Herath's Final Flight

Kindre's Herath rises at Telgar Weyr for what will be her last time. Zynassa picks a winner, loses more marks than she wins, and has a nice evening with Kassima and Terac.

Zynassa - Saturday, May 19, 2001, 5:49 PM
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TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Nraith lifts his muzzle from the gore to breathe then plunges it back again. A bit too soon, apparently, as bubbles of blood and bile emerge from the gash where he's planted his face. After another few gulps, he lifts the carcass high, letting the last of the beast's life essence drip forth into his open maw.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Ahazeth ruts his head deep within the chest cavity of the beast that still breathes. Lungs are pierced by fangs, and a pink foam begins to form around the nostrils and mouth of the dying herdbeast. Suffering is cut short as the heart is consumed and the beast is drained by Ahazeth. The bronze dragon, his hide slowly gaining a lustre that could only come from the blooding before a flight, pulls his head out of the body and swivels around to look for a second victim. A frightened female, heavy with calf, cowers against a huddled mass of beasts, frightened by the killing that has begon. She will do... The hulking bronze figure slowly steps towards the beasts, trapped by their ignorance in the corner of the grounds. Every step sends a small puff of the ground up around the massive paws. His tail swishes behind him, and his bronzed lips curl back from his massive teeth as the animal screams with fear. Then...its heart gives out, and the beast falls to the ground. Almost, as though she were holding them back, the rest of the beasts spill forth, running towards and around the bronze dragon and into the rest of the clearing. Ahazeth takes down a few as he goes for the fallen female, and he pulls them towards him into a pile as he proceeds to drain each and every one in a gluttonous manner.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Chenth lifts his head, his muzzle stained with blood, from the sucked-dry corpse beneath his nose. His tongue darts out, sweeping about his jaws, cleansing the blood. His head swings about, watching the panic-stricken... FOOD... running around... then snorts explosively. It'll be just one for him tonight. He is young, he is strong! He only needs one. Nudging the carcass out of his way with betaloned hands, he creeps away from it, steam issuing from his nostrils.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Sidonth stalks amongst the beasts with long strides, his claws heaving chunks of earth into the air. He passes many of the smaller beasts by without a glance, searching for the bigger ones that offer him the most energy and strength when in the air. His multi-faceted eyes fix upon a big herdbeast, licking his forked tongue over his sullied maw in anticipation. With a swift leap and a bite from his strong jaw, the beast is added to blood of many in this bronze.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Falsanath lets out a low, quiet sound, not unlike a growl, though he doesn't move to take another herdbeast. He just makes sure he looks neat, and then edges to a spot near the edge of the feeding grounds, though a spot where he can also keep a close eye on Herath. Sun-bronzed wings unfurl slightly, and he warns off a nearby brown with a short, sharp bugle. His. Possessive, isn't he? Especially so early in the game. There's a glance to the younger participants, and then a quiet rumble--not advice, but warning, as the contest that lies ahead will not be an easy one.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Xannarth accidently makes his next kill when a sudden turn with outstretched claws nets an already hobbled buck. No mind that the gain is perhaps ill gotten, it's fuel all the same for the struggle to come. He drinks deeply and casts his attention around again to find Herath.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Toranth sucks the last of the blood from his herdbeast and then peers around at the others. He inhales, his chest broadening, and then pounces for another. Snap! This kill is a bit neater than the last and the brown can't help a pleased rumble as he lowers his head again.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Onyx blades abandon drained kill, move further with lethal quickness and claim another -- Indrath'll answer contemptuous cry with ferocity, with baritone challenge bellowed over winter-crisp air to rising queen. Ovine joins wherry, dead in blood-choked, hoof-churned snow; and now caress of tongue along prey's throat pulls life's bright fuel from it -- dapple Telgar's dusk, writ upon throat and muzzle, with crimson.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Aisheth lands on top of the lowing beast in his claws, the abrupt shock of his landing causing a sudden but only temporary pause in the noise. Then Aisheth changes his grip and lowers his head to pinch teeth around the creature, its terrified voice finding itself again as it is lifted high into the air, Aisheth watching the wonderful tawny hide of Herath as he lifts his head, his neck stretched out, his jaws slowly starting to clamp down on the herdbeast in his maw.

TGW-LC>> Kassima does run the roll of hide over her hands this time. "Taralyth's a good bet," she confesses. "He caught Rinath a few Turns agone, and certes he's a skilled flier--Lysseth would have m'hide for saying else, since only a skilled flier could catch Her Ladyship. Indrath, now, he's been showing promise. He's still a bit green, though."

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Taralyth watches, whirling-eyed, winter-eyed: watches the lattice-winged queen kill, watches her argue, and - from the left, ever from the left - chooses thoughtlessly swift, this beast of hers a young buck with patchy hide. Those sharp talons don't miss, even in the crowd, in the cold; but when that cognac-dark muzzle drops to drink - Taralyth but tastes, and spits it out, a splatter of copper against the crumpled snow. Tosses his head. Swings the corpse away to distantly crumple: that, -that- he won't have for even blood's sake, no bitterness yet this night.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Kheprith lifts his bloody muzzle, then hopskotches over to another herdbeast, knocking it down before killing it, a claw haphazardly gutting the still-twitching beast before sinking his teeth into its neck.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Gyreventh tackles another hapless heardbeast and drains it of it's precious life giving fluid. Eyes swirling now a deep, almost black purple he remains very still, as a feline awaiting to pounce, eyes focused intentely on Herath.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Lacroith spends just enough time with the beast he's killed in order to get his teeth into the opened side and shake violently, the body flashing in a crescent on the ground and smearing a trail of blood and gore. Raising his muzzle away, red spattering the frothy yellow bronze of his nose and dripping in rivulets down his neck, Lacroith does a half hop, his wings snapping out and pumping virulently to give him lift into the air, and takes off after a female and her two calves wheeling their way from the carnage. As he swings low over them, Lacroith sweeps his muzzle across to batter the group to the ground, a flash of blood from the previous kill spraying at the time of the contact.

TGW-LC>> Terac frowns a bit. "Will you promise not to tell my mom? She doesn't like Taralyth's rider." He then slowly blinks. "Indrath is green? Wow, never saw such a big green before. You're kidding me, eh?" He narrows his eyes at the greenrider.

TGW-LC>> Kassima holds up a hand to solemnly swear, "Cross m'heart and hope t'fry, stick a dagger in R'val's eye. I've heard that about your mum." She won't comment on it, however. "--Oh, nay, I didn't mean in that sense. 'Green' is also a term t'mean he's young, raw, a bit untried. I only know of one other gold that he's chased."

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, As if answering the unheard voice, Herath gives the carcass a violent, defying shake. She then offers a gritty growl to show her disdain at being forced against her will. Snarling more in what seems to be sheer contempt, she finally withdraws every bit of blood from her limp prey before tossing it without a second glance. The next several creatures get little warning as she snaps them from their scattering field mates.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Seiranth lurches his blood flecked form forward and flexes those brawny muscles again with an air of superiority that is likely mostly bravado. One forepaw shoots out and snags a beast by its haunches. He draws the struggling animal towards him, growling and hissing noisily and rips into the throat with a leisurely talon. Fastening his jaws to the ragged incision, he sucks greedily, blood flowing bright scarlet over his muzzle and on to the frozen ground below.

TGW-LC>> Of course Terac can't resist the Macami-plug here. "Tivu's caught a gold, you know, when I was younger and still at Igen. Before I had that annoying sister." He rolls his eyes. "Who's R'val? Is he as bad as I'sai?"

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Chezroth cranes his neck upwards and, with lightning reflexes, plucks a wherry from the sky. An audible *crack* can be heard as the hapless creature's neck is snapped in two - maybe even three. Or four. It doesn't really matter - the neck will serve no further use to the dispatched wherry. After a few good shakes, The bronze pulls back his head, and flings the creature's stiff carcass across the pen. A resounding *thwack* echos dully across the feeding grounds as the wherry hits the fence, leaving a bright splotch of gore as it slides down the fence to the ground. Chezroth emits a lout *burp*, and a few feathers pop out of his mouth.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Ahazeth seems rather content in his pile of carcasses, growing more as the time passes. Obsidian talons grip and squeeze the bodies as he drains the lifebloods from the beasts, some still alive bleating in pain and crisis, others still, their eyes glazed over in death. His hide ripples with the twitching of his muscles, soaked in energy and ready to react at the smallest hint that the golden queen may leap into the skies. His eyes whirl a swift, hungry crimson, and his nostrils flare with every breath that he takes. He pauses from his drinking and his tongue slithers from his dreadful maw to clean the burgundy liquid from his wedge-shaped head. Ridges settle heavy over his eyes and he nudges the carcasses around, somewhat angry that there are no fresh ones in the bunch. He stands, and shakes, his wings rustling against his hide as they unfurl and shake loose. He hops a little and lands on a nearby bovine, snapping its back. Large jaws clamp over the midsection of the body, muscles contracting and causing the bones to snap audibly.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Falsanath's whippy tail twitches with almost feline anticipation, though this would be one massive feline. Still, it's better for dragons to be bigger than felines. There's restraint in him, though, as he watches, waits, looks for just the right time, and an almost preternatural alertness. He warns off a younger dragon who blocks his view of Herath, with a quiet rumble.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Aisheth's jaws clamp down on the dying herdbeast. A loud crack of bone can be heard and the last terrified moo is cut off in mid 'oo'. Aisheth lips fold as best he can around the carcass and he squeezes, tissues rupturing, more bones breaking. Blood flows down the bronzes throat as he enjoys his favorite method of eating. Red stained drool slides down over his jaw where his lips don't quite meet.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Toranth hops out of the way, licking his muzzle clean. He never takes his fast-whirling eyes off of the glowing gold, although he does keep the other males where he can see them, puffing himself up again.

TGW-LC>> "Gold Cyrath of Igen, now senior," Kassi concurs. "'Twasn't there for the flight, a'course, but methinks I saw the Hatching." Biting her lip to hide a smile on the sister issue, she then bobs her head at once. "Oh, he's much, much worse than I'sai. I'sai's really nay such a bad sort, y'know; methinks he got off on a bad foot with your mum, is all--but R'val, he's a letch. He'd probably try t'seduce you if'n he thought he could. Beware."

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Chenth watches the blooding intently, still keeping to the self-imposed rule of just one. He does, however, lower his head, and nuzzle the cooling carcass of a beast before moving on, his wings unfolding from his back. He spreads them out to their full length, luxuriating in the feel of cold air flowing over his apple-cider skin, and his lungs fill with air. Great bronze maw opening, he shouts out a challenging bugle to the blooding males.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Sidonth flashes his ichor-covered teeth in the direction of one brown. Snaking his neck out, he sinks the piercing daggers into the tender flesh of the brown's kill. His nostrils flare smugly, drinking the blood from the carcass as his eyes shift to the next prey. The next action he performs is a swift head-butt into the side of a fleeing wherry, falling to the ground in a mass of chaos as the dark bronze hovers over it for a moment before claiming this blood as his own. Stretching up reflexively, his eyes close completely in the pure pleasure of the new strength, letting his gaze slide lustfully onto the only thing that matters: the lovely Herath.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Kill, and kill again -- and with prey's death Indrath might incite her to answer violence's glory with yet more. Jealous, dark wings, wings dancing with dusk's glimmers and moonlight's ghosts, mantle; hide another wherry's last, screaming moments while blood of green joins blood of red 'pon pens' floor. And then silence, elegant poise -- he'll once more gather evening's breezes, coil muscles, ready to join this coral-blushed gold in violet skies.

TGW-LC>> Terac looks down at himself and then simply says "He must be very sick. I'm no sissy boy. And I'll never wear butt-less pants!" He says that with quite some fervor, as much as an 11 turn old boy can be fervent about such matters. "Yeah, gold Cyrath. They had lots of eggs. I saw the hatching." He beams. "But that was a long time ago." He peers at Kassima's notes. "On who did you place your wager?"

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Xannarth flickers his tongue out to clean the lovely ichor from his muzzle and seems to be considering another kill, his muscles tense and ready, aching to take to the sky with the glorious golds. Another bronze jostles him and he rumbles his annoyance, so many others to just get in the way.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Lacroith smoothely glides his jaws shut on the smallest of the two calves he knocked down with their mother, his teeth sliding into the flesh easily. One tooth is sent into the skull of the animal and there's a moment of pause before the pressure of the closing maw becomes to great and the young bone is cracked and shattered. Tilting his head up high, Lacroith lets the young animal drip its blood down his throat and flood over the sides of his mouth as his tongue threshes about. In a quick movement he snaps his neck downwards and opens his mouth wide, the calf flying down to crumple in a heap next to the dead mother and sibling, having died from the wounds received from being knocked down earlier.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Ahazeth has drank his fill and now he steps back from the beasts that he has left littering the field. His legs fold and his body crouches, muscles gathering strength as he readies himself for pursuit. Head lowers and wings are pulled high over his shoulders whilst he waits.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Machismo time. Seiranth's brassy bugle thunders into the air and he crouches, humming, eyes fixed upon the queen. Although large for his colour, he's noticeably smaller than his metallic counterparts and seeks to draw attention to himself by his manly statuesque poses. Oooh, look at me.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Taralyth pauses in his newest kill - more favored, for when he tears out this one's throat, he claims it fully, even licking up the last ichor that sputters the more feebly as its pulse drums silent - to echo and reecho that growl, deeper, throatier, darkness within a flawless sky; to sink to his haunches, prepared - aware. To the left.

Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RDJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.

Zynassa comes into the caverns from deeper in the weyr, preceeded by two boys that look so much alike, they must be twins. And there is a resemblance to her as well, in their lean frames. She's saying a trifle irritably, "I told you, Joar, she was searched by Sidrith. And Kay was searched by P'tod. No, I haven't seen her, they immediately bundled her down with chores..." She trails off, and offers a faintly weary, "Ista's duties to Telgar," to the caverns at large.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Nraith is through blooding. Now he crouches. Waiting. Intense. Soon she will go, and he will Chase. That is the way things are...

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Kheprith flicks one of his wings back lazily as he finishes another beast off, leaving its broken corpse in his wake.

"Me neither," Kassi mutters with matching fervance. Running one long finger down her list, using the other hand to add or make notes on names, she admits, "I'm nay laying a wager of m'own so long as taking others' wagers. Any I lose, 'twill have t'be paying. I'm partial towards Taralyth, a'course, and Falsanath--haven't seen him or G'har in an age, but they're fun sorts. And a'course there's always the possibility that someone unknown will catch, as with Talibenth." Scribble, scribble. Catching her daughter's name, she glances over to grin towards the speaker: "Duties t'Ista and her queens, Zynassa; g'day, Joar, Jarin."

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Herath tears into one last beast, its blood adding to the other splatters across her glowing, amber form. Her eyes stay on the blues, browns and bronzes sharing Telgar's grounds rather than on her prey now. Offering one final, spine-chilling taunt, she lifts her head and snaps her jaws tight. Crouching low, every last tendon and muscle tenses visibly on her hide before she unhinges and is suddenly in the welkin. Wings beat with the deep, instinctual rhythm that has brought her into these skies many times before.

Terac politely mumbles "Telgar's duties," and then peers at Kassi's list again. "Will you teach me how to get marks by running wagers?" And then his smile turns rather wicked. "And how to throw knives?"

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Aisheth shakes his head violently, a leg of herdbeast escaping his mouth and flopping free. The dragon's throat works as he drains the carcass but then other factors intervene. He roars after the departing Herath, the echo coming back from the walls of the bowl a few seconds later. The carcass is abandoned, discarded, dropping to the ground like a broken doll as the bronze leaps from the ground, his wings arching down with a snap as the membranes fill with the resistance of the clear cold air.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Herath takes off, wherries scurrying from around her. With massive wingbeats, Herath catches a thermal rising to the top of the bowl.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Chezroth rakes his claws into the ground a few times, and then, without further warning, vaults into the air after the glowing queen dragon! His wings arc outwards and pound against the air as he makes his ascent, small trails of gore dripping to the ground behind him as he rises higher and higher into the evening sky. The chase is on.

Zynassa brightens at Kassima's voice, trying to shed her troublesome brothers. "Ma'am. I *so* happy to have Kay at Ista! I know you'll miss her," She heads towards the greenrider, "and we were just saying that we needed to see each other more. I suppose that's one way." She gives a nod and a grin to Terac at his words and asks casually, "You're wagering, ma'am?" The boys roll their eyes and one starts sniggering to the other.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Xannarth has been mentally shaken up by Seiranth's impressive posturing and looks bewildered for a moment, even surprised to be up in the air. up in the air, still, here he is, in pursuit of the effulgent gold, Herath. He's pressed in the throng and brushes briefly against first a brown and then a bronze before he finds a place for his wingspan.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, And lo, the moment for which Falsanath has been waiting. As Herath takes to the air, he arrows after her, powerful muscles pushing him into the unfamiliar sky. For he is the Seeker, and she the golden prize whose capture will bring an end to the game. Now all he needs is Firebolt, or at least a Nimbus 2000--wait, no, wrong genre. Sans broom, with no propulsion but his strong wings, he tracks Herath's movements, his own smooth and even. No need to rush. The early bird may get the worm, but who wants a worm?

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth bugles as he launches himself up, about time!

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Ahazeth launches in pursuit, his mighty wings sending him upwards at amazing speeds. Its only moments before Ahazeth finds a strong thermal, oneof many in the Telgarian skies. He beats a few times and then looks to see where that gold has gotten herself to. A speck of saffron in the skies draws his eyes and that is where he aims, body stretching out like an arrow shot from a hunter's long bow. Forward he flies.

Kassima gives Terac a suspicious look. "The wagering I might teach you a *bit* of--nay much, though; 'twould be against m'own good interests t'have someone else playing the pool as I do. Family secret, you could call it. The knives, methinks your mother would have m'hide for teaching you." Swivelling about in her chair with just a bit of effort, she grins; says, "Zynassa, as long as I've known you, you *should* know better--the name's Kassima, same as it's ever been. I do miss her, but I couldn't be more pleased for her. And 'twill find *some* way t'go to the Hatching, by hook or crook... when don't I wager?" She considers the trio. "Do any of you bet?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chenth had been waiting for just this moment, as well, and as the gold rises into the sky and the airspace is filled with the sudden fury of beating wings as the males rise after her, he launches himself. Voicing a thunderous challenge, the sound rebounding off of the Bowl walls, his wings beat the air mercilessly, pummeling the frigid breezes as he rises after her.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Lacroith trumpets in an almost dutiful way and pushes away from the grounds, leaping up high before his wings unfurl and sweep hard at the air, bringing him into his first chase. Weaving through the dirty air, wash created by all the closely flying dragon forms, Lacroith is buffeted by the winds, currents and breezes, his larger form finding difficulty amidst some of the smaller bronzes and browns which are able to get the edge on him.

Terac rubs his hands and beams at Kassima. "Let me be your assistant. Assistants are good, I learned that in my classes. Takes more people to have everything run smoothly. You can be rich!" He purses his lips about the knife thing. "I'll talk to mom again. I want to learn. I'm almost twelve." He gets the familiar stubborn look again that he inherited from said mother.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sidonth enjoys the freedom of the air under his outstretched wings, savoring this brief moment where he is one with the sky once more. With a subtle climb, he seems very serene amongst the beating wings of competing brown and bronze alike. Fixated on the distant amber form, his heart and wings beat for only one that flies ahead in all her glory.

Zynassa grins at Kassima, relaxing and dropping into a chair. "How far've you still to go? Fluria says the eggs are still fairly soft. Maybe we could bring you down straight flight or something. And I've been known to wager some." She shoots a hard look at Jarin, who was about to open his big mouth. "You running odds, or just straight wagering." She grins at Terac, "I'm Zynassa by the way. You want to learn wagering, do you? Ever played dragonpoker?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chezroth sails steadily against the shimmering light of the evening sky, his bronze hide glistening a spackled orange tinted with muted green. Wings thunder against freezing wind as Chezroth speeds through the air, eyes beaded and eyeridges furrowed in determination. Although the rest of the chasers surround him at all sides, Chezroth seems hardly aware of their existence, his eyes - and thoughts - focused solely on that fabulous glowing tail.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Seiranth flaps his great wings madly in a flurry of unrequited lust and launches his rather ungainly, yet powerful, form into the skies. Neck stretching out, forelegs grasping at empty air, he barrels his way through the bodies of the other males, attempting to dodge out of politeness but barging his way through more or less. A slightly high pitched bugle emits from his throat, possibly a dulcet call to entice Herath. Or perhaps he strained something in takeoff?

Terac shakes his head, his curls flying. "No no! My mom and my foster-ma never teach me the -important- things. And Auntie Schmitt is a real pain in...she's grumpy, I mean. I'm Terac!" He smiles crookedly, in his best attempt to be charming. Has always worked well in the past.

"I have assistants already," Kassi demures, shaking her head. "Remember, I have children! If'n your mother agrees t'that knife business, though, and your father hasn't the time, 'twill teach you a bit of throwing. 'Tis a useful skill to know." Oh, biased much? The greenrider reports to Zynassa, "About two months, a bit less. I'm thinking of making a long trip of it straight with Lyss. Straight wagering this time--I didn't have enough advance warning t'be calculating strict odds, though 'twill tell you m'thoughts if'n you like." Maybe she'll even tell the truth. Maybe.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Taralyth rises high - yet after Nraith, who leads them now as well as Fall, after foreign Sidonth - angles to the left, away, away and ever up, those blooded beasts forgotten fuel for the fire they've sparked to rage wild within the winter night. There's challenge enough in these skies; he'll not argue with the winds, but persuade them with every silken wingbeat, the sweep of outstretched muzzle through to tail's very tip, guided by the singular scent of hers that the night relays. Herath - and from the left.

A quacking sound, the sound of wings, and suddenly there's a duck in the now sulking Terac's lap. "Aw, come on, Kassima, no one would ever be as good as I as your assistant. Mom's been a recordkeeper, I could be could. I could convince everyone to wager more often and make everything sharding smooth!"

Zynassa nods, expression guileless and innocent. And she's actually decent at it. "Sure, Kassima, I'd love to hear 'em. Course, I have to put half a mark on Falsanath. What with him being Mahara's father, and Istan and all. But, who do you think are likely prospects? And how long do you think it might go? It's Herath rising, right?" She grins to Terac, "I could teach you dragonpoker, if you promise not to tell your mother. Who is she anyway? I think it's even better than knifethrowing as a good skill to learn." A pause and she asks curiously, "What *is* that you've got, Terac?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, The cold air is refreshing to the heated Ahazeth as he beats his wings. If dragons could sweat this race certainly would warrant it. Massive wings beat heavilly, and a long bronze tail waves behind his coppery form. Muscles ripple beneath the metallic hide and talons slash in the air at dragons that come too close. Warnings, and no injuries, that is all the extra effort that Ahazeth gives to the others, as all his attention is focussed on pursuing the golden beauty that has the hearts of so many.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, And dusky wings -- canny, ready -- -seize- these scant winds, bend them to iron will: Indrath surges up after, baring strength through uncharacteristic agility in that valorous rush from earth. He'll jostle with the pack for now, silent for all the jockeying for position above, around, behind; but'll keep close, earn a share of these skies, -her- skies, with each sweep of 'sails. His -and- hers.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth arrows himself after the gold. With an almost-squawk of dismay, he finds himself crowded by bronzes and browns. As a bronze hisses at him, he veers a little and nearly collides with a fellow brown. Toranth drops a bit to clear himself from the pack and wings along just underneath the others, eyes still on the prize.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Herath revels in her flight! For now the others are too far beneath her to cause her concern. The soft caresses of air rolling over her flesh, the coolness of the night and the pure rush of being one with the sky is all too good not to enjoy, if even only for so brief a period of time. Her tendency to be cautious during flight is also momentarily forgotten, the scars along her wing barely a memory.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kheprith doesn't bother with jockeying for position, his wings creaking with the effort he's putting into keeping up with the larger bronzes, much less the even larger queen. Any given thermal is used judiciously to increase his altitude, whisps of cloud trailing from his wings as he bursts through a small and pretty cumulus cloud.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Aisheth roars again, his mouth open to the wind, the sound of his voice carrying well as he bellows his desires for all, and Herath, to hear. He chases after the tawny gold for the first few moments, then peels away from the main group, his large wings beating heavily in that air, forcing his heavy body upwards, lifting his bulk higher and yet higher in a struggle for height. The dragon's muscles flicker under his hide, the wet streaks coming back from his muzzle staining his white-bronze hide red and foamed pink down the length of his neck. He bugles now, bugles his intent to the wonder of Herath, bugles of his stamina, bugles of his lust, bugles of his strengths.

Kassima shakes her head firmly. "Terac, if'n I train an assistant, 'twill be one of m'children--m'son Kris probably; he's big on history and the like. But 'twill tell you what. What if'n I give you a trial for a sevenday or two, see how you do? If'n you can increase m'winnings, then I'll take you on, assuming your mother isn't against it." The duck does get a blink, but not a big one since the greenrider has one of her own. "Nay long, since 'tis Herath. She had that injury, y'know--likely prospects, 'twould say Taralyth, Chezroth, mayhaps Aisheth; I've heard good things of him from Igen. 'Twould say Nraith, only I fear Daelyth's reaction to *that*. And a'course I don't know half of the chasing males very well."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falsanath's whippy tail seems to be having a good old time, as it just happens to flick, like those party favors that unfurl when one end is blown into, towards the face of a fellow chaser. Oops! Really, purely unintentional. No apology comes from the bronze, though, his attention focused purely on Herath. An unfamiliar thermal gives him a moment of trouble, but then he recovers, and while he is, of course, beneath Herath, he is still here, and one who is low can look towards the stars, at least, and dare to dream, to change his stars, even, and while he flies, he hopes.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Ahazeth needs to gain some distance, so he folds his wings and dives down at an angle that gives him speed and distance, even if the altitude is compromised. Before he gets too low, he shoots back upwards, using the thermals to maintain the speed he's gained and thus slingshotting upwards into the sky. The older Igen Bronze's Bellow is joined by a roar from the younger bronze, Ahazeth, responding to the challenge with vigor. He can win, he will win...he SHALL win.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chezroth is nudged roughly by a nearby dragon, and begins to fall slightly out of position. Snarling, he pushes his way back into the fold, but not before hammering against the wind with a few powerful strokes to get himself into a slightly better position than before. He scans the rest of the pack, nodding to himself, perhaps guaging a plan of attack. After a short pause, he pulls his wings high above his body, so that he drops down a dragonlength or two to be underneath a rather large cluster of dragons. Using them as wind resistance, wings thump against air once more, as he creeps his way forward beneath them, a dark shadow stealthily stalking.

Terac gently strokes the duck's feathers. "My mom's Macami, Tivuketh's rider. She just moved here from Igen. She's strict. Too much work with weyrlings." He makes a face. "And that's Dummy. And I won't tell my mom and want to learn." Kassima receives a hurt look at first, then he beams. "Yes yes, you'll never want to do without me again, I swear!"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Xannarth struggles, in competition with himself, his wings seeking the harmony of swift flight in uncertain skies. His eyes lock on to the crimson hue of the Queen and therein he finds the center of the storm and moves more fluidly, able to angle around an older bronze and gain an even better view of Herath's back, wings and bewitching tail. And, Oh!, that tail, it moves as she rises and draws him along behind like a toy on a string, here for her amusement.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Telgar's skies are Nraith's skies. He's known them for longer than he can remember. They lift him higher, speeding him after the Golden glimmer that is Herath far above. The winter moons glimmer off his hide, causing the rolling golds and streaking silvers etched along his length to sparkle with crystalized mist. The cold, however is his friend, easing already stressed muscles and numbing the pain he's willing to endure for Her.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chenth rises ever higher into the air, seizing advantage wherever he finds it, be it an uplifting thermal, the jostlings and jockeyings of nearby dragons giving him free airspace in which to move through. His eyes whirling vivid sunburned orange, he cuts through the air with the precise movements of a silent, cold, passionless hunter who knows his prey will have to give up the chase sooner or later. And, when she does... Well, for now, he focuses on tailing her, his eyes fixed on the soaring gold's tailtip - his wings continuing to pulverize the air as he passes through it.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth Toranth beats along just under the pack steady as a rock, not gaining and not losing any ground. All those trips out of the weyr, flying straight, are paying off now. Let those impatient others wear themselves out playing dodge-dragon. Toranth is content to bide his time.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sidonth sails forth in the quiet discord of the Telgar night; pushed by welcoming thermals, pulled by the vicious, cold air currents. The dry blood is unseen on his raven-bronze hide, almost like he hadn't blooded at all. This shadow of a bronze rumbles inwardly, never letting Herath removed from his tepid gaze as he lowers his form in the sky to move past a clumping of hissing, roaring browns. Confident in his strength and his wings, he would endure until his body could fly no more; all this for the foreign, beautiful Herath.

Zynassa mms at Terac and ventures uncertainly, "Well he's-" and her tone drifts up on a question, "Uh, cute. I guess. And I'd be more than willing to teach you, though I'm not *that* often up here. But we can go in stages and you can practice on Joar and Jarin," she offers magnanimously. The twins are both eyeing caverns girls giggling in a corner and completely miss this generous offer. To Kassima she nods and murmurs, "Chezroth was the one up at Reaches as Weyrleader for a while, wasn't he? And Taralyth's I'sai's? Where's Aisheth from?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Leave scarce-remembered scars, leave caution back on earth -- dare Indrath to taste her sweet scent upon the air she clasps, abandons. He'll bear it back to her, breezes and thermals his allies -- these dark, cloud-strewn skies known best to Nraith, perhaps, but -writ- upon -his- lean frame. Leading edges, knife-sharp, hiss as he angles from the pack, rises up for the clean, open air into which she revels, into which she leads this dance.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Seiranth would revel in his flight if he wasn't so hard pressed to keep up with all these shiny-coated, smooth flyers with greater wingspans. For a brown with little brain, he's not averse to the odd dirty trick, obvious as they are, and lurches into the path of a younger beast, ready for a quick swipe of the talons. Mouth opening, he attempts another carolling regard to the queen, deeper this time and without the strained high-pitched overtones. One might even say melodious.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Lacroith replies to Aisheth's roar with one of his own, a haunting, frightening attempt to best the elder bronze from Igen. Snapping his mouth closed to seal off the end of the call, Lacroith tilts into his efforts, powering into the sweeping and thrusting of his wings, his head and neck rising and falling with the oscillation of weight transfer. Given in completely to the urges, the young bronze bites out a challenge to a brown ahead of him, swinging his head to one side to knock at the tail in an attempt to disrupt, distract, and derail the other dragon's attempts.

Terac pouts a bit at Zynassa. "He doesn't poop in the Living Cavern, I trained him. Want to hold him? Dummy is much cooler than Despair, you know." He listens for a moment and then pipes up "Aisheth is my da's lifemate. From Igen."

"They *are* their father's sons, aren't they," Kassi murmurs, watching the twins with ill-disguised merriment. "He's a rather handsome duck, I'd say. Aye, that's Chezroth--those 'Reachian queens stole him away, wicked wenches. Taralyth is indeed I'sai's, and Aisheth's from Igen, ridden by the father of Terac here. Right, as he said."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Taralyth may play likewise - there's lightness even in the snap at that older male who's stumbling sideways from Falsanth's flick, and he'll roll into a sharp and shallow curve to taunt a glimpse of belly at those as yet behind - and surely he teases the winds as if in payment for how she tantalizes likewise, that wingspan fragile for all its power: a gust could take him - or guide him, guide him _near_.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth spots his chance, aha, a break in the pack. He arrows up at an angle but doesn't see that bronze coming in from the side. He veers off a bit and narrowly misses getting clipped, but loses some distance. He works his wings harder to catch up to the slightly bigger bronzes and the strong browns ahead of him.

Zynassa ahs and demurs to Terac, "No, that's okay, really." She sniffs, trying to discreetly wipe her nose on the back of her hand. While she can get away with looking innocent, she's not so smooth as all that. "Sorry. Must be the cold. And well, if Aisheth's rider is Terac's father, Hm. Maybe I should put something down on him. But-" she pauses to give the word more weight, "I think I'll put a full three marks on Taralyth." She draws them and the half out from her belt pouch. "I rather liked I'sai," she confides to Kassima. "And then maybe a mark on Chezroth. Maybe Telgar'd get him back, at least for a bit."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, As the expanse of sky falls beneath her, Herath continues to enjoy the simple embrace of the air and flight. Despite her experience, she can not fight the temptation to simply enjoy this freedom, this pure opportunity to totally release herself to the winds and stars. Timor and Belior's lights draw her like paths to a greater beyond - surely nothing can threaten her flight now. Ancient and stubborn Benden blood fills her veins and she is not shy about showing that.

The amount of marks their sister pulls does get the twin's attention. "Hey!" one pipes up, "You said you didn't have any!" Joar, or is it Jarin, agrees, "Yeah! You tricked us! Where'd you get 'em anyway!" Zynassa just gives her brothers a demure look, "Qirith *did* clutch fairly recently, you know."

Terac stares at Zynassa with mouth open-wide. "Wow. Three full marks. I wish I had more marks for wagers. Are you sure you don't want to hold him?" He picks up Dummy and holds him out to Zynassa. "Stroking him is just one mark!"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kheprith tilts on a wing to dart around another male, a larger and lumbering bronze. He doesn't carol to the queen, he merely concentrates on getting to her, putting additional speed into his wingbeats... a risky maneuver, but it may be worth it in the end.

Kassima's brows rise high, high, higher--"Three marks. Far be it from me t'be turning down a potential profit like that. Three on Taralyth, one on Chezroth." Her hand moves rapidly over the hide, scratching in the bet with practiced speed. Never mind her muffled laughter at the twins' indignance. "Good for you, making so much."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chenth seems faintly vexed - what, no evasive manuevers? What, no dipping and rising, no weaving through the clouds? No glorious, hard-bitten chase to stretch the sinews of his young bronze wings? Bemused at the way the golden queen rises in the air, seeming to /enjoy/ her flight, he nonetheless presses on, his body tilting at a slight angle as he angles between two small browns, his tailtip lashing out at each of their heads in a blithe put-down of their tiring abilities.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chezroth comes alive with the pleasure of the chase, wings frolicking merrily as they cast scattered shadows on the ground below, the bronze dragon enjoying the thrill of being alive, perhaps more than alive, and in pursuit of a beautiful creature. The wind rushes against his mainsails, his crisp wings carving patterns in the clouds as the dragon makes his way after the glowing golden goddess. Chezroth's body is electric, each piece of dragon working together to form a powerful machine. The ferocity of the first part of the chase has given way to the enjoyment of it. His snarls and hisses at other dragons seem almost goodnatured. Chezroth's competitive spirit, however, has not waned. The bronze is absolutely focused on his task.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, He chases a third moon. A golden moon that shimmers with more life than the others have ever known. Nraith pierces the heavens with a trumpet, as if by calling to her, she might turn to fall into his wating embrace. His taught stretched wingsail force him higher still, drawing him into an agony much akin to Herath exhaltation, and the trumpet cuts off sharply, before it can become a cry. Oh, that dragons could shed tears.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falsanath, not above a little poetry, croons. It's a rather breathless sort of croon, as chasing a gold isn't the easiest sort of thing in the world, particularly in unfamiliar skies, but it's an attempt. He'd probably rather fly more friendly skies, but Delta's unavailable. He does his best to angle around a more maneuverable brown, trusting in his staying power to keep him going. The Energizer Bronze, who keeps going, and going, and... the point is made, yes? Falsanath is, though, no pink bunny with a drum, and he seems to be sharing Herath's enjoyment in the flight, though there's caution in his own enjoyment--must be aware of the brown there, the other bronze here--rivals, rivals everywhere, and barely room to think. He trails after Herath, not daring to threaten her flight just yet, but perhaps waiting for a time when he can.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Xannarth wastes breath in a roar of irritation as a bronzed hindquarter replaces his view of the gilt goddess. Adjusting his path he narrowly swerves away from the most frightening brown he's ever laid eyes on and then has to work hard to regain what's been lost. Anger drives him faster, perhaps recklessly so, and he edges past another competitor, almost brushing wingtips. Still, he gains a better view of her aureate form, mature with signs of scoring and promising in experience for one as ingenuous as he.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth finds himself caught up with the others and tries to go over them, only to be blocked by an older bronze. He veers off to the right and around, those young wings pumping him closer. He bugles once as he sees the gold ahead of him again. Here I come!

Zynassa hands the marks over to Kassima, murmuring, "Wasn't terribly hard. She clutched a huge number the first time out too." She starts to respond to Terac, a grin on her face, both at the lad's enterprising nature and at her brother's indignation. She freezes, face contorted. She draws in a short, hitching breath, and then sneezes into her hands. Good thing she'd passed over the marks first. "Ugh. Sorry." Eyes are a trifle teary and she shakes her head at Terac, continuing, "If stroking him's just a mark, I doubt I'd have the purse to hold him.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Ahazeth continues to beat his mighty wings. Muscles crackle under his skin, and his mouth opens to allow the scent of the golden dragon pass over his tongue. He roars and his body releases that extra burst of energy that he needed to get ahead of the pack. The energy which he had stored on the ground is already beginning to wane, as this flight continues in an amazing arial ballet. A brown loses his strength nearby and pirhouettes in the air before falling down to the ground below. Bummer....

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Aisheth rises higher now, rising above the others but losing ground. All his efforts go into the rise, his wings straining, his deep breaths coming slow and even as air whistles audibly through his nose and mouth. It is height he wants and he ignores those that pass below, the tail enders of this chase of lust and of desire. From the ground he becomes a mere dark stain on the sky, dark until one of the rays of the dying sun glints from the bloody wetness sliding down his neck, the glint of light like a star flash in the otherwise darkening heavens. Again he roars and now it is some time before the blast of that sound reaches the ground, dimmed by distance, but the meaning is still there, the meaning and the desire, all the want and lust and even care that a bronze can muster. He chases that Benden blood, he wants to be part of it, to fly and to hold the beauty of Herath, to continue the line of Telgar dragons and be part of their future.

Terac purses his lips. "Okay, sneezing on him is half a mark." He puts Dummy back in his lap, but the indignant duck hops off his lap and starts waddling around under the table.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sidonth arches his neck, tilting his head to peer at what *exactly* is above and ahead of him. Rumbling to himself, his wingtips stretch out as far as possible, the membrane of his midnight-born wings pierced by the subtle glow of the lights far up in the sky. Young and full of inner-strength, he bears himself forth through the onslaught with confident only seen in seasoned dragons. Not a flash of pointed fangs or an intimidating roar, he continues on as silent as that moment when the world wakes from the grasps of the mournful night.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Upstart Telgari bronze shan't be deterred by Bendenite mettle -- that obstinance Indrath's own inheritance from yonder sire. Another sweep of wings: hers, his, and he'll open yet more distance from the pack, still angling for that free and empty slice of sky she claims amid the thinning air, ghosted by twin moons' pale sight.

Zynassa bargins the lad down a bit, "An eighth. I barely even got any spit on him. And ducks are supposed to like water, aren't they?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Igen sun seeping into his bones, contrasting sharply with the Telgar cold, a limited intellect, or maybe it's simply too many plump wherries at mealtimes and a tendency towards inactivity. Seiranth's breath rattles in his chest as he endeavours to remain in the game. It's not a game though - not with an ego the size of Keroon on the line for another deflating blow. Eyes distended, the brown flaps valiently onwards.

"But not yucky, gooey stuff like that! But okay, an eigth is okay, you tried not to sneeze on him." Terac looks rather pleased with himself and looks under the table, giving Dummy a thumbs up.

"Still, there's skill in knowing who's willing t'bet *against*," Kassi murmurs back, adding the marks to her growing pile of wager-fodder. At the sneeze, she draws a cloth from her belt-pouch by reflex and offers it over.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Taralyth's no pureblood; yet that vintage runs true, however tainted, in his veins - and perhaps wilder for it; for all that speed, all that elemental efficiency given freedom in eldritch-lit wings, he'd not threaten but entice her further: past them, past the moons, till even their Weyr is but a memory abandoned to the rush of wind. Oh, he'll joust for wingroom with Falsanth, sweep 'neath Aisheth's shadow - but distance calls, and bold whimsy alike.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Lacroith keeps his mouth closed now, looking like he'd rather not waste his time with the dragon churls around him. Muscle, sinuew, and tendon all work in unison as Lacroith lowers away, deciding to move out of the pack just a bit to gain clear air and give it his all. The radiant gold above and ahead his target, his goal, his reason, Lacroith sweeps wide of a slicing air current and barrels past a down breeze. His first set of lids slide shut at the stinging wind and Lacroith rumbles briefly, his chest expanding and contracting while his nostrils puff out smoke in trails of steam that swirls in the wind he kicks up behind him.

Zynassa gives Kassima a greatful look, taking the cloth and deliberately turning attention from the murmuring. She has not wagering skill. Really. Honest. She's innocent and harmless. A quick blow of her nose and she says, "I'll clean this up before giving it back, Kassima. Thank you so much. Must be the temperature changes from Ista to here." She fishes out an eighth mark and offers it over to Terac commenting, "First rule of wagering? Never wager more than you can afford to lose."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, If ego alone could keep Herath aloft, surely this flight would last into the early morning hours. It can not, however, and the injury that kept her grounded so many turns ago seems to be working against her. She can not keep this pace up much longer. A brown comes within a breath of her and it takes quite a maneuver to keep herself from getting caught by him. Ego gives way to cunning and the queen starts to expel more energy in quick turns and twists to keep herself free. A mocking, if ill-timed, bugle is echoed across the welkin and around her chasers. And then a distraction from - where? Her flight takes on a more ragged path as her near-aching wing begins to act up...

Terac quickly pockets the mark, grinning. "Okay. And you really shouldn't return the cloth at all, it's yuuuuuuuuucky." He scrunches his face at Zynassa. "Hey Kassi, see what a good assistant I would make?"

Kassima waves a hand in a vague gesture. "Don't worry about it too much; I've many, so there's nay rush, but you're certes welcome. 'Twould nay be surprised if'n you're right. This place is a bloody *ice cube*." She draws her jacket closer around herself in an exaggerated shiver. "Second rule of wagering," she quips, "is t'try, when you can, t'be betting on a sure thing. And you got marks for *yourself*--impressive, I'll grant, but where's m'cut in this?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, The moon n'er shone so bright as Herath, the wind n'er caressed so keen. Water n'er refreshed as the sight of her does, nor made the hide feel near as clean. The Queen is everything when glowing in Flight, gracing the star strewn sky with her might. Yet the Chase is not for everyone-- something breaks... muscle or will, it won't be immediately known, but Nraith plumets from the skies as if he'd already caught her. But his fall is solitary. He plumets for what seems like forever, but finally spreads his wingsails in time to break his fall. This game, for him, was never to be.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, There's a rumble from Falsanath at Taralyth's temerity--jostle with Falsanath, will he?--and the older bronze refuses to give way, instead trying to arrow past Taralyth, closer to Herath. And after another moment, the other bronze is--mostly--forgotten, as Falsanath focuses on the crimson-gold of the queen, trying, ever trying to edge closer to her, coming in from her right side. He does his best to keep up with her twists and turns, trying to anticipate as well as follow, and there's another rumble, this one holding, perhaps, an offer. Maybe he can see that she's tiring, maybe he can tell she's in pain? But, after all, support can provide relief from an injury, and he is more than willing to provide support.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth is starting to feel the strain on his wings and lungs as he chases the gold. Letting out another bugle, he beats gamely on after Herath, glaring at the others around him now.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Ahazeth sees this faltering in the skies from below and sees this as an opportunity to get himself into a position that may prove fortutious as she begins to slow. Even the brightest stars fall. The handsome bronze dragon beats his wings and stretches his neck out, flying forward from beneath to maneuver under the golden queen, matching her movements with his own as best he can so as not to lose his position. A pink tongue licks at the bronzed muzzle, various areas drying out from the air that hits his body at the high speeds. His muzzle dries out more so though, being licked clean from blood -and- oil during the blooding... This cannot go on much longer.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chenth lets out an exhuberant, jovial crooooooon - NOW this is more like it! Dodging, darting, rolling, sneaking behind clouds, this is the kind of game he enjoys playing. He soars after her, the distance between her and himself, her and this raggedy pack of males, proud they may be; they are still raggedy in his eyes as long as he lusts after the glowing golden prize in front of his muzzle. He shoulders in between a pair of dragons, jostling with them for wingspace, and inches ever closer to the glowing prize.

Zynassa tries not to laugh at Kassima's rejoinder to the lad. She says, mopping at her nose again, "Oh, I dunno. I miss the snow. My first winter without it." She grins, looking over towards her brothers again and then blinks at them for a few moments. They've joined the giggling girls in the corner, apparently more interested in girls than marks. At least tonight. "Third rule: never get distracted while wagering." She rolls her eyes a bit.

Terac makes a face, and then pulls the eight mark out of his pocket again and shoves it over to Kassima. "Okay, guess I need to put it on Aish. Is my da's dragon after all. Probably won't catch, so there's your cut. Or want to keep it?" He really seems keen on the job.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chezroth makes his move, eyes swirling with hypnotic rhythm. The bronze has fought the good fight, and flown the good flight, and now it is determination and a lot of luck that will bring home the gold, so to speak. Ruddy bronze wings give a final thrust, and then the bronze sails, sleek as a brassy dart, toward the glowing wonder in front of him. From the ground, for only a very, very brief moment, Chezroth - with his specked bronze hide glowing green-pocked orange in the chill evening sky - looks suspiciously like a immense chunk of airborne cheese. But now, as the crowd of frenetic dragons banters about him, Chezroth is pure dragon, thrusting his wings outward, seeking to shield himself and the queen he desires from the other pursuers. Now, nothing but Herath seems to matter to the bronze. Nothing on Pern.

"Oh, but Zynassa, you can't really blame 'em." Kassima's voice is rich with humor. "'Tis genetic, y'know--ah! That's working for me, Terac, thankee." A notation is made on the hide. "Hopefully, 'twill be a pleasure doing business."

Zynassa snorts at Kassima. "Genetic, yes. They're male." Her tone is faintly disgusted. Then she leans forward to advise Terac, "Now, was the eighth mark all you had, Terac?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kheprith sees his sire falter and then ROARS loudly as he ducks around another brown, his wings straining at the endgame sets in. As Herath falters, he increases his speed even more, the risk getting even worse. The moons kiss his wings with their light as he arrows in toward the glowing queen.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, And from that left, ever from that lattice-winged left - shadow alive to Herath's sun, Taralyth rises not to disrupt but to sustain, prismatic wings outswept to hers for all that dark neck and light tail reach to twine if he can; cutting through those twists and turns, daring the open space that Falsanth leaves as he cuts to the right, Taralyth's heedless of Nraith's fall, heedful of that bugle's warning yet daring nonetheless. Daring - protective - elemental in what and who he seeks and strives to find.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Seiranth bleats in distress and confusion as his tired wings begin to fail him. And then she falters. Sheer nervous energy spurs him on to twist and dive and surge after her. His flight lacks finesse, neatness and stripped of his caveman bearing by fatigue he's just a brown in a large sky full of bronzes. Wings straining with the effort and face laboured, he gives his all and more, clawing his way through the pack heroically.

Terac shrugs. "I put my sixteenth on Taralyth. I don't have anymore. My foster-ma keeps a tight belt-pouch. Maybe it'll be better when Herath was caught."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Bugling in forlorn frustration as Herath dips from his view and forces Xannarth to race desperately up to pass a rival and then back down again with a quick tilt of his wings. The wind surges over his wings and the blood pounds in his veins, filling him with a heightened sense of power and awareness. Molten bronze wings are stretched as full as possible and saturnine neck is strained forward, his poor little bronze heart near to bursting, she seems so very close to him.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Aisheth now benefits from the height he has gained. Herath is no green, but that does not mean that she can't be either agile, nor filled with guile. At least now with his height he can cope with most changes in direction. Indeed he sees her tire, sees the wings slow but also sees the near miss with the brown. He roars his indignation, folding his wings to his back he plummets, arrowing his head Pernwards he descends, loosing all his hard earned height and gaining speed. Passing the majority of the dragons in that headlong and desperate dive he suddenly unfolds his large wing membranes, that loud snap telling of pain that may follow when his mind has the time for it. He is here, he has arrived. He shoulders away another of the bronzes and reaches out, trying to touch, to embrace. His talons extend to try to wrap around Herath's tawny golden, coral enriched body, his neck seeks to entwine with hers, his tail to wrap around the gold's own in an ecstasy of flight. He is here for her, he is here to be with her, to hold her, to help rest her tired wings.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Lacroith swings his head up at the sight of the prize becoming weary, the blood on his muzzle frosted white from the winter winds and the altitude. With a hard down thrust of his wings, Lacroith surges up towards Herath in eager demand. He tilts his head just slightly, his lids again flying open to expose his purple desirous needs, and extends his neck, the ridges parting and fanning roughly. The young bronze is entirely focused, unaware of the competitors around him, as his tail acts as a sabre in the air, cutting through a swath of space in a message of strength. The pale bronze of his ale coloured hide glints and sparks the evening sky while his motion, his purposeful movement, is determined more for what /should/ be his than what is his to protect.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sidonth does not bother himself with the outward squabble of the males below him, his wanting violet-turned eyes gazing on the slowing Queen. Almost mournful over the old injury of the tragic gold, he arches his massive form as his wings start to use the energy stolen from the carcasses below for this moment. The others must not catch her, they will hurt her if not careful. Bowing his head in conviction, his speed brings him to the front of the pack and beyond them a good length. His claws, held against his body, twitch in growing anticipation. She will be safe in his loving hold, protecting from the harsh reality in his neverending love. For Her.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth climbs again, aiming for the gold. He bellows in frustration as first a bronze and then a fellow brown arrow past him, and puts on extra effort, not quite tapped out as his youth sustains him. As the gold begins to drop, he twists and bombs down after her, folding his wings close to his body.

Kassima has to confess, "*Khari* doesn't really do that, so you may have the right of it. Mayhaps she'd be a letch if'n she weren't so obsessed with her painting." Sliding a glance outside, she observes with drumming fingers, "Shouldn't be long now. Herath's put on a sharding good show, flying this long with that wing of hers."

Zynassa nods and says to the lad, "A bit of advice? Remember the first rule: never wager more than you can afford to lose. Now, if you'd put a sixteenth on Taralyth, then you'd still have a sixteenth left out of the eighth. Believe me, I didn't wager all I had." Shards, she must have really cleaned up. That or she's getting it some other way. "She's still painting? Really? I met someone at the Harper Hall who does illustrations for the archives. Think she ever might do something like that?" She looks at Kassima curiously.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Seiranth bleats in distress and confusion as his tired wings begin to fail him. And then she falters. Sheer nervous energy spurs him on to twist and dive and surge after her. His flight lacks finesse, neatness and stripped of his caveman bearing by fatigue he's just a brown in a large sky full of bronzes. Muscles straining with the effort and face laboured, he gives his all and more, clawing his way through the pack heroically.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Invitation incites Indrath to loose those winds he's held as allies, to soar back for the pack -- that clutching, grasping morass of bodies that might strain to possess flicker of gold through these skies. But not for the pack, for -her-: and draws forth that inherited tenacity to replace fallen sire's, draws forth that agility unknown to most others his size -- his own, that. He'll match her through those desperate maneuvers, answer mocking cry with dusk's naked silence, and reach with knife's-edge wingtip as he bears down from above in effort to foul those wingbeats -- no, -steady- them, spin her into his embrace, twine Benden's dawn's brilliance with Telgar's evening fire.

Terac suddenly gasps. "Where will I sleep tonight? I think they went to the weyr." He looks apalled. "I don't want to sleep in the nursery. Or in Demi's room up in mom's weyr." He thoughtfully listens to Zynassa. "Okay, see, now I'm poor and have nothing left. Will you help me?" He holds out his hand.

Kassima spreads her hands apart, palms up. "I've nay so much as a clue. Methinks she plans on being like Syraemia--she's m'cousin, an artist, and she makes her living by taking commissions for things. Makes dragonpoker decks, too. Khari does like music and Harpers, though; I suppose 'twill just be up t'her t'be deciding." To Terac, she suggests, "You could snag a cot in the Residents' Quarters for the night? There're usually a few free."

Maybe he's spoiled. Terac makes another face. "There's other snoring people in there. I want my own cot. And Dummy needs his pillow." He shrugs. "Maybe I can sneak into the weyr. I never saw Auntie Kin do the naughty stuff."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Herath is actually warbling softly...that mocking tone so -her- filtering into the breezes like wind-blown flower petals. Mayhaps she plans on relishing these last moments of glory, gold form streaming across the Telgar skies like a ribbon let free in the wind. Cold winds brush against her aching need...it is then she feels something...someone...above her! She knew it was coming, but so soon?! Now?! I'm not ready to give up yet! her voice rages in protest as a bronze tail finds her own. Too late...it seems that Chezroth was right where she didn't expect anyone to be and the queen is caught.

Zynassa's lips twitch and she tries hard not to grin at Terac. "I'm not holding your duck, so don't even think about it. Tell you what, if your father's dragon wins, I'll give you that sixteenth." She tries to sound stern, and ends up grinning anyway.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Ahazeth roars in defeat and lands.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Toranth bellows with dismay as he sees the gold and bronze tails entwine and the couple spiraling down. He wings off to the right, coming around in a circle, then drops lower towards the ground, dejected.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Xannarth bleats in confused anguish and spirals slowly groundwards.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Lacroith spirals past the queen and bellows out loud in frustration, his wings carrying him onward into the distance before a roar comes again and he circles haltingly back towards the ground.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kheprith trumpets as the out-weyr bronze manages to capture his quarry, and he tilts away, suddenly creeling as one of his wings folds incorrectly.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falsanath rumbles his protest--so close!--but spirals down to the ground, gliding to spare his wings.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Seiranth roars then coughs hoarsely, then roars some more and dives from the sky, bugling plaintively for his rider.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chenth reaches out with betaloned hands, and... what?! the prize is claimed? Roaring in defeat, he twists out of the twined pair's path, and dips his wings, diving steeply down to get himself away from the humiliating defeat.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Knowledge comes sharply to Taralyth - and he rides his momentum past, speeds down, 'round, _down_ through those who likewise fall.

Kassima points a long-nailed finger at the lad. "Nor *will* you--give your Aunt Kin some privacy, hey? How would you like it if'n you were doing such a thing and someone walked in on you?" What a cheerful, cheerful thought. She sits up abruptly, her eyes unfocusing. "Ah. Ah-hah. *That's* interesting... well, Zynassa, I owe you *one* mark." And she draws two pieces from her pile, sliding them over towards the younger woman.

Zynassa protests before she can think, "Only one? Who was it that won? Chezroth?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Wingtip misses its mark -- Indrath vanes 'sails downward, lets momentum carry him into a dive that bears him to cruel earth below.

Kassima bobs her head, affirmation. "Chezroth. Shards, but the reactions from Kin and Sandy in the morning ought t'be interesting... and a Benden-blooded clutch 'twill be! Excellent news all around."

Terac blinks as the mark is passed over. "It's over? One mark? Chezroth? Shards and shells!" He sniffs at Kassima. "I'm not doing the naughty stuff...yet. But okay, won't go there. Can I stay in your weyr? I don't snore. And your assistant needs to be around you all day anyway."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Chezroth wraps sturdy brazen wings about his prize, moving steadily forward, holding her tenderly. The moment is precise, pricked with both intimacy and peace. Soon, only a single metallic form can be seen where two dragons once flew.

Zynassa flushes faintly then, as Kassima's words to Terac register. "Oh dear. I'm glad mother was out on sweeps. Though I suppose I could catch a ride back with G'har. provided he's not too drunk to take me. Sorry about our little wager, Terac. But at least you've learned the first lesson."

G'har walks in from the bowl.
G'har has arrived.

Mh'al walks in from the bowl.
Mh'al has arrived.

Terac doesn't look too happy about his first lesson. And no naughty stuff to see either. He seems rather skilled at pouting and doing the puppy-eyes, as he waits for Kassima's reply to his question.

"Nay, nay," Kassi protests, "and nay again--even if'n you end up m'assistant, Terac, you're nay moving into m'weyr. You could stay in the Guest Weyr? That one's open; they'll be in Kin's." Seeing the first riders coming in, she reaches to open the first bottles. "What's your pleasure, G'har? Wine, brandy, or rotgut?"

G'har arrives on cue, and, unsurprisingly, starts for the alcohol. "Whatever's closest," he replies to Kassima, folding into a conveniently nearby seat and resting his head in his hands. "Sharding Fal--but I can't blame him." There's a vague mutter about the joys of having a weyrmate, before he adds to Kassima, "We... there was a bet, wasn't there?" Flight-fuddled as G'har is, he could probably be confinced that he lost said bet. But that would be mean, wouldn't it?

Zynassa looks over for her brothers, but they, along with the giggling caverns girls, seem to have disappeared. Giving a sniff, she rises to lend a hand to Kassima in passing out drinks, stuffing the kerchief in a pocket. A pregnant greenrider should be able to protect her enough from the maleriders straggling in. "Well, I lost marks on you G'har, but not much," she offers consolingly.

Terac blinks, and then smiles brightly. "Guest Weyr! Good idea. I'll go see if I can stay there." He quickly stands, calling under the table. "Let's go, Dummy." The duck was just about to start nibbling at Zynassa's feet, but stops and waddles out from under the table, following his duck-boy. Terac's big cloak is fluttering behind him as he rushes outside, calling over his shoulder "Bye Zynassa, and Kassima, I'll find you in the morning. Your assistant needs knife training too!"
Terac walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Terac has left.

Mh'al slides in from the bowl, a light smile on his features. The only sign of disappointment is in the slight slump of his shoulders, yet he makes his way to the nearest klah pot in the cavern. Pouring himself a partially-full mug of the steaming drink, he finds himself a seat with pause.

Kassima snags a bottle of a gold-hued alcohol and passes it on over. "You've a new weyrmate?" she wonders. "And this is Nabolese firewater, so be careful--you *did* have a bet, didn't you. And you won it. *Shardit*. Just a second, 'twill dig out the right amount, and if'n any of the rest of you," that to the other riders, "need alcohol, help yourselves... that lad is never going t'take nay for an answer on the knives, is he?"

Zynassa waves after Terac, before being besieged by a pair of what look to be Benden brownriders. She pours wine for them and then slips away from their advances, adding, "Besides, F'nar'd string you both up together if you did." She heads towards Mh'al offering, "I see you've klah, but there's wine if you'd prefer?"

G'har peers rather blearily at Zynassa. "You bet -on- Fal? Well... thanks. He appreciates that, I'm sure. Sorry you lost marks, though. His record... not amazing, it's been a while." He twitches a bit at the mention of knife-training, casting a wary look after Terac. He takes the bottle rather gratefully, and swigs from it, apparently missing the caution, as he chokes a moment. "Shards," he breathes. "And, no, no weyrmate. Wouldn't mind one just now. It'd be more fun than strangling on... what did you say this was again?" There's a vague brightening. "I won, huh? Lost to win, but at least I won." He pauses, then. "Am I making -any- sense?"

Mh'al finds himself a seat with a polite grin to Kassima. "I've brought my own, but I thank you for the offer." From inside his jacket, he pulls a small flask. With a quick turn of the cap, he pours a small amount into his klah with a careful eye.

"Nabolese firewater," Kassi patiently repeats. "'Twill take the edge off, I wager. And I imagine there are likely some riders out there who'd be willing t'play weyrmate for the night, if'n you go for that--you're making *some* sense. Just a touch." Finally finding the mark, she slides it over to him. "Your profit, then."

Zynassa says earnestly over to G'har, "Not much, but then you never do. I had to put something down on him - just wouldn't be honest not to." An impish grin is given to the bronzer, before she nods to Mh'al, "Just give a yell if you need anything. What is that you're adding anyway?" She cocks her head at the Reaches rider curiously.

G'har takes the mark with a murmur of thanks, and tucks it into a pocket. "Towards Mahara's runner," he adds vaguely. "Not, not, -not- going to go see Tria now. There's a bad idea. She'd make fun of me later, probably." He ohs quietly, then, peering at the bottle, before he takes another, more cautious sip. "Thanks," he adds, offering the bottle back to Kassima. "Better not have too much--I want to be able to get home." He peers at Zynassa, then, in some confusion. "Not honest not to bet on Fal? Okay. O... kay." He blinks, then, before querying, "How'd you get here? D'you need a ride back home?" There's a thoughtful look at the concept of weyrmate-for-a-night, but then he murmurs something about the need to get home. "Something... there's -something- I have to do in the morning."

Mh'al raises his eyebrows to Zynassa, stoppering the flask slowly with his thumb and forefinger. "It's called Sevenday Brew. It's... an acquired taste, really." He smiles faintly, placing the flask down on the table.

"Hitting on your sister is a good way t'earn mocking," comes the grave agreement from the greenrider, and she takes that bottle, corking it clean. "Good idea. Terac might be a bit surprised, did you have t'be sharing his guest weyr for the evening."

Zynassa tries not to grin too much at G'har and Kassima, responding, "Adragonback earlier of course, and yes. But not if you're too drunk to stand up. Or too randy to behave yourself. I've heard stuff about that firewater." Mh'al's words get a curious look. "Dare I ask what's in it? Is it worse than that stuff from Nabol?"

"I wouldn't -hit- on her!" G'har protests. "I'm not that far gone. Well, not quite. I'm not hitting on anybody here, am I? Despite being really sharding tempted." He rubs at the back of his neck, then, and at the base of his skull, before starting to look like he's considering hitting on somebody. "I'm not too drunk," he adds to Zynassa. "And as for the randy bit... nothing you don't want, promise." Okay, that's something of an answer. He looks over, then, to see the answer regarding whether the stuff is worse than the Nabolese stuff. "The firewater stuff is pretty sharding strong," he observes.

K'ran walks in from the bowl.
K'ran has arrived.

Mh'al takes a small sip from his mug, his brow furrowing for a moment before easing. He glances to Zynassa. "Well.. it's not horrible, but it's called Sevenday Brew for a reason. Try to drink a whole mug of this ripe vintage, and you'll be out for sevenday or so I'm told."

Kassima has to admit, "Well, nay, you're nay. I'd offer more alcohol if'n 'twere, unless Zynassa wants t'be hit on? D'you, Zynassa?" At flights, after all, who can ever be sure? "I have White Lightning," she throws in. "If'n you're looking for worse."

Storm brews in storm-blue eyes -- ragged steps take K'ran into the living cavern, direct to the serving tables, where he might begin the process of soothing, salving wire-taut nerves with liquor. "Brandy," he mutters. "Where's the sharding brandy?"

Zynassa leans over Mh'al a bit to take a sniff at the beverage he's holding. Okay, so she's not entirely immune to all the hormones flying around. But then she backs away coughing lightly. "Shards and shells. How can you *drink* that." She looks up at her name, "Hm? Kassima? What? Hit on? I don't mind the hits if they don't mind the misses." Her tone is a trifle prim. She offers to K'ran, "I think Kassima's got it. I've just got wine."

Kassima's expert eyes pick out the proper bottle amongst her assortment, and she plucks it up to wave towards K'ran. "Hugh's," says she. "From the Hulk; it should serve."

"Okay, yeah, that's strong," G'har observes, casting a thoughtful look towards the mug in question. "Very strong stuff. That'd probably involve being too drunk to walk." He looks over with interest at the query to Zynassa. "Hey, if you -want- to be hit on... I'm really good at bad come-on lines. Come here often? What's a girl like you doing in a living cavern like this?" A pause. "See? Really bad." His gaze flicks to K'ran, and he gestures vaguely towards Kassima.

Mh'al smiles quietly at Zynassa, taking another gulp for good measure. "It takes the edge off quicker than anything I've had." He doesn't appear to be that old, but seems somewhat experienced.

Zynassa grimaces faintly sympathetically at Mh'al. "Times like these, I'm so very glad I'm not a rider." At G'har's litany of bad pick up lines, she arches an eyebrow. "I'd say that's not a hit as much as it is a feeble flailing, G'har." her tone is amused. "Anyone need wine? Or are you all into the stuff that burns out your stomach?" She gives K'ran an apprasing once over.

"It's worth it, though," G'har observes to Zynassa. "Even this, looking like an idiot in some other Weyr's living cavern--it's worth it." He grimaces a bit at the mention of flailing, commenting, "It's been a long day. It'd be more like a hit on most other days, promise. Got to live up to the bronzerider stereotype -somehow-, after all." He shakes his head, then. "No more alcohol--need to get home." He moves to get to his feet, then. "Going to go wait outside, I think, with the cold, that'll maybe help me think. Just c'mon out when you're ready, Zynassa. Fal and I can wait." There's another thoughtful glance to Mh'al's preference of drinks, but then he shakes his head. "I'd best be able to get home."

"I've wine, too," Kassi informs Zynassa in an aside. "Can't drink as I'd like t'do when a queen rises, so I have t'be settling for helping other people achieve what I can't. And make notes for blackmail, too." Well, of course. "Y'know, G'har, you need t'study under L'cher or someone. Even I could do better pick-up lines than *those*." Pause. "Methinks."

"Hugh's?" K'ran's tone is plaintive, pleading, and while he's filled himself a mug of ale at the serving tables, he makes for Kassima's offer -- until he feels Zynassa's eyes upon him, and focuses the storm-tossed blue of his own upon her -- the knot she wears -- her. "Telgar's duties to Igen."

Mh'al shakes his head at Zynassa's comment. "I've never regretted one second the card that life dealt me. It's momentary knot in the flow of my day. Easy come, easy go." He shrugs slightly, draining his mug without much hinderance.

Kassima repeats with that patience again, "From the Hulk. Aye." She sets it out towards the edge of the table where it can be reached, and begins tucking the other bottles away with many a clink and clatter.

Zynassa's ears tip a trifle pink at Kassima's words. "Blackmail's never a terribly bad thing, particularly when there's witnesses." She nods to G'har. "I can stay with mother - looks like the twins are off with some - ah - friends, so I won't even have to bunk with Chaeth. So if you need to go back, go ahead." And it might be safer than travling with a bronzer who just lost a flight. An eyebrow arches at Mh'al, and she says kindly to K'ran, "It's Ista, but I appreciate the effort."

"Y'know, Kassi, if you -really- want to help..." G'har starts, but then he shakes his head, mumbling something about knives. He adds, then, "I'm just having an off day. I'm not -usually- that bad, promise." He starts for the bowl, then, managing to walk a reasonable facsimile of a straight line. He pauses, then, to turn and peer at Zynassa with some confusion. "Wait, wait, so now you're staying? I don't mind the wait, I just need to get some air."

Mh'al returns to his feet swiftly, returning the empty mug to a dirty dish basin near the kitchen. He offers a departing wave to Zynassa, Kassima, G'har and K'ran. "And so the night claims me again. Farewell."

Mh'al walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Mh'al has left.

K'ran's eyes may linger on Zynassa overlong -- and a grimace may work itself through his expression when she corrects his flight-addled mind -- but he snatches up the offered bottle through this distraction, uncorks it, samples its nose. "Ista, then," he'll offer, pleasant enough. "K'ran, bronze Indrath's. Welcome."

Kassima doesn't whip out a knife, though; she flashes an abrupt, pleased grin instead, and quips, "Doubt at the moment that I could *help* very well, G'har, but I do appreciate the thought." Dryly, "The moreso since you're the first it's ever occured to. Clear skies t'you and Falsanath if'n you're headed home, and our regards t'him, hey?" She waves a 'skin after the departing 'Reachian before stashing it in her death-sack.

Zynassa eyes G'har. "Well, the cold air might do you some good. I *can* stay with my mother - she lives here, remember? - if you've a pressing need to return before I'm ready. Let me finish helping out Kassima, and I'll find you. But don't linger overlong." Hopefully that prod to the bronzer's memory will work well enough. And still keeps her from directly accepting. She nods politely to K'ran. "My thanks. And well met. I can't say as I remember you well - we must not've met before."

G'har says airily to Kassi, "I'm probably not the first. Everybody else is scared of your knives, that's all. But I can duck pretty fast." Well, that and alcohol lowers the inhibitions, right? He nods to Zynassa, then. "Your mother, that's right--oh, she does live here, doesn't she?" Ping! The lightbulb, uncanon object that it is, just went off over G'har's head. He turns back to leave, then, calling, "G'eve, Telgar. I'll be outside, watching Fal sulk."
G'har walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
G'har has left.

"G'd'eve," K'ran'll offer, casual, after a taste of Hugh's spirits -- and then, -then- he'll ease himself into a seat where he might at least listen to Kassima while watching Zynassa. "Don't think we have met, no. But you mentioned your mother lives here?"

Kassima makes a sound of abject disbelief, shaking her head after the younger bronzerider and slipping the satchel-strap over her shoulder. "I'm for retiring, methinks--keep the bottle, K'ran, and Zynassa, 'twas a pleasure t'be seeing you again. G'deve and clear skies t'you both."

Zynassa adds to Kassima, amused, "They are rather legendary you know." A pause and those ears get redder. "The knives I mean!" Oh bother. She fills a couple of more mugs, again avoiding that pair of brownriders who are earnestly avowing they're not afraid of her sire. She nods to K'ran, "Jazmin. Chaeth's rider? Joar and jarin are my brothers..." She chews her lower lip as Kassima starts to depart, "Any word you want to send down to Kay, Kassima?"

"And I've never used them against anyone, either," Kassi mutters, but she does toy with one sleeve. "There's always a price t'be paid for legend, I suppose... oh, nay, unless you'd remind her for me t'be keeping in touch? M'spies at Ista aren't many, and I need some way of keeping track of her."

K'ran nods absent thanks after Kassima while his eyes track towards Skyfire's -- Thunderbolt's? -- wing table. "And Zaemina your sister," he returns, a tiny self-satisfied smile growing at one corner of his mouth. "G'd'eve, Kassima!" he calls behind the greenrider; then eases further into his chair, eases nerves with another pull from his bottle, and returns his attention to Zynassa.

Zynassa chuckles. "Don't ask me to. But I will remind her. And I can run messages back and forth. With as many candidates as we have now, I've more time away from chores. Besides, I think mother wants to grill me more about a few things." She settles uneasily on the edge of a chair, across from K'ran. "Aye, Zaemina. Down at Southern right now with her father, I think. though hopefully she'll be fostered at Bitra like most of us were."

Kassima dips her chin in a nod--acknowledgment--and with a last wiggle of fingers, disappears out to the Bowl.
Kassima walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Kassima has left.

"Bitra?" K'ran abandons that laze in his chair, leans forward with amused interest -- and this despite the lascivious shade that he's fought to the edges of his expression, his eyes. "Do you gamble?"

Zynassa's tone is airy, "Oh, I lost more'n I won tonight. But that's sometimes how it goes. I've been known to wager on occasion." Thank Faranth her brothers aren't here to tell on her. "Why?" She puts the wine skin down on the table as a small sheild between herself and the bronzer.

K'ran's eyes dance to that movement, dance back to Zynassa -- "Well, to hear some tell of it, Bitrans are all gifted at gambling," he drawls. "So what stopped you, tonight, from winning more than you lost?"

Zynassa laughs. "I picked the wrong bronze to put the bigger marks on. It happens sometimes. Then again, first gold flight I've actually seen in a while. I spent early turns at Benden and here, but I was fostered to Bitra when I was about seven. And only just went to Ista to be with Yaz. My first winter down there and I miss the snow a bit." She rattles on, a trifle nervously, as people pair up in the caverns and slink off into the shadows.

And perhaps it's not completely reassuring that K'ran's -not- immediately pairing off with anyone and slinking off into the shadows, but working his way through Kassima's ostensibly-powerful spirits without a slur of words or a clumsiness of movement. "You're a strange girl," he decides through a smile, "to miss Telgar's weather. And I'd ask which you did bet on, but I'm thinking I might not like the answer." He restoppers the now half-empty bottle, unfolds himself from the chair -- ah, there's the reassurance. "Nice to have met you, Zynassa; hope you'll excuse me?"

Zynassa lets out a relieved breath. She's strange. This is good. "Of course. Clear skies. And I should find G'har. I'm sure he's ready to go back by now." She hurries up, buttoning her jacket before heading for the bowl. "My best to your Indrath."

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All references to worlds and characters based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright © Anne McCaffrey 1967,2000, all rights reserved, and used by permission of the author. The Dragonriders of Pern™ is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey, used here with permission. Use or reproduction without a license is strictly prohibited. For more information, visit the Many thanks to Alec Johnson for his assistance with this information!