Rukbat Sets, Dragons Rise

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.
Just at the forest's edge set under the tree line is a guest weyr for use in mating flights, a simple cottage made of weathered planking and grey stones.

The day has been hot and humid. Late-summer heat, the sort that leaves behind a sheen of sweat and makes laziness seem the best of all possible options - but evening has finally come, and with it a breath of cooler air. The last gleaming edge of Rukbat has sunk beneath the horizon, and the western sky is the warm purple of dusk, the graduated shade of day turning into night. Evening after a busy day might be a time for relaxation, but Soriana… seems to have gotten her second wind. Maybe it's the cooler air. Maybe it's all the klah she drank. Whatever the reason, she's left work for the day but decided against going home. She's too restless, you see. (Really, she's been restless all day, jumping from one task to the next and barely finishing anything - despite starting plenty.) She went up the meadow ridge to watch the sunset, but then she went back down again. She wandered through the woods, but… nobody she went to visit was home yet. She… oh, sure, she can go by the feeding grounds. That wandering's in answer to a hunger she hears in Luraoth's thoughts. Soriana will meet her dragon there, but as they both converge on the feeding grounds - Soriana at a jog, the bright-hued gold at a low skim over the treetops… the hunger grows. The urgency grows. Luraoth's thoughts reach out to more than just her rider, leaving a trail of steps in pink and gold leading back to her. Won't you come dance?

Ah, Xanadu! As errands go, this Weyr proves no end of fascination for bronze Sharuth and his rider. They'd popped away from Fort Weyr to deliver a package but the allure of a tasty dinner had delayed So'l from leaving once the delivery had been completed. Thus the bronzerider had set off on foot, searching for something to satisfy his taste buds while Sharuth retired to the meadow to rest near the pond. Curled there for a momentary respite, the young bronze — now almost 37 meters but still several short of his final length — has situated himself in such a way that he can observe the dragons coming in to feed from the pens. Having already eaten earlier in the day, it isn't with jealousy that he watches the feeding. Rather, it's observational interest. These dragons are all new to him, of course, and he enjoys meeting any that might feel sociable before or after snagging some dinner. So it's with a great piquing of interest that the skimming, glowing gold is noticed. And just noticed but /noticed./ Luraoth may not be the largest of gold's but she's certainly beautiful, that's for sure. And when those steps reach out before Sharuth's mind, he rumbles with excitement. « You may wish to join me in the meadow, So'l. Very quickly, » he rumbles again, feeling satisfied as his rider gets the message and comes running.

This hot and humid, late-summer heat is a downright treat for some northern visitors. In fact, it's downright overwhelming as one High Reachian bronzerider soon found out. After finishing with his task of delivery, Mr'az had chosen to enjoy some of the hot weather that is never truly seen in the utmost northern of Weyrs. Even his bronze dragon, Zhirazoth, was content to bask on the sands of the beach rather than collect his rider and whisk off to their next task. And the next, and the next after that. So what is one to do? Why, nap of course! Mr'az had just intended to doze for a little while in the shade cast by his life mate's large form but fate has different plans. It's the breath of cooler air that rouses him, along with the shift of mental state in his bronze. The middle aged bronzerider has just enough time to gather his wits and scramble to his feet before Zhirazoth is lurching to his feet with wings extended and a sudden focused determination. He heard that call from Luraoth and he will be more that pleased to partner her in her dance. Off he goes in a shower of sand, leaving poor Mr'az to sputter and curse before setting off as well to hastily find his way to the feeding grounds.

Oh, but before she dances, Luraoth will eat. She hungers. She folds her wings to dive on a herdbeast, killing quickly with pointed talon-toes, a ballerina balanced on her forepaws for one moment before her hindpaws land and she crouches over the beast. She lowers her jaws and - Soriana hops onto the bottom bar of the fence, catches her dragon's bright eyes. If Luraoth eats, how will she fly? The dance… oh, she hungers for the meat, but she hungers more for the dance, and so the dragon lowers her head to the beast's neck to blood. Only the blood, the rich red punchbowl of energy for the dance in the sky. The rest of the refreshments can wait until later - because, once she's drunk, Luraoth abandons the carcass. She leaps to the next, for she still hunge- no, she thirsts. Now that she has the taste of it, she understands. This is what will let her fly. This time, Soriana doesn't have to remind her. She drinks, pausing only to lift her head and croon to Sharuth. « Are you ready? » she asks, her tone a teasing brush that sways against him and then darts away, seeking the minds of other chasers instead, seeing who is drawn by her as she draws blood into herself, to make her ready.

Though he hasn't chased before, the Fortian greats like Velokraeth and Dremkoth have counseled this bronze well. Sharuth wastes no time in galloping across the meadow, coming to rest with just enough distance from the pens to take flight when appropriate. It's with a not-entirely-understood carnal desire that he watches the gold choose, position, and then blood her first kill. He /knows/ what's coming in short order and the part of Sharuth that questioned the whole process falls away, relegated to irrelevancy as instinct takes over. Across the meadow — while Luraoth still drinks from that first beast — the running shape of a brawny young man bounds towards the bronze. Panting from the sprinted effort, So'l races to unbuckle the riding straps from Sharuth's large body and then pulls them out of the dragon's way, coming to rest not far from Soriana. "Fort's duties," he offers the woman, smiling nervously before his eyes dart back to the bronze. » Remember what we've learned. I'll be with you the whole time… « Or so the Weyrlingmaster, Weyrleader, and Phoenix Wingsecond of Fort had instructed them. Sharuth doesn't turn from watching Luraoth jump to the second kill but mentally brushes So'l's mind with quick acknowledgement. Lowering into a crouch, the bronze readies his wings and shimmies his tail in anticipation of launching. « I /am/ ready! » Sharuth rumbles warmly in reply. « One is always ready to fly magnificence likes yours… »

With a rush of wind and wings, Zhirazoth is there among the pens with haste. He is not a bronze to linger or nitpick, especially not when Luraoth is pulled into her thirst and so is he. As the herds are scattered, he had soared high above and when one beast strays - whomp! - there's the bronze's bulk crashing down on it. Not as much fineness as a graceful dancer, but Zhirazoth is built more for strength and power than agile grace. He is built majestically, correctly balanced and proportioned with a hide that gleams of tempered metal, darkened in places as though just lightly weatherworn along the contours of his face and his pale wings. Wings that now stretch half-furled at his side, poised and readied but part display as well while he bloods, seeking that same crucial energy needed if he stands a chance to match Luraoth. Whirling eyes drink in the sight of her too, rapidly is she becoming his sole focus and his only flaw as he barely registers the gathering males. Sharuth's arrival is noted only because Zhirazoth has discarded his first kill and is taking wing again to greedily take down another beast and does not wish to tango quite yet with the young (and larger) bronze. His mind brushes up against Luraoth, a trickling extending to the others as well and his thoughts bear a charge and build of pressure, a gathering of force much like the low, dark and roiling clouds that gather over the ocean and herald a storm behind it. « Lead on, beautiful dancer! » he calls with a rolling rumble. Mr'az finally catches up, a bit winded and flustered from misunderstanding the directions in an unfamiliar Weyr and taking the wrong path. His steps will slow however as he approaches, green eyes shifting from So'l to Soriana though both are given a brisk nod. "High Reaches duties to Xanadu," he greets between calming breaths.

Soriana climbs up another rung of the fence, bringing her hands on top of it and resting one foot there like she's about to leap over - but she doesn't, because she's being dutied! By a strapping rider. Or, wait, is that a rider with straps? She grins, either way, and jumps down off the fence, padding around him with light steps. Sizing him up, as Luraoth does the dragon-lifemates. Her mindvoice is a laughter of bells to answer Sharuth's rumble. « Always? » The voice is light, a ripple of pink like a drop of blood diluted in water. « Some dragons sleep. Others… » Her thoughts slip away, and she raises her head to call out a trumpet summons. To who? Zhirazoth is feeding. Sharuth is waiting. Luraoth's entourage is gathering, but in the end, her dance card can only have one entry. « I shall! » she calls to Zhirazoth, but first, another drink for the road. Soriana pauses her steps to look at Mr'az. "You too?" she asks him, and her grin widens as she looks between the pair of riders. "Well, I'll take the duties. I'll even give you some back. But just between you and me, I'd rather have the pleasures!" Luraoth's rumble is an echo of her rider's amusement (or is that the other way around?) as the gold takes her final drink, then snaps her wings as she leaps into the evening sky. « I do! » She leads. Time to follow.

So'l turns as Soriana hops down, offering the goldrider a very warm smile — despite his own, inner nervousness — and admiring her as well as the circling commences. It's been awhile since /he's/ had any pleasures — weyrlinghood and all, though thankfully that's ended — and if now is potentially the time to break the streak, Soriana is favorable in that regard. Of course, that's contingent on Sharuth actually /catching/ Luraoth but should that happen, at least So'l foresees himself enjoying the outcome. "Pleasure over duty, eh?" the brawny, bearded young man replies with a mischievous wink. "Nothing wrong with that at a time like this," he laughs. A nod is given to Mr'az as well as a welcoming smile. "Hello there," he greets before looking again to Sharuth. The dragon has positively shrunk himself into an explosive position, so much so that when Luraoth bolts into the sky, the bronze is immediately into the air after her. The smell of pine and the scurryings of little things in the night reaches out to the gold, Sharuth's mindvoice the nighttime forests of Fort. « Fly well, Magnificent One, » he bids her good luck. Rumbles of mirth bubble out of the bronze as he flaps those great wings of his and rises higher and higher, thundering after this glowing bauble of beauty with seemingly endless desire. The others are noted, their positions ascertained through quick look-backs before Sharuth looks forward and bugles with a rather playful promise of what'll happen upon the catching.

Zhirazoth lifts his head at the trumpet summons, his eyes whirling at a quickened pace and a deep, rolling rumble echoing Luraoth's much sweeter voice. It's certainly no call or rising challenge, not yet at least, but he adds his voice in all the same. Second beast is drained and a third is snared and killed for the same purpose, a necessary sacrifice to ensure that he performs at his utmost best. His body coils and tenses, haunches gathered beneath him now as he continues to fixate on the glowing gold. No rush, no rush. He is content to let her lead her dance at her pace. Then the time comes and now he voices a melodious call of challenge to the other bronzes and browns come to court her as his pale tempered wings flare and he launches powerfully upwards into the sky. Down below, Mr'az comes to stand close with the other riders and Soriana and at her grinning and banter, the bronzerider grins back and almost sheepishly so. A hand comes up to smooth back his short cropped hair while his mouth turns up into the aforementioned grin. Heh. He chuckles a bit, "Yeah, me too." Not by his choice! "Some duties back, eh? And… well, we'll see about the pleasures." he drawls the last bit, only to turn a curious eye to So'l and snort with amusement for the younger one's comments and laughter. Hello there!

It was supposed to be a brief diplomatic all to Xanadu, a quick visit to help pass the time the Weyrleaders spend broiling in the stands while their dragons guard their eggs, but nooo, Dremkoth had other ideas! Appearing from Between and banking towards the clearing, the antiqued bronze had faltered, his landing aborted to an unplanned glide that skimmed the treetops and brought him to an abruptly-dropped landing just outside the feeding grounds. "…if you think I'm going to- !" Oh. D'ani's frustrated remonstrance breaks off as his brown eyes sweep the pens and the Fortian Weyrsecond gets what's going on and why his bronze is suddenly a tumble of incoherency and testosterone (or whatever hormone male dragons utilize in times like these) in his mind. He's barely got time to throw himself off the side before the bronze is aloft with a growl of intent after the pack. He has no time to blood. D'ani has no time to think. He's just staggering blindly, one hand out to find - the fence hopefully - as the dust stirred by wings stings his eyes. Hello Xanadu?

Who wouldn't pick fun, given the choice? But then, these things aren't always about choice. If all the male dragons had their choice… they'd all be catching! So clearly there's something more to it. Soriana… laughs. "That's only for some duties." Taking pleasure, that is. This one… oh, but she's too caught up in this moment to think about outcomes. She flicks her gaze from So'l to Mr'az as he speaks. "At a time like this? Or all the time?" she asks the Reachian playfully, pausing on one foot with the toe of the other just barely touching the ground. Caught mid-step. Luraoth, oh, she'll be caught eventually, but not anytime soon! She's in no rush for that. Her wings beat the air and she climbs toward the heavens - higher, higher, up into the sky. Above - the forest. Her thoughts flicker with a thrum of feathers, avian-wings flying along with dragon ones as Sharuth's thoughts reach her. « We know how to fly. » Her thoughts are a dapple of autumn-hued leaves as they brush his, curiously solemn for a moment, but brighten again as they flicker against Zhirazoth's and all the way back to Dremkoth trailing behind before her mind surges forward, swooshing past the pack again and aiming her onward. She pays her chasers no more mind, for the moment, focusing instead on the beat of her wings that carries her up and over the Weyr, leading suitors in her wake. Soriana turns her head to see D'ani, stumbling along. "You're laaa-aaate," she says, sing-song, in lieu of a proper greeting. Not that she was expecting him - does she even recognize him, given the dust? - but still.He's late.

Late for a very important…date? Smirking, So'l waves to D'ani, amused to see him here as well. But then things (interesting things!) are taking place in the sky and the young rider's thoughts are being pulled up there right along with Sharuth, who's settling into a swift but steady pace so as not to overtax himself until the real catching begins. « Yes we do, » he replies to Luraoth, savoring the whisper of those autumn-kissed leaves and feathery wingbeats. The solemn moment is noticed and in that brief flash of seconds, the bronze pours a playful image into the mindlink: a brightly colored redbird with brilliant, feathered plumage. It races behind just as surely as Sharuth does, chirping happily in the evening-soaked yellows, reds, and oranges of fall. As Luraoth circles above the weyr, changing direction before surging forward again, Sharuth stalls his own momentum to see which way she'll go. And then, with a controlled dive, he'll flash along after, his wings spreading to masterfully beat the air in pursuit. Dremkoth's sudden appearance — amusing since Sharuth had just been feeling appreciative of the older bronze's advice in weyrlinghood — is noted and though they are competitors, Sharuth hopes violence will not break out between them during the chase. Though if it must, it must…especially as instinct conquers higher brain functioning, as it begins to do now for Sharuth. That gold tail slicing the air before him — and those amazingly graceful wings (those wings!) — have this particular bronze now incredibly focused on how he's going to catch her.
Mr'az has no answer for Soriana, save to gaze at her in obvious admiration that may be fuelled more by Zhirazoth's intense focus on Luraoth or by the feedback of emotions from the bronze. Regardless, the bronzerider suffers from a mental lapse and can only grin that same small but oh-so warm grin. "Mhm," he says at last as coherency is regained with much effort. "Perhaps a bit of both." he muses, only to tear his gaze away to see the one Soriana sing-songs too. Another Fortian? Gaze darts between D'ani and So'l, but the High Reachian only dips his head briskly to the new (late?) comer. Zhirazoth climbs higher along with Luraoth even though she is well ahead of him, wings beating strong and steadily as he wrestles for his place among the pack. He has fallen silent now, all his thoughts and energy beginning to pool to one final goal and purpose, based mostly in instinct and with a very generous helping of desire. Dremkoth's late arrival goes unnoticed, as Zhirazoth keeps only Luraoth at the front of his thoughts.

Eheheh! He's late alright! He can only hope Thea and Ka'el understand. D'ani grimaces ruefully at the playful remark, squinting through swimming, smarting eyes at… Soriana? Yeah, that's her. It's been turns since she was amongst the dragonhealers watching Dremkoth's first wingbeats. His out-stretched hand patpats and finds the rail while the other gloved hand works a knuckle into his other eyeball. Grit, like sandpaper mashes against the inner lid. Great! "Greetings from Fort, Soriana," he mutters while swiping at the other eye and forgive him because Dremkoth is stealing the diplomatic part of his brain along with the chase, he adds a growled, "You're looking great!" Great, D'ani, say that while looking at her ass. They're going to fire you as Weyrsecond when you get home! His reddened eyes flick to So'l, Mr'az and the others, his mouth set in grim lines; they can have the amusement, he's just here to… siiiigh. Stare at the…hot goldrider. Overhead Dremkoth's wings blur as the small bronze, lighter than most of those present, rises amongst the ranks. Dark currents, those borne of midnight, brush towards Luraoth to stir those bright autumn colors, dusting them a-glitter with the first frosts of fall. He… isn't violent. He's quick and cunning and nimble…and very determined.

A date? But none of these bronzeriders have gotten Soriana dinner! She eases her foot down, taking another few paces forward, but her motions are slow, as if Luraoth in her speeding flight requires that energy as well as her own. They're both in both places, dragon and rider, flying and still on the ground, but Luraoth predominates. Luraoth's wings cup the air, soar through it. Her tail angles to control her direction, her body writhes through the currents of the wind. No bird ever raced so… save the ones in dragon-thoughts, that fly because they are, in truth, dragons. Dragons fly. Luraoth knows this. Sharuth's bright-feathered bird… oh, she sees it, but she doesn't answer. Not to him. On the ground, the dust is settling. Soriana grins to Mr'az for his answer. Now, about this late weyrsecond from Fort. "And hello to you, D'ani!" Her expression's teasing. "And Fort. I suppose." But also just him. She accepts the compliment as her due, with a laugh and a toss of her head. At least the currently-sandbound weyrleadership has had a recent reminder in how these sorts of things work? So if anyone's going to forgive D'ani… well, at least, Thea probably will. Ka'el might be another matter. Up above, Luraoth keeps the distance between her and her prospective mates for a time, her thoughts… keeping a certain distance as well. They're a brightness that shifts through colors; a warmth and stray sounds on the breeze… but for a time, she simply flies, as if she'll soar to the edge of the atmosphere and beyond, as if she'll fly beyond the edge of Pern and into the reaches of space, to float like Rukbat with her bronze planets ever-spinning. She doesn't, of course. She's only a dragon, not a star, and some of those bronzes are nearly of a size with her. Dremkoth's smaller than most, but his thoughts are the ones that draw hers back. The darkness and cold of nights to come - or of what lies beyond. So - first with him, then spreading to the rest - she shares the vision of space, of dragons in their orbits. Her thoughts return to the chase she leads; to the dance that will twine her against one of these… she looks at them now, and lets the distance grow smaller as she considers.

So'l is somewhat cognizant of the exchange between D'ani and Soriana, assuming there's history there that isn't readily apparent just from context. Perhaps they've even 'mingled' before, in a previous rising? The bronzerider isn't sure. All he knows is that Sharuth — who is normally so even keeled and intelligently mindful — has laser-focused himself on the chase and is /enjoying/ being led by the gold. Unlike those greens around Fort who've risen recently — interesting and pretty they may be — Luraoth COMMANDS his interest and has Sharuth lusting in a way not even he imagined was possible. But such desires are not entirely defeating of his higher mind and as the gold slows to consider — sharing that amazing vision of space, above and beyond — Sharuth performs an aerial flourish he and So'l have been working on. The bronze suddenly tucks his wings and cannon balls down, flipping end over end once before wings flare out to catch the wind and carry him once more upward. It's as if he were a small rogue planetoid brushing against the atmosphere of Pern and then flung away with greater speed for gravity's imposing touch. Luraoth's mind shows orbits and planets but in return, Sharuth flashes an image of Rukbat as a glowing, curled mammoth of golden beauty: an image of Luraoth being the shining light that fills all the heavens. And approaching is the darker form that is Sharuth, hoping to bask in her eternal starshine and slip into her embrace.

Zhirazoth flies as he was born and bred to do, letting instincts and drive guide him. He is not one for flashy antics or daring maneuvers, choosing to safe guard what precious energy he may have. Thermals are found, ridden upon until they shift and he naturally follows course if it suits him. He has found his orbit, caught in it for now among the others before he'll vie for freedom. For Luraoth is just ahead and it is she he wants and craves for. Nothing else matters now, his goal is set and he will have what is rightfully his. By his mind alone, of course. A less egotistical bronze would know that it's fate that determines the outcome but for Zhirazoth he IS the best. How could there be any other? As long as Luraoth flies, so will he and as the distance grows smaller, he will attempt to surge ahead of the pack as anticipation trickles in. Is this it? Is this the time? He takes that chance and breaks away, wings sweeping furiously as he dives down to slip under another competitor before twisting upwards again. Breaking orbit, breaking from his steady path in a dash of brazenness as he seeks to dare and try for her hand in this dance, be it too soon or too late. He will try for he must and desires so! Down below, Mr'az is oblivious to most of his surroundings. Any conversation has become a dull and distant murmur, his thoughts hazy and filled more with that of Zhirazoth's mind. Green eyes seek and find Soriana and it's her that he keeps them pinned on, body tensed and readied, anticipating and admiring what may and could be his.

Oh hai there! From D'ani too. "'lo," D'ani mutters back to Soriana, prompted by her tease, while now rubbing the back of his neck and smearing the dust settled there into grime in the sweat that's just beginning to soak his body. He's not coherent enough to flirt with her or engage the others in awkward conversation, but he's aware of them. He's… he should take off his flight gear, the summer heat is hot after the chill of Between and so he claws the goggles and helmet off and tosses them aside. Gloves are stripped next, because there's no way the fasteners to his jacket are being undone with them on. That's all but ripped off before he thinks to stop, but he's so in tuned with Dremkoth's desire that he almost keeps going. Instead he rakes a hand through his hair. Speaking of Ka'el… he's going to see him leering at his girlfriend, isn't he? If so, how awkwaaaaaard will the next meeting between Fort and Xanadu be? Dremkoth? Buddy? You owe me bigtime, dude! Dremkoth is easily pulled into Luraoth's orbit - only to squawk and dodge the suddenly-plummeting…somersaulting - what? Sharuth. He's now off course and dropping further behind, thanks in part to his non-blood-fueled flagging energy. His thoughts rush ahead of him to the sun that is Luraoth and brush her galaxy with a a fading touch of long winter nights, bright with brittle ice, gleamed by starlight. Next time perhaps! He flutters, then with a moan of defeat, glides earthwards.

Soriana's not sure where she's pacing, anymore. Her thoughts are… not really hers, anymore. They're Luraoth's - no, not even that. They're dragon-thoughts, instinct-thoughts, echoes of the past and the urgent, eager present. There's a planetoid skimming Pern - but this one is bronze, not red. This one does not rain death, and the dragons do not fly to fight it. This one is a dragon, Sharuth giving chase to Luraoth, and the biological imperative is… a different one. The green of forests may grow, here in the absence of thread. The starshine is spotless, for there are no scorched-earth places where thread has burrowed and been flamed. A further difference is that this rogue planetoid is watched with interest instead of dread. Luraoth's attention is taken by Sharuth, and perhaps that's part of what Zhirazoth notes as opportunity. A chance, as she slows and is distracted, to surge forward and catch - but oh! She's seen this trick before. Not from him, but a different flight, a different egotistical bronze who sought to sweep her to the floor, and this time she is ready. Her body twists, veering from his path sharply. He passes her, close enough to feel the beat of her wings - but only air, only atmospheric turbulence and no golden dragon at all. The stars only appear to be still; in truth, they also move, part of their galaxies… and some stars are not alone. Stars may rotate with stars, and when they are near in size… they both rotate around the other, a complex dance of gravitational physics where neither holds still, neither stands. Luraoth's wings beat, but now she passes back through her solar system. Through the chill of space - hello, Dremkoth. Goodbye, Dremkoth - and then slips into orbit, a falling binary star. Make a wish, Sharuth?

Sharuth had worried that the flourishing move might be too juvenile; too brash…maybe even too dangerous, at such high speeds and velocity. But the somersault and bounce seem to have jostled Dremkoth out of the chase somehow and Zhirazoth's forward-surging sweep is, itself, swept away. Great wings beating powerfully, Sharuth roaring with confidence as he's left well-positioned for his own forward move. Eyes whirling, chest heaving, wings pumping…the bronze surges ahead, his intentions /more/ than clear as he swiftly flashes closer, closer, closer still. So close that in a swathing of bronze wings amidst gold, he hopes to establish mutual orbit if Luraoth's magnificence will have it. And when they rotate about one another, falling towards the lands below like the most blazing falling stars ever (in his mind, at least), Sharuth lets all the lust and desire that's so pent up inside release in an embracing that will satisfy /so/ many needs; needs the bronze never really understood he had until now. On the ground below, So'l — aptly named like the sun whose light once warmed the ancestors of Pern — utterly dissolves into the fall, his own wants and desires so totally lost in the wash of Sharuth's immense hunger. Eyes shift to Soriana and he moves forward by instinct alone, his bronze's wish apparently encompassing them both.

Zhirazoth finds himself way off target and off mark, his carefully laid plans foiled! The bronze twists but it's too late by then. Luraoth has moved on, escaping his reach to drift into the embrace of another. Lost! Frustration laces his thoughts, the storm raging now and unleashing torrential rains kept to himself (and his poor rider below). Wings fold, exhaustion settling in and he dives down and away to nurse his disappointment. On the ground, Mr'az too backs off as he's jolted by his life mate's sudden rain washed mind. Nothing like a slap of cold water to snap one out of it! Shaking his head, he makes a frustrated and disgruntled sound in his throat, eyes blinking as he forces himself to focus. Not on Soriana any longer, not with So'l moving in but for an escape. Time for him to go and Zhirazoth is already gliding by over head, away from the feeding grounds and towards the beach, back to where they had been before all of this began.

How do these things not become a melee of fists on the ground? D'ani, now thoroughly Dremkoth, stalks forwards to close the space between himself and Soriana, hands working while his arms, with the last vestiges of what's left of D'ani, tense to keep them at his sides and fail. They reach- But oh, there's a faltering in the skies and he too, falters, blinks and swipes a hand over his face. Dremloth seeks him. His own desires are still grip him but the flight trance has broken and he is once more in command of his own actions. Those will be to turn and gather his tossed flight gear and he too, will make for the beach, where Dremkoth will land. There, the dusty Fortian Weyrsecond will console his lifemate for his loss, then plunge into the waves to cool the heat of lust and wash away the dust and grit. He'll seek the solitude of a distant spit of rocks that project out into the sea until he's dry enough to don his clothing and return home to Fort, thus avoiding getting caught up in the backwash that must surely be affecting the Weyr Heh. Trying to meet the Weyrleaders now likely would be… inadvisable and he has no wish to be waylaid (or laid) by one of the who-cavern girls.

Older, wiser heads… probably wouldn't have tried that move of Sharuth's. In a different flight, for a different queen, it might have found him left behind. In different winds, it might have found him losing control and becoming a dragonhealer's patient as surely as a too-close brush with the ancient nemesis of the Red Star. Today, though… his intentions are achieved; Luraoth welcomes him. Far above, the first stars of the night sky emerge - but only the very brightest of stars, for there's still enough light to dimly show those hides as sky-dragon-stars twine. The Ancient's star is not so bright as to be visible, but… So'l is. Soriana's figured out where she's pacing to. All those orbits, all those cycles, they were just a complex rotation bringing her to So'l. Luraoth's instincts carry Soriana's feet along, until she can sweep an arm up around So'l's shoulders, drag him down to her level for a kiss. She's oblivious to the others departing, but… not entirely blind to her surroundings, and so - after a moment or two - she'll be trying to drag So'l to the guest weyr. Fortunately, it isn't very far. Especially not when the distance is measured in galaxies and time is measured by the stars.

Just as Luraoth and Sharuth flame across the heavens, So'l stalks across the grounds to meet Soriana's touch. Losing himself in it, that kiss will be passionately returned and the promise of more — a whole lot more — is lustily communicated through hands. It's a good thing the goldrider is cognizant of others and moves for the guest weyr because So'l certainly isn't as high-minded at the moment. He follows the woman until they're inside, the thundering passion from gold and bronze mingling like lightning flashes that staccato human joining. And as things mount outside, so too does the passion and intensity in here.

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