Seryth's Survivor Flight

This flight was done Survivor-style, where the participants had to include a concept from a challenge (as selected by Thea) in their poses. The participants and spectators voted on who did the worst job, with the person receiving the most votes being eliminated from the flight each round, and the remaining chaser winning. The challenge answers were recorded in CAPS in the poses.


Xanadu Weyr - Feeding Grounds

A large portion of the eastern edge of the meadow has been fenced off, the corralling on three sides is located on the rolling meadow, while the fourth is located a short way up on the eastern hills. Within the large corral are a variety of beasts - ovines, bovines, and wherries - milling around, though the appearance of a dragon may send them one way or the other to try and escape. A small pond is set near one corner of the enclosure, and at times it reflects the low, bordering mountains.

Challenge One: Types of Parties

In a fair imitation of painting the town red, Rukbat has retired below the horizon in Xanadu this late spring evening, leaving the skies a festive scarlet hue. It is through these skies that Seryth circles into view, her body tarnished russet by the fading light as she descends from above in a joyful spiral, no doubt learned from a certain blue friend of hers. Whereas other queens might be irate and snarling, there's none of that from her. She's in a good mood and she's happy to share. A clarion call of invitation rings out across the area for those who will to join her at the buffet milling about in the feeding pens. Her siesta is done - now it is time for FIESTA!

Thea isn't far behind Seryth and it's obvious she's not herself - to those who know her, anyway. She's on the arm of some bronzer instead of her weyrmate and giggling up at something he's saying. Her movements are not the careful, sedate ones folks are used to seeing, no. She's swaying just a wee bit, very relaxed, maybe too much so. Perhaps this is why she's hanging onto the man's arm - he's helping her stay on her feet? Folks might suspect she's been drinking if they didn't know her.

A beast that's normally wrought of smoke and sparks is brought to fiery life as he descends to join the rest of the males in their festive gathering. But, this isn't due to be a TEA PARTY by any means, no no; Zaqalekhth is here for blood and blood alone, taking his place just off to a side and scoping out the herdbeasts as much as the queen herself. He swings his rose madder gaze off to study Seryth, a low, chipotle-smoky sound issuing from his maw. She might challenge with a fiesta … and he's just spicy enough to give that a try.

He's not inebriated, not with alcohol, despite the slight stagger to M'gaal's steps. It's just the effort needed to keep the beast at bay until he gets to where he thinks he needs to be. He slows a bit as he approaches the feeding grounds, a hand lifted to press against his temple and a low hiss escaping him that might be better suited to pass from his lifemate's maw. Something is muttered just under his breath, a disparaging utterance meant for the thoughts of his own. After a moment, his head finally lifts, dragon-hazed eyes seeing and unseeing, looking for something but, as yet, unable to spot it.

As the lowering of Rukbat paints the Weyr red, there's a glint of gold that sparks over the horizon, a trumpet sounded like the blaring honk of a noise maker found often in all sorts of parties. It's an irate sound when not used with the celebration of champaign or confetti, yet with the attention scowered from the simple noise, Nasrinth repeats it again - loud in the ears of most as he dips down and over the fence lines to land quickly in the feeding grounds. Delightful and uncharacteristically friendly, there's a drop of his muzzle again and a show of teeth. Eyes dart between the scurrying beasts and the glowing gold. Like a candle on a cake, this bronze snuffs out the light of the nearest beast with a huff and a snap, bringing the now limp beast toward Seryth, as if offering her a present - even if it wasn't her BIRTHDAY party.

N'kor regards his squawking bronze with a speculative gaze, having jumped up on the nearest fence to regard the scene. Upon the first kill that his dragon makes, N'kor shakes his head, "Too late to call you out of this, isn't it?" The gift giving earns him a puzzled look, before he murmurs, "That's right, swoon the lady… you fool, drink some of it yourself before she takes this to the skies." He doesn't realize that his old time drinking pal has also arrived on the scene, long since lost to the makings of this gold flight.

Challenge Two: Party Games

Seryth leaps amongst the stampeding herd, one foretalon batting at a plunging buck. The blow manages to topple the creature, the force sending the herdbeast skidding across the feeding grounds in a SPIN THE BOTTLE imitation, its lifeless body revolving several times as the young queen gallops after it with a merry chortle. She's enjoying herself! Were the beast's head the bottle's neck, it would be pointing at Zaqalekhth, to which Seryth gives a chuckling croon as if to say, 'I'll be seeing YOU later' before she drops her head and her jaws latch onto the buck's neck. The dust settles on her shimmering hide, muting the glowing gold in a cloak of rusty haze as she bloods the animal. She lifts her dripping muzzle to welcome the arriving males in time to see the gift Nasrinth brings. She's not one to turn down a present, not her! A chuckling warble of gratitude bubbles forth.

There's a rattle-rumble of amusement for Seryth's antics, the beast's eventual landing point being noted with a strange, clinical assessment. Zaqalekhth continues to rumble in a terrible, unsettlingly monotone melody; he paces around the panic-filled herd of beasts, tapping this one or that one in a grisly variant of DUCK DUCK GOOSE in which the creatures must duck or else be goosed. With teeth. Duck. Duck. Another duck — good, fast-moving little beast, that one. Ah, and there's the goose-that-isn't-really, a too-slow bovine that doesn't manage to get away from the bronze's flame-bright maw. He crushes the head of it in his jaws and then moves to drain it from the neck, talons reaching to gut it in his usual, inexplicable way.

Nasrinth leaves his gift at Seryth's feet when she comes to retreive it, curling his neck to the side to flaunt off his form, flairing his wings to give her a bit of a peak at the gun show. Indeed, one wing extends, folds back, then the other with the change of his head direction. Pow. Pow. Then a slight punctuation on his tail with another given shake of his body, pow! Sexy beast isn't it? Definitely not the slinking lurker that he usally is, but he ends up trying to go after one of the beasts that happens to dash bravely underneath his chest. Someone spooked it and it decided the safest place between a rock and a hard places was underneath this bronze's girth. But he can play, he can contort, one paw here.. a tail lifted, a back paw there, showing off his TWISTER skills to the masses. See, he caught the scurrying beast by the tail, holding it there with tangled limbs, curling his neck inbetween awkwardly held limbs, stretching before he snaps the life out of the beast. Mm mm good!

Thea winces at that resounding cry Nasrinth makes, clapping both hands to her ears. Her sway had the bronzerder beside her sliding an arm about her waist. He's not letting her get too far away, even if he's focusing more on his dragon in the pen rahter than her at this point. Thus steadied, Thea is safe to keep her hands over her ears until the roars and bellows quiet. Whenever that is. It's fair to say the place is not quite the serene place one might wish it to be at the moment. In spite of the racket, she finds something awfully funny as she watches. Draping herself on the rail, she bursts into a fit of giggling.

Challenge Three: Things You'd Wear to a Party

That one right there! Seryth, having finished with the carcass the bronze dropped at her feet, eyes the terrified beast running by and extends a forepaw, talons unsheathed to rake the still-moving doe from neck to hindquarters causing the skin to crinkle and shed much in the manner of a woman slipping out of her PAJAMAS. The now-nude carcass sinks to the ground soundlessly, tempting the young queen as the glistening meat is now visible. But her attempt to eat is halted mid-bite as her teeth lock on the carcass, her eyes shift to take in her rider and her growl of disappointment accompanies her pause. If a dragon could pout, Seryth would be doing it. She cannot stay angry, opting to suck the fluids from the beast instead.

"Don't." It's one word, meant for Zaq and spoken inadvertently aloud. M'gaal eventually makes his way to the fence and uses it to lean against, lacking trust in his own limbs to keep him from heading off at a sharp angle to the giggling goldrider just over there. Oh, he wants to; he's looking over there like she's something good for him … but, no, no, that's all Zaq, and he forces himself to shut his eyes.

N'kor has a moment of distraction at the giggling that's down the rail from him, his eyes widening a bit as for the first time he sees the rider of Seryth, unlikely having ever seen her before. He can't help but loosen the collar of his shirt, glancing down at himself to ensure he looks some what presentable. He even checks his breath, noting the ale flavour still on it. Grunting, he starts checking around in his pockets for mint leaves… hopefully he thought to bring them.

If this were a luau, then what Zaqalekhth does next might make some sense; something about the spill of intestines is compelling enough to make him take them up in his jaws and fling them over the neck of the next beast that's foolish enough to come too close. Congratulations, ovine! You've just been LEI'd. … okay, so it's not the kind of lei-ing that one would want, since it's soon followed up by the bronze surging forward to clamp down on the entangled ovine's neck and drain it quickly. More fuel for the fire, yes; he'll need plenty for when Seryth decides to take the party to the next level.

The gold bronze with his tail twisted up as he attempts to make short the drinking of the beast who believed there was a light at the end of his tunnel. There's always a darkness at the end of his, the poor remains of the beast now given evidence of that. It's an unspeakable horror that Nasrinth rights on the animal, bones, flesh, insides.. mashed and spread around, left playing with it until it's become a gross mess. Leaving it behind, he almost flicks his head in one direction as if to dismiss the leftovers, about ready to take on another beast. That's when he sits back on his haunches and looks down at himself, forepaw coming up and over his head, as if slicking back unseen hair. There's considerable time taken out to make sure his upkeep is most fashionable, now regally moving as if he was well dressed in a TUX.

Thea sobers and grips the rail, blinking to focus on the gold in the feeding grounds. "No. No you don't! Blood only, Seryth." It's muttered aloud only because in her state of mind, she's forgetting she doesn't need to say it. She glares right back at the young queen, not relenting one bit. When Seryth acquiesces, she's right back to her relaxed self, at least her flight-induced self, giving N'kor over there a little wave, but then she spots M'gaal. "Hey there!" She recognizes the man, squinting to see him better. And there's a handy fence right here to hang onto, so she doesn't need the bronzerider's arm any longer. She uses the fence to keep herself upright as she heads towards the rider from Ierne.

It's getting to be a theme with Inimeth lately, since he didn't make it back for Kilaueth's last. He's late to the party. Again. So's his rider for that matter, D'son not even visible for this shindig yet as his bronze gets his groove on and zooms into the feeding grounds still wearing the trappings of a bath: water streams off his flanks and along his wings like the wispy floating skirts of an ephemeral spring fling GOWN. He'd better hurry up too if he wants to be the 'beau' of the ball rather than a wallflower again. Curling green tendrils of thought slip Seryth's way, bright and energetic as he joins the fray to take down his first kill.

It takes M'gaal a moment to recognize the young woman; not because he doesn't remember, but purely because Zaqalekhth has been robbing him of the ability to connect faces to names at this moment. He manages to push that fiery influence back enough to lift a hand in greeting for the goldrider … but not enough to keep him from being drawn to move toward her. The fence is his support as much as it's clearly hers, his eyes straying only rarely to the carnage being wrought by the dragons. "Ah, hey, miss-" wait, wait, he's got a bit of focused brow-furrowing going on "-Thea. Thea. How are- ah. Jays, that's a stupid question to ask, isn't it?"

Challenge Four: Party Decorations

Seryth is pleased to have so much company for this shindig, but she needs the blood and thus follows her instincts. She croons to to a male here, nuzzles one there, but mostly attends to her needs. She does greet Inimeth with a bright warble - she knows him! When finally she has finished with meeting and greeting and eating(!) She takes to the skies without warning, although she's not exactly rocketing since she is not a green. She certainly quicker than as is her usual manner, wingsails snapping as she reaches for altitude. Were she a smaller dragon, surely she would be a streak, leaving a golden STREAMER behind her on the twilit sky. Alas the best she can do is promise fireworks later?

Oh /there's/ D'son. Not dressed for the party either, nope. He's wearing a towel, which might bring to mind bacchanalia rather than something more formal and he's wet to boot with foaming suds clinging to his arms and shins. "Shells!" he exclaims as he makes it to the fence rail and then blinks as he realizes just whose gold is rising and breathes her name out with wide hazel eyes: "Thea …" for a moment, his gaze is fixed on the goldrider, then he looks away quickly, color rising in his cheeks.

Only after making sure he didn't leave any stains on himself, Nasrinth continues to prowl the feeding grounds, making those little party noise maker sounds again here and there, an influx of bleats the closer he comes towards the other males. This is a bash and he'll make as much noise as he feels like it and even act like a little tot doing it, although a tot dressed for style, hrm. A flash of gold again has Nasrinth twisting, flicking that tail of his in another kah-pow gun show display, flaunting his muscles baby. Claws dig into the ground when Seryth pops up in flight, showering the ground with a CONFETTI of dirt and grass. He continues to show it as he shakes his talons a bit to dislodge the grass he had taken with him, snapping toward the streamer of gold before him.

N'kor watches the goldrider from the corner of his gaze, perhaps seeing the wave, but unlikely to return it. After all he doesn't really know her besides the fact that she has a gold.. and his bronze happens to be interested in chasing tail. Whatever the cause, he only pivots on the railing to keep a steady eye on the men she starts to be surrounded by - or that she herself surrounds. Squinting, the corner of his eyes show crows-feet, rubbing his chin before a bit of that showering dirt and grass can be felt raining over him. "For shells sake!" He jumps off the fenceline, looking up and sheltering his eye as he attempts to follow the progress of the dragons into the scarlet sky.

With plenty of blood in his belly to fuel that figurative fire within, Zaqalekhth is quick to surge after that illusory streamer, wings pumping with mechanical, calculated beats. All of that noise of his soon resolves in a heated hiss, like a fire just starting to be lit. As Rukbat bleeds on the horizon, that dying light skitters across the hide of the smoke-forged bronze to make him glow like a strange and carnally painted LANTERN that rises easily above the rest. Such effortless floating is only an illusion, however; as soon as he's skybound, he's in proper flight after Seryth, his tail a ribbon of smoke that trails after.

Quick! Eat faster! Inimeth has to really shake it down to get in a second beastie before Seryth makes her leap. In the end, he's not gotten as much blood as some of the others, and his muzzle is speckled with it, bronze gleaming through red like a latticework of decorative ribbons. As Seryth gains height, the polished bronze dragon makes an energetic leap upward himself, wings beating strongly against the swirl of air currents, taking the first steps into the dance that's promised above. Fireworks? Oh absolutely. Sun-dapples play out along the curl of spring greenery and flicker after Seryth's own golden streamer even as Inimeth himself angles after her, the blood from muzzle and talons falling away, floating almost for a moment to bloom as rusty blossoms of PAPER FLOWERS, before turning to so much gory detritus on the trampled feeding grounds.

Thea hangs one arm across the fence, a slow smile spreading it's way across her face as she -just- manages not to teeter. "I'm -way- better than when you last saw me." So she's no longer heavy with child, that's pretty obvious, but likely only partially why she's saying she's feeling so much better. And she's had not one drop of Special-special Mega Fruit to drink, either. She hears her name called, turns to blink at D'son in total surprise, him with his towel, there. "Weyrle- er, D'son?" For some odd reason she too flushes. Seryth's launch draws her attention and her mind up into the sky with it. She's less Thea and more Seryth with each wingbeat.

Thea's reaction only deepens the flush on D'son's face and with trembling hands he makes an attempt to secure that towel around his waist a bit better. "Inimeth took off …" he notes, completely unnecessarily and waves vaguely after his bronze, eyes lifting along with the path of dragons upward. A moment later his chin drops and one hand passes over his face, blinking like he's starting to have trouble seeing what's really around them and what's born from aloft.

M'gaal eyes her barely not-teetering self with a speculative gaze, a hand instinctively being offered out to steady her, even as his gaze strays to the skies after the dragons. "Ah, that's good. Should, ah- come back down to Ierne sometime. A'shar's got a few new-" the moment Zaq sinks mental claws in is the moment that his eyes snap back down to her and he swallows hard "-new drinks." He just barely manages to finish that thought with a voice that's suddenly rusty-raw, dragon-hazed eyes soon sliding to the other riders as if just now becoming aware of them.

Challenge Five: Events/Reasons for a Party

The young queen heads out over the lake, using the strong offshore breezes to push her along and climbs higher. WEDDING speed and cunning, she heads straight for an incoming flock of avians as she twists and turns in her bid to outfly the males behind her, scattering the unfortunate creatures in hopes of slowing some of them down. Her lilting croon floats back in her wake, dancing up and down the scales to end in a tremolo. Her song? It speaks of games and good times and the promise of joy. She's doing what she was created to do.

The Xanadu hatched bronze attempts to keep close to that streamer of gold, mezmerized by the way she seems to flutter just out of his reach. Nasrinth goes up high, wings flaunting that former power he had displayed on the feeding grounds. It's not all about the show, backing it up certainly gives him points. Although unlike the smaller dragons, he's unable to cruise that fast, becoming the bomber of the war efforts. Definitely this was turning into a war, a battle in mid-air for the rights to the prize. There was skill involved in this deadly foray, especially when dodging those scattered avians seemed to challenge his aerial manuevours, coming at him like flack exploding just underneath and about him. An avian grazes his wing tips though, the bronze jolting slightly in surprise but keeping his flight level. It'll take a lot more to get this bronze out of the air, perhaps a VICTORY would be cause for celebration, as it would be the end of his own personal war. A roar is added for good measure, angling toward Seryth.

As dry leaves before the hurricane fly, so do those birds go scattering by, each of them however, a herald of the COMING OF SPRING that currently infuses Xanadu with the stirrings of new life, buds and green shoots coming through where once was ash. So too is Inimeth's mind a carol to the season of life, reaching out to match Seryth's song, the dance of notes as well as the arabesque of wings. There's sun dancing on new leaves, wind rippling through grasses to carry the sweet scent of freshly-bloomed lavendar towards the queen, a counterpoint to the dying of the light in the sky all around them as Rukbat gives up the ghost and settles into its purple cloud-draped bed. Inimeth moves steadily after Seryth, dancing from current to current to find just the right path to take him to her.

He is smoke and fire, persistently clinging to the trail Seryth blazes — over the lake and through the avians, his burning, rose madder eyes are purely for /her/. Zaqalekhth is blazing and hungry, fire-bright maw agape and a steady hiss escaping him. For as much of a surprise as this party has been, this bronze is definitely looking forward to the end, the inexorable HARVEST that comes with the promise of a proper fire and fireworks, of satisfaction at a job well done. This sacrifice is not yet his to claim, not at all, but the smoky touch of his mind is just enough to tantalize, to tease, to promise to burn away everything that isn't ripe and leave only a bounty behind.

Thea clings to the fence, eyes half-closed as Seryth ascends. She doesn't see or cannot accept the hand that the bronzerider from Ierne offers. She cannot reply coherently either, but she tries as a drunk will deny there's been too much to drink. First to M'gaal she swallows, "I… sure, some…time will." She doesn't look back at D'son, but does answer briefly after wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue to hopefully make them less slurred-sounding, "I… yeah he- yer gonna fall." There's an illegible mutter with the words 'Vivian' and 'hot' in them, but thankfully the rest is not clear and the weyrwoman leans into the fence and surrenders to the currents in her mind.

The offered hand falls, forgotten, and eventually finds a familiar roost at his belt. M'gaal's without words now, tongue snaking out to wet his lips and a thin sheen of sweat emerging on his forehead. Whatever fire is fueling Zaqalekhth is finally bleeding into him and he's forced to suck in a breath and let it out in a futile effort to cool himself from the inside out. He's seeing only Thea-Seryth, just as his lifemate is … and, for now, that is simply as it should be.

First round of voting and elimination: D'son/Inimeth eliminated

Challenge Six: Party Food

Stay away from the males back there? Piece of CAKE! Seryth curves her neck back over her shoulder to have a quick peek, her crow of triumph turns teasing as she soars aloft, twisting on the currents to change direction as suddenly as a large dragon can do it, anyway. The air is thinner up here and she must work harder to both breathe and flee, but she strains to do it. Wispy clouds feather around her, pinkened by the dying rays of the sun, churned by her wingbeats into swirls behind her. Ahead there's a cloudbank and it is for that she heads to play a game of hide and seek if she can. As she plunges into its fogged depths she warbles gleefully. Oh, she's not thinking! She's giving herself away.

Face on fire by now, D'son leans his elbow on the fence rail and takes a couple of deep breaths as Inimeth goes skip-hopping across air currents to surge after Seryth. His hand knots around the edges of the towel as it threatens to slip free and his eyes squeeze shut as his young bronze takes a daring premature surge forward after Seryth. Soaring through the dregs of all that pink FROSTING that just fell from Seryth's piece of cake, a little bit that didn't get swirled and scattered smacks across Inimeth's nose just as he starts to warble back gaily to the queen. Instead … Ah-CHOO!!! He sneezes. And sneezes again. And again. Each one, throws the beat of his wings off and stutters his flight until he has to abandon the chase to drop to the ground, still sneezing away clinging bits of vapor and whatever it is that got caught in that cloud. Settling to the ground with a mournful croon that ends with a little squeak-sneeze, he finally tucks his head under his wing with embarrassment and to muffle the sound. Rubbing furiously at his nose, D'son mumbles something like an apology and staggers off after his bronze to use a corner of that towel to wipe off his muzzle and hopefully put an end to the sneezies.

And he's hot, hot, HOT, like JALEPENO POPPERS, sizzling on the outside but with that low, ominously lurking heat within. There is no soothing filling of cheddar to ease the burn, however; Zaqalekhth is just pure fire, searing away the clouds and all but leaving heat waves in his wake. Other males will just have to handle this one with care and keep their distance - his claws flex and his tail flicks, pursuing the gold further into a cloud bank that might just be the ranch dressing to finally cool him … but, just as likely, it'll merely delay the inevitable bite and sting, making it all the more poignant. Of course, that all hinges on him finding her and it's all that he can do to keep track of that tantalizing sweetness that is Seryth.

Once there's a few tapering off the flight course already, Nasrinth starts to expand himself a bit, using much more air space around him than he had before. It seems that the more the air is freed up, the easier it is for him to figure out how really to approach Seryth in a way that'd give him the advantage. Her turn is what causes him to begin to deliver. His form curls up in on itself, muscles coiling, before he jolts toward her with a sudden momentum similar to a POPCORN kernal bursting from the heat. Again and again, limbs shooting out and causing him to have those small bursts of speed, pop, pop, inching closer, pop. Thus the disadvantage of being so large is counter balanced by these mid-air surges. The whisps of the clouds glide around him as he propels himself into the thick of the mist, salting his form with droplets of moisture as the temperatures cool in the gathering clouds. Well seasoned for this now, he makes to share his tastiness with the gold who happens to give away her location by the warbles she makes. His own tone bleats out again, a sudden reminder that he's there to play, the physical sound mixed with a smoldering salty scent that lingers on the traces of his mind voice.

Thea's eyes are fully closed now, her head bowed with the mind-link, although for some reason a crafty Seryth-smile dances across her lips, a soft laugh escapes them before there's a quiet oops and sort of a head-duck as she hushes. "Shh, just fly, fly. Fly and hide." Who is who now, certainly Thea doesn't know. She doesn't notice when M'gaal's hand drops, nor when D'son hops down from the fence, nor where any of the other riders are or what they're doing. She's lost in that pink fog with Seryth.

"Burn." A single word, ominous and low. It's not so much M'gaal's voice as M'gaal-Zaqalekhth, encouragement and demand all rolled up in one. As lifemate, so is rider, eyes only for the female and all the other males? So much smoke. Unable to stay still, now, with that fire eating him up inside, the bronzer starts to move a little; pacing, pacing, pacing. Anticipating.

Second round of voting and elimination: N'kor/Nasrinth eliminated

Challenge Seven: Type of Dance

Seryth weaves in and out of pink-to-purple-darkening clouds, climbing higher until the air is almost too thin to breathe in and still she presses on. She's tiring though and the males chasing her are gaining. Rather than being disconcerted or annoyed, she eggs them on with warbles of glee, tilting on one wing to SWING back through the group - or however many of them are left.

Nasrinth descends when his catch goes awry. There was something gone wrong with his orientation as he comes out of the clouds and doesn't spot the gold in his sights. Utterly out of the game, he doesn't get the victory celebration wanted, taking the time to ride off into the sunset.

Smoke-dark wings beat purposefully to scatter the clouds, neck outstretched and tail serving only to lash at those males that dare to get to close to where he is. Zaqalekhth finally, finally gets his first good look at her - and she's coming back toward them, eliciting a sudden gaping of his maw. Neck, tail and limbs unfurl, seeking nothing more than to tangle Seryth up in a sultry TANGO with a throaty, rattle-rumble - not quite melodic, but certainly trying - just for her. Dance a little dance with me, he seems to say … not with his thoughts, but through body language alone.

After spending some time comforting Inimeth, D'son risks the climb up to his back, even in just a towel and the pair slip away into the gathering dusk to swim off the heat.

If the males can't see in these clouds, Seryth certainly can't either. It's not until she's nearly colliding with Zaqalekhth that she sees him and her attempt to barrel-roll away fails. Wings are fouled in his, her tail and neck entwined and she is caught before she can wail that the party is over. Instinct takes over and her wings flare out as she acquiesces once again, this time to the bronze rather than her rider. It's a long, long way down and so hopefully the dance will not be such a little one.

Thea is pushing off of that fence in a haze of other-mindedness and turning, almost running, but where she's going? She doesn't know, hasn't thought of it and certainly has forgotten her legs are - were? wobbly not long ago. If there's no one near enough to catch her, she might just wind up on the ground rather than in that guest weyr over at the forest's edge.

M'gaal is most definitely there, instinct picking up where coherent thought utterly fails him. He reaches to catch Thea and, on an impulse, will just as quickly try to heft her up in his arms. Limb-certainty isn't a question; he's running on something else entirely, something that will not let her fall … and will, definitely, make sure they get to that guest weyr one way or the other.

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