! *That's* what's going on. Leave it to Wrencath to be, er, a bit slow on the uptake in these matters. Wide eyes tinged with violet are fixed on nothing in particular for a long moment, then he focuses, instead the beasts. One? Two? Forget etiquette, he just has no idea how much energy he'll need. Indecision drives him to awkwardly kill three, draining each in turn. Too much, not enough, he doesn't know. His tail twitches nervously, pale wings mantling a bit.

Nabrimeth> Twilight is the hour that Kalorith shines his fullest, his hide a mixture of dark shadows and brassy light that at once hides him as well as forces his visiblity. He wakes from his slumber on one of the nearby 'Reachian ledges - the visiting Fortian bronze adding his own voice to the crisp morning air which forwarns his arrival in the feeding corral. His brilliant jeweled eyes take in the rapture that is the glowing golden hide, though it's momentary as his talons find a large herdbeast to skewer and disembowl in a swift practiced movement.

Nabrimeth> Tavaith awakens stirring in the courtyard, an urgent message sent to W'red, who is ambling towards the brown in anticipation of returning to Reaches « We leave now. » The brown unfurling his wings, as W'red clambers up his side. With one powerful stroke they are in the air and gone 'between' coming out just above the bowl. Tavaith lands, in his usual abrupt manor, allowing W'red a few seconds to alight before he is winging into the feeding grounds eyes whirling violet. A loud trumpeting as he lands in the feeding grounds amongst the others already there, fouling the first beast he sees.

Nabrimeth> Powerful haunches propel the gold off her ledge and wings snap open crisply as she feels the wind under them. Amidst a flurry of swirling snowflakes, Nabrimeth spirals in a slowly tightening arch over the now panicked heardbeasts, seeming to force a group of them to cluster together, confused over which way to run. Merciless red eyes glint with cruel intelligence, a flash betraying a downward plunge as the queen dives upon the carefully goaded creatures. There is a twisted grace to the plummet and a horrific scream that has many of the beasts frozen in terror. Nabrimeth drops out of the sky, talons spread wide and her enormous frame shattering the bodies beneath her. The gold lowers her head, menacing the males around her with hisses of caution and a mock swipe to let them know they'd better stay back. Then, she drops her muzzle to seize a beast in her jaws, some of the blood escaping in rivulets that trickle over her teeth to the churned snow bellow.

Nabrimeth> Sulizath has been dozing in the bowl for some time - since late last night, when he and his rider arrived on unspoken and surly errands without a how-do to anyone. Now he stirs, that call pulling him sharply out of sleep that's light in lieu of the frigid dawn, the falling snow. To his doom? Hardly? The second call is that of a siren's, and as though his limbs are not entirely his own, Sulizath slips to his feet and glides to the feeding grounds. He is usually so picky about his beasts - it can take the large brown hours to pick a creature to suffice as his meal on a bad day. But now, with a glittering golden hide in sight to fuel him, his lust betrayed by the lavender glow of his swirling eyes, he is quick to land on a beast with the ill fortune to make it close enough for a quick kill. It's clean, if not silent - the animal brays in terror before he clamps down on its throat, constricting vocal cords and breath alike.

Nabrimeth's Ledge(#4622RJs)

Turns of inclement weather and use have smoothed out niches here and there for a current occupant and perhaps a companion, on this slightly downward impressed ledge. Two poles have been staked into the stone, immovable, and are about a dragonlength apart. From one, a long piece of twine flaps about aimlessly with any careless breeze, and perhaps the two poles were supposed to be joined at one point. Nothing spectacular denotes the ledge itself, but the view it offers is one of the living caverns entrance a bit further to the north, as well as a glimpse of blue glimmer on the horizon of the Weyr lake.

Obvious exits:

Inner Weyr Bowl

Having been awakened by Nabrimeth's cries, Tavrie now stands on her lifemate's ledge, eyes staring upward and snowflakes drifting down to get caught in her hair and eyelashes. The tiny woman shivers, though whether this is from fear of cold is uncertain. Bare feet shift slightly on the stone floor, toes wriggling now in protest. Tavrie is wrapped in a thick quilt that is slightly worn with age. She holds it tightly about her small form, a hint of pink showing the nightdress she wears underneath.

Nabrimeth> Talurith seems to grow in size when Nabrimeth launches from her ledge, the bronze's wings fanning out in a display of macho. The other males get a low hiss that rises until he's literally spitting blood in fury, the spent carcass of the first herdbeast at his feet. He makes no move from his half-crouch and doesn't have to to seize another herdbeast; the terrified creatures run close enough for a swipe of a muscular leg to knock a wherry over and drag it in close. Talurith basks in the glory of drinking, the snow beneath his head and neck as red-pink as his muzzle is. The proximity of Nabrimeth, so young and ferocious, elicits a scream from him, interrupting his blooding momentarily.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth takes up his kill with a low shriek, settling onto the fence to drain it of it's blood. There's a ravenous look to the bronze, almost as though the wait was testing his patience. He keeps red-hued eyes on the brilliant gleam of the gold, and doesn't cease his drinking until the beast has turned cold.

Nabrimeth> Busily filling his belly with blood, Jekzith is distracted by Nambrimeth's arrival, looking up with eyes only now starting to tinge with a light lavendar rather than full on violet. His head cocks to the side, watching Nabrimeth with focused interest, though the Fortian brown seems far from intense. So distracted is he by the gleaming of the gold through the gloaming that he almost forgets to keep blooding. An errant beast driven wild with fear by Nabrimeth's leap into the feeding grounds distracts him again though and he abandons the drained carcass beneath his talons and hops over to the convenient new victim, dispatching it with the same neat efficiency as the first. Jekzith actually seems like he's on some sort of pleasure outing, having the time of his life bouncing from beast to beast, though his purple-tinged gaze drifts back to Nabrimeth over and over, enraptured.

Nabrimeth> Wrencath keeps at his beasts, draining a little off this and a little off that, rather than sucking one beast at a time completely dry. It's a weird behaviour, to be sure, but in his nervousness and indecision, it makes perfect sense to him. He freezes at Nabrimeth's hisses and her cries, his rose madder eyes fixed on her and unable to wrench them away. His partially blooded beasts are forgotten, which is no easy feat for the pudgy bronze. She's both terrible and beautiful, something wholly unattainable, a vision of brutality and glory in the morning light ... and, yet, some maddening part of him /wants/ to try. He remains silent, no rumbles or warbles or bellows spared for her, but there is an undeniable jiggle to his bronzed hide, a wiggle of anticipation, of eagerness ... of complete and abject fear.

Nabrimeth> Sareith allows the other males, and even Nabrimeth to do his work for him. As the pack panics the beasts, driving them hither and yon, he waits until they come his way, and then lashes out in an explosion of fury, felling several in one or two swift sweeps of limbs and tail. Then he drags the stunned animals in, wings half spread over his treasures to protect them as he dispatches each in turn. Amethyst eyes never leave Nabrimeth as he drinks in both the blood and the sight of her through the glittering snow. The muddy white around him turns crimson with the stains, the lowing of confused, incapacitated beasts around him, all conjure a hellish scene dedicated to the queen. Young he may be, cutting teeth in this, his first flight, but so far he seems to have the right instincts. His rider, however, can be seen through the snow, propelled in stumbling confusion by one of the caverns workers towards the stairs to the junior's weyr. Though voices are lost in the sussurations of the snow, it's clear by his shaking head that Gr'din has absolutely no clue what's going on, or where he should be headed.

Nabrimeth> Tavaith's tail twitches, and eyes alight on the glowing gold hide of Nabrimeth, as the second herdbeast is rendered helpless with a flick of a talon, the brown's great maw opening enough to take the blood of the beast but never allowing the flesh to pass. The other males are watched but more out of curiosity, as they openly display their, wings and try to look fierce, none of which seems too faze the brown at all. He bloods a third beast waiting watching, whirling red eyes never leaving the gold hide.

Moments later, upon hearing the calls of the dragons over in the feeding grounds, B'yan appears at the steps to Nabrimeth's ledge. The light sheen and spots, along with the slight panting, suggests that the bronzerider was out doing an early jog when something jarred him from it, and he's slowly shaking his head with sharp glances toward the grounds when he slowly makes his way over near Tavrie.

R'layn charges up the stairs to the ledge, flustered and confused. The Istan's jacket is open despite the snow, and he's red-faced from the cold air. He slips and stumbles on the snowy ledge, arms swinging to retain his balance, and somehow he manages to stay upright rather than cracking his head open on cold stone. "Wh-wh-why now," he chatters, glaring over at the feeding grounds where the commotion is. "This's gotta be the right place," he notes, staring at Tavrie, staying back away from the gold rider.

Nabrimeth> An opportunist, Kalorith uses the gold's scattering of the herd as a chance to reach out and swipe at another of the herdbeasts to add it to his collection of kills. Talons coated in blood, which reddens the bronze highlights to his dusky hide, the bronze lets out a warning rumble to any of the males close to him. There is no fear in him for that gold's challenge, though he doesn't make an effort to get close to her yet. His lavender colored jeweled eyes watch the queen, even when his maw is dipped in the herdbeast that is slowly getting coated in snow. The snow sticks to the bronze until it starts melting, however the longer he stands there blooding, it begins to collect in his ridges.

K'len is a little slow in getting to the weyr proper, needing some direction as well as getting pushed in the right direction by a 'Reachian friend. Exhausted looking, the young rider rubs at his eyes as he enters the weyr and waits at the entryway for a long moment. "Is /this/ the right place?" He asks, slightly perturbed at being woken at such an absurd hour when all he was trying to do was spend a night visiting a friend. He looks at the goldrider and arches a brow, a semblence of recognition even if he's not completely certain.

S'kris makes his way to Nabrimeth's ledge ... by following other riders far more familiar with the layout of things. His mouth is pressed into a line, his eyes distant and foggy as he alternates between talking with Wrencath and doing his darnedest to not trip over his own feet. When his dark gaze settles on Tavrie, he blinks, eyes clearing for a moment before a slow, quirked smile pulls at his lips. He drawls, "Well, hello there, darlin'." and joins the others on the ledge, though he's mindful to keep his distance from the goldrider. For now, anyway.

W'red seems to be in a bit of an amused state as he was unceremoniously dumped in the bowl by Tavaith, the reason only now starting to sink in as the brown flew off in a seeeminly great hurry the noises coming from the feeding grounds, in this early dawn, now making sense. The tall brown rider heads up to Tavrie's weyr where there are other riders, and for once he hasn't much to say, but shrinks into a corner of the crowded room.

Tap, step. Tap, step. Tap, step. Each stair that leads up to the ledge is met with that sound, and the journey may be as arduous as the pause between each one. Fadra is one of the last to arrive on Tavrie's ledge, and only some of it can be contributed to the unfamiliar layout of the large weyr. She takes each step carefully, the cane in her hand carefully used to counter her ill balance on the left side, looking all-around weary. "Son of a --" she begins, but the sight of the Weyrwoman, distracted though she may be, cuts the curse of half-formed.

Nabrimeth> Having finished the first two herdbeasts from her initial siege, Nabrimeth offers a rumbling growl and bites into the drained carcass, shaking it harshly before tossing it aside as some silent will forces her to comply. 'Reaches' normally gentle giant stalks through the sludgy snow with its gore and muck, tail thrashing and posture rigid. Already, the unwitting flurry is trying to cover up the evidence of instinctual brutality. A small brown comes between her and her quarry, leaping out of the way of her snapping jaws just in time. With a lunge, another herdbeast is swept off its feet. This time, Nabrimeth lingers over it like a feline lapping up cream, eyes shifting suspiciously about her. With no warning, powerful hunches shove off again and the lithe, rose-gold form shoots skyward, dropping the beast with a sickening thud as her wings snap open and pump furiously to push her skyward with her need to fly, red rage tempered by violet lust.

P'draig being among the later to arrive, P'draig dogs S'kris' heels, following the others as well, a certain set to his jaw indicating determination and resignation. "This'll certainly start off your morning with a jolt," murmurs the brownrider with a lopsided grin and a shadow of his usual humor. Up on the ledge he pauses, then hastens to get out of the way, staying near his fellow Fortians for now.

Gr'din is one of the last to arrive, frog-marched up the stairs by an officious woman from the lower caverns. the Telgari weyrling still bears the parcel he was holding when he arrived, though the towel is half off in the confusion, revealing a selection of orange and red tropical blooms. He's mumbling, "But Breena'll kill me - he's not 'posed to fly yet!" He catches sight of the more experienced riders, clustering around Tavrie, and something strengthens his spine. Still holding onto the flowers, he shifts to one side, out of the pack, jaw squared and a faint moue' of dislike on his craggy features.

Nabrimeth> Sulizath has conveniently chosen a large bovine, and he suckles at it's throat until there is nothing left. A scant few drops have spattered at his feet, on his forepaws. More is there than around his maw. He forgoes a second beast in favor of pacing back and forth, prowling and growling at the other males, his eyes fastened on Nabrimeth, waiting...waiting. It does him the justice he had expected. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, the brown hits launches skyward after Nabrimeth with the speed of a dragon half his size, weight all thrown forward to lessen the resistance on his huge wings. The frigid air crackles with each displacement from snapping wingsails, the Istan dragon unaccustomed to this freezing cold, this lack of thermals.

Nabrimeth> Jekzith pulls every last drop from that second kill, lifting his head up to the falling snow, he actually takes the time to watch the flakes drifting downward, blowing a long breath out that disarranges them into a new more hectic pattern. So it is that he's looking up when Nabrimeth launches herself skyward. The motley-hued brown stays still a moment, the only betraying movement a twitch of his tail as he watches her, takes a bit of her measure, then leaps into the sky with a single downward sweep of his wingsails, the snow swirling all around him wildly as gusts of wingswept wind send it flying.

Tavrie shakes harder when the gold has launched, but her eyes clear and she turns to gawk at the strangers gathering on her ledge. The intelligent young woman blinks with surprise and then furrows her brows in concern, eyeing the group as if they were certainly there to eat her. The brunt of the fearful look is shot a B'yan thanks to familiarity, but each of the strangers seems to be evaluated. Then, she turns her back to them again.

Nabrimeth> Fly? Oh! Right! That ... thing. Shaking his head and clearing his thoughts somewhat, Wrencath spreads his pale, Fortian wings wide and surges into the air. One wingbeat, then two, and the rotund bronze is airborne, sending twisting fans of bloodied snow and ice to scatter in his wake. To fly, to chase, mayhap to dream. Amethyst burns in his whirling gaze, slurring with occasional flashes of reddish orange, and Wrencath pushes himself to join the throng in their single-minded pursuit of that fierce star, that glowing Nabrimeth. It's a struggle, his inexperience already showing itself: he's too slow from the outset and he seems to have no plan immediately in mind. It's just go, go, go! and hope he can keep up until he finds his flight wings.

Nabrimeth> Talurith, finished with blooding, swipes away the wherry carcass with a guttural growl of anticipation. His wings are still open, his body almost steaming in the cold air of the Reachian morning. The Istan dragon is nto deterred however, too busy making a show of his size and muscular chest. For him, however, muscles don't make up for reaction times, and the usually slow-moving bronze is caught out by Nabrimeth's sly launch. He's definitely not one of the first to launch, though his wingspan gains him the advantage over a few of his smaller competitiors as he leaps after Nabrimeth in hot pursuit, through snow, Fall and fog.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth, tossing aside his latest kill, launches deftly into the sir without further ado. The dim light glints off the watered hide, rumbling as he takes up his place in the way he knows how - stealth. With the air currents familiar to the bronze, he takes short time in settling into them as he keeps a steady gaze on Nabrimeth, and settles closely behind two browns launching at the same time.

Nabrimeth> Sky High in the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

Nabrimeth> As you soar high above the bowl, you find yourself at a most unique point in the sky; here, near the lip of the bowl, the southeast is fully visible - the open sky stretches to the Western Mountain Range. Behind you, though, to the northwest, you can catch only occassional glimpses of the landscape through the spaces between the Seven Spindles.

Nabrimeth> In the feeding grounds, Tavaith had been waiting, expectantly for this moment, the moment that Nabrimeth, takes too flight. He was not to be left behind and quickly the browns wings which were half spread launches himself into the cold early morning sky, fllowing the gold and a few more speedy dragons into the cold sky.

R'layn backs off further when Tavrie comes to her sense and eyes the lot gathered on her ledge. "Sorry," he mumbles, face pale beneath the red flush from the cold. Talurith's unusually strong emotions are getting the better of him and the rider's forehead is shiny with sweat as well as half-melted snow. He wipes it with the back of his hand, boggling at Tavrie all the while.

B'yan, studying the surroundings much like a hunter would, lastly has his intent gaze falling on Tavrie the moment she looks his way. He says nothing to her while a few other of those gathering on the ledge do, an uneasy silence from the bronzerider saying enough from him for now.

Nabrimeth> Kalorith has gotten used to chasing greens that blood quickly and jump to the sky, so when the 'Reaches gold does the same - he's less than surprised and diligently watching for that tactic. Unfurling his large twilight ridden wings, the Fortian bronze is quick to follow after the gold. His size isn't that far off from the large queen, his length only a few meters shorter, and though he's not entirely accustomed to the thermals of this weyr - the cold does not affect him nearly so much. There are a few powerful thrusts of his wings to get him settled in the sky, then he turns his violet ebbed gaze on the queen to watch her movements.

Nabrimeth> Sareith is caught a trifle off guard when the queen makes her break for the skies, and leaps to join her, nearly colliding with a brown from the 'Reaches as he does. He starts to howl a warning, only to discover that he still holds the herdbeast in his jaws. With an embarassed shudder, he releases it to fall when still only a dragonlength off the ground. Well, that was his first mistake. But the delay was enough that he's already cost some ground. Seeking a thermal, he ends up drafting another brown going up, eyes closing with their first lids agains the snow, muting their purple brilliance as he searches for the queen's track through the veil of white.

K'len is more certain this is the appropriate place as more riders begin to gather, and finally he starts trembling from the cold walk from outside to in. He brushes off some of the errant snow that clings to his coat, and he notices P'draig and S'kris.. but not least of all, he notices B'yan. There's a slight sigh of frustration and irritation as he narrows his gaze at that bronzerider, but nothing said.

S'kris maintains his carefully kept distance, although the lack of recognition in Tavrie's eyes of his presence goes utterly unnoticed. His thoughts are already shifting elsewhere, manifesting as mumbled encouragements which are more coherently thought than spoken. His eyes flick to P'draig, briefly, his expression unreadable but not ... malicious, as some might be. Rather, his look is appraising, like a poker player sizing up his competition ... and his odds. That look is given to each of the others, though he doesn't move from his chosen vantage point.

W'red watches the gold rider, blue eyes gaze quickly over the other riders in the room, he is wondering why this had to happen now, of all the times on Pern why now. He shrinks his large frame even further into the corner he seems to have found, feeling familiar feelings rising up from deep within.

Fadra has moved away from the crowd. It's simply not her scene, and while they're contained beneath her breath, her curses don't cease. The walk across the weyr and the cold have her leaning heavily on the cane as she moves away, taking up a vigilant post against the wall. The tension in the air is palpable, and yet none of it involves her. She has but one focus, whether she wills it or not. Wrapped in her quilt, Tavrie is the only thing she's paying attention to, her form eyed appraisingly.

P'draig just sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at his boot-tips when S'kris gives him that look, shaking his head a little. The brownrider takes a few deep breaths and just rolls with it, ignoring everyone else now, waiting patiently for whatever comes next. There's little flickers of tension on his face now and then as something gets relayed back to him from Jekzith but otherwise, Fort's Weyrlingmaster may as well be carved out of stone, oblivious to the snow gathering on his hair and shoulders.

Tavrie seems to make a decision through the haze that has clouded her thoughts with her dragon's lust. Pushing roughly through the gathering throng, she makes her way toward the curtain. As a brownrider reaches out to try and stop her, she elbows him roughly. The young woman heads in away from the shear cold of the ledge and puts her back to the tapestry that will allow her into her warm weyr, still suspicous of the riders. "You can't come in," she says coldly, as if it were her weyr that needed to be protected, not herself. She doesn't seem to recognize anyone.

Nabrimeth> Snow sweeps over Nabrimeth's slender form as she pulls higher into the darker skies about the weyr. Whip-like, her tail shifts with the wind, though there is a hint of teasing in the way the queen lets the breezes tug it this way and that. Pelting flakes leave glittering droplets on her golden hide, the young queen can't help but to stand out against the snow-filled sky.

Gr'din doesn't attempt to catch Tavrie's eye as it passes over him, though he gives her a smile. At least, he seems to think it's a smile. In fact, the weyrling looks as though he's going to be sick as Rei's emotions slug him, and he shudders in the exact moment the bronze does in the skies above, flushing crimson in embarassment. Snow glitters in his eyelashes, turning his eyes even lighter blue, nearly colorless now. The flowers still dangle, forgotten in his hand. As she speaks and moves, his attention jerks back to her face from wandering her quilt-wrapped form, unconsciously pacing with her out of the snow. Rivulets of icy water trickle down his face, though he makes no movement to wipe them away.

Nabrimeth> Talurith isn't used to the currents in the Reaches bowl, sure, but he still moves through the snow-filled air as though he's swimming, his movements sinuous as he pursues Nabrimeth doggedly. His mouth is open but his breath is escaping his flared nostrils in puffs of steam as he lowers the first set of his eyelids against the steady stream of snowflakes. The Istan bronze doesn't seem to be struggling with the cold - at least yet - fuelled by hot blood and the burning desire inspired by the teasing form of the young gold. Droplets of water stream off his form as he seeks greater heights.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth flies with sleak ease through the snow, as though the weather was a glove made for him. He keeps to his hidden view behind the unknown pair of browns he tails, keeping to a slight left from the teasing Reachian queen. Hs movements are calculated and of stealth, as if trying to anticipate the moves of both those he flies with and the golden target.

Nabrimeth> Move it, Wrencath! He finally pulls out of the fray, rising above it slightly and distancing himself from the crushing presence of so many other bronze and brown bodies. He needs wiggle room, so he does, and he's finally aware of himself to *make* that room. With his eyes so affixed to that glistening queen, it's a wonder he even managed to do *that* much on his own. Jaw hanging partially agape, he's oblivious to the taste, the feel of the snow on his tongue. Unblinking and unwavering in his course, he presses onward with blood-fueled perserverence, wings working hard in the steady snowfall.

Almost as if on cue, it's abrupt when B'yan finally takes in those gathered with him on the ledge with furrowed brows. Most are unrecognizable, so it's no surprise that he glosses over their faces with dismissive pause. It's K'len his scrutiny falls on last, noting the other's recognition with a slight lift of one corner of his mouth. The hazel glare shifts stonily to Tavrie then, a frustrated urgency making his movements choppy.

Nabrimeth> The shadowy skies suit Sareith well, his sooty hide blending well in the purples of pre-dawn higher aloft. Spotting Nabrimeth still further above, he climbs, reveling in his speed much as she does, eyes still first-lidded against the pelting snow. Twisting to his right, he angles out from under the pack, taking up an oblique angle back behind the queen's teasing tail and climbing fast. That first misstep cost him, but he's determined to make up for it with youthful vigor and speed.

Nabrimeth> Tavaith heads up into the sky, the darkness seems to enfold the gold as she heads into the snow flakes falling about the chasing pack, the brown eases himself into the left side of the chasing throng. The gold tail teasingly always just out of reach, the brown seems to be keeping pace with amazing ease, amongst the other browns and bronzes. A few beats of his powerful wings take him up above the bronze he was behind giving him a slightly better view of the golden Nabrimeth.

Nabrimeth> Jekzith follows faithfully after the snow-flecked gold, his eyes fixed on the to and fro of her tail. « Wow » comes the less-than-eloquent commentary and his wings beat a bit harder against winter's winds to find some speed, his narrow form slicing through the drifting snow in fleet pursuit. Long and lean, Jekzith doesn't have the bulk that the larger bronzes do, lending him a certain agility in the air, though the jury's still out on his staying power for this particular chase. Still, the brown's sheer enjoyment of being airborne, the give and take of the chase is evident both in the light lift of wings in spite of the snow and the beginnings of mental bleed as his joy broadcasts outwards in ever-widening rings.

Nabrimeth> Rivulets of snow are shed from Kalorith's wings as he cuts through the sky, the beginnings of dawn starting to reflect from the sassy bronze bursts that are scattered amongst his hide. The distraction of the queen's tail shifting on the wind gets him for a moment, before he suddenly wings faster in an effort to get closer to the Reaches' queen. Stamina is something the bronze has in no short supply, even as he uses it to gain some distance on the glowing queen.

K'len turns his gaze towards the snowy landscape, rather than the retreating goldrider. There might be some part of him that understands how she must feel, either that - or Kalorith's flight outside is drawing more of his attention away from the throng of riders. He stands there, the contrast of snow white flakes in his dark black hair starting to collect, and his icy blue eyes fixed on the landscape outside. He crosses his arms over his chest, and seems to have a blush rising to his cheeks as well - or more likely, the cold is starting to bite at him.

Nabrimeth> Sulizath's flight is smooth and efficient, despite the need to work for every inch he gains. Inches that take him away from the ravaged grounds below, grounds that look like a war has been staged and completed. Her tail is his guide, and his flight is a sober one, held in complete silence. Cloaked in snow, but not camouflaged by it, the flakes churn around Sulizath's rippling wingsails, which snap in the wind with each calculated stroke. He's working for higher sky, thinner air. For treasure.

R'layn looks at Gr'din with concern obvious in the Istan's eyes. His focus slips now and then, but by taking a deep breath he's able to anchor *himself* in the *here*, separate from his dragon above. "It'll be fine," he mumbles just audibly, though whether it's to the weyrling or himself is unclear. Ril's eyes follow Tavrie almost hungrily as she enters her weyr. With a great shiver he rids his eyes of that draconic look, then tugs off his jacket in a sudden fit of activity. "Hot."

Nabrimeth> Nabrimeth is only just warming up and getting a feel for the icy, winter wind. She cuts a path through the falling ice crystals like a frenzied sailing vessel on a stormy sea. The huge queens large wings ripple with the air currents and her body shifts with an effortless grace. It would appear that she has what it takes to lead them on a merry chase that might try the lesser dragons in the bunch. A cocky glance backward shows that she intends to be sure only the toughest can last. shifting from her upward pattern, the queen tucks her wings and rolls off to the side, trying to clear some of the closer males offer her tail with the unexpected move before she begins to push higher again.

With a grim grimace, P'draig's hands dig deeper into his pockets away from the chill and his shoulders hunch further, snow caking his hair now and turning the top of it white as he finds a spot against the Bowl wall to lean against, well out of the way, but near the curtain that closes off Tavrie's weyr. Politely, or maybe due to simple inward focus, he doesn't watch Tavrie's march inwards.

There's no shift or shuffle, no awkward or uncomfortable gestures on S'kris' behalf. No, this Bitran bronzer seems ... at ease, if not outright comfortable, even in the chill and the snow. His eyes follow Tavrie's progress into her weyr, but he makes no move to approach. Long-fingered hands clench and uncurl then end up buried in his jacket pockets to keep them from getting too terribly cold. He's no stranger to the cold ... but that doesn't mean he'll suffer frostbite, if he's of a mind to know better. His eyes are now purely unfocused, seeing as Wrencath sees and oblivious to the rest.

Tentatively, tough there's a thrum of excitement perceivable in his thoughts, Jekzith edges his thoughts near Nabrimeth's, full of the joy of the flight, the wonder that is following her tail through the thick curtain of white snow. He paints a vivid picture of the white-blanketed Bowl, with so many motes of color in it, all turning to and fro in the wind, some drawing near, some falling back, all faithfully following.

Tavrie notes the hungry look from R'layn and all but growls at him, offering a snarl and a nasty look. The blonde lifts her chin proudly, snubbing him for his flight zeal. Recovering from her uppity moment, she gazes around her at the shivering riders, a glint of merciless amusement coming into her eyes, matching the almost cruel flying of her lifemate. The goldrider nestles in her blanket and ignores her cold feet.

Warily watching the others gathered on the snow covered ledge, W'red keeps his distance from them all, not wanting any part of this. The Reachian rider seems not hesitant but withdrawn as the brown he can't control in times like this takes over the inner most parts of his being. He leans back against the wall of the ledge, eyes closed, trying to shut out the pictures that keep rushing through his mind.

Nabrimeth> Sareith isn't close to the queen's tail, so the roll off doesn't phase him. Instead he finds a friendly thermal to shoot him high aloft, even faster than she climbs, though still back from the others, trading horizontal distance for vertical height. The snow has not dampened his ardor, the masculine smoky tones of his thoughts giving away his positioning. Amber haze tinges flashes of images - a warm beach, flashes of his rider's face and hers, and playful buring in the sand. Flight connections work both ways, and Grae's emotions are spilling over to Rei, and thus to the queen who fires the bronze.

Nabrimeth> Talurith has wings built for power and speed, but his barrel chest and stocky limbs do him no favours when it comes to agility. He sticks with a direct path, wings working against the chill air to keep his ascent steady. No bursts of speed, no fancy tricks here, just pure focused power and a bronze's stamina. He hisses involuntarily as a presumptious brown cuts it too close, lashing out with a forepaw, but the Reachian dragon dodges the attack with ease. Enraged and more driven than ever, Talurith ups his speed, aiming to push through the pack and gain on the beautiful, tempestuous gold up and ahead.

R'layn snarls back at Tavrie, caught up in his dragon's volatile emotions. The young man shivers again, wiping at his forehead and looking alarmed, then apologetic - but only briefly. His eyes soon glaze over again as he sees through Talurith's eyes; sees the chase itself and immerses himself in his dragon. So what if there are other riders on the ledge? He's Talurith and he doesn't care. It's just her - and her is Nabrimeth right about now.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth flies through the swirling snow with his wings, silently. He uses his size, smaller than the average bronze, to his advantage as he keeps abreast of the browns that gives him cover. he leaves all the tricks to Nabrimeth, focusing on gaining quicker ground than the others about him and still locking onto the queen's forward position. It's only when the browns he tails get closer that he slips inbetween them, and then beyond them, increasing his speed to lose them in his wake.

Gr'din doesn't seem to realize R'layn's speaking to him as he huddles to the right side of Tavrie, just as Sareith does in the skies above. But the Telgari weyrling's at least partially sheltered from the wind from the overhang into the weyr proper, not yet expulsed by Tavrie from his spot. Grae just shoots the Istan bronzer a confused glance, and then his eyes are drawn back Tavrie-wards. More specifically to her bare feet. Who knew bare feet could be so alluring? There is a rustle from flowers pricked here and there with snowflakes as he moves his arm unconsciously in echo of Rei in the skies above as the bronze climbds hard above the pack.

Nabrimeth> Tavaith bugles loudly, as the air beneath his wings seems to disappear briefly, dropping him back down amongst the other chasers briefly. The brown recovers quickly however as the cold air is nothing new to him, and is soon back in his vantage point slightly above the rest of the chasers. His powerful wings carying along with speed, although he seems to use little effort, in his attempts to catch the gold, allowing the others to tire themselves out perhaps...in their feable efforts.

Nabrimeth> Wrencath is not particularly close, so the young queen's maneuver is seen long before he stretches his wings and banks to a side, echoing her roll in his own way. He's following still, just watching from afar and patiently, oh-so-patiently, working his way closer to her. Oh, he wants her, he wants that gloriously gleaming golden Nabrimeth more than he's ever wanted *anything* (even wherries, and that's definitely something) but he's trying not to wear himself completely out before he's even had a chance.

Nabrimeth> Kalorith is not one to be lost in the early throes of the chase, though he grows more aware this is not one of the greenflights he frequents as the gold turns and puts more distance between her and her chasers. He rumbles his frustration at the queen, lest she believe that she'll get away with her wiles. His speed tapers, enough that a few of the browns and bronzes that are closer are irritatingly getting in his way. Snow doesn't gather on this bronze's hide for long, as he uses it to his advantage by attempting to make more of it fall on those behind him along with the snow that's continuing to fall.

Nabrimeth> In Nabrimeth's path of roiling snow, Sulizath beats against the icy heavens, his chase a steady one. He's positioned himself perfectly. Her turn neither sends him shooting past nor puts him in an awkwardness that is too difficult to recover. Ghosts of his breath dance whimsically around his muzzle with each, lusty exhale, proof that this 'merry chase' is not an exertion - that he's tried and true to this, to the sky. He twists in response to the queen's movement, clinging stubbornly to his gained altitude, to his place in the pack.

B'yan settles down into a crouch once his scan of the others there is done, getting an unhampered view of the goldrider from his new vantage point. His hands clench and unclench along with the tightening of his jaw, and his gaze only now settles on something alittle beyond in her weyr as if attempting to calm a raving battle within.

Nabrimeth> Rather than being put off by Nabrimeth's sudden roll, Jekzith's delight in the entire proceedings only seems to increase. There's a happy warble torn away from the brown by the wind and muffled by the thickly falling flakes. He too tucks his wings in a little, using the maneuver to rest a little from pushing against the weight of whirling white, all around. Up and up they need to go, following Nabrimeth's tantalizing shape through the gloom and so he goes, up and up and up, sailing after.

K'len might end up with a bit of frostbite after this flight, from how his cheeks are starting to pinken up a little more and his hands are wringing themselves in front of him. He's starting to get agitated, and worked up, his gaze looking at Tavrie and then back at the landscape outside of the ledge. Shifting from foot to foot, he's perhaps inheritly aware of the cold that's permeating his body, but doing nothing to prevent it.

S'kris doesn't show any of the ... quirks of his dragon, though he continues to mumble encouragements just barely under his breath. Where the bronze is uncertain, but eager, he is that voice of reassurance. And Tavrie-Nabrimeth draws his attention with increasing frequency, though he, at least, keeps his mouth resolutely shut, rather than let it hang open embarrassingly, when he looks at her.

P'draig remains unmoving, leaning against the wall still, practically melding into it as snow clings to the snow and enough of it gathers on him that he's starting to blend in with the lot of it. He must be cold, but he doesn't seem to notice it, eyes closed by now, just breathing in and out. Anyone near enough would probably note that he's struggling to keep his breathing even, the brownrider doing his best to stay calm and collected in spite of it all.

Nabrimeth> Nabrimeth's steady rise is suddenly matched when Talurith pushes through the pack. Shrieking hatefully, the snow-kissed gold once again pulls her wings closer to her body, this time rolling her long frame around the bronze's thick body and then striking out at him visciously with both claws and teeth. The nasty swipe rakes the bronze from just under his neck down along his chest. Feeling triumphant, the gold uses his body as a buffer, pushing away from him only to veer off course and rattle the chasers with a siren's wail.

Fadra is steady, quiet, and carefully watching her breath form an array of shapes in response to the curl of her lips, the position of her tongue, the strength of her exhale. She could be bored, really, amusing herself with the childlike trivialities that come with the freezing weather. But something about the tense line of her shoulders, the way her shoulderblades fail to touch the wall behind her says that she's paying more attention than she'll let on. With another exhale, this one without any application to make - oh, say, a goose - the brownrider reaches into her riding jacket to withdraw a pair of leather gloves, tugging them on with a not-so-practiced swapping of the cane to each hand, and her balance uncompromised.

W'red realises that he is probably one of the few that is actually dressed for this cold, as he had not been asleep in his weyr when Nabrimeth decided to rise, a smile creases the brownriders face as he looks around, at least he was dressed for 'betweening' and the cold of the early dawn was no bother to him. A chuckle escapes his lips as he realises Tavaith is playing the waiting game, no less wanting of the gold but patiently stalking her.

Tavrie suddenly buries her face in her hands, seeming horrified at the feelings and images she is suddenly getting. The jolt shocks her back to her own reality and she looks up with soft, sad eyes. Pity fills her and she peels back the rug, looking tempted to step in, knowing they would follow. Indecision holds her their, eyes beginning to glaze again but warmth now floods out the door from the hearth fire within.

Nabrimeth> Talurith has no chance of reacting in time to Nabrimeth's sudden roll and her claws slash a long, shallow gash from his collarbone to the top of his breastbone. He pushes away in time to avoid major damage from the gold's teeth, shrieking his defiance as she uses him to improve her flight. The attack costs the visitor distance, though the adrenaline rush of the flight masks the pain, if not the initial shock. Fuelled by her volatility, Talurith starts the process of gaining again, flying briefly through a current that gives him altitude, though no forward thrust. That's all provided by his wings, his neck stretched out and his red eyes glaring at Nabrimeth even as ichor shows on his chest.

Nabrimeth> Sareith nearly falters in the skies as Nabrimeth twists around Talurith, anguish writ large across his huge frame, thinking that the flight was too soon over. Then as she pushes away, he arrows forward, using her ire at the Istan bronze and the time wasted in his reprimand to close the gap. High above the pack, up where the snow is mere tiny ice crystals, he banks hard following her lead, ice forming on his molten spars despite the heat that floods him. Now back again on Nabrimeth's right side and still above, he settles in, youthful stamina not yet begun to play out. Indeed, despite the ice beginning to weigh him down, his eyes close completely for a moment, reacting to something transmitted from Gr'din below. then he's back on track, encouraged despite the vicious raking given Talurith.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth banks away when a bronze gets too close to the queen, falling back on course with a determined edge to his flight. The attack of that bronze does not deter him in the slightest, but he's not inching any closer, either. What the stealthy-like muddy bronze does instead is settle near-behind a bronze that's close to the queen, playing out time and conserving his own energy until this one, too, will be overtaken and will bring him that much closer to Nabrimeth.

R'layn suddenly shakes violently, eyes distant as he claws at his throat and upper chest. Breathing heavily, his eyes widen to the point where he returns to the scene on the ledge, boggling at Tavrie while his hand still urgently checks his body for the damage he felt so keenly. He opens his mouth and manages to choke out an inaudible syllable before he's lost in the flight again, feet unwittingly taking hima step closer to the weyr's entrance and the gold rider stood there.

Nabrimeth> Following not that far behind, Jekzith has to execute a swift barrel roll out of the way, dropping a little as he loses the loft of his wings to keep him arrowing upward. He bugles alarm and distress at the violence of the encounter and drops lower still to recover, wings unfurling once more to send him flying fast after Nabrimeth, but beneath her. Determination characterizes his movements, steady as she goes, on and on through the snow.

Nabrimeth> That ... certainly gives him pause, his heart stopping for a moment. Done? Over? Already? Misery seeps into his frame, issuing forth in a low, thin warble. Pale wings flutter, falter, and grow still for but a heartbeat, but when all seems not lost, then Wrencath pushes himself with renewed feverishness and enthusiasm toward Nabrimeth. It's madness, nothing but madness, but for as much as he's afraid of her, he's more afraid of /failing/, somehow. It's another chance and that's all he wants. As her course changes, so does his, the corpulent bronze using his inertia to pull him through another turn. Muscle shifts and slides under bronzed hide, the glitter of melting snow further highlighting his mottled colouration. And he's closer, closer, closer still.

From B'yan's crouch, he's able to make out the Reachian goldrider's expressions with a slight narrowing of eyes before he simply cannot help but to drag his gaze over her form. In much like his dragon, there's a silence in him that is more feral and anticipatory than sheer frustration at this point.

Nabrimeth> Tavaith from his slight vantage point watches as the gold rakes the bronze with her claws, and veers off away from the bronze using him to pick up even more speed he adjusts his angle of flight slightly to veer off after her. Staying well out of reach though waiting for the gold to begin tiring, she may not be quite so viscious when she had tired a bit, he hangs back, not wanting to be hurt but to be furled in wings of the tired queen. Patience was all it took, the younger and more vigorous dragons would fall one by one.

Gr'din gasps, tearing his eyes from Tavrie's bare feet and sucking in air as though sucker-punched in the belly. His hand tightens on the flowers as he's purely himself for a moment, an half-strangled 'No' emerging as he looks between Tavrie and R'layn. Then as the flight continues he lets out a shaky breath that shudders his wide shoulders. As R'layn takes his step forward, Grae gives a warning note deep in his throat to the Istan, past speech, edging along the wall to feel that blast of warmth from Tavrie's weyr.

Nabrimeth> Kalorith wasn't expecting that move from the queen, though there is no despair given to the bronze that suffered her claws. Instead, the twilight bronze uses this to his advantage as well. Opportunist that he is, he folds those large wings of his and rolls to attempt and catch up to the queen. He keeps his distance, enough that she'd have to go out of her way to claw at him, while rumbling his defiance at the queen - no, he isn't lost, and nor will he be - not until there is a victor. He's not as young as some of the chasers, so he's learned to restrain himself.

K'len takes a step back as Kalorith rolls in the sky, reaching out for something to keep himself from falling over. Dizzy, he barely manages to keep himself upright before turning his gaze on Tavrie with more than a hint of that primal urge that his bronze is overwhelming him with. His dragon might be older than a few of the others in the sky, but he's still quite young and appears it moreso than usual at this moment.

S'kris looks, for a moment, like the world itself had fallen around him. Miserable and sick, even. But, when the things in the air change, so, too, does his expression, which stabilizes into a more comfortable mask of impassiveness. R'layn is glanced at. Studied. Then his attention shifts to Tavrie, the corners of his mouth curving up in an impish fashion. He draws a bit closer, drawn both by her presence and the warmth from the weyr proper.

P'draig lets out a soft grunt, the first sound he's made in a while and one of his hands lifts to rake through his hair, coming away with a coating of melting snow. The Fortian stares stupidly at his wet palm as if uncertain as to how exactly his hand got wet. He tries to smear the snow off onto his jacket, but there's only more there, so his damp hand find a home in his pocket again, still chafed by cold water. With his focus disrupted, hazy blue eyes lift to look around the ledge, passing over the others to find Tavrie in the archway, settling on her briefly with the barest hint of longing showing through before he drops his gaze hastily and goes back to breathing. Steady, Paddy. Steady.

Nabrimeth> Sulizath crows no victory at Talaruth's injury - because in that injury, she's pulled ahead of them further, put a speed-bump in his plans. And while the injury would stop anyone with sense, should cause at least a moments hesitation in pensive thought of the repercussions of continuing, Sulizath doesn't. That beckoning call keeps the craggy brown moving forth, inhibitions lowered beyond that of a drunk's. Everything is laid on the line, and in display his wings are steepled and brought down with such force that the snowflakes may be painful against the motion. The downsweep stops half-through, his wings closing to his side as he dips beneath the pack, clearing his path as best he can, and darting after her.

Tavrie shifts nervously, looking from one rider to another. A glance is shot to Fadra and then over to the dizzy K'len. Heat still pours out from behind her, offering double the lure to draw nearer. The frightened goldrider's emotions change rapidly as if someone were leafing through documents -- fear, triumph, lust, hate. All are present in turn.

W'red's eyes seem glazed the thoughts he was trying to control gone the urges that now flood him coming directly from the dragon flying above. His eyes slowly slide over the gold riders petite frame the urge to move closer to her becoming more and more overwhelming as the brownrider becomes one with the dragon. Lust and primal urges being all that drive him now normal thoughts and courtesies gone.

Gloves aligned properly, Fadra's gaze rises again. Now she can lean her weight back where it belongs, and her hands won't freeze off. It's a good deal. If she manages to catch Tavrie's glance, her brows will raise and a lusty smile will be afforded the small goldrider. If not, there's no loss. Her eyes don't shift away, and with Tavrie not running as her dragon is in the sky, it's easier to appraise her in detail, if not up close.

Nabrimeth> The snow seems to thicken for a moment and then fade completely as the pack breaches the low, heavy-laden storm clouds and reaches the clear, icy air above where stars still twinkle in a lightening azure sky. On the horizon, a hint of soft purple is emerging to seep into the morning sky. The sun will be up soon, dawn is approaching. Nabrimeth seems to be slowing, her erratic flight patterns continue as she weaves and rolls, though her need for height keeps her from diving. Tense, choppy movements offer hope to the chasers, the young queen is tiring.

S'kris, caught between seeing Nabrimeth courtesy of Wrencath and seeing Tavrie as she is to his eyes, merely starts to ease himself over in the goldrider's direction. Slow, sinuous movements, almost serpentine in their execution. Stealthy, even. She is particularly appraised, desire kept in check save for a lusty shine in his dimly focused eyes.

B'yan remains in his crouch near Tavrie's entrance, fighting back the urge to go closer with the look in his eyes betraying him. There seems to be a heightened sense of unease from him now, as though something sensed from above is giving him any clues. There's no further study of those about him, keeping a close look on Tavrie.

Gr'din's colorless eyes become more Sareith than Gr'din as the battle in the skies above coontinues, drawn back again to Tavrie-Nabrimeth. As her emotions flicker over her face, he latches on to each in turn, watching her for some clue as to where Nabrimeth will move next, where the weave will go. her body is studied for the slightest clue, the barest tilt or shift of her weight.

Nabrimeth> Tavaith picks up a small yet strong updraft lifting him even higher above the other chasers, the glowing gold tail all he sees however no other dragons are there in his vision as he too breaks through the clouds after the young gold. Brown hide shimmering from the wetness the melting snow has left on his hide the brown lets out a triumphant bellow, that is soon silenced as the chasing pack also breaks through the clouds, he thought they had all been left behind.

Nabrimeth> Hope. It's the one thing Wrencath hasn't allowed himself to feel thus far, the more deeply warring emotions of fear and lust and dread and desire driving his wings inexplicably -- or inexorably -- toward the tiring (dare he hope she truly is tiring?) young queen. This is where he plunges into things, eagerness and raw /want/ driving him in a way that his uncertainty wouldn't allow. What he lacks in experience, speed, and skill ... he does his earnest best to make up with his heart and his enthusiasm. There's even a gentle croon, the first conscious noise he's made this whole flight, for the glistening Nabrimeth. Snow and water spray from pallid wings and stream down his mottled form, the round bronze oblivious to the cold, to the presence of others; he's aware only of her, now. Just that need to get close enough to her. Just ... her.

Nabrimeth> Kalorith had been trying to follow the large queen closely, and though he was thrown for a loop now and again, the Fortian bronze has managed to keep up. The beginnings of dawn bring out more of his deep reddish bronze color, the torchlit bronze has succeeded in flying until daylight has broken. His flamelicked mantle is more obvious, the shadows and snow no longer obscuring him from sight. Fiercly determined to have his dusk mixed with the queen's dawn, he searches for that last burst of strength and power that will make her his, and leave the others pining.

Nabrimeth> Talurith fights his way through the last of the snow, snarling at the sting of freezing water on his wound. Above the clouds, where Nabrimeth has led her chasers, the temperature's no better. Eyes tinged with the yellow-orange of pain, the Istan bronze allows the first hints of the sun's light to caress his burning body. He can't compete with the gold's agile movements for his build and also for his injury, but he can channel all of his energy into the last vital part of the chase when he spots Nabrimeth beginning to tire. Just a little further, a little closer; no worries aboout gaining another wound at her claws. He needs her, and he's desperate to get her, reaching out finally with his mind to send her strong feelings of desire. The last of the water on his muddy form is swept away by his speed, leaving him metallic and ichored.

K'len is drawn to the warmth of the room like a moth to the flame, though with double the offering of warmth and the goldrider it's difficult for this young rider to stop himself. He takes a couple steps, snow falling off of his shoulders and hair, making him lift a hand to agitatedly wipe it away. Tavrie is eyed lustfully with his winter blue eyes, with no attempt to conceal his intentions given. Even the few steps closer to the warmth bring more heat to his skin than he thought possible and he makes a soft mmph sound.

W'red joins in briefly with his dragons triuphant bellow, is about to get to his feet when the feeling of disapointment floods through him along with his dragon as he slumps back into his position against the wall. Blue eyes however never leaving the gold rider as she stand before the entrance to her weyr.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth can easily pick out when the young queen is tiring, and his sudden rise of anticipation hits its peak. Maneuvering passed the bronze he was tailing as cover, the muddy bronze pulls in his wings alittle to increase his speed and pull up very close to Nabrimeth at her left. Shifting closer, ever so slightly, the bronze presents himself in his sleek glory, his neck a humble offering with the flecks of his boldness that just can never be bolted down. He shows his offer rather than voice it, the intensity voicing his needs enough in the queen.

Nabrimeth> There's a beacon shining up above, clouded still by the whirling world of white, but for the purple-tinged dawn about to break and bathe them all with light. Jekzith sets his course for that beacon, broad wingsails drawing in air to push him up at angle towards Nabrimeth. Slowly but surely he closes the distance, carried upward on a surge of cold air streaked with snowflakes. Palest violet steeped with deep orange-gold swirls in his eyes, both fixed on the young gold. It's a dizzying rush upward that buouys the brown, the sweetness of flight the even sweeter recompense of perhaps winding together with Nabrimeth surging through him as he makes a bid to be the one to win her and carry her off into the sunrise.

R'layn finally notices the cold and, still clutching a hand to his chest, he moves closer to the heat that Tavrie's weyr exudes. "C'mon," he mutters through gritted teeth, his face contorted into a grimace as he flies with his dragon, to the end.

Nabrimeth> Sareith shadows Nabrimeth's course obliquely from above, angling ice-crackled spars to bring him slowly lower and lower as she chops left and right. As the purple of dawn sends fingers into the icy sky and the queen and the pack break up into 'his' airspace from below, the young Telgari bronze makes his bid to capture the virgin queen. During one of her jukes to the left, he rolls down, wings furled tight to his body to speed him on his way. Fire and ice come together in an explosion of smoke and amber emotion, neck and tail reaching down from above to try to snare her away on the fly from the other males on her tail. Mind, heart and soul burn for her - you never forget your first, and the pair will both remember this wild morning blizzard, where youth attempts, against odds, to triumph and shelter Nabrimeth from the dawn.

Nabrimeth> Sulizath hasn't labored so far. Not yet. But now that Nabrimeth's flight is tiring, her speed is faltering, her path changing more in compensation for the inability to keep away from them forever...well, now is the time to labor. He throws his weight, wings caressing the sky, testing for an updraft in the early dawn and finding nothing worth possessing for longer than a single second - so he finds the morning winds instead, and rides them forward, pumping up, up. Twisting, the brown reaches from an angle only scant inches below her. It's not a prime place to be, but it's what he's got, and he makes the best of it, his tail flicking, wings steepling and flexing to compensate and maintain his awkward position with a low croon. Anything to attract her attention for just a moment.

Gr'din holds his breath, still against the wall, still edging towards Tavrie. Colorless eyes reveal the depth of Sareith's desire, now entirely with his bronze as the final bid is made. The hand that holds the flowers tightens enough to bruise tender stems, the other one half raising and extending blindly towards Tavrie, even as Sareith's neck reaches out in the skies above to try to ensnare the dawn fire that is Nabrimeth.

Trembling now, P'draig's holding on by a thin thread of control. His head drops back against the shocking chill of the wall behind him and his eyes open up, wide, staring sightless beyond the edge of the ledge into the thick blanket of falling snow.

Fadra may well be the only one /not/ forgetting to breath. She's focusing on her exhales again, something as inconstant and much more visible than what she's seeing through Sulizath's tunneled and biased eyes. Her breathing is as steady as she can make it, trembling breaths in resonse to Sulizath's sudden and complete abandon. It's an effort, nervously her fingers are tapping along the head of her cane.

Nabrimeth> Nabrimeth's wings brace her up on an air current that speeds her toward the boldly rising sun and she allows herself to glide for but a moment, her shrieking protests worn out now and her will tiring. All flecks of red have been spent and her eyes now gleam with a hungry violet. Her wings pump and push now as she strives to stay clear of devious and grasping males. But something seems to call to her, softening her heart and echoing a need she feels. Crystals of icy dew adorn her glowing hide, showing her unique, rose-gold hues in a multifaceted glimmer. The sunrise is breaking over the dragons, a color that matches and only deepens her splendor as purples and pinks wash over the young queen. Veering, she meets the form of Wrencath, his striving rewarded and his earnest hopes fulfilled in the mornings first rays of warmth.

Nabrimeth> Sareith overshoots, his hopes dashed. The youngest bronze turns wearily now back towards the weyr, wrung out with emotion and effort.

Nabrimeth> Talurith drops, spent, adrenaline gone.

Braced by the doorway, Tavrie seems to sag as the weight of the flight slips from her, being replaced by a heady feeling and a buz of nerves. She seems to be sliding, as if she might collapse to the floor, her blanket is dropped and her eyes seem fogged by the sudden and profound moment.

Nabrimeth> Kalorith dips out of the flight, disappointment apparent as he circles towards the bowl to collect his rider.

As he was last, so is he first. Gr'din hurries from the weyr, almost as though thread were chasing him. The flowers lie scattered and forgotten on the floor, for the couple to find later on in the day.

Nabrimeth> Jaireth shrieks, his one moment of speaking in the chase, before turning on a wing and dropping back down below into the bowl.

Nabrimeth> Jekzith gives one last push upward and disappointment sluices off the brown in falling sheets to the ground along with the snow. She's ... gone. All wrapped up in Wrencath. Spinning about in the sky he doesn't head to the ground immediately, he turns, twists, then dives sharply downward for a landing in the bowl.

K'len is disappointed as well, but in the same manner relieved as he makes his hasty retreat from the weyr to meet his dragon.

Fadra may not be able to run, but she would if she could. Instead, she hurry-hobbles out, every movement as quick as possible as she heads back down the stairs.

Nabrimeth> Tavaith does a long slow whirl around the entangled dragons before dropping from the sky.

Snap! Awareness flood through P'draig and he pushes away from the wall. He starts out going in the wrong direction, so maybe not so aware as all that. He stumbles a little on the slippery rock then staggers down the stairs, weaving like a drunk to meet Jekzith.

Nabrimeth> Sulizath is silent, now - no amount of growling or hissing or wailing will do him good, and so the brown folds his wings to his side and drops back into the clouds and towards the snow, the ground, his rider.

It's slow but sure when B'yan straightens from his crouch, and with narrowed eyes at those closest to him, the bronzerider roughly shoulders his way pass those filing out and heads away the ledge briskly.

Nabrimeth> Wrencath seems ... stunned. Utterly. Caught as much as Nabrimeth is entangled with him by that moment. At the last second, his wings flare and he warbles gently to her, soaring with his precious, his most glorious and wonderful prize of all, onward into the early light of dawn.

W'red straightens up and meanders away from the ledge a lst glance thrown Tavrie's way as he leaves.

S'kris is there to catch her, his murmurs of encouragement now meant for her ears and no longer for his enraptured dragon. "C'mon, darlin', let's get you inside and warmed up properly, y'hear?" he drawls, ready to carry her into her weyr if need be. He's basking in his dragon's triumph, a feeling as intoxicating as his desire for her. Just her.

Tavrie, seeming unsure of her own legs leans against him and loops her arms around his neck. She watches him with big, brown doe's eyes, a look so innocent and raw it is almost painful yet intriguing. She opens her mouth to say something, then tightens her grip on him needily.

Tavrie and Nabrimeth's Weyr(#5185R)

Circularly shaped, the main room of this small ground weyr leads off into two little alcoves that hug the main wall. Overall, the weyr is very clean. Someone has gone to great lengths to see that it is kept in pristine condition. There is look of simplistic, yet elegant beauty to weyr. A few woven wall hangings create a cheerful atmosphere while a select set of furniture creates a homey feel while not cluttering the floor space.

Off to one side, there is a simple, rough-hewn wooden table with four sturdy chairs and a runner of scarlet cloth trailing frown end to end. A series of multi-tiered candles sit on a diamond-shaped piece of glass to create an elegant centerpiece. Toward the other side of the room, a cozy hearth invites people to come and rest, two comfortable looking, cushioned chairs sit in front of the crackling fire with a small side table and thick, woven rug. This is just beside the larger of the two alcoves, which appears to be the bedroom. Just visible from behind a pole and canvas privacy screen is a large, canopy bed. The exquisite bed is covered in a breathtaking blanket of butter yellow with a beaded tassel hanging at each end. Several pillows, most of which are the same golden yellow are pilled at the head of the bed. A soft hide rug rests on the right side of the bed, serving to protect bare feet that might step out onto the cold floor in the morning. Opposite the bed is a mid-sized wardrobe.

The path to the other alcove is a bit longer, less a turn around the wall's edge and more a tunnel, leading to a small bathing chamber with one narrow window set high to allow ventilation.

Obvious exits:

Ledge