Gold Bennueth's flight

Western Weyr - Corrals
Enclosed by a high wooden fence on one side and the steep walls of the weyr on the other is a half acre of grass that holds the Weyr's herdbeasts and wherry flock. While this dragon feeding area is smaller than most of the Weyrs on Pern, there is still enough room for a large dragon to swoop down and grab his dinner with relative ease.
The vast majority of residents bustle back and forth on their many errands, keeping Western Weyr running smoothly. Children released from lessons scamper across the bowl while weyrlings bathe by the lagoon and practice. Delivery wings can be seen coming and going all day long overhead.The days grow slightly shorter as the turn winds its way into fall, and the air becomes gradually a bit cooler, carrying with it smells of moist earth and changing leaves.


It's early morning at Western Weyr, a thick fog has settled around the lagoon and off the ocean, making sight a little more difficult at these early hours before the sun has time to burn the moisture away. For the moment, the world is quiet, even as the glowing form of Bennueth decends from her ledge above, wings buffeting the fog around her into great whirl winds and violent whirling eyes intently make for the corrals. Unlike most, she lands quietly some distance away from it, watching the milling herd even as she approaches. The silence is broken suddenly by Bennueth's challanging roar, splitting the air with it as she bunches her limbs and launches after the herdbeasts, taking just a second before she lands on one of the larger creatures, ripping upwards fro mthe throat and splattering blood all over her front, before roaring her challange once again.

Omasuth has been lazily watching the proddy queen, the brown fixing her with a curious amathistine stare. Then the roar startles him to his feet. The brown bolts for the paddock as well, landing with one talon breaking the neck of a buck even as his body is skidding to a stop. The beast's head rolls off into the dust, the impact and Omasuth's momentum neatly decapitating it. Omasuth raises his prize to drink, snorting in annoyance at the dust mixed with the lifegiving wine.

Really, L'ton doesn't have proddy Rea radar. Honestly. Dhonzayth, however, has a finely tune proddy female radar, particularly after all those turns of trying. And so, while L'ton tends to business at Western during this early foggy morning, the Istan bronze is tending to some business of his own. His brassy body was obscured by the ringlets of fog that have settled over the ground, sweeping over the territory that he has decided to claim as his own for the time being. As the golden, glowing sun that is Bennueth descends, her wings shifting the fog as if her very being is burning it away, he's answering her challenge, trumpeting with a brassy sound, before he's taking off into the grounds, cornering a large beast against the fence, toying with it just for a moment, before he's toppling it over, growling for a moment before he's burying his muzzle into it, bleeding it dry as coppery rivulets begin to drip down his throat, like narrow streams moistening the dry ground of the plains.

Typical Nasrinth, crouching low as he slides his belly along the ground, creeping forward as if to spy on something rare glimmering in the fog, hoping not to startle it away. Should one have noticed his direction of arrival, it wouldn't have been far from the Weyrling training field, though the swirls of fog quickly help to mask his exact trajectory. There as he hunkers down for a stolen view of the gold, his eyes begin to dance passionately - for her scent is caught and her glow now apparent in the hundreds of tiny reflections of his gaze. The willowy ruddy brown tail of his swishes in the grass behind him, causing plumes of fog to coil and twist. With his talons poised, he flexes them to feel the earth below him, rumbling with pleasure as he senses the vibrations from the sadistic gold as she does away with her first kill. As a ghostly visage come to take up her challenge, he abruptly breaks from his hiding place with an abrupt thrust of wings, casting away the dispell of fog as he leaps over the fence to strike down a herdbeast, mimicing her display by ensuring the beasts blood sprays about in every direction.

All eyes seem to be on the glowing beacon that is the queen. Ciragath is no different as the large bronze keeps his wings outstretched in the air. His large wings beating the fog away from him as he comes down upon a herdbeast; nearly crushing it under the force of his landing. AS the herdbeast is raised to drink from, his eyes are already searching for another morsel as to which to drink from. One beast isn't enough for this dragon. A low rumble of annoyance flows from his chest at the fog obscuring his view of everything.

Gensoth has arrived just a short time ago to deliver a box of fine hardwood samples to a rider at Western. Honest. It was just a simple deliver task for the morning. But no sooner hadthe cargo been dropped when he heard the call of a proddy Gold and his more draconic instinct took over. Now he seeks her out, Gold, glistening. He heads for the smell of blood and basic urges, blending in with the rest of the Bronzes. He searches for her, eyes quickly grasping onto the view of shimmering gold that seems to glow brighter with each second. Where has she been all his lfe? The mist swirling around her intensifies the shimmer of her Gold hide, smooths the sounds of her voice to fill the air without the echos. She is everywhere at once.

Glyith glides down with some urgency above. There's a slight flickering in the hazy light that betrays the shadow of his passing over the herd. Naturally, he's aware, along with all of the males in the area, that the time has come. The dragon makes a single no-nonsense sweep over the scattering herd to ease his choosing and then selects a fat buck. The beast bleats, terrified as it raises its head a fraction to late to see Glyith above. The beast is snatched upward, to a feeding ledge away from the other suitors. Only when clear of the growing mayhem, does he drop his muzzle to blood.

Bennueth notices the convergence of bronzes and browns, making a bubbly hiss from her throat even as she remains latched upon her prey. Her wings spread, arching in the air to play intimidation to those that have noticed her golden sheen— she is the law here, the judge, jury and exucutioner. Adding to her tension, she turns her body to keep an eyes on all these males, before atleast one familiar bronze, too familiar, is seen. At Dhonzayth, she spreads her wings higher, hissing at the bronze before lifting her dry prey and flinging it at him in her distain. The Western bronzes are given her hind in, tail whipping at them as she turns her back, launching again as she makes for a second herdbeast, twisting her wings a little to keep the herd going the way she wants them too, before she lands upon another, putting her full weight upon it as it gets no time to even squeal anguish, crushing it's body under her firm weight.

The herds are Bennueth's, and truly hers alone. It is only with her blessing that the males should be intruding upon her stake, upon her claim, to take from the herd that she's so carefully sending this direction and that. Of course, the only blessing Dhonzayth receives from Bennueth is a flung carcass, and he's trumpeting, rocking back on his haunches, spreading his wings with a bit of disdain. Hey! He just wants to join the circle around the campfire that is the warm glow of the golden Western queen. His first beast is finished, and he's sending himself skywards with a short hop, dropping down on a wherry who for a moment attempts to buck him off, before its neck is snapped, and Dhonzayth has another kill - Bennueth is not the only executioner, not for now, and this bronze plans on challenging her very law.

Bowing his head low to drink on the fresh kill, Nasrinth systematically offers his respect to Bennueth, as if offering to be her royal guard for the time to come, his life and limb for her cause. Though, it's hard to assume that much would be perceived in a simple motion, so he simply ensures that enough energy is consumed by taking what he can of one slaughter and mirroring it in his next by butchering a second beast. To wit, once he has gained all that he can from the kills made, he glides through the morning fog, crouching low on his belly when Bennueth turns her back from them. It was to be expected. A servant couldn't possibly hope to catch the eye of the crown by merely doing what was done. It will have to be proven in the skies, above the settling mists of morning. There, perhaps, he can break the law she lives by and convince her of a judgement that would benefit his desires.

Omasuth wiggles his flame colored body as he also tosses his dry kill in Dhonzayth's direction, growling a dragon snicker of approval at Bennueth's outright rejection. He lifts his head and roars his approval of the queen, the volume comparable to that of a much much larger bronze. He leaps catlike and comes down on the other end of the paddock on a new herdbeast, this time holding it up like vintner does a winebottle before tearing its head off again and drinking from the crimson stream that pours from its still twitching form. He raises the beast in a mimickry of a human toast to Bennueth before roaring in excitement. He preens, tossing aside his second dried beast and strutting towards his third, chest thrown out, wings and tail lashing as he corners the poor ovine, simply leaning on it until it breaks open with a crunch. The blood rolls freely down his chest, enhancing the flame patterns on his skin and turning them an unearthly hue of russet.

K'win gives two flaps of his strong wings and with only a moment catches sight of a prime beast, juicy, sweet and helpless. With outstretched claws he grabs it, even as it tries to run to avoid the other dragons and terrified beasts. In another moment it's neck is broken, wrent, and giving forth the hot and sweet juices to be drunk by the eager dragon. Gensoth keeps one eye on the magestic Gold, the other eye on the location of the other males. He is a stranger to them all but it matters not at all. He bugles his praise to the Queen of Dragons! Her kill is most audacious. His body twists as he curls around his own kill. He sucks out the jiuces and bites into the meat to squeeze out more of the energy filled drink. Blood awashes the hide of the bull till it is red. But even that gets licked.

A muffled thump and a bleat comes from the direction of Ciragath as Bennueth turns her back to him and the bronze rumbles low. The bleating sounds another time before a crunching of bones silences it and copper blood pools over his hand before he brings it up; drinking down what he can get from that waste of a kill. His eyes scour the corrals for a new kill, but they're torn back to the glowing prize that is the gold. A loud bugle is let out to praise the queen that is everyone's target of every dragon's affection.

Glyith notes, with a mixture of distain and respect lacing through his deep rumble the size of her wings and the flex of her muscle as Bennueth shows her prowess to the others. His gaze is measuring. His eyes flicker also to the fog, still hanging thickly in the crepuscular atmosphere. Certainly, not easy — but a worthy game is afoot. He continues to watch her even as he dispatches another with a quick swipe of his foot, tripping a beast and then dispatching it by reaching over with an impaling talon when it falls. He bloods, and then lifts his face and muzzle again to test the wind.

Bennueth continues to have her head lowered to the beast, but the tell-tale sign of bunch limbs is evident to those who are paying close attention. For in spite of what the males are doing, or how far they are along with their kills, the small gold uncoils her tense muscles and launches into the air, flinging her last kill with just as much venom as the last, though this time with no target. Unlike most females that take to the high skies, Bennueth instead turns on wing, just above the males in the corrals, her pinions twisting to turn her towards the lagoon. With her initial downward push, she takes a parallel route to the ground, out towards the lagoon's mouth which leads to the sea beyond. Tucking in her wings just enough to make sure she doesn't hit the sides of the lagoon's outward arch, she ruffles the water with her passing, roaring her challange once again. Come, outrun the wind, and see if you can catch it in your feeble sails…

Omasuth lets out a responding roar, leaping upwards and making a beeline in pursuit of Bennueth. The instant he hits a thermal he begins gathering altitude, twisting like a firey kite on the wind. A snarl of disdain for the other males is the only response he makes to them as he whirls with agility that the bronzes would be wise not to underestimate. He winds between two of the pursuing bronzes, lashing at them with his tail just to prove he can. The brown turns a circle upside down before evening out again, not just catching the wind but manipulating it to his advantage in true brown style.

Ciragath tosses his head up, the last kill hanging from his muzzle tossed to the side with a snap of it's already decimated neck. A returning roar echoes from his maw as he unfurls his wings; a prompt beat sending fogs coiling away from him in loose whirlpools of mist as the bronze gets his bulk up into the sky. His eyes flick towards Omasuth, focusing in on him as he makes to come up right in front of the brown while keeping a primary bead on the glowing gold. A snort sent at the smaller dragon. As if you have any chance of catching a gold of Western…

Gensoth bugles as the Queen suddenly makes her move. He's ahad enough to drink. Enough of this nonesense! Now is the time for fast flight! He gulps in air to fill his lungs and launches himself upwards, making for the high skies. This time he takes a longer look at the outlay of the land below him. He feels the pulse of his heart and the beating of the air currents filling his wingsails below as the warming air begins to raise with the sun. His wings tip this way and that to help him fly free of the other males to avoid collisions. They are all hungry for the same thing now. Or the same one. Where is she? He feels her glow as well as sees it. cleverly zipping through the arch. He notices how her image is reflected back up fromt he ocean waters beneat her. It is a thrilling sight!

Dhonzayth was attempting to pay attention, as he drained his second beast, but then there's a drained animal flying through the air from a completely different direction, and he's left to dodge Omasuth's waste. Thankfully, the third of the airborne animals is send in a different direction, and after a moment, Dhonzayth is able to regain his composure, set back by the attacks from the other males and the law that is Bennueth herself. Tightening up, Dhonzayth's brassy body is launched from the ground after Bennueth, at a full gallop through the air as he speeds through the wispy fog, blending in with the patches that linger, and taking the place of the others. Dipping his wings, he's slipping through the arch like a herder through a canyon entrance, and its off over the waves of the sea, chasing the golden star that is the law.

So the trial begins when Bennueth decides it, leaving the witnesses and defendants to their gaping as Nasrinth takes stride in the proceedings, being of the first to take the bench - or in this case the sky. Such is the court in which a jester must try to survive, being judged for his every movement and every juggle, such a juggling that Nasrinth currently attempts with his wingspan gaining him height. Each movement will decide the fate of the trial, each action provoking a final judgement. He goes with it, wings snapping against the fog riddled air like a judge's gavel used to have order. Though there certainly can't be any order now, as suitors from all over attempt their muscles and strengths to try their hand at swaying the judge. As for this bronze, Nasrinth tries hard to veer along with Bennueth's tricky test, nearly colliding with one or two males as he eventually uses what standing structure he can to help push himself in the right direction. Already it takes a toll on the bronze as though he were first to be off the ground means nothing, falling behind the quicker more agile browns. Yet, instead of keeping with her a wingspan's distance from the ground, he averts his direction skyward, gradually gaining in altitude as he tries to pull himself closer to Bennueth, trying to be seen as he gets lost in the motions of the others.

The morning sunlight does not lend a helpful glint to Glyith's hide to catch the eye of the gold. Indeed she is already aloft, holding her court. There is only a dull silken blur as he shifts into motion first, and then flight, reacting to the rising of Bennueth, trying to keep her in sight as the others kick up dust with their passing that leaves an acrid burn in his nose. He bugles, pleased that she has chosen to fly over the lagoon, the clearer air will clear the thick smell of the killing grounds away. The sounds have died away now, as the dying heardbests have all been blooded and the suitors are aloft. He is the last, leaving behind an eerie and expectant quiet that descends on the spectacle that competes now only with the breaking dawn.

Bennueth gains enough altitude above the water to dip and twist in the remaining fog as she heads further out to the sea, barrel rolling upward that causes the fog to shift into a whirl wind as she leaves it. Rising above her semi-disguising fog, the gold suddenly dives into it once more, as if the microscopic moisture beads might cool her burning hide… But alas, the warmth of dawn calls to her, and eventually she leaves the fog entirely to rise up towards the skyline, a gentle slope upwards, using her sheer stamina to stay ahead of those chasing her, each wing beat catching the air as she looks back over to those who follow. Bugling her pleasure at them, she dips and twists, watching their movement over her shoulder as she cups the air with each beat. Like a gunfire blast, she encourages them, challanges them to prove themselves… flame licked thoughts as she catches a thermal and pulls much higher into the air, where the oxygen gets thin and where only dragons roam. She roars again, barrel rolling in her excitement of their chase, another blazing gun shot. Dance, heathens, dance.

Omasuth lashes back unexpectedly, attempting to sink his talon into Ciragath's tail and rake in retalliation for blocking his view of the golden Bennueth. Thorougly prepared to play dirty, the brown whirls through the crowd of bronzes flaunting his smaller size and greater agility in a series of high speed circles and rolls meant to prove his endurance and agility to Bennueth. Always the golden one is in his sights, the firey violet whirling in his eyes as he lustfully inspects every inch of the gold one's upward slope as he growls his approval. A gold capable of such feats of flight earns a roar of excitement as he all too willingly does as she commands, dancing left and right, swaying through the breeze and turning barrel rolls, loops, lazy circles and effortless spins. Perhaps the bronzes have the advantage in size, but no bronze can match this firey brown in a compeition of dance.

T'would seem that the chaser has become the chased, the sheriff has become the outlaw, and the very one in control will soon be controlled. While the order of the West has been disrupted on this foggy morning over the Western Seas, Dhonzayth is doing his best to adapt to it, to take advantage of it. Driving onwards by desire that burns just as brightly in him as it does in the golden target, he remains in the fog, letting it disguise him, disguise his progress, as to not tip her off to early. After all, she much be caught in the act, or surely the he'll never be able to claim the reward. After all, it is the reward that he's after, for capturing such a wanted woman as Bennueth. Fleeing into the rising sun, he's forced to leave the fog, forced to rise upwards, shooting upwards like warning shot, catching a thermal to aid his pursuit. He has a fresh mount, as fresh as any of the others, and he will not let this golden one flee so quickly.

Twisting, turning, looping over his own body to follow the gold into the sky; Ciragath pulls off moves that seemingly surprise himself as the large dragon falters slightly in the air after twisting over his own body; his tail flicking out of the way of the brown's talon in the process. He's going to feel that one in the morning. Rising up out of the fog into the dawn sky, and then falling back down into it was an annoyance at least as it obscured his vision of Bennueth. As the flight grows skywards, Ciragath beats his wings to merge himself into the gaggle of bronzes once more. He's not against using his size to push his way through the pack towards the front.

Gensoth beats his wings then stretch out and glide, sail, then beat again to pull him further upward. She will want altitude. She needs it. He does not need to know this beyond instinct. As she bugles he answers. He dips down his right wing to pull him into a curve that slide him a little closer to where she sails. He quickly closes wings to avoid rakes and claws, turning his head to lead his body into a spin that pulls him quickly away from some other blur of a male dragon who is more impetuous and angry in his chase. Once clear his wings snap out and are quick to reclaim the air beneath him. Mightly flaps and he regains some lost distance. If he can make his way to her he prefers a clean, unmarked, undamaged body to present to her. He scans the skies…where is that glow? Above? Below? Ah, a little upward and behind. With his whole body he slides around and upward. The air is his firend. She is his challenge. The rest are like dross for the wind to beat away. Closer to the pack but not too close. He beats to gain altitude.

Nasrinth has gained the altitude she climbs up to before she does, having watched her heated golden hide play in the spray of the water. Aching with a desire that bleeds from romantic of hearts, the jester once again tries to capture the queen's eye while her pack of suitors attempts to do the same. But he, just a jester with a servitude linked to the golds of Western can merely hope that a foreign ruler won't steal her judgement before he can earn his own. It must be earned, it must be gained. And so he does, as much as his bomber bronze form can, he shows what agility a jester can have, looping around the fluffy white clouds high up in thin atmosphere, collecting the clouds on the tips of his wing sails as he flips and rotates. Bronze and golden hide slips in and out of the cloud cover, with a smoky aftertaste burning into the minds of all the other dragons. If she was the fire, he was the smoke that rose out of the ashes. It was as if they were meant to be, a duet of heat and flames, a duet of countless passions. And soon, as if giving in to what she desires, he tries to dance for her in the air, using his energy to provide her with some comical relief - since he nearly does himself in by spending too long on his back trying to fly upside down.

Glyith can't help but answer Bennueth's summons to twist and play in the damp chill of familiar skies The call is older than he is and all who are of the Blood must answer. All who feel the irresistible urge of the sky and the heat of the oldest dance there is must answer! He distorts her whirls of fog as he follows her through the air, but the fog leaves its mark too, little droplets of moisture begin to freeze on his leading edges, sparkling like unpolished diamond in the dim light. He dare not try to follow her barrel roll. His size leaves him less nimble than even some of his fellows, so instead he tries to half her circle, cutting across the radius of her turn, using the shorter distance to gain some time. The ice droplets sheet off his wings now in a little mist, dislodged by his gain in speed, trailing out behind him in a transitory puff, there for only a moment.

Bennueth gives a bit of an ungainly squeal of excitement for those that humour her, the young gold shining her pleasure at them by mimicing some of these movements that each does, even as she pulls to near the brink of what could possibly be allowed for those that breathe oxygen, puffing a little as the levels thin out even more. But even she knows instinctually that dispite her tries, she can never truely reach for the stars, and so the defiant gold tucks back her wings and falls towards the expanse of water and the small islands of her home. Dropping like a stone to the sea, she calls finally to her persuers, placing her final judgement as she encourages the lasso— or possibly the noose, of those that fly after her. And after that one challange, she proves the fire of her mind and the dust of her wings, arrowing downwards as gravity takes it's toll upon her form and the aerodynamics she lends upon it to pull her one last time away from the bronze and browns.

Omasuth simply folds his wings and drops, plummeting like a stone. His wings move only to steer his abupt plunge through the thin atmosphere. A roar of excitement bubbles from his throat as he reaches out to try and snare her. He dodges between the larger pursuers, using his small size to weave between their numbers and try to disrupt their own attempts at capture. His body flattens out, talons flexing outstretched to try and snare her in his arms.

While Bennueth may not be able to reach for the stars, Dhonzayth will always strive for the star that is the gold herself. The sheriff now truly the outlaw, the cowboy now the herdbeast, the end is all that is left to be written, and the falling golden stone encourages Dhonzayth to attempt to write his own ending to this tale. The gold rush is in full swing, and there's nothing that will stop this Istan bronze from his pursuit of the shiny, hoping to possess it for his very own. As she drops downwards, the jury has retired to contemplate the verdict, and Dhonzayth is unwilling to wait to simply be weighed and measured. One must make his own fate, and so, he's dropping after her, like a cowboy after an errant beast, with his wings outstretched, talons poised and neck ready to become a noose of sorts, to pull Bennueth in to himself, and earn the reward for stopping the outlaw's flight.

They always say what goes up must come down, and a proddy gold is no different. Ciragath's wings fold in and he arches in the air slowly, letting gravity take hold as he melds in with the rain of bronze and brown to try and snare the prize that falls with them. his arms primed for the catch, his wings tensing up to flare. Make this bronze's dream come true with a welcome home such as this.

Nasrinth attempts to untangle himself from his own limbs, obviously not inclined to do much of the aerial manoeuvres chromatics are born to excel at. Unfortunately it causes him to lose altitude that he so desperately vied for, righting himself only in time to notice the gleam of his desires tumbling further below the spread of his wings. Driven a little crazy, obviously to the point that he can't help himself, the jester attempts to make it, attempts to steal the queen away from her court into a shroud of secrecy. The mystery of his acrid smoke curls behind her fire, using what seconds he has to secure himself a final judgement. Would she ignore his objections to the foreign wings chasing after his verdict, or would she grace him with a strike of the gavel and announce his judgement for all to hear? It was to be a pursuit of a lifetime, and outcome he awaits with a baited breath as he juggles his body one last time through the crowd, diving downward with a collection of cloud vapors sheering off behind him. He's not like the others, he's here to serve her, always. In a desperate bid for her attention, for her to notice the jester amongst the crowd of stingy suitors, he flaps as he dives low, driving himself closer and closer…almost screaming that she could be the judge and the jury, but not to look right through him! See his neck stretching and his wings shadowing, come into his grasp and hook onto his willowy ruddy tail.

Gensoth swerves in, still too low. He's lost distance trying to avoid while trying to keep up. He swings in closer to the pack. With his heart he aches to be with her, so beautiful and glistening…and powerful! Yet…waitaminnit…She's dropping. Clever! He's still winging upward. He tries only now to slip in closer. He feels the other dragons beating close, all watching her. He bugles almost in despair. It aches! She's marvelous! He croons up to her, the warmth bubbling up in his heart. He spins closer the spreads his wings out for her in all his shades of desire. He even swishes his tail around in excitement. He's here for her!

Glyith spares a fraction of a second to glance and see if some of the other males are still squabbling amongst themselves for position. The thin air slips around his hide almost unnoticed except for its cold. Here, well above the shifting turbulence, here, in the clean unspoiled heights of his element, he will meet the outcome of his fate. It can be just as cold as the sky that now caresses him. A blink of surprise. The moment of distraction, only a fraction of a breath, ends as his attention snaps ahead of him again. He realizes, almost too late, that she is falling, and gaining speed. Well, in any dance you have to trust your partner completely. He folds his wings in faith, committing himself to her path in a moment of decision. Whatever comes, he has trusted this far. He will trust, again. He falls with her, closer and closer, faith pursues fate as it has always been, and will be. There is a flicker of surprise as he realizes he's closer than he thought… maybe…

Bennueth drops farther even as those above persue, flicking her wings out to slow her decent as she encourages the closing of the gap. Wheeling her head about, she snaps at those that reach for her, desiring the catch, but rebelling at her instinct. As she cuts closer to the earth, she flares out her wings, turning violet eyes to her persuers as they come to finally claim her— she dodges bronze and brown, finally reaching to one persuer in particular, the jester of her court, the smoke to her flame. And so the golden law of the phoenix meets with the pyre of smoke that is Nasrinth, encircling her neck to twine with his own to prove that inspite of all, he isn't transparent to her…

Dhonzayth is left to find another own outlaw to wrangle, as another dares claim his reward, and with a trumpet, the brassy Istan bronze is dropping down to the ground. There will be another blip on the radar soon enough, certainly.

Gensoth feels the need to get closer to her. This means he has to get closer in with the local boys. Lucky slobs, they get to be with her all the time. He growls as he has to pull in wings quickly to avoid another Bronze. As quickly as he can he recovers. He's lost distance. He is doomed! Best to go home now while he can before the searing sensations of shame and defeat sweep in again.

Omasuth opens his wings with a painful CRACK! The brown whines as he halts his downwards momentum, gliding slowly back towards the Weyr. He drops under the archway guarding the lagoon and mincingly swims his way back to Aoriya. No pulled wings, but definately some painful muscles.

Ciragath has lost this one, but he'll have another chance. There'll always been another gold flying, or even a green. Though that doesn't get rid of the feeling that he gets as he flares his wings, flying back to his weyr to just pout for a good few hours. How's T'lin' going to get down now…

Glyith fares no better than a brick now, as his speed is too great to pull out of the dive. He does manage to slow his decent, tumbling into the water at a safe speed at least. He bobs to the surface, stretching out to rest and float a while.

Nasrinth earns his verdict and it's in his favour. With a swirl of burning incense rising from his mind, he joins together with the gold, steering her away from those still wishing to ensnare her. Flame and smoke mix, thriving and living off one another like they often do. Using the momentum of their descent, the jester is quick to making off with the queen of the court, entwining with her as he supports her, reaching once more for the altitude as they enjoy the pleasures of a mating flight. Echos of a merry croon follow the pair as they reach for the stars yet again, but this time, without the pressures of the crowd watching, hiding behind the mists and clouds of secrecy to enjoy their moment.

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