Logs:Go Home, 'Reaches.
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| RL Date: 11 January, 2014 |
| Who: A'dek, Adiulth, Bijedth, B'rant, D'kan, E'ten, Elaruth, Hattie, K'zin, Kazavoth, Lilah, Maldoranth, N'muir, N'rad, N'rov, Reesa, Rhenth, Rasavyth, Vhaeryth, Zirokth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Elaruth rises in her seventh flight, for the seniorship of Fort Weyr. It's a closed flight, but some of the dragons don't seem to know that, while others know it all too well. |
| Where: Southern Bowl & Flight Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 10, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'dalis/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Many thanks to Hattie and Fort for hosting and welcoming crashers. :) |
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| Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr This end of the bowl is grassy and serene with the pretty blue of the lake nearby as a draw for residents, riders and dragons alike. Since the earthslide collapsed in the spring of turn 23, a dramatic view of the mountain slopes that circle the Weyr has opened up beyond the lake, where a faint misty haze often shimmers above the small waterfall. The feeding grounds are fenced off to on the northeastern end of the lake, just a short walk from the weyrling barracks, the Weyrleader's complex, the hatching complex, living cavern, and infirmary. In the negligible days before Elaruth's rising, Lilah has made a decision to stop taking bets on when exactly the queen will rise, though rumors still abound that the redheaded Dice dealer is still collecting bets on who might catch with a variety of odds given to each bronzerider and brownrider of the Weyr. The odds on favorite is, of course, N'muir. In fact, that is what Lilah is doing at the moment, caught by an ambitious brownrider who is placing a variety of bets all over the board, trying to get the most of his marks. Unfortunately, he's caught her between errands, probably before work if the grey Dice uniform that swallows her frame is any indication. She has slipped a pile of hides out of her pocket, bound with a simple shoelace rather than anything official, and is making marks of the man's bets in an akward lean over her own thigh. There isn't, frankly, anywhere else Reesa would rather be than hanging around, waiting for Elaruth to rise. After all, a leadership flight means the potential for change. She isn't the only one: she's standing with a couple of other Jasper riders, and they're glancing over towards Lilah and in particular the brownrider, obviously listening in. There's a snort from the greenrider, though whether it's agreement or derision at the brownrider's hedging is hard to say; she smooths out her sun dress and crosses her arms. N'rov also appears to have nothing better to do but stare, only rather than settling in with the Jasper riders (not going to happen, even if there weren't that ex-Hematite rider there too), he's for once on his own: his collar popped nearly to his chin, his arms crossed, an edginess to his lean frame as though he'd rather be just about anywhere else than here. Though, at least Lilah's seeming to provide some sort of entertainment, what with the leaning and all. Annoyed gestures swat back red-gold hair as it slides around her, trying to tuck it time and again behind her ear without learning that it won't stay. Finally, though, Lilah straightens with a shake of her head, answering aloud to the brownrider, "I already told you, I'm not taking bets on when she'll rise anymore. You've already bet on who would catch and how long the flight will be. So unless you want to bet on how many herdbeasts she'll blood, I think we're done here." The brownrider's own annoyance at Lilah's talking back flashes across his features, an angry, "You should learn how to talk with respect to your betters," thrown at the Dice dealer before he moves away to find riders of his own wing. Lilah catches sight of Reesa at that snort, rolling her own eyes in a subtle gesture. It isn't very respectful. It's hard to say if Reesa's even aware of the presence of her ex-wingmate; certainly, she's not looking in his direction at all. Instead, as the brownrider steps away from Lilah the greenrider moves to intercept him, slipping a hand into the crook of his elbow and chattering in a low voice as she leans in. It's probably not the first betting man she's approached immediately after they've talked to Lilah, and the blonde's not trying to hide it. N'rov's uncharacteristically helpful addition to the situation is the addition of a smirk Reesa's way. "Making a date for after?" he calls. Since clearly the brownrider's going to lose, lose, lose. With that, he pushes off the wall and begins a slow amble in the ruddy-haired girl's direction instead of just eyeing her lean. It isn't the first time Lilah's noticed, but certainly this time, she is watching the woman for a long, careful moment. She murmurs a quiet, "What are you doing," mostly to herself. But, she doesn't pursue them, especially given the brownrider's opinion of her already. Instead, she turns to the bronzerider approaching her, questioning in an easy greeting, "Were you looking to make a bet?" Yes, just what is Reesa doing? The lean is probably just natural demeanor rather than conscientious flirting with the brownrider, although there is a laugh as they stop further away from the others. The blonde pauses to grin at N'rov's call, "Why? Jealous?" she's too far to hear Lilah's murmur although the flickered glance suggests the greenrider's well aware of the look she's getting. With a last pat to the brownrider's arm, they part ways, the Jasper rider heading back in the direction of her wingmates nearby. E'ten does, to his credit, make every attempt to not draw attention to himself on his stalk from one end of the bowl to this area. Not that Adiulth's nearby landing has anything to do with it, but for once the two are of vastly different mindsets. And the rider is downright not his cheerful self, lifting his head high enough to see who's nearby - or at least between point A and point B. "Not yet, give me time," N'rov follows up with Reesa, his grimace keeping it from being quite as effectively sarcastic as he might like it to be; he drawls to Lilah, then, scruffing his hands in his pockets, "I'm looking to see what's out there. What do you have on offer? Just herdbeasts, or is that only for," he glances meaningfully over his shoulder, "special people?" "Well, usually, people just bet on which dragon is going to catch her. If you're feeling risky, you could bet on how long the flight is going to last," Lilah answers, the curve of her smile a light, almost flirtatious thing on her lips for all that she's not usually flirtatious. She gestures with the hides in her hand, which holds a hell of a lot of numbers and names. When Reesa rejoins her wingmates there's some quiet conferring amongst the small group of Jasper riders; one of them even pulls out a scrap of hide and makes some notations. Whatever it is has their complete attention - they're not really looking in the direction of Lilah or N'rov at the moment. The early morning light brought Hattie from her weyr and down to the channel by the falls, where she has been spent much of the hours between then and now in the company of N'dalis, but now, as the morning draws on, there's been no sign of the Weyrwoman in the spot where she once sat in a little knot, feet in the water. What has become almost impossible to ignore is the sight of Elaruth on the sunny ledge favoured by many of the Weyr's dragons, the senior queen's usually pale hide a stark, bright contrast with the colour of the skies above. While she sprawls, relaxed, asleep and soaking up the light, activity in the pens - a dark-hued bronze wheeling down onto a kill, not to eat, but spill blood - brings Hattie from the shadows of the grove and back towards the channel of water, where she watches the blooding bronze with a tight, resigned expression. "'Risky,'" N'rov more says than inquires with a gleam in his eye, though that might mostly be for the rows of numbers and names that he obediently looks at; possibly he even looks a little too closely, if Lilah's goal isn't for him to spot who's picking whom with what. While he's at it, "Risque'? Frisky?" Beat. Blood. "Tasty," with what refuses to be resignation of his own, despite the ruddy bronze who's knifing down from the Rim to join the even darker one. Galloping in on very long legs -- a primal glint in gray eyes looking towards Elaruth -- B'rant's lungs feed him deep and even breaths as he sort-of follows the gliding Rhenth above. He follows just on that first bronze's hindquarters, the huge, young male also furling his wings to send him onto the back of a herdbeast, killing it instantly by massive squishing. While Rhenth's blooding with vigor and watching his sleeping dam, B'rant's pulling up just outside the little knot of gathered riders about Hattie, then giving all of them -- but particularly the Weyrwoman -- a quick bow and a small grin. Lilah's brow curves in an arch upwards at N'rov's added words, though she repeats firmly, "Risky. The odds are good, but we're timing down to the second and betting on that, not the minute." She is slow to catch sight of the Weyrwoman that draws into the bowl, slower still to catch sight of the bronze in the pens with a quiet noise. She glances towards Elaruth, only relaxing slightly at seeing the queen sleeping. And she doesn't quite understand, so she asks, "Why is that bronze blooding? Elaruth isn't." One of the Jasper riders, whose brown wings down from a weyr across the lake, stiffens visibly, gaze drawn across the bowl to the feeding pens. Those hides pass hands, from brownrider to greenrider, Reesa tucking the packet under her arm as she watches her wingriders start to walk across the bowl hurriedly. The greenrider, for her part, lounges in deliberate casual repose, gaze flickering from one rider to the next, mostly dismissively - lingering when she sees E'ten and straightening, even taking a step in his direction. She doesn't go out of her way to get his attention, though, frowning a moment later as she slouches back into her former position. There were warnings, of course. It's a closed flight. But what do men know of the matters of dragons? Why is Rasavyth here? Why is K'zin appearing among those men (and women) trailing their dragons toward the feeding grounds, not dressed for work, but rather like he's on some kind of unofficial business? At this moment, it's anyone's guess, and it's hardly the most important thing. The most important thing is blood, warm and vital, blood that is claimed by the young 'Reaches bronze with a swoop and relatively graceless pounce from a plump, if unfortunate, beast. The sound of a bronze blooding his kill is enough to bring E'ten's attention from the bowl and towards the feeding grounds. It's not the familiar bronze of Adiulth but the bronze nearby is paying attention before taking to the skies and following suit. "What's that about risk?" Spoken as he comes into conversation range, there's no hesitation of rolling up his sleeves even though his eyes briefly glances away from the feeding ground to take a precursory note or tally of who's here. Who's importantly not. And settles on Reesa. Attention captured for a moment, it's a fleeting thing apparently. A visiting brown has been quietly sunning himself in Fort's bowl, snuggled up against one of Fort's greens. His dark, speckled hide just a little dulled, explained moments later by the appearance of D'kan, who's still in the process of trying to get into his shirt while juggling his riding gear. His attention swerves toward those pens, following the directed gazes of others, then he quickly shoots a look to his own lifemate, who is thankfully still half dozing and quietly (thankfully again) chatting with the green at his side. Bijedth stalks his precious golden beauty from a distance, clinging to the jagged spires of the caldera with an excited agitation whirling in his eyes. He's been quiet as of late, committing himself seemingly entirely to the study of Elaruth from afar as if she were transformed from his beloved mate into some intriguing piece of glowing prey, never invading her space without invitation but always lurking in the shadow somewhere not far off. Perhaps it's Bijedth's effect on his rider but N'muir has taken to watching Elaruth this morning too, his attention drifting from Bijedth to Elaruth, then back down at the geese gobbling down the stale bread he throws about. That blooding bronze is given a long, nervous look, and for a moment N'muir lets his gaze graze over Elaruth nervously but he returns to the task of feeding his geese and puts his back to the pens. And yet another foreign dragon appears in the skies above Fort, a slim, almost snake-like bronze with his long tail and long neck. It is a Telgar bronze known as Zirokth who looks to wingsecond A'dek. The pair land near the pens, the middle-aged A'dek undoing his straps and sliding them from his dragon before loosing Zirokth into the pens. His first slide of a gaze around the bowl lands first on N'muir, lingering only briefly, though he does not start, yet, towards the Weyrwoman and her crowd. Instead, he leans casually against the pens, watching the dragons carefully. That grin from B'rant has Hattie baring her teeth in answer, in what is decidedly not grin or smile, but warning. She keeps her hands to herself for now and steps back from the young bronzerider, knotting her arms beneath her chest like she could keep control of them better that way, her aversion to contact plain enough from stance alone. The fingers of one hand reach to curl around one side of her jacket, to try and tug it closed and meet with the other without bothering with the buttons, the pink fabric of her short, lightweight dress vanishing beneath black leather. Movement of people towards her makes her glance around, panic flitting across her features. Trapped. The sight of K'zin is what makes her blurt out, "No--" But the others? There's no time for that, as Elaruth wakes and a wave of white-hot atmosphere snaps out across the Weyr. Instinct or senses have her snaking a look up at Bijedth, before a shudder runs through her and she launches herself towards the pens. Outsiders! Though he's usually gracious to all, this day Rhenth growls deeply at the foreign bronze who dares to pursue his senior queen, the Fortian male's eyes whirling a crazy red as he finishes sucking all the blood from his dead beast. With a sudden trumpet, he hurls the victim of his lust at Rasavyth, then swipes out a sharp-taloned forepaw at a wherry that panicks too close. BAM! that wherry has paid the ultimate price for its actions, and now its body goes to fuel Rhenth's upcoming ascent. As for B'rant, well, he's rubbernecking everywhere to get a better idea of just who's joining this merry fray. Where's N'muir? And then Rhenth's again growling at the Telgari foreigner bronze, and this cuts off his lifemate's staring at people right-quick, the towering young man giving K'zin a dark eyeballing beore barking out to A'dek, "Go home, Telgar. You're not wanted." Make that twice as much for K'zin. In the small flurry, he misses Hattie's tooth-baring. "She'll get around to it," N'rov tells the bets-taker. "Any," he pauses to lay emphasis on, "second now." He still hasn't looked towards the pens where Vhaeryth has gotten busy, but he's begun to bare his teeth just slightly, a lift of his lips that isn't a smile. "'Second,' though? You can be that precise? Is there someone who gets a commission to keep her eyes on that queen and never let them go... synced with someone else who's keeping track of when she gets it on?" Though, "Tell me some other time." He has things to do, what with tracking down not the goldrider but his wingleader. As does Vhaeryth: since that Telgar dragon's rider is standing up by the pens, a twist of Vhaeryth's strong neck sends hist latest wherry-corpse slamming right at him. Apparently that's going around. "Ffff--." A short, abrupted curse slips past Lilah's lips, her breath hitched on it even where her teeth catch on her lower lip. Her dark gaze turns up to N'rov, seeking something. Help, maybe, or more. It's hard to tell with how naturally dark her gaze is. She excuses herself, pointing out, "I think the betting is over, and we'll know the answer soon. I have to get back to my rooms, or something. Good luck." Because surely the bronzerider wants to win. With that, she turns, slipping quickly into the inner caverns rather than lingering here. Fleeting or not, that look is met with a brilliant smile from Reesa, lifting her fingers briefly in E'ten's direction. She doesn't move closer, however: there's plenty enough distractions around, and her gaze is on the crowd again, taking in the presence of all these foreign dragons with the slightest of frowns and dismissive snort - until she spots N'muir with a slow exhale, eyes lingering on the current Weyrleader. A'dek is graceful enough to duck that wherry, trained in hand-to-hand for years, a laugh spilling warmly and easily from his lips. This, at least, has him pushing away from the pen, calling back, "Should we ask Elaruth if we should leave?" The question draws steel-grey eyes to Hattie as he moves to the Weyrwoman, sliding like the weight of a hand over her curves despite that gesture of her drawing her jacket closer. The foreign dragons are met with loud trumpet Adiulth as if to say that they're not welcome. Not here. Not now. And punctuated with a dark taloned grasp towards an unfortunate wherry that gets between him and the newly arrived. It's all for the best, lowering his muzzle to drink steadily before the once live beast becomes nothing more than a limply tossed aside rag... creature. One down. Where it lands, no one knows. It could be a dragon bump, for all he cares. Where's the next one? Well, that finds the bronze leaping towards another creature that doesn't stand a chance. E'ten on the other hand is regarding the newly arrived riders who aren't Fortian after turning his attention from Reesa. Pressing his lips together he catches sight of Hattie in a jacket. Coat. Lots of leg and oh, wait. There is a glimmer of pink. Still, the once over of the Weyrwoman isn't quite short lived. There is a moment, while D'kan manages to finish getting into his shirt, that he gives K'zin a sharp look. Not that the other rider's too likely to see it. D'kan caught Hattie's "No", and what does "no" mean, kids? That's right. With all those other riders, though, he's likely decided to stay out of it. And still, Kazavoth lounges next to "his" green, though his eyes are open now, and focused on the pens. Not taking any chances at causing a political scene, D'kan hurries toward his brown, who slowly starts to stretch and shift out of his slumber. Zirokth is elegant in the way he bloods, striking one wherry precisely and draining it without much of a mess even where he watches the glowing queen. His mindvoice is warmed amber liquor, the taste of cloves where it brushes in a quiet question against Elaruth's mind, a simple, « Do you want me to leave. » It isn't a question, really, no sense that he even could if she demanded him to. Not where he is in her thrall as he is. N'rad trots in from the direction of the infirmary, his gaze so focused on the pens, where Maldoranth has only just joined the party, that he nearly knocks into a couple people along the way. Calm and collected is rarely something this particular bronze rider is known for, but today that could be amplified by ten. "Noooo, no, no, no, not good," he's mumbling, now paying enough attention not to actually run over anyone. Mostly. K'zin is hard to read in the moment when Hattie catches sight of him. On the one hand, the inner K'zin wants to look like one of those herdbeasts the dragons are downing, but the influence of Rasavyth-in-lust wants to smile brilliantly and schmooze. The middle ground, as it turns out, is an expression of sort of haughty self-assurance, a lazy smile, and an unflinching gaze to meet the eyes of anyone looking his way, though he does, sadly miss the look from his clutchmate. Rasavyth isn't about to be distracted by the human affairs, even as he pulls his puppet's strings, so he slithers to the side and agilely ducks the thumping carcass rolling toward him, courtesy of Rhenth. There's a snort. Well, a series of them. It might be the draconic version of neener-neener. Telgar? "What-- No!" It's less aggressive and more despairing, to start with, until anger settles into the lines of features and shoulders and Hattie barks, "Go home!" back to A'dek, to K'zin, to all of them? Lurching steps start to carry her towards the pens, but then the shadow of her lifemate covers her and she stops dead, left to bare her teeth again in poor, ineffectual warning. "This is ours. Not yours. Go back!" Back to wherever, shouted as she turns, focus flitting between one rider and the next. Trying to count how many? Elaruth gives no warning of her arrival, no battle cry to announce her, and simply drops down onto the nearest herdbeast, to occupy a spot close to the centre of the pens, as if she owns the place. The panicked beasts don't seem to register on her radar, her gaze only for her bronze and brown company, before she lowers teeth to her kill, to automatically drink without raking claws through flesh to claim it. « No, » is broadcast to all, whether it's her answer to Zirokth or was meant for Hattie, scalding steam laced through that simple word. Does her 'no' win? Reesa's taking advantage of the gathering riders to give each of them a once-over, some of them quickly dismissed, some of them lingered on, especially if they're unfamiliar. It's when she spots N'rad, trotting across the bowl, that she stiffens and hands clench visibly, tracking his pace across the bowl with a tightened expression of something that seems like sympathy. Oh, he does not like that, and with A'dek's eyes get way too familiar with Hattie (who does look extremely fetching right now, no doubt), B'rant's hands clench into white-knuckled fists that fight the urge to want to beat that look off the Telgari's face. Narrowed gray eyes flick around, and pick out the 'Reachian brownrider, who's thankfully departing. To K'zin, the tall Fortian mutters darkly, "He's got a brain. What've you got, Reaches? Maybe a penchant for self-evisceration?" Because, in B'rant's mind, the Reachian bronzer's only setting himself up to be a sacrifice on the political pyre...or worse. Beyond the group of humans, Rhenth hurls his drained wherry corpse away willy-nilly -- let the bodies fall where they may -- and actually runs down another herdbeast milling about with fear-crazed eyes. Snicker-snack go wicked talons and sharp teeth, and quickly the cow is bleeding out her life into the bronze's suckling mouth, his vast pinions mantling some about his prey. Those fiery, faceted eyes rarely leave Elaruth...glorious, pale-golden Elaruth. D'kan finishes rousing Kazavoth with a fisted thump to the shoulder. Yawning and stretching, the brown gets to his feet, announcing to the dragons in the area in a hazy sort of mindvoice, « I could absolutely dance with the lovely woman if she is lacking in any charming suitors. » A beat later. « Which she does appear to be. » This time it's a kick from D'kan. « Alas, the lovely Hezivith has worn me out. I leave Elaruth to her sad, second-rate disciples. » No, he really couldn't just let it go without a couple barbs. Luckily, D'kan is not letting Kazavoth stick around for more of it, and within minutes, the brown pair takes to the air and blinks between. Bijedth's agitation is dissolved instantly into purposeful action as Elaruth heads for the pens, the bronze drifting down from the caldera's edge and carefully circling before descending upon one of the herdbeasts in the pens. Every move is calm and collected - nothing violent or sudden here - and even as he falls upon the herdbeast, it's graceful and gentle. As his teeth sink into the beast's flesh, his attention stays fixed on Elaruth with that eerie fixation of a predator stalking his prey. N'muir quickly runs out of stale bread and finds himself unable to avoid turning to watching the action playing out in the pens. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances first at the crowd growing around Hattie and frowns, brows drawn with agitation, and then finds Reesa not far off and heads for her with his usual brisk pace. "Are you sure you want to stay and watch?" he asks gently, his frustration in the crowd around Hattie momentarily forgotten. "I need E'ten here. He can't leave. Not this time. If that's what you're hoping for?" "Weyrwoman, it's going to be time to find a weyr, soon," A'dek drawls towards the objecting goldrider, his gaze flicking dismissively over B'rant, obviously not scared of the younger bronzerider and his threatening gestures. His hands slide and hook on the pockets of his flight jacket, his curved smile lingering even where Zirokth pins a herdbeast beneath his talons to bleed triumphantly at Elaruth's answer. The bronze bellows a challenge to the other dragons. Vhaeryth arches his neck with pent-up impatience, ridges cresting one by one, volatile eyes mirroring the other chasers as so many points in space; his rider slouches not after the Weyrwoman, but to where he can keep sight of her amidst the crowd: her, and who's getting too close to her. Today he doesn't confront strangers, or at least not yet; today he stays back, closer to the caves. To his bronze, the departing foreigner might never have existed at all; he's intent on Elaruth once more, meeting her gaze with hungry intensity rather than anything like a flinch at all. His hindquarters gather, lean muscle flexing. « Yes. » It's a deep baritone and all amusement. It might answer her implicit question. It might back her up. It might also contradict. Poor puppet. If K'zin were in command of himself, home is exactly where he'd be heading (or at least, anywhere that isn't here). But the strings have been pulled taut, and really, it's K'zin who's trapped in the spell of lust. Rasavyth could totally leave, if he chose to, but his choice is all too clear as he bloods another sacrifice. But that doesn't take much brain-power, so the strings pull, and K'zin's lips do too, into a wider smile for Hattie. Go home? Naaah. They'll stay. And B'rant receives a schmoozey sort of smile, too, "We've got what she needs." Obviously. There's a roll of his eyes for B'rant's dramatics. It may be raining wherries at this rate with how they're being tossed around. Adiulth might find his head ducking abruptly to miss one, but it sends at least two more near enough to touch. Quite literally, given how one herdbeast is taken and the other left to be scared witless - for now. Elaurth's arrival isn't met with anything, just silence. On the bronze's part as well, given how he's watching with red eyes swirling attentively in the gold's direction. The challenge is heard from Zirokth but rather blatantly ignored. It wasn't a gold's come hither, after all. E'ten spots N'muir but it's with a momentary confusion on the rider's part as to why he's going over to Reesa. What he doesn't hear is probably for the best. Not as he's close to Hattie but not uncomfortably so. The impact of the recent days might just be enough to keep him rooted. Until they have no other choice but to move. Distracted, Reesa doesn't notice N'muir's approach until the last minute, sucking in a sharp breath as she refocuses, her gaze reluctantly shifting from N'rad. In a low voice: "You mistake me. I want E'ten to stay. To win, if necessary." The 'if you can't', might be implied in the look and the lift of her chin. "And shouldn't you be," a vague, if perhaps descriptively lurid gesture is made in the rough direction of the Weyrwoman and those gathering around her. There's no yelling of 'don't' or 'blood' or 'stop' from Hattie, as Elaruth simply gets on with what she knows she has to do: namely, snapping another beast's neck and drinking deep. She hunches over this one, wings mantling, and lashes the end of her white-gold tail against Rhenth as she turns to stare at Rasavyth. Once the carcass in her grip has surrendered all that it will, she flings it right at him, then falls back to crouch low, interest lost already. Influenced by or taking cues from her suitors, there? Another flick of her tail, a glance at Vhaeryth, and then she... vaults back over the fence and uncomfortably close to those gathering nearby. Her paws scrape across the floor of the bowl, eliciting an angry shriek, then she darts skywards, headed for the autumn skies. "Well, you're not fucking well finding mine," Hattie snaps to A'dek, turning about again. Elaruth is far above the bowl before she finally turns, scanning the walls, and forces herself into motion again, headed for the flight Weyr. From the back of her throat issues a reluctant whine of a noise, a single note, before she silences herself and tries to force her features to blankness. Again, A'dek laughs. He laughs as if he was born to laugh, the way his dragon speaks with amber liquor warming the sound, and the laugh itself drawing creases into the corner of his light grey eyes. And that is all he answers to Hattie, though he seems more as if he's waiting for her to realize he's right rather than accepting that snap. And when she does, he follows her. Zirokth launches himself after the bright light that is the queen, the snake-like dragon given an edge by the lack of mass and muscle that allows himself to climb quickly, arrowed as he is. How odd it might sound since it comes from the usually kind Rhenth's throat: a higher-pitched, still quite deep hiss for the departing, catty Kazavoth and his comments. No matter, Bijedth's finally making his appearance, and though the younger bronze's hearts swell with the overriding urge to compete and overthrow his sire, still he cannot help but feeling some kind of solid kinship with the other dragon...even the other Fortian bronzes and browns. They all belong...unlike the Telgari, the 'Reachian. To all dragons around Fort -- foreign or otherwise -- is broadcast in furious, hurricane bass, « You are not US! Leave, foreigners! Elaruth doesn't want you here! » Their Elaruth. His Elaruth. K'zin's smarm and crudeness have B'rant slowly and menacingly advancing upon the 'Reachian with intent to knock some sense into him, but then the gold is 'cracking the whip' so-to-speak on Rhenth, and when the big bronze rumbles his heat and a hint of pain, his rider is jolted back into a bit more sanity. It soon departs again, however, when Elaruth flings herself skyward, Rhenth growling at Zirokth's heels as he too hurls his huge bulk up after his dam and her beyond-enchanting pale hide. Whether N'muir catches Reesa's intention or not, he nods succinctly and lets himself look again at the crowd of dragonriders pooling around Elaruth's counterpart. For a moment, his dark eyes dart furiously from face to face, condemning his competitors with dagger-sharp glares whether they be Fortian, Telgarian, or otherwise. But eventually he remembers Reesa and pulls his focus back to her, his face glazing over for a brief blink of time while he collects himself, almost as though he's functioning with delayed reaction now. He licks his lips instinctively like he just lapped down a bowl of soup, coincidentally as Bijedth lifts his blood-stained face from his kill and launches himself sky-ward in pursuit of Elaruth. "Yeah, I should," he replies, taking a step towards Hattie. "I just needed to make sure you were-" Whatever he would say he doesn't finish, turning away from Reesa with another nod - this one of farewell - and finds his place in the sea of hopefuls following after Hattie to the flight cave, veering close to A'dek. No objection from Vhaeryth, not in his deep, dark rumble, not in the way he leaps skyward and circles as she temporarily downs herself again; Elaruth could take out all those people if she liked. But when she likes to fly again, that's even better, and copper-chased wings send him just as hard on her tail as he can. « Keep it down, » just as audibly for Rhenth; his tone would be bored if it weren't for the flickering excitement that's Elaruth running. From them. N'rov runs his tongue over his upper lip, hungry as his bronze, as he moves to where Hattie's headed; N'muir's glare meets only with an acknowledging nod too brief to become a stare. There's surprise and perhaps a little shade of uncertainty in the blonde greenrider's demeanor, Reesa's gaze trailing after N'muir. She watches the group heading for the flight cave, flickering gaze seeking out familiar figures, and with an exhale, pushes herself straight and stalks towards the caverns to join the rest of the Weyr while they wait for the outcome. For all that this is a matter for dragons, Rasavyth's response to Elaruth's look is a very human thing. With his maw buried in beast, one foretalon is raised into the air quite purposefully and then each digit on the talon wiggles at her: hellooooo! He wasn't prepared for being a target a second time, and so the gold's carcass smacks him in the shoulder. How uncivil! Of Rhenth, he thought nothing of it, but of Elaruth? Tch. Ladies should know better! And it's this distraction that has him launching as one of the last into the sky. It might also be that B'rant is advancing on K'zin, and K'zin is holding his ground the sleazy smile still in place on his lips. It's probably coincidence that has K'zin maneuvering into the part of the chasers following to the flight weyr far from B'rant, and placing him unhappily near N'rov. One's gone. E'ten remembered seeing that. It's more of an afterthought, looking at the pens with sensing the point of view from Adiulth's direction in the next breath. The bronze, who seems ready to take to the skies after Elaurth. Only, was that a misstep? One moment, the gold's too close and the next? She's in the skies. That's where he launches himself towards, using the last discarded beast as a stepping stone.. er, bundle to cause the creature to become nothing more than a splatted pool of.. something. "Noisy aren't they," he murmurs, voicing his dragon's thought as he follows towards wherever Hattie's going. Unclenched and clenched fists and all, it seems. The arrivals from the outside are apparently not as ignored as he'd like to portray. Look, it's not quite a stabbing, but where N'muir draws close, what is a Telgari rider to do? Indeed, what it seems like A'dek decides to do is drive his elbow into the other man's side, a sharp, quick jab. Just his way of saying hi, we don't want you as weyrleader. Zirokth, meanwhile, attempts to lash his own tail at Rhenth where the dragon trails behind him, twisting to try to get right in front of the other bronze so that he cannot pass.
This small, ground-level cavern has one use and one use only: it's for flights. The headwoman's staff keeps the place neat and tidy, but otherwise, the space is very clearly set up for its sole purpose. The bedframe is a double, sturdy, but has seen better days, with plenty of nicks and scratches in the wood. The linens are plain, undyed, cheap fiber, easy to wash, easy to replace. Several chairs, all of the repaired, second-hand variety stand against the walls and a table holds a pitcher of water and a selection of chipped mugs as well as a seasonal fruit and a couple of bowls of nuts. The glows in here are usually a bit dim, older ones that have been changed out of more trafficked areas of the Weyr but not completely depleted yet. A small hearth also provides heat in the colder months, with logs and coal both kept supplied for use at any time.
Rhenth almost gets a faceful of Zirokth-tail, his muzzle jerked back a little to save him a harsh, stinging blow. This hampers his flight only a bit, even as the younger bronze attempt to latch his teeth into that tail for payback...his wings still pumping his bulk furiously higher after pale dawn-star Elaruth. At this point, it's all getting into and staying with the pack. B'rant's on the heels of N'muir after glaring at K'zin for a moment, the leggy bronzer taking up an almost guarding position just beyond the little knot of Hattie/N'muir/A'dek, his features heated, intense, and scowling. The Weyrleader can deal with Telgar; B'rant will deal with Reaches. So the Weyrwoman is having a hard time getting into the weyr; obviously that means N'rov needs to give her a helping hand as she blunders, aiming for the curve of her rear to prod her firmly along and in. Gray eyes linger there even if his hand doesn't, though; apparently her ass beats the High Reaches rider's face when it comes to the view. There's no rolling from Vhaeryth, no rolling over, no rolling under; instead the bronze sweeps after Elaruth with an eye to what clues might foretell her changing course, whether to the side or plunging down. He's in no hurry to get into the middle of Zirokth and Rhenth's little duel; instead, he's going for distance. Leaving the littered feeding grounds below, Adiulth could settle for the lazy and graceful loops of the bright beacon ahead of him. Tether. Tug. Tug. Just don't tell him that there are other bronzes around. It's such a cruel reality. But as he gains altitude, this is his home turf-skies. An advantage over those other visiting bronzes, of all things. Such presumption. He's aiming for the best, uncluttered path to what he wants. If E'ten's steps put him close to A'dek, all the better for a well placed foot in an attempt to trip up the Telgari rider. A foot for an elbow, it seems. Not that he's backing up N'muir of all people. Really. Maldoranth leaves little to chance, and as the pack of dragons chases after Elaruth, he just might be trying to create a pocket of maneuverability around himself with tooth and claw, and maybe a well-lashed tail. N'rad is quite content following the crowd, meanwhile, and if the look on his face seems a little ashen and sick-looking, well... it's appropriate. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction to A'dek's elbow, happening all in a matter of seconds without thought towards consequences or outcome: N'muir doubles over in pain, emitting a muffled groan, but he mostly rights himself (wincing as he does) in order to perform as swift and hard a slap as he can manage, aiming it at the back of A'dek's head. Hopefully it coincides with E'ten's kick for the most effective delivery if it connects at all. Bijedth is a bit more about a dramatic flare than his beloved Elaruth, and he spirals up and up, snaking higher and higher with swirly twirls and twists, weaving in and out of the crowd with some fancy wing-work. Alas for B'rant's desire to deal with 'Reaches, but in the movement into the flight weyr, 'Reaches has put significant distance between himself and the aggressive Fortian, and casually so. It seems K'zin has his own ideas about which Fortian should be dealing with 'Reaches because hand meet leather-clad ass-cheek of Pretty Boy N'rov, and a smirking K'zin adds, oh-so-innocently, "For luck." In the sky, Rasavyth isn't near Vhaeryth. Actually, Rasavyth isn't really near anyone. He's foreign to these skies and having gotten off to a slow start, he's trying to make up unoccupied distance between himself and the majority of the pack and the glowing gold beyond. Rhenth's teeth draw dragon ichor to the surface of Zirokth's tail, swelling and then spilling over to slide in droplets to the Weyr below him. The bronze doesn't bellow, but it does put an extra burst of speed into the sail of Zirokth's wings, finding that bit in himself to climb faster after the bright spot of his goal. He does not even stutter as his rider way below mixes himself in with physical violence. Though, it could be worse. A'dek is ready for N'muir's reaction, if not exactly a slap, and manages to swiftly sidestep it. Unfortunately, the sidestep ends with E'ten's foot tangling his and the bronzerider going down less than gracefully. He laughs (of course), but it's a dry sound before he finds his feet again. "Faranth," he breathes under his breath, casting a measuring gaze to Hattie. As she pitches up against the wall, Hattie's hands drop down to her skirts, to where N'rov's hand so recently was, and she stares about, attempting to discern just who did that. Elaruth stretches her wings wider and catches the nearest thermal current to coast on, to let it do the work for her while she lets her suitors catch up a little bit. No fun if she can't watch them as they watch her, after all. A few moments of that, spent admiring Adiulth's chosen path and considering Vhaeryth's, then she folds her wings and drops, suddenly and quickly enough that she might drop right back, all the way down, past Rasavyth and be gone again in a matter of seconds, looping to soar and skirt around the edges of the pack, reclaiming altitude. Perhaps she's commanded, for Hattie demands, "Higher," again through clenched teeth, and, in the end, it's not her honour that she goes (inadvertently?) defending, but N'rov's, as she lurches away from the wall to take a sharp swing at K'zin, aiming for his jaw. B'rant chortles roughly at E'ten's 'footing' and N'muir's attempted head-slapping of A'dek, and then finds himself sizing up his fellow Fortians to see if they represent a threat to him/Rhenth. In the fray, he misses K'zin's bro-butt-love of N'rov, but that's not terribly important, anyway, especially since Hattie's fist is zinging past him to try and connect with K'zin. In the skies, Rhenth growls his triumph at drawing ichor, then falling silent at Zirokth surges farther ahead with pain as an impetus. Funny, though: there's too much 'violence' being committed by others in this pack of males for the young Fortian bronze, and soon enough he's dipping a little below the main Flight...and inadvertently treated to a clearer sight of swirling and looping Elaruth. Her artistic flair pulls a loud croon from his lungs in admiration, and as she draws higher, he veers a bit left. Rhenth might lose a little ground, but he's free and clear to arrow further up, up to match the general path of the glowing, golden star. Steady, steady and true. Satisfied? E'ten certainly looks like it once A'dek takes a tumble in not the most graceful of manners. But rather than turn his back on that particular bronzerider, he does keep something of an eye on visiting rider. No one gets to mess with N'muir, unless it's him. Unspoken. This time it seems both man and dragon are at least in agreement on one thing. Fighting isn't necessarily their tactic, even if there as that smug satisfaction that surfaced. Adiulth's path after Elaurth isn't so wide as to miss the gold, but he's taking advantage of the thermals to give the necessary boost when it's time. He can at least admire her - until she changes the game by diving down. It wouldn't be the same otherwise - his rider's thought? Or the dragon's? It doesn't matter. Not when he catches the next thermal to launch himself in the direction that Fort's Queen decides to take. Zirokth does not drop where the queen does, for all that he was one of the few closest to her tail. Instead, he maintains that hard won height, betting on her surpassing him again, and angles for where they would intersect, if she does pass. A'dek draws himself to his feet, and though he flicks a look over E'ten, his attention is quickly claimed by the Weyrwoman who is throwing around fists. He moves closer to catch her hips, her arms, and draw her away from the fight. "Don't, stop. Focus on her," he murmurs quietly, softly. Evidently people who grab N'rov's ass get hit... if not always by the bronzerider in question, though N'rov's certainly swinging his fist around to... Not hit the Weyrwoman. No hitting the Weyrwoman. No hitting girls! Redirecting by lurching to the side, he loses some of his balance and grabs for the nearest shoulder that's neither of the other two principals' for support, swearing. Vhaeryth doesn't so much falter bodily as in his attention, snaking a look back over his shoulder; in the end the bronze only follows his senior queen so far, and without matching her lows, angles over to try for her highs once more. Only thing is, she's on the other side of the pack now, which means others between the two. He spends no time with Bijedth's flourishes, but when it comes to shouldering his way past other males when he can, he's not in the least above that. Elaruth's unexpected drop places Rasavyth into a much better position, which means K'zin is grinning when Hattie's fist impacts his jaw. The 'Reaches man rocks back with one step, but with all his experience being hit in the face and elsewhere, it doesn't faze him overly. He doesn't even try to hit her back. What he does do, however, is arguably not any smarter because he's shifting to try to get ahold of the goldrider, to keep a second strike from hitting home. And what's more dangerous than a foreign dragonrider trying to grab onto the goldrider while everyone's dragons are in heat? Poor, poor puppet. N'rov's there and gone touch drew confusion, but A'dek's move to confine Hattie draws a hoarse shout and the struggle to rid herself of all contact. She lashes out, elbows bent to strike where she can, right as she brings one leg up to kick, at A'dek's knees, hips - wherever she might strike him to just get him away and off of her. When K'zin too tries to subdue her, that shout draws out into a howl and redoubled efforts to escape, not to deliberately cause harm, but just to get her personal space back. As Hattie struggles, Elaruth lets out an uncharacteristic roar, her rider's panic taking hold, and she too is spurred to escape, by any means possible, quick wingbeats carrying her higher and higher again. As for her rider? Howl becomes terrified whimper. Cue one 6'8" wall of lean bronzer placing himself bodily between grabby K'zin and Duking it out Hattie to stop him, B'rant's side and back to the Weyrwoman, much of his front facing the 'Reachian. Growled rather like his own dragon to the interloper, "Stay the shell away from her..." Warning. Hattie's paniced shout and howl soon have him lifting strong arms out and seeking to violently shove K'zin away, even as he's trying to partially turn to look at his Weyrwoman and those even nearer her. "Leave her alone!" is barked loudly, in anger and concern. Rhenth too is becoming more and more protective of his queen, the bronze surging upward and forward with a speed bourne of anger and upset so that he can close with the gold and bellow at her other followers. « Leave her alone! » "Faranth." The word is guttural, low. For all that Hattie kicked him, there is no evidence that A'dek is hurt by it, though he releases her and draws back, away. Instead, he seems to be watching the goldrider with a hint of narrowed eyes and judgment. Zirokth, however, ignores still his rider below as he chases, chases. Longing fills his essence, the touch of his mind, for all that he was spurred into this chase by his rider. N'muir's slap doesn't connect with A'dek and the momentum sends it flying beyond the intended target and beyond, twisting N'muir's body uncomfortably no thanks to his wounded ribs. He winces and hunches again, a hand cupping his side as he staggers closer to Hattie. It leaves him wide open to receive N'rov's clinging hand on his shoulder - a hand that very quickly draws N'muir's attention away from his side. "Oh. You." Relief in his tone. Maybe he was expecting another elbow. But N'rov is quickly forgotten in exchange for A'dek, N'muir diving at the Telgarian with a possessive roar of, "Don't touch her!" Bijedth is thrown off by Elaruth's game and Vhaeryth's shouldering by, the dramatic bronze sent twisting into the sky and knocked off course, arching high above and far, far from Elaruth's path as she makes her escape, Bijedth left struggling to catch up. Higher is better, though Vhaeryth's strategy's disrupted when the queen's emotions flare; instinctively he surges higher too, to catch and protect and catch if he can, regardless of the pummeling he may not be able to avoid along the way. Even as Bijedth twists off-course, the younger bronze's tail lashes, his wings cut at the air and... then there's a whole lot of derision for Rhenth and his bellowing, a flare of glass-over-steel brilliance. N'rov's righting himself at the same time thanks to N'muir, and yeah, it's him, and no, he's not going after N'muir as the man disappears into a dive. Or Hattie, even. He's cursing under his breath some more, rhythmic and purposeful like some uncle trying to call down lightning. Adiulth knows something's amiss by the mere fact that Elaurth's flight takes on something different in flight and the tone. Instinctively his first response is to fly after her, bronzen wings trying to make up the distance after Rhenth. Quick? Insistent? Quite likely. 'Protect' is the first thought on the dragon's mind before anything else. She's to be kept from harm of whatever sort. It's Important. E'ten, on the other hand, knows and sees what's wrong. With N'muir reaching for A'dek first, he's not too far behind while keeping to the wall rather than get into the mix with the other riders. B'rant's hands never make contact with the 'Reaches rider. There are a lot of things happening in that little knot of people before the big Fortian has the chance to reach for him. A'dek's closeness to Hattie and the way that it's forcing her uncomfortably close between them has K'zin's hands withdrawing before they find real purchase; what kind of idiot bronzer would he be to effectively help push her into the arms of another? Whatever kind it would be, K'zin isn't it. (At least not tonight.) Maybe Rasavyth senses some part of that panic, or maybe he's just skilled enough to read the situation: no one wants a panicked gold, it might spoil the eggs; make the dragonets all sickly and given to fits! And since he intends for those dragonets to be his offspring, he'll not abide that chance, so K'zin has already withdrawn steps and is out of reach by the time B'rant arrives between them. In contrast, Rasavyth is surging after Elaruth. This time, where attacked, A'dek lashes back in the promise that was shown earlier in his graceful duck of wherry and in the sharp cut of his elbow. It is apparent, where he slams his own fist back towards N'muir's face, that the hand-to-hand training that his own Weyr has provided has caught onto natural talent and been built with regular training. "Stupid bloody Fortians," he growls, even where his weight is born down on N'muir with purposeful movements. This time, Zirokth is affected by his rider below, bellowing out his own distress and momentarily struggling between the instinct to seek out his rider and perhaps his deadly thoughts and to chase the gold, losing his own lead. Is it any wonder that, in the chaos, Elaruth seeks out familiarity? She drowns for a moment, furious and unwelcoming, then starts to even out her course, aiming right for Rhenth and Adiulth. Where's Bijedth? Not where she can find him. She slows, little by little, a more than pleasing height achieved, and flips over onto her back, drifting, until she loses momentum and rolls over again to survey those below her. Which one? Which one? Does she decide? Suddenly, her shoulders give and she folds her wings a little to tumble neatly towards Adiulth, seeming to trust that he will bring the madness to an end. Closer and closer she drifts, close enough to brush hide to hide. Is it just a matter of reaching out to claim her? As her queen seems to surrender, Hattie staggers free of the knot of activity, giving a last swipe of loose arms at anyone who gets too near. For once, that bed looks like sanctuary, and so she plants herself down on its edge, gripping the sheets with both hands. Thank Faranth for small favors! B'rant's not one to use bulk over brains the first try, so when K'zin backs off, he doesn't bother following. There's a Hattie/Elaruth to protect, after all! His attention is given in full to the tussle to his flank, the towering young man swiveling fully about, glaring chill promise at A'dek. With more fists flying comes a brawler's grab of long arms towards the Telgari in an attempt to grapple and squeeze him in a vise-like grip from the back. At this point, Rhenth's nearly beside himself with agitation and anger -- very rare for the mellow and steady bronze -- nearly frantic to reach and protect and mate with Elaruth. « I'll protect you! » is called longingly to the queen. Arms, paws, and claws reach out to grasp at the gold star that plummets so near him... So CLOSE! yet so far... Just out of reach of lashing tail and neck, the big bronze howls as Aduilth claims the 'prize,' leaving Rhenth to spiral down with tired wings and downcast head to the Weyr lake far below. "N'muir, you're supposed to.." Almost growling out those words, E'ten was just about to push off the wall and reach for the other man's elbow when the shock of the events above hit him. Adiulth is more than willing to be the familiar face in the sea of confusion, of course. He's there and willing. What dragon wouldn't be? Reaching out to catch, the question really does become: Is he really that close to make the connection with Elaurth? Walking the balance between the weyr and skies isn't the easiest place to be. Not when Hattie's safe. Safe? There's a bit of disconnect on his part. Wait? What? Bijedth's pursuit of Elaruth is further slowed by N'muir getting a swift fist in the shoulder and neck, and the bronze emits a roar that is half-pained half-frustrated. N'muir catches himself crudely on the corner of some other rider's shoulder, using the other person's body to help himself himself from collapsing until he finds his feet under him. He whirls, teeth clenched and anger flaring, looking as though he might throw a fist back at A'dek but suddenly his expression falls and he drops his hands, eyes glazing over. Bijedth's course carries on, and little by little he gains power and momentum, violently thrusting every ounce of energy into rocketing towards Elaruth, towards Adiulth, at least setting himself upon throwing off their course if nothing else, and doing so with a mighty (and overly dramatic) roar. Until it's over, it's not over; Vhaeryth certainly isn't about to stop until someone gets the job done, but then, he also isn't about to miss gloating in Rhenth's general direction as the even younger bronze falls. Not that that's the best tactics, with other dragons in the air, with the game almost done; sensing an oncomer too near him, right in his wingspace, he twists and shoves with strong hindpaws to try and thrust the other dragon away. N'rov, for his part, stands in a temporary island of stillness, made comedic by how fists and shoves pass by and over and he's just standing there. Until, sharply, "Hurry up." A'dek is spared, then, because held as he is by B'rant, there is no way he could have protected himself from N'muir's fist. He tries, certainly, to shrug off B'rant's grip, growling a threatening, "Get your hands off me, weyrling. I am leaving." And if he does, the bronzerider is true to his word, turning on his heel and striding from the flight weyr, given that there's no way for Zirokth to catch up with either Elaruth or Adiulth. Hesitation. Doesn't Adiulth want her? Does Elaruth want him? Hattie's head tips right back, closed eyes directed towards the ceiling, as Elaruth draws one of her hind legs back and kicks out at Adiulth (taking a page from Vhaeryth's book?), sinking claws into hide for the mere fraction of a second that it takes damage to be done, as if the strike itself weren't enough. It's as though she uses him to alter her course again, wings flaring, and the moment she's coasted away from the small bronze is the moment that she gets all but bowled over by Bijedth. Hattie gasps and Elaruth lets out an alarmed, off-key sound, but the queen twines herself around her mate all the same. To steady them? For safety? Just because? She doesn't kick Bijedth away. Caught is caught, no matter which of them did the catching. He's shocked by what seems like Elaruth's choice and Rhenth's sudden giving up...B'rant indeed holding the growling A'dek for a long moment before he simply lets go. It occurs in tandem with his spent lifemate falling away from Elaruth -- Elaruth who passed him up -- the human part of the pairing sagging a little as his consciousness appears fully behind his eyes again. Without another word, the frowning, wincing B'rant is departing on slightly stumbling legs towards the Bowl...soon surprised again by the word from sad sack Rhenth that it's ultimately Bijedth who's flown the gold. Well, at least things have stayed the same. Rasavyth isn't a familiar face. He isn't a familiar wing or claw or tail. He's only foreign. As Elaruth makes moves to choose her mate, the 'Reaches bronze doesn't seem particularly put out. He's still going through the motions of chase, but likely resigned to the end. It begs the question, if he wasn't heart-and-soul-set on winning, why did he bother to make the waves by chasing? This is Rasavyth, so there must be a reason. Once the gold is caught, his path is taking him far and away from other chasers that might want to take out their aggression on one of the only outsiders. K'zin's feet still have him shifting away from all the fists and elbows and knees, from the knot of movement, until he's accidentally bumping back-side-to-front (well, side anyway) into N'rov. Indeed. That would be the question. For all that Adiulth's willing to be the protector for Elaurth, it does weigh into her consideration for him. And in that, both rider and dragon simply don't know for sure. All familiarity aside. And until that hindleg makes contact, it seems that it should be. Them together. Instead, bellowing loudly as the claws sink into hide - that hurts! His wings had almost begun their final closing until she pushes away. Deciding or uncertain, they may never know. All that is clear is that Bijedth runs into Elaurth with that speed. Below, E'ten might be exhaling. In relief? In shared pain? What he might not realize is that he had begun turning in Hattie's direction to close the distance between them until that sharp stab of pain reverberated between bronze and man. Now, he's veering away from Hattie with a hand outstretched for any point of stone to push himself away out of the intended trajectory. If N'muir even notices A'dek leave, he doesn't give the man a passing look. In this moment, all there is is the distance the separates him from Hattie, and he moves towards her as if drawn with sudden magnetism; not simply wanting but needing to be there with her. Anyone or anything in his way is unceremoniously shoved out of the way including E'ten if the man is so unfortunate as to get too close. Hattie is his, and as soon as she's within reach of eager hands and lips, N'muir will claim his prize as Bijedth steadies his and Elaruth's course into the morning light. |
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