The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit
of members unable to attend.
=======================================================================

December 4, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 19:21 on day 26, month 4, Turn 25, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a spring evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, Katany, K'tel, Sabra; Jaina, Ginevra, T'dry; K'gen,
       Lyria, Kestra.

Riders squabble, Irrylath rises, and consummation abounds, further
tangling E'vrin's knotty life (entirely improvised, too!).
=======================================================================
Igen Weyr Living Cavern(#600RJMQ)
Igen's living cavern is an immense hollow in the volcanic caldera,
stretching up two stories, the light of the glows and the hearth
reflected in the quartz which peppers the swirled sandstone unique to
this region. One hundred feet wide and one hundred and fifty feet
long, the room could, and, as the social center of the weyr, often
does, seat the entire weyr. Tapestries adorn the walls, depicting
scenes from Pern's past. The head table sits upon a raised platform at
the far eastern side of the room, in front of a huge fireplace which
is continually burning.
A wide balcony overlooks the cavern, and large tunnels lead west out
to the bowl, and south to the kitchens. A smaller tunnel leads off to
the east, beyond which lay the inner caverns of the Weyr. A small
doorway in the northern wall opens to the infirmary, and a quiet door
to the northeast opens into the Records Room. In the corner one may
+view a plaque.
Contents:
Sabra
Katany
K'tel
Meal Table
--

Katany says "If you like." She moves away from the stairs, sitting
gracelessly in front of the water. "Thank you."
Katany sits down at the table by the hearth.

E'vrin bypasses the hearth, caught in a frown, and aims straight at
K'tel. Lucky K'tel. Fortunate K'tel.

K'tel smiles at Katany then notices E'vrin bearing down on him. He
smiles at the other bronzerider, "Evening, E'vrin."

Sabra doesn't notice E'vrin, caught up in her own thoughts.

"Sir," E'vrin says for politeness's sake. "I haven't been able to find
a wingsecond or Aellya, so I found you."

Katany looks up at E'vrin, arching her eyebrows.
Katany says, to K'tel, "You could ask him to sit with us. Since he is
going to talk to you anyway."

K'tel mmms, smile fading somewhat, "What's going on?"
K'tel blinks at Katany then chuckles, "Please join us, E'vrin."
K'tel sits down at the table by the hearth.

You sit down at the table by the hearth.

E'vrin folds his arms once he's obediently down, and doesn't bother to
keep his voice down with his seat. "Spots, sir. Sirocco is supposed to
paint itself with spots, and I would rather not."

Something catches Sabra's ear, and she turns with a frown. "Sirocco?"

Katany senses "E'vrin's eyes flick off you, on, off again; the flesh
around them is tight, matching his mouth's bracket."

K'tel waits a moment before nodding seriously, even though his mouth
twitches suspiciously, "Sirocco is supposed to paint itself with
spots? Is this for the archery contest at Boll?"

Katany says "No, it is for Siara, I think."

K'tel says "Siara?"

Katany says "Although I am not sure how it turned into a thing for the
entire wing. Is she sleeping with, ah ..."
Katany frowns.

K'tel says "Where's she come into this?"

E'vrin is deadly serious. "For K'gen, by Siara's--" he gropes for
words "--kindly impulse, we called it."

Sabra frowns and stands, inserting herself into the
conversation. "Whatever Siara's impulses are, she is not in charge of
the wing," she says, irritated.

Katany says, finally, "Aellya. Is Sirocco wingleader. I guess that is
unlikely."

Sabra rolls her eyes. "Aellya is hardly Siara's type."

K'tel mmms, "I see." He glances at Katany and nods, "I can't see
Aellya doing that." Then he regards E'vrin curiously, "How did the
entire wing end up doing this?"

Katany says "There are people who are not Siara's type?"

E'vrin casts Sabra an unhappy look. "I know, but she said she was
going to report me for not knowing about it--" He breaks off, shrugs
for the three of them, looks down. "I'm just trying to stay out of
trouble. With /any/one."

Sabra frowns at E'vrin now. "It's not the entire wing, I've heard
nothing about it."
Sabra says "Katany, /I/ am most definately /not/ Siara's type, and
never will be."

You say "She /said/ we were supposed to. P'ter was to tell us."

Sabra says "Siara is a twit."

Katany says "No, she is not."
Katany says "And, Sabra, do you not mean Siara is not /your/ type?"

E'vrin politely refrains from talking about his intersection with
Siara's type, or not. Also, about Siara's twitness.

Sabra blinks at Katany.

K'tel almost grins at Sabra's comments but shakes his head at E'vrin,
"Don't worry about it unless you do hear it from P'ter or Aellya."

Katany says "I mean, I am sure she would sleep with you if you wanted
her to. But you do not want to, which doesn't mean you are not /her/
type, it means she is not yours."

E'vrin mutters under his breath, but accords the other man with a
tight nod, about as tight as his folded arms. He sinks back and lets
his gaze brood on the women now.

Sabra frowns at the Weyrwoman. "I am not her type /because/ I don't
want to sleep with her. And I do believe the feeling is mutual."

K'tel tilts his head at E'vrin then can't resist a grin, "Although,
Siara might be on to something. Blue would go well with your coloring,
E'vrin."

Katany says "Hmn. I think you use the words differently than I do."
Katany says "K'tel, may we have an opinion here?"

E'vrin snaps, "Not mine! --Sir."

K'tel chuckles then looks at Katany, "Sure, about what?"

Katany says "If I say that someone is my type, doesn't that I mean
that I find them attractive, regardless of how they may feel about
it?"
Katany smiles. A lot.

Sabra shoots a rather nasty look at K'tel, then frowns at
E'vrin. "Keep your manners. Was not that long ago you were a
weyrling," she comments, totally ignoring the look she just gave
K'tel.

E'vrin sets his jaw. Says nothing.

Sabra drops her chin into her hands and sighs weightily.

K'tel nods to Katany, "Sounds reasonable to me." He eyes Sabra,
"Problem?"

Sabra says "No, no problem, except everyone in this weyr is convinced
that all female brownriders are strange. Even the Weyrleaders."

Katany says "Strange? Not in particular."

E'vrin mutters, "Macami's fault."

Katany says "E'vrin is strange. R'vyl is strange. Siara is certainly
strange, but in her own charming way."

K'tel shakes his head, "Nope. I don't think you're strange. Siara is
strange."

You say "I'm not."

Sabra suddenly points at E'vrin, "Ah-ha, see? It's all her fault."

K'tel grins at Katany, "Exactly."

Katany says "I am not even sure I can .think. of a female brownrider I
find strange." -- "Yes, you are."

You say "No, I am not."

Sabra rolls her eyes. "The day Siara is charming is the day glows grow
feathers and fly."

Katany eyes E'vrin, thoughtful. "How could you tell?"

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath comments, his tenor soaked
with spring sun-and-cloud, << At any moment, Irrylath, I believe
E'vrin will push your rider down and say 'nyah-nyah' a few times. >>

[Trying to engender some draconic byplay, too.]

K'tel looks from one speaker to the next, thoroughly enjoying himself.

E'vrin sighs, loosing some of the tension clenching face and
shoulders. "Because I'm not, Weyrwoman. I've seen strange; I am not
that. I'm fairly normal, all things considered." Unlike a few people
at the table, might go unspoken.

[He's feeling unsettled, not to mention beset on all sides, which
 brings out his imperfectly controlled angry side -- bad news.]

Sabra sighs, and starts ticking names off on her fingers. "Macami,
Laurene, Debriana, Larana..."

K'tel appears thoughtful, "Considering what exactly?"

Katany says "Oh, but I have too, and you're just as strange as I am."
She smiles again, cheerful and sweet. "Even if you do not want to
admit it."
Katany says "Pretending you are normal is always a good sign of it."

You say "I pretend nothing."

Sabra tilts her head. "Catalina's rather strange, too, but I don't
know if she prefers women or bounces around." She drops her chin into
her hands again, and resigns herself to being ignored.

E'vrin continues to ignore her, therefore. Better that than adding to
the knife collection in his back.

Katany asks K'tel, "Don't you think he's pretending? You should be
able to tell, you really .are. normal."

K'tel is taken aback, "Me? You think I'm normal?" He grins,
"Good. I've got you all fooled."

Sabra snorts. "Normal? Who tried to climb up to Nim's weyr just to
take her sweetrolls?"

"I know people," E'vrin says with nice indiscrimination over
conversation niceties, "who think normal equates with boring."

Sabra says "And fell and broke his arm, too, I might add."

K'tel sticks his tongue out at Sabra quick then innocently sips his
juice.

Sabra returns the face, then sighs. "I think I need a bedmate."

E'vrin tells her sweetly, "But you won't find one if people think
female brown riders are strange."

Katany says "Well, Siara is strange, but she has no lack of bedmates."

Sabra straightens suddenly, pointing a finger at E'vrin. "Ah-ha, see?
That's the whole problem!"

K'tel pipes up, "Well, you're here, E'vrin. And we just established
that the two of you are strange. Good pair?" He looks at Katany for
confirmation.

You say "Lack of something else, then, Weyrwoman. --Paint Ivarath,
Sabra."

Katany says "No, no, he is busy pretending to be normal."
Katany says "With someone from Telgar."
Katany says "So I would guess him to be unavailable."

K'tel ohs, "Oh, well."

Sabra glares, just glares, at K'tel.

E'vrin tilts his chin and examines some crack in the wall over
Katany's head.

Katany says "Sabra would suit..." She frowns. "Someone nice. And
good-natured. P'ter."

Sabra turns to E'vrin. "Excuse me?"

You say "--Paint Ivarath. Green, maybe. Then you'd be a female green
rider."

Sabra turns back to Katany. "Excuse me?"

K'tel nods, "P'ter would suit. And he doesn't have Macami anymore..."

You say "Which suggests his feelings on female brown riders."

Katany says "Well, he is a very nice young man, very straightforward
and good-hearted and sincere."

Sabra turns back to E'vrin, frowning darkly. "You are being quite
insubordinate, youngling."

Katany says "You ought to ask him about being a bedmate. Except not if
he flies Irrylath."
Katany says "Well, if Aisheth flies Irrylath. I think P'ter would not
fly very well."

E'vrin stares blandly back at the female brown rider among them. "How
nice for me. Put me on latrine duty and have done with it."

K'tel ahs, "Definitely go for P'ter, Sabra." He blinks at Katany, not
commenting on that one.

Sabra pauses, a slightly striken look on her face. "Shells and
shards. I just called someone 'youngling'."

E'vrin touts a death's-head grin at her, sinks deeper into his seat.

Katany says "Don't worry. I do not think you meant it."

K'tel chuckles, "I haven't done that yet."

Sabra recovers and frown at the 'leaders again. "And I am in no way
attracted to P'ter, tho nothing on his part."

Katany says "Well, you cannot have everything."

Sabra says "Besides, I need a bedmate, not a weyrmate." She makes a
face, and mutters, "Had enough problems with that, thank you very
much."

Katany says "If you wait to find someone you are attracted to who is
attracted to you, not taken, and not hopelessly unhappy you will end
up ..." She trails off. "I am not sure. Dead, maybe."

You say "Then you won't care anymore."

Sabra slumps. "Thank you so very much, Katany," she mutters. To
E'vrin, simply, "Shut up."

E'vrin shuts up. But he doesn't /have/ to.

K'tel tilts his head at Sabra, "I don't think you'll have to wait that
long. We've plenty of attractive riders...At least, that's what Aellya
tells me."

E'vrin eyes K'tel. "Don't you know?"

Sabra looks thoughtful. "Aellya, hmm..." she trails off, shaking her
head. "No, that will put me in the class of the other female
brownriders."

Katany says "He would get yelled at if he knew, I am sure."

K'tel glances at E'vrin, "I don't keep track of the male riders
myself."

Katany says "What is /wrong/ with P'ter, Sabra?"

E'vrin chews on his lower lip, gaze abstracted.

Sabra squirms in her seat. "He's too, too...." she trails off. "Too
rigid."

Katany says "Rigid? He seems rather malleable to me."
Katany says "Or do you mean proper?"

You say "Nothing wrong with proper, Weyrwoman."

Sabra says "Yes."

Katany says "No, but if it is not what Sabra is looking for then he
will not do."

You say "True enough. What do you want, Sabra?"

Sabra glances over at E'vrin but says nothing, tight-lipped.

E'vrin widens his eyes at her. "I'm being sincere. Honest. I know
people; I could find out."

K'tel hmms, "What about J'on?"

Katany says "Sarai is keeping him busy."

You say "And H'tori is caught up in D'ew..."

K'tel blinks, "Oh." He retreats to sipping his juice then shakes his
head, "How'd I miss that?"

You say "Or Laurene. I forget."

Sabra blinks at K'tel. "Hm?" Then she crosses her arms and says
grumpily, "See, all the attractive ones are taken."

K'tel tries again, "N'var?"

Katany says "I only know because Jaela was congratulating Sarai on her
good taste."

E'vrin throws out, "J'ven, but--" wryness slides at Sabra "--he's a
bit of a youngling, too."

Katany says "N'ren is neither proper nor young."

Sabra finally says, "It has to be someone with brown hair. And tall."
She frowns irritably at E'vrin again. "Doesn't matter if they are
young."

You say "Then what's wrong with me?"
You say "I bathed today."

Sabra gapes at E'vrin. "I thought you were taken?!?!" And abruptly
shuts up. Tight lipped.

K'tel hides a smile as E'vrin changes his tune. He eyes his juice,
"Good juice today."

Katany laughs.

E'vrin's lips tighten, too. "I'm not that I know of. I thought we were
talking hypothetically. Pardon me."

Sabra just glares at Katany.
Sabra just glares all around the table then abruptly stands and
leaves, striding angrily out to the bowl, muttering under her breath.
Sabra walks out to the Bowl.

K'tel looks after her, "You know, Telgar has had multiple
relationships before..." He smiles back at E'vrin.

E'vrin jerks out of his seat. "How pleasant. Excuse me,
please. Sharath's calling me."

You walk out into the Bowl.
--
Field outside the Main Entrance
Activity surrounds you as you gaze over the road which runs beneath
the huge cliffs which form the southeastern section of the Igen Weyr
Bowl. The wall opens here in three places... the middle one seems the
most busy although the northernmost one is the largest. The ground
under your feet is solid and rocky, and in the brightest sun it glares
uncomfortably.
To the north the road continues, winding its way past the hatching
grounds and barracks to eventually leave the bowl. Cutting across the
bowl to the northwest brings you to the center of the bowl. To the
west lies a green field full of beasts- the Weyr's feeding
grounds. The infirmary weyr opens to the northeast, and the living
caverns to the east.
Contents:
Sabra
Zmeth
Ivarath(#12068JQaepqs)
Orith
Nemanth(#11667JMas)
Healers' Herb Garden
--

E'vrin stalks out in brown rider's wake, hands fisted at his sides
helplessly.

IgenW-LC> K'tel ducks his head, laughing. He grins at Katany, "Do you
think they're really mad?"

Ivarath swings his head, eyes shading toward red and violet. Sabra
stands beneath him, hands on hips. "Oh, no, nonononono...." she trails
off.

IgenW-LC> Katany nods, grinning. "E'vrin, rather. He gets angry easily."
IgenW-LC> Katany says "And he would really like to be normal."
IgenW-LC> Katany says "Sabra probably is just feeling teased."

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath, who was calling nothing,
really, nevertheless perks up at a different call. His thoughts tingle
with crystal's breaking chime: something's up, or going to be--

Zmeth suddenly gets up then belying his previous sudden movement, he
stretches every muscle in his large frame luxuriously.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath mentally snarls softly,
irritated.

IgenW-LC> K'tel nods, "Well. He'll get over it." He glances outside,
eyebrows going up, "Ah..."

E'vrin snaps, "What now? Look, Sabra--" trying to calm "--it isn't a
big deal--"

Sabra turns abruptly on the bronzerider. "Big deal? Of course it's a
big deal!" she is nearly screaming.

E'vrin startles back a staggered step; the effect is as that of a
bucket of water dousing him, and he blinks through it,
bewildered. "What? Are you all right?"

Ivarath snarls softly, wings twitching, before abruptly launching
himself into the sky and toward the feeding grounds.

Sharath> You jump over the fence into the corral.
--
Feeding Grounds
The land slopes gently upward to the southwest, framed by the fences
that surround these grounds. A shallow pond lies to the south,
providing water for the animals that graze around you, many head of
fat wherries and herdbeasts. The ground underfoot is a lush green,
irrigated from mineral rich underground springs.
To the east the gate leads to the field outside the main entrance, and
to the northeast the gate leads towards the center of the
Bowl. Directly north the sun sparkles off the waters of the lake.
--

[From this point until the end of the flight, flight action is logged
 through the IgenW-Bowl +watch on bowl center.]

Sabra points at her disappearing dragon. "Irrylath is rising," she
says, a bit more calmly, face red.

IgenW-Bowl> At the feeding grounds, Ivarath hops the fence from the
field outside the main entrance to the east.

Zmeth quits stretching and crouches. He launches himself skyward with
a growl.
Zmeth tenses, then springs upwards.

IgenW-Bowl> At the feeding grounds, Ivarath circles then lands
abruptly on a wherry. The poor bird is exsanguinated quickly, the
brown stooped over it and growling.

IgenW-LC> K'tel sets his juice down and looks at Katany, "How's your
water?"

IgenW-Bowl> At the feeding grounds, Sharath hoards the broken body of
a herdbeast under his light, narrow frame: bronze talons massage blood
from the flesh, and bronze jaws dip to the pulsing flow. Beast eyes
roll up white; bronze eyes roll mad, madder-violet.

IgenW-Bowl> At the feeding grounds, Zmeth backwings to land in the
grounds neatly.

E'vrin sucks in a breath, which spills out in dismayed skirl:
"Sha/rath/--!"

Sabra looks E'vrin up and down, slowly, hands clenching and
unclenching, then groans and turns away, watching the spectacle in the
feeding grounds.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath lances out vicious,
white-light thought at his rivals; his underthought thrums with the
pulse of smoke, mingled with blood, into a cupric, acidic dance.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Zmeth ignores the flashier tactics of
the younger dragons. His thoughts are clearly focused, nothing
interfering.

E'vrin's breath trickles out like transparent, transient blood, then
he catches his lip again in his teeth, as if to worry the real red
stuff from unoffending flesh.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath's mindvoice is a constant but
low thrum of sexual energy mixed with hunger.

IgenW-LC> Katany peers at her water. "Oh. Wet. I'd forgotten it."
She's distracted, lifting the glass and sipping.

Sabra turns abruptly and heads back inside.

IgenW-LC> K'tel seems to be watching her drink more intently than is
strictly necessary.

Sabra heads through the main entrance, into the Weyr's Living Cavern.

IgenW-LC> K'tel has disconnected.

IgenW-LC> Katany finishes her water, putting the class down as Sabra
re-enters. "Hello again."

IgenW-Bowl> Yyvrael has arrived.

IgenW-Bowl> At the feeding grounds, Sharath breaks the seal of
bloodied mouth on the torn mouth of beast's throat, and ripples a
furied snarl at bronze and brown, brown and bronze. Gold-struck wings
bate -- he lifts -- another herdbeast flattens, and the dragon's head
swings low, swings hard and low, to drink.

You head into the Igen Weyr Living Cavern.

K'tel has connected.

E'vrin forces himself back in. Mazy eyes roll in gentle distraction
until they fix -- oh -- on Irrylath's rider. He leans a shoulder into
the bowl's exit, sucks up a breath. Breathy: "Well...?"

Katany takes a sudden, slow breath, eyes unfocusing. "Well. She is --
I should go outside, I think. I want to see." And stands.
Katany stands and leaves the table by the hearth.

Sabra smiles, just smiles. "The males are blooding," she says softly,
almost sing-song.

K'tel stands up quickly and follows after her. He gives Sabra an
annoyed look as he walks by.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath flashes out again, flame
licking crystal, to seek the queen. Does she dally? Does she come?
Frustration fights fury -- /well/?

Katany walks out to the Bowl.
IgenW-Bowl> Katany walks over from the field to the southeast.

Sabra walks out to the Bowl.

IgenW-Bowl> Just overhead, Irianth disappears into Between.

You walk out into the Bowl.

[Log stopped +watching the LC.]

IgenW-Bowl> At the feeding grounds, Ivarath drops the carcass and
wastes no time in bringing down another. Fastening his maw to the
neck, he drains it, feasting on the hot blood.

K'tel walks out from the Weyr's Living Cavern.

IgenW-Bowl> At the feeding grounds, Zmeth sweeps down, landing
precisely on top of a panicked beast. The loud snap is drowned in the
noise of the herd. He lowers his head, ripping open the unfortunate
animal's throat.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Irrylath lingers on the edge of sleep,
sparks dancing at the surface of her thoughts.

Sharath> Irrylath senses that Sharath seeks gold out with an
impertinent and imperious touch, like crystal sharded and
whetted. Wake -- come -- the blood flows, and oh, the ichor does, too,
pounding like drink in anxious veins--

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Zmeth pretends unconcern - the
intensity of his thoughts giving him away. She /will/ come.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath snarls softly, but abruptly
changes to a sultry croon, tuned in so sharply to the gold's thoughts.

You walk over towards the center of the bowl.
--
Center of the Igen Weyr Bowl(#802RJe)
You are standing in the middle of the Igen Weyr Bowl. The views are
certainly spectacular. The dark volcanic peaks of the caldera which
houses the Weyr rise up all around, weather beaten yet still firm,
except at the northeasternmost section of the bowl, where the sheer
cliffs that surround you break, leaving a jagged and imposing pass. At
different times of the day these peaks cast long shadows across the
bowl. Light glints off the lake to the northwest, and the heat makes
the air around you seem to shimmer as you gaze over the flat ground.
The lake lies to the northwest, and to the northeast you can see a
large training field, and beyond it, the Hatching Grounds and the
weyrling barracks. Southeastwards lies the main entrance to the inner
sections of the Weyr. A grazing ground lies to the southwest.
Contents:
Katany
Yyvrael
Linneth
--

K'tel walks over from the field to the southeast.
Sabra walks over from the field to the southeast.

Katany swallows, breathing.

"She should be here," harpered baritone rasps over Katany's shoulder:
E'vrin circles, stalks, caught helpless in her gyre. "Where is she?
The blood--!"

At the feeding grounds, Ivarath drops the body, tail sweeping back and
forth in irritation. He snarls and strikes out at a bronze body too
close, and the males posture briefly before bloodlust drives them back
to the herds.

At the feeding grounds, Sharath coughs startled indignation back at
Ivarath, backwinging abruptly up to two-foot standing over his last
kill. Head snakes and weaves, eyes glare, then he settles again to
drink.

Sabra stands, rather loose, although tension around her eyes. She
snorts at the young bronzerider. "Calm down already."
Sabra mutters something under her breath about young riders being too
intertwined with their dragons, as if she could talk.

E'vrin puts his head down. Wraps his arms around his torso. And tries.

At the feeding grounds, Zmeth finishes off his first kill and leaps a
dragonlength or so farther down the field, away from the
squabbling. Claws already streaked with red slash out, felling another
beast.

At the feeding grounds, Ivarath rumbles warningly at Sharath again,
eyes whirling rapid red but changing to violet in spurts, as the blood
spurts out of the headless beast before him.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Irrylath awakens all at once, a burst
of liquid golden heat streaked with whiter discontent, almost
anger. Heat -- the need to feel wind -- the desire for blood, as her
wings stretch and she leaps up and out to the air.

Just overhead, Irrylath takes off from Irrylath's ledge.
Just overhead, Irrylath swoops to the feeding grounds to the
southwest.
At the feeding grounds, Irrylath backwings to land in the grounds
neatly.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath sends thoughts rushing like
the wing off the desert, of heat, and flight, and hot blood,
and....satiety.

K'tel stands, trying to act calm. He also manages to give himself away
with nervously twitching hands at his sides.

At the feeding grounds, Zmeth raises his head, bugling loud acclaim to
Irrylath as she arrives. His eyes abruptly darken to intense
red-purple at the sight of her.

At the feeding grounds, Ivarath rises on his haunches, roaring a
throaty welcome and almost challenge to the gold. He drops, flashes
talons, and brings down another beast, snarling over it possesively,
eyes fastened on Irrylath.

At the feeding grounds, Sharath drops his lower jaw and laps gored
tongue 'round the toothy edges: a parody of a grin, of lascivious
mockery flipped at the brown. His wings fold -- gold to echo
Irrylath's -- and he slithers back from the fray and fuss, sinking low
to his belly. Wings fold. Unfold. Wait.

Jaina walks over from the field to the southeast.

--
A young adolescent girl of average height. She has shoulder length
auburn hair and green eyes. A few feckles dot her nose. Her garb is a
simple yellow dress and wherhide boots.
--

At the feeding grounds, Ivarath crouches over his last carcass, tongue
flickering over bloodstained muzzle. Eyes shade toward violet now, red
flickers remaining.

E'vrin paces, led by head's stiff jut, around from Katany,
spiralling. Around K'tel and Sabra, too, as if to flee the rut
entirely -- but bound, trapped on ground, by the bawls, roars, and
thick-throated satisfaction so very, very near.

At the feeding grounds, Irrylath dives, shrieking desire as a claw
takes out a slow-moving herdbest. Blood-tang, and she lowers herself
to creature's throat.

Katany shakes her head hard, fists clenched at her sides, breath shaky
now.

Sharath> Irrylath senses that Sharath dances giddy glee about golden
surface: Take it! Blood it! Let the heat flow in and mingle ... and
fly!

Sabra stands stock still, eyes watching E'vrin but flickering quickly
away if he looks her way. She focuses suddenly on Katany, murmuring,
"Blood, blood only," under her breath.

Katany says "Slow ... she's hot."

A slow smile spread across Sabra's featurs. "Indeed she is," she
murmurs.

Jaina shrinks back in the crowd and watches

K'tel's eyes go to the feeding grounds and fix on Irrylath. He nods
agreement with Katany's statement, not moving otherwise.

E'vrin drops heavy lids on a glance at Sabra, but he continues on, and
his gaze curls with him on a scalpel's slicing path.

At the feeding grounds, Irrylath discards the carcass quickly, wings
flaring. No dive this time, merely a contemptous swipe of foreleg,
another demanding cry turned into a growl before she drinks.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath sends slow, hot thoughts at
Irrylath, of sand and sky, wind and heat, blood and desire.

At the feeding grounds, Ivarath snarls and swipes at a wherry scared
too close to the brown. He grasps the bird in talons, snaps the neck,
and laps leisurly at the spilling blood, eyes focused entirely on the
glowing gold.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath's sending cuts through brown's
-- and let the aether bleed! -- to seek desert queen. Flame calls to
flame, hiccuping and spurting in his young eagerness, and the wind
calls--

Ginevra walks over from the field to the southeast.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Irrylath is sheer heat, not the
white-hot intensity of blood but the slower relentless pulse of sun on
sand, sun on wings -- the wind calls, but so does the scent and smell
of animal death, and she catches between.

Katany gulps air. "So *slow*."

At the feeding grounds, Zmeth finishes pulling the last precious drops
of energy from the herdbeast. His tongue flicks out, cleaning off a
small part of his muzzle of the red stains. He crouches giving
Irrylath every iota of his attention.

Ginevra wanders out and looks around warily "So it begins." she says
quietly and leans up against a cavern wall, watching and waiting, much
like the rest of the Weyr.

At the feeding grounds, Irrylath takes a wherry this time, snarling
fury in the moment between, eyes glaring violet at the males.

At the feeding grounds, Sharath crouches lower; pinions vane
higher. His body tuned to heat, quivering with the pluck of hot, high
emotions, he waits with eyes' bloody facets glaring back at the queen.

At the feeding grounds, Ivarath crouches, blood pooling from the
forgotten bird beneath him, wings folding and unfolding restlessly.

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath plucks, a crystal's high and
laughing chime, mocking and daring: a brown, to fly one such as she?
Oh, /forsooth./

Sabra tenses, wrapping her arms around her then dropping them to her
sides. Whirling suddenly to face E'vrin, she cries shrilly, "Leave
off! Tell your /bronze/ to leave off!"

At the feeding grounds, Irrylath drinks and drinks, snarling still --
and then suddenly she's no longer watching the terrified animals but
the sky, her head back and up, poised a second before she leaps into
twilight.

At the feeding grounds, Ivarath roars suddenly, eyes flashing red,
raised up on hindlimbs to face Sharath....then suddenly leaps into the
air, following the gold.

At the feeding grounds, Sharath takes her challenge, ignoring all
others, and flings it into the sky, after her, in a long, lean loop of
pallid tawny.

At the feeding grounds, Zmeth leaps after her. This is what he was
waiting for. This!

[The dragons go up.]

Katany says, voice shaking, "Inside." And doesn't wait for reply,
walking unsteady for the safety of her weyr.
Katany heads towards the main entrance to the inner Weyr.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath flashes sharp, hot thoughts,
cutting through that chime. << Just wait and see. >>

E'vrin only laughs, and follows.

K'tel shakes his head at Sabra, "Concentrate on yours." He follows the
others.

Sabra snarls to herself, stalking after.

K'tel heads towards the main entrance to the inner Weyr.
Sabra heads towards the main entrance to the inner Weyr.

IgenW-Bowl> Just overhead, Irrylath was perhaps slow before, almost
leisurely, but now she is all motion and demand. Wings beat an even
quick tempo, voice spilling a shrill cry of pure pleasure as the air
streams past her.

IgenW-Bowl> Yyvrael is no longer listening.

IgenW-Bowl> K'gen strides in from the training field to the northeast.
IgenW-Bowl> K'gen heads towards the main entrance to the inner Weyr.

[The last rider figures out where to go:]

You go through the wooden door and duck under a curtain, entering
Katany's weyr.
--
Irrylath's Weyr(#5267RJLU)
It's stripped down to the bare essentials; a large couch for Irrylath,
a well-worn pile of blankets near the couch, and an instrument rack
containing a gitar. Beside the rack are several stacks of hides, and a
sandtable is stuck someplace out of the way. A few chairs are recent
additions, as is the press lurking someplace near the instrument
rack. Tidy, all in all, and somehow it manages to be comfortably airy
no matter what the outside weather.
A short passage leads back to the ledge, and a curtain hides the door
to the Council Room.
Contents:
K'tel
Sabra
Katany
--

Sabra rails at K'tel, "You leave off, you dont' know what his dragon
did!" She turns when E'vrin comes in, and takes a threatening step
toward him.

Sharath> Zmeth senses that Sharath's thought growls, crystals ground
under the heel of hard flame: too old, too slow--

K'tel steps between the two and glares at Sabra, "Get a hold of
yourself."

Katany walks tranced to her pile of blankets, dropping and curling
tightly atop them; knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around
them. Breathing.

E'vrin positions himself by the door, behind crossed arms, and tosses
his head again. "I don't need protection," he says, clear and cold as
another's crystal, "but thank you anyway, /sir./"

Sabra positively shrieks, "Me???? Me get ahold of myself? It's him!"
She takes a deep breath, glares at both of them, then steps toward a
wall, facing it and breathing deeply.

IgenW-Bowl> Just overhead, Sharath flashes high into golden
slipstream, and if he cuts towards Ivarath, what of it? Narrow and
lean, he can needle his way into the flight, any way necessary.

K'tel turns to give E'vrin a glare as well, "It wasn't. I just don't
want to be distracted by your squabbles." With that, his eyes fix on
Katany and he walks slowly over towards her.

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath's contempt is a veil pressed,
smothering, towards brown thoughts: away, away, get out of the /way/
for worthy challenge, proper mate--

Dragon> Sharath senses that Zmeth's thought are sparkling clear and
intense. Almost-amusement bubbles to the surface. A fleeting thought
wings through; youth and inexperience...

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath snarls, thoughts flashing anger,
desire, and disbelief. << We shall see. >> Abrupt, cold, slicing
through heat.

Sharath> Irrylath senses that Sharath's mind eases, smoothed by the
animality of contempt and fury and desire; and eases towards gold,
seeking a snare of mental jesses as well as physical. Can one try to
catch the wind? Can one /not/ try?

IgenW-Bowl> Jaina heads towards the main entrance to the inner Weyr.

Sabra whirls away from the wall abruptly, face twisted in anger. She
stalks over to the mound of blankets, body stiff, muttering under her
breath. "...sharding...bronze...thinks...fly...show him..."

[T'dry's Avroth arrives.  They were always present, of course.]

T'dry has arrived.

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath lacks coherent thoughts, with
civilization stripped clean by raw blasts of bestiality, but oh, the
power behind them! He strikes out, in mind if not in body: a lightning
flash.

T'dry continues to sit, dazed, in the same corner he's been for the
last half candlemark or so...

E'vrin holds himself stiffly by the door; as stiffly, he ignores Sabra
and her imprecations -- K'tel and Katany -- no, Irrylath's rider
deserves notice, and gets it, from drowned eyes.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath struggles to ignore the bronze,
letting his thoughts slide over the icy shell. A sharp thought, <<
Your rider should not bother my rider! >>

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath cares not at all for riders. The
queen flies, and this brown worries about /riders/ -- about puny,
wingless ones? (No wonder he will not catch her...)

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath snarls, a wordless insult that
involves parentage and the quality of your bond.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Irrylath climbs swiftly, racing the
wind with headlong pleasure that wastes perhaps strength but certainly
no speed. /Up/, up until the air turns crisp with it, wheat-gold hide
dappled by moon.

K'tel shrugs out of his riding jacket and tosses it on the floor next
to Katany's pile of blankets. After a restless moment, he sinks down
on it, leaning his back against the wall behind him.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Sharath hurls himself up as if into
water, to meet his own reflection cast gloriously gold above, and he
hurls right at Ivarath, riding convenient wake right up to the brown
and /past/ if he can wrangle it.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath goes silent, vocally,
anyway. He strains upward, hard pressed to keep up with the bronzes,
altho he'd never admit it. Chestnut hide, lighter than most, flickers
in the moonlight with a multitude of colors. He catches a thermal,
using it to

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath pulses warning, smoky thought:
Move--!

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath ride upward, only to shift
suddenly as a bronze figure heads his way. Roaring in outrage, he
bares talons, and swoops higher, past Sharath.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Zmeth sweeps after, slightly behind
Ivarath and the younger Sharath. No cause for concern yet though. He
swings gracefully to the left to avoid the quarrel. His eyes stay
fixed on the beauty ahead.

Sharath> Irrylath senses that Sharath drinks up the wind, lets it pour
through his upper and under thoughts, and tints gold with bronze in
the passage: Even wheat is harvested, and the sickles are always
bronze-bright.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Avroth may have been caught
unawares with his lust for the blooding, but it certainly doesn't seem
to have effected his power and speed. Within scant minutes of
springing aloft, he's darting like a green, drafting Ivarath just
behind his left shoulder, the lessened wind pressure used to his
advantage as the smaller brown's form closes slowly. Whirling, excited
eyes follow the golden image of Irrylath, though, the others are mere
obstacles in his pursuit.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Irrylath's focus is purely on away, on
places not-here, without arrogant annoying bronzes who wish to pin her
to the earth. Away.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath's thought explode with red, a
fireball heading right for the bronze. << You sharding wherry! Learn
how to fly! >>

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath pushes petulantly at the fire
with his own internal, tight-walled flame. He flies -- he /can/ fly --
and he does, even as thoughts stretch out, tinted tantalizingly with
Irrylath's touch (has the brown dared converse with her? Doubt it--).

Sabra whirls. "Keep your sharding dragon under control, bronzerider!"
she says threateningly, glaring at E'vrin. Gaze turns crafty. "Unless
he actually likes browns instead of golds?" she suggests slyly.

E'vrin skins a grin from his tightened face. "No more than his mate
likes female brown riders."

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath sends darkly lustful thoughts
toward the golden Irrylath, interspersed with explicatives thrown at
Sharath.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Irrylath soaks in the chill of
desert night, delighted in her own self. Behind, somewhere, those
males -- attention must be paid, but not yet. This is her time to
flirt with the drafts, lithe as her first burst of speed gives way to
a more deliberate dance.

K'tel flicks a short glance at the two.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath's mind is awash, chiming, with
high-toned mirth: Oh, Ivarath, how /cute/...

Katany says, each word strained and sharp, "You are making me wish I
had a knife. Quit it."

Sabra's face goes wooden, and she turns, back to the bronzerider,
swallowing harshly.

T'dry snaps. "Keep your own self out of the way, brown." He doesn't
lift his gaze past that fascinating speck on the floor he's staring
at, only his thin lips moving.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath snarls, abruptly cut off,
thoughts going back to the gold.

Sabra appears to curl in on herself, eyes distant.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath follows the gold, driving
wings downward again and again, finding another thermal and swooping
higher, away from the menacing bronzes, away from the gold but yet
closer.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Sharath slides into the rhythm with
a quick flip of a wingstroke that bears him pst the roil of Ivarath
and brown temper. The young bronze dances higher, alight and alive in
the wind, in the wake of wild -- higher!

[Not higher than Ivarath, but higher in general, as the flight rises.]

Thump: head and heel meet the door in the same frustrated tattoo, and
E'vrin scowls into the middle distance, between here and eternity,
between him and Irrylath's rider.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Zmeth stretches his wings just a
little wider, sweeping upward. He manages to pass Ivarath just as
Sharath does. His wings flash with brief lights of golden-red as he
works harder, attempting to pass the young bronze as well.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Avroth climbs now that Ivarath has
veered off, as the instinct for altitude, or perhaps the unseen and
unheard urging of his rider tells him what to do. His general line
follows the pack like a shadow, higher, perhaps a bit more slowly, but
there...waiting.

Sabra drops to her knees near the pile of blankets and Katany. She
wraps her arms around her, rocking slightly, eyes tightly closed, face
wooden.

Sharath> Zmeth senses that Sharath glints startlement, then outrage:
Pass? He would /pass/? Thought suits action even as action suits
thought, and he can read the other bronze's passing well. /Well/--

K'tel starts and turns his head to give E'vrin a very dark look.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Irrylath is thoroughly playful now,
twisting her line of flight into a series of smooth turns, flickering
wings to first one bronze, then another, then perhaps to Ivarath --
and a burst of (tiring?) speed, to keep her ahead of them all.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Sharath snaps his head around,
snaps his jaws, too, but the clicks are lost in windscream. Tawny-pale
and taffy-taut, he strains ahead into the queen's pavane, to lose
Zmeth in the dust and grit of her swirled skirts.

E'vrin bares his teeth -- but eyes catch on Irrylath's rider, Katany
who wished for a knife, and he swallows bronze outrage and lowers his
gaze from K'tel.

Katany uncurls as Irrylath plays, stretching legs, arms, shaking her
own head. Still sprawled across her blankets, ignoring everyone in the
room.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath drives forward with a burst
of energy, tempted by the flirting gold. He croons softly, sound lost
in the wind of his passage as he dives sharply, then pulls upward
again, changing downward to forward speed, slipping through the air.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Avroth levels, many lengths between
him and the pack. A short dip in his altitude trades some of that
height for speed, plenty left in reserve for a well timed dive and
catch. His line is more vtol-like now, straight as the bolt from the
finest crossbow, wind whistling past his extended form as great
swollows of air are forced behind him.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Zmeth flips his wings just so with
hardly a glance at the young bronze. The move shifts him higher into
air free of the chasing pack. His eyes gleam at Irrylath's playful
moves but he resists the urge to follow her example. Instead, every
ounce of knowledge and energy is pulled into play as he works for
extra speed by angling his broad wings slightly downwards.

T'dry's gaze slowly raises. There's something..somewhere in the room
that deserves attention.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Irrylath keeps an eye on the males,
focus slowly shifting from the play of breeze to the desire driving
it. Who and where? A quick beat of wings lets her bank, a wide
arrogant turn to let her ascertain that she is being properly
admired. From afar.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath admires, yes he does. He
also struggles, tiring, yet still keeping up with the group through
sheer force of will.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, but not too far, not like this:
Sharath uses indignation's impetus to drive him faster, cutting across
her arc to meet the target directly.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Avroth's pace is frantic now, that
earlier climbing effort paying off in searing speed as he angles
directly towards Irrylath from out of the sun. Easily blazing past a
lagging pair of bronzes, he comes closer than most now, his attention
still focussed on that darling tail with burning intensity.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Zmeth angles inside the bank,
closing some of the distance. His eyes stay fixed on Irrylath,
drinking in the sight of her. He even ignores the annoyance of Sharath
below him.

Sharath> Irrylath senses that Sharath pushes his approach towards
golden thoughts like a hand through veils thinned by rut and
need. Thought's fingers curve through the ache-bowed meniscus even as
body stretches, and somehow, someway, she will be snagged--

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Irrylath roars anger as Sharath
approaches too close, angling a sharp dive to get away, angling again
to keep Avroth back. Attention, yes, she demands attention, but these
bronzes mean to bring her to ground and she will have none of it.

T'dry slowly rises. It's those feet on the bed. They look
so...so...delicious. Hmmmm.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath croons again, hopefully. He
didn't encroach, see, he knows this gold. He admires from afar, tiring
wings driving downward again and again, striving to keep up with her.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Sharath overshoots the prize, and
all his frantic efforts to backwing earn him only the sudden creak and
yelp of strain. Eyes darkened, talons clenched, he coasts through the
flight's musky wake and beyond, circling down and down to hateful
ground.

Sabra is still tightly curled up within herself and her dragon,
seemingly oblivious to the rest of the room.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath's mind flings out desperate
talons, but -- they screech as if on implacable stone, and the whole
of him slides out of bestiality and into painful awareness, gone.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, So she does notice. Avroth's
eyecolor shifts lightly, mirthfully. But he still continues to
approach. His wings do flare just a bit, speed very lightly checking
in case his mate-to-be decides to delay the inevitable with any last
minute antics.

E'vrin makes a soft, wrenched noise and twists abruptly around the
door, led by touch more than sight, to freedom.

[He goes out.  Sharath lands in the bowl's center.]

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath would send out laughing
flashes, if he were a shallower dragon, or if he weren't so
desparately trying to keep up.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Zmeth resists the urge to dive
because of Sharath's form below him. At the other bronze's yelp of
pain, the way is suddenly clear again but the moment was costly. She
is farther down. Eyes narrow, perhaps another strategy. He puts his
remaining energy into keeping abreast of Irrylath at his current
altitude.

You head down the staircase, past the balcony and into the Weyr's
Living Caverns.
--
Igen Weyr Living Cavern(#600RJMQ)
Contents:
Jaina
K'gen
Lyria
Meal Table
Obvious exits:
Bowl  STairs  Records Room  INFirmary  Kitchen  Inner Caverns  
--

E'vrin manages not to spill down the stairs, but it's a near thing: he
keeps his feet, if not his wits, and toes at last onto safe, solid
ground.

K'gen blinks, "Are you okay?"

Jaina quickly stands to try to help hi,
Jaina says "Are you ok, sir?"

Sharath> Irrylath senses that Sharath sparks a faint, wistful thought,
but it struggles through the flight's envelope, and quickly dries and
dies, wheat chaff in the sun.

Lyria frowns slightly, thoughtful. She stands.
Lyria stands and leaves the table by the stairs.

"I -- Sharath." E'vrin swallows, backs away from the attention. "No,
no, it's all right. Just..."

Lyria says "Take a skin with you, for after."

Jaina watches curiously as she sits again

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Irrylath's wings falter in their
smoothness, recovering with a rapid double-beat. Danger comes from her
left, that Fort bronze threateningly close, so it's sharp up and to
the right that she pushes, trying to outdistance them all.

Lyria looks up the stairs. Since no one else is coming down she asks,
"Is it something you need Fahloran for?"

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath drops, diving foward,
desparately reaching out with talons toward Irrylath's tail, the only
part he can reach.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Again Avroth levels as his quarry
rises to meet his height. A casual flick of her tail almost comes
within reach, but not quite - the attempt not yet made. Oblivious to
what semblence of competition is still bothering to pursue, he follows
that bank to the right, another half length swollowed up in a daring
press for more speed.

E'vrin frowns as if having to take each word, handle it individually,
and then put it into order. "I don't think so," he says as
carefully. "He wrenched his wing, but he says he just needs to rest."
He looks up, sudden and shamed. "I don't mean to make a spectacle --
I'll just go."

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Zmeth stays silent in this last
crucial moment. Seeing her movement, eyes gleam as he sweeps to the
right as well. He reaches towards her in every possible way.

Jaina frowns understanding that he meant his dragon's wing.
Jaina says "Will he be alright?"

Lyria says gently, "It's quite all right, E'vrin. But do take the
wine."

You say "I ... yes. Hope so. He'd know. Or I can ask Fahloran..." He
starts wandering towards the bowl, drawn. "--Wine? He doesn't want
any, thanks."

Lyria chuckles, putting her hands on her hips, one still holding the
skin, "Riders," she says, part exasperated and part indulgent.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Irrylath twists /away/ from Avroth,
as hard as she can -- and there's Zmeth, everywhere she might go. A
fierce cry spills from her throat, dismay that soon becomes delight.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath groans, an almost human
sound, as he drops.

K'gen hmmms, "What about them?"

Jaina giggles a little at the slight joke, but doesn't make light of
the situatin

Lyria says "You'd have to be in my shoes to get it, I think."

Sabra comes down the stairway.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Zmeth croons warmly, twining
himself with the glorious Irrylath.

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, Ivarath wings lower into the Bowl.
IgenW-Bowl> Just overhead, Ivarath flies carefully towards the main
entrance.

Lyria looks at Sabra, "Oh well now, there we go."

IgenW-Bowl> Ginevra has disconnected.

Lyria says "Is it worth asking who's the Weyrleader?"

IgenW-Bowl> Midway up in the Bowl, A wail of dismay, an utterly
piteous cry, comes from Avroth as his beloved is stolen from him. How
could she? Still, despite soulsplitting anguish, he dodges, dazed,
away from the mating pair, tumbling forlornly - nearly plummeting -
towards the yellow sands of the bowl, below.

E'vrin pauses by the exit. "K'tel. Of course." Bitterness.

Sabra almost stumbles down the stairs, pausing to grab the railing
desparately. She looks over the living cavern, spots the form she
seeks, and strides over to E'vrin. "You sharding little...." she
trails off, wordless.

E'vrin spins, nearly falls. "What?"

Lyria looks over and E'vrin and then nods, "Well."

Sabra is fuming. A finger pokes at E'vrin's
chest. "You. Need. To. Learn. How. To control your sharding dragon! He
almost knocked Ivarath out of the flight!"

Jaina eeks and hides her sketch. She shrinks back into the corner

K'gen narrows his eyes a bit and hmmms.

Lyria says "Sabra?"

E'vrin falls back with each word, eyes going wide and white. Then --
oh, right. /This./ "Me? Me! Look who's causing a fuss in the middle of
the sharding living cavern, Sabra!"

Sabra opens her mouth, then closes it, before saying
tightly. "Fine. Outside. Now."
Sabra walks out to the Bowl.

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath sends through the dimness of
weariness, << Is she angry? >>

E'vrin, caught between frustration and fury yet again, follows.

You walk out into the Bowl.
--
Field outside the Main Entrance
Contents:
Sabra
Ivarath(#12068JQaepqs)
Orith
Nemanth(#11667JMas)
Healers' Herb Garden
--

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath rumbles, irritated, and doesn't
answer.

You say "--Now /that/ was polite."
E'vrin adds, "And hello, Ivarath."

Sabra whirls. "Polite, what do you know about polite? And if you are
going to speak to my dragon you had better sharding well apologize
first!"

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath pulses vague humor. << Either
angry or hungry, it seems to me. Have her kill something in the
grounds. >>

E'vrin fists his hands at his sides. "To you or to him?" he manages
without snarling. "I thought greeting him would be polite."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath sends, icily, << I know how to
handle my rider, you should handle yours. >>

Silt swoops out from inside the Weyr.  [K'tel's]

Sabra's face fluctuates between fury and something else. "I think to
both of us." She ticks off on her fingers, "For being rude to a senior
rider, and for endangering my dragon during a flight."

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath skims some hurt through his
reply. << I am not angry with you, Ivarath. It was only a flight, and
we have been friendly before. What troubles you now? >>

Lyria walks out from the Weyr's Living Cavern.
Lyria slips by the riders as quickly as is decent, really.
Lyria heads north along the wall of the Bowl.

Silt sweeps out of the living cavern, trumpeting at the top of his
tiny lungs. He gets into free air and starts into aerial spirals of
joy.

E'vrin shrugs tautly. "It was a flight. I can't control his every
thought, and you know it. The rudeness -- just happens." His tone
twists acidic. "Weren't we taught that actions during flights do not
have anything to do with actions in the rest of our lives? These
things /happen,/ sear it, Sabra."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath rumbles, indecisive.

E'vrin also, to be perfectly clear, ignores Silt with every bit of his
wired being.

Sabra comments sharply, "Rudeness is much different than directly
endangering my dragon." She taps her foot, obviously waiting.

Sharath> Ivarath senses that Sharath insinuates deeper injury through
his tenor. << It is over. Zmeth won her, and we did not. But ... life
goes on. >> Wryly: << And my wing truly does /hurt./ >>

[And Irrylath and Zmeth glide down to the Weyrwoman's ledge.]

Sabra says suddenly, "Nevermind, forget it." She turns to Ivarath,
wrapping her arms around his head.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Ivarath does sound concerned, now, heat
fading. << What did you do? >>

[Missed that in spam.  Answer:  a little wrench, nothing serious.]

E'vrin frowns, bites his lip. Then steps forward and hovers a hand
over the woman's shoulder. "Sabra? I didn't mean it, you know we
wouldn't -- you were one of the only people who'd talk to me before I
Impressed--"

Kestra walks over from the center of the bowl.
Kestra meanders through carrying a basket of laundry.

Sabra whirls around, and startles, not expecting him so close. Her
eyes darken, and she steps closer, grabs the bronzerider's head and
presses her lips to his.

E'vrin can't quite pay proper attention to Kestra and her laundry, not
with Sabra suddenly -- there. Here. He has all of a heartbeat to
decide what to do. And does: breath hitches, and he tugs her away,
towards privacy while a bronze cries lonely from the bowl's center.

Kestra heads through the main entrance, into the Weyr's Living Cavern.

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Sharath cries thin, lonely chimes from
the bowl's center. << E'vrin! Don't leave me for /her/-- >> Ah,
Ivarath, what a rider you have...

Dragon> Igen dragons sense that Ivarath rumbles smugly. << I know. >>

[E'vrin and Sabra take out frustration with (and on) each other, then
 E'vrin flees as fast as manly possible, out of horror and mortification
 over the implicit betrayal (in his mind) of his love for Kassima.  We'll
 see where this new thread leads.  Log ends.]