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.
=======================================================================

September 7, 1999.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 18:59 on day 11, month 8, Turn 28, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a summer evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, T'en, Sonya, R'vyl, Cellia, T'ram, Laila, Macami,
       Kestra, Laurene, Davienne; Celie, Mirval (cameo), K'tel (cameo).

T'ram's Ginabeth rises in a short desert mating flight.
=======================================================================
Field outside the Main Entrance
Contents:
Sonya
Jaecinth
Pryth(#282Jaeps)
Visquath
T'en
R'vyl
Tivuketh
Ilmarith
Aisheth(#11753JMVaepqs)
Ordoneth
Ranth(#14457Jaes)
Amylith(#14908JVaes)
Sebring Traders Gather Tent(#6091JOe)
Healers' Herb Garden
--

T'en nods. "I'll walk it that way. Thanks, ehm ... I'm T'en, bronze
Rafeith's, by the way."

Sonya waves from beside Pryth. "Heya E'vrin." she greets.

E'vrin stalks stiff-legged towards the living caverns with hands in
pockets and spine a sword-straight line.

You say "--Sonya." He pauses, glances at the others, then tries a
smile. "Haven't missed supper, have I?"

R'vyl waves to E'vrin from a position leaning against Ilmarith's side;
Ilmarith's tail flicks back and forth in counterpoint to the
wave. "R'vyl, blue Ilmarith's," he says to T'en. To E'vrin, "Don't
think so."

Pryth settles down, watching the other dragaon. Paying particular
attention to Ginabeth.

T'ram walks out from the Weyr's Living Cavern.

Cellia ambles in from the northern part of the bowl.

Macami walks out from the Weyr's Living Cavern.
Laila walks out from the Weyr's Living Cavern.

Cellia ambles up, a somewhat grim look on her face. Seeing the crowd,
she keeps to the edge of things.

T'ram crosses through the group, checking who's here. The permanent,
amused smile splitting his face in tempered mania. "Ah, the Harper's
joined us. A curious choice, indeed."

T'al walks out from the Weyr's Living Cavern.

T'en looks over his shoulder for a moment, back across the bowl, and
his brow furrows before he looks back at R'vyl. "R'vyl. It's, ah. Well
met."

Laila's hands are deep in her pockets, then, at T'ram's words, turns
widened eye on E'vrin. Fabulous.

Davienne walks out from the Weyr's Living Cavern.

E'vrin keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets: safe sheaths, those. A
smile flicks, pained, towards Laila and quite passes T'ram by. (Is he
there? Does it matter?)

Macami waves around to the others, her eyes burningly on T'ram. A
smirk comes across her features and she protectively hugs herself.

Dragon> Flight sense that Sharath's dawnfire aspects twist to shadow,
sullen and suspicious, and the clouds race with thought's speed:
/Ginabeth./ (And her rider, her rider--)

R'vyl watches all the people emerge, murmuring quietly, "Center of the
weyr indeed." He nods to T'en, a bit distracted. "Well met," he
echoes.

Idrelth lands carefully.

T'ram ask he continues past, "I thought for sure that worm of yours
would save his strength so as to better displace K'tel."

[It's no fun being lagged too badly to reply to insults, believe me.]

Laurene slides down Idrelth's side to land lightly upon the ground
next to him. Her hand remains on his hide for a moment and the brown
rumbles softly.

Kestra ambles in from the northern part of the bowl.

Laila closes her eyes briefly, then opens them again, turned to the
ground.

Jaecinth raises his sleepy head and wuffles silently, looking
around. He gets his body up and wakes up each muscle, one by one. With
that done he spies out Ginabeth in the commotion and whirls there
quietly, waiting.

Kestra frowns. "What's going o...oh." She sees Ginabeth. "Oh, dear."

Hargroth lands carefully.

T'ram walks over towards the center of the bowl.

Laurene is dumped uncerimoniously by her dragon. "Thanks a lot,
Idrelth."

Cellia winces from words, from people, so many people. Better to stay
back along the wall, where it's safe.

Ordoneth shifts slightly. He looks about at the others, diffident.

T'al goes home.
Visquath goes home.  [RL]

Ordoneth tenses, then springs upwards.
Pryth tenses, then springs upwards.

[They go to the feeding grounds, as does Choloth.]

E'vrin's head lifts with a prideful jerk, and he gives Laila another
glance before stalking after that green's rider.

Idrelth tenses, then springs upwards.

[He and Sharath go to the feeding grounds.]

Tivuketh twitches his tail nervously, snarling at the others, eyeing
Ginabeth intently, his gaze as burning on her as Macami's gaze was on
her rider. He then jumps and takes to the air.

You walk over towards the center of the bowl.

[Jaecinth and Tivuketh go to the feeding grounds.]

Davienne walks over from the field to the southeast.
Laila walks over from the field to the southeast.
Sonya walks over from the field to the southeast.
Macami walks over from the field to the southeast.
Laurene walks over from the field to the southeast.
Kestra walks over from the field to the southeast.

[Hargroth and Rafeith go to the feeding grounds.]

E'vrin keeps his silence, keeps his steady, stiff-legged pace, and
keeps his eyes on T'ram: solidly, insolently, sardonically.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ginabeth's presence, withdrawn and coiled
seethes slowly among the minds of those who would have her. Roiling,
slowly churning, desire gives rise to action.

At the feeding grounds, Idrelth draws his wings in, dropping
quickly. At the last moment, the wings snap open and the browndragon
neatly does in a herdbeast, snapping its back and carrying it off to
be blooded.

Cellia walks over from the field to the southeast.

Kestra mutters quietly to herself under her breath. Something that
sounds like, "SnazzafrazzadragonrazzaWORSTtimesfrazzem..."

At the feeding grounds, Choloth lands harshly, roughly, with none of
his usual finesse. Herdbeast's neck crunched in his mouth, he buries
muzzle into the sweet, rich blood, and drinks.

At the feeding grounds, Pryth lands in the pens, looking for the
perfect beast to blood. One is found and gored, straight through with
his razor sharp talons. Blooding starts immeditatly as Pryth seeks the
energygiveing blood.

At the feeding grounds, Ordoneth looks about, rumbling. He reaches
out, quick, to catch a nervous wherry. Neck snaps, and into his maw it
goes.

At the feeding grounds, Sharath scouts a first kill with hasty rush:
he's there, he's gliding, and then he's down, slashing between a brown
and a blue to score wherry for his own, to knead (need) its carcass
between harsh talons, to urge the blood up to the rent neck, to drink
(feed).

Macami moves over to stand close to two very familiar faces, Kestra
and Laurene. She smiles faintly to both of them, puts her hands on her
tummy and...stares at T'ram. Oh how she stares, never taking her eyes
of him.

At the feeding grounds, Jaecinth speeds down and lands on an
unsuspecting wherry, surprising it with his sharp talons. He drags it
across the floor of the feeding grounds and then cracks it's neck on a
large rock, settling down to blood as his now feverish eyes glance
here and there with a feral intensity.

Laurene rubs her face wearily, obviously very recently returned from
... well, somewhere. She's wearing her riding leathers. "These things
just never happen conveniently," she mutters, to herself.

At the feeding grounds, Hargroth doesn't waste time on elegance. He
snatches up a beast, breaks its neck, gorges noisily.

Cellia trails the others, her expression less than cheerful, more than
merely interested. though she tries to stare anywhere /but/ T'ram.

Davienne merely says, "Aye" and combs her hair nervously with her
fingers, not daring to look T'ram's way.

Sonya watches all riders, perhaps eyeing them as Pryth eyes the
animals to blood. Eventually her eyes land and stay put on the one in
particular. T'ram is her focus, her tounge darting out to moisten dry
lips.

Laila's hands are fists, white-knuckled. She glances at E'vrin, then
T'ram, unsure where to look, who to look at.

At the feeding grounds, Rafeith casts a wide shadow over the feeding
grounds before he drops like he'd been weighted atop a strong-looking
buck. There's no herdbeast, though, that could withstand his weight
and so the animal crumples, managing a single bleat of pain before
Rafeith tears out his throat, and silences him to drink.

Kestra manages a wan, strained smile to Macami, and one to
Laila. "With all three of them in, she's good as caught," she jokes,
weakly. Her voice trails off as Hargroth's sensations begin to take
over.

At the feeding grounds, Tivuketh dives down to slash at a herdbest,
neatly, if you can call it that, ripping open the throat. He pushes
the poor beast down, then sucks on the precious liquid to give him
strength, sustenance, power, glory to catch Ginabeth. It's no nice
sight, seeing him, greedily slurping blood.

Laila looks at Kestra, paling slightly, eyes wide.

E'vrin moves away, moves behind Laila, and brushes her with breathed
words, eyes still on T'ram: "Don't worry about it. She'll be caught,
yes ... but there are more important ties in life than a flight's
chance." Right, T'ram?

Macami smiles faintly. "Oh, you're probably right, Kes. Probably
right. Her rider might be surprised in the end." Her laugh sounds
almost malicious, doesn't it?

Dragon> Flight sense that Ginabeth's so-fragile wings unfold blocking
the amber orb or a dying Rukbat. She wakes!

At the feeding grounds, Choloth finishes with his first
beast. Messily, uncaring, he tosses the corpse aside, reaches out a
negligent claw, and spears another with sharp talons.

Midway up in the Bowl, Ginabeth leaps off a high ledge, spreading her
wings.

Laila leans back, into E'vrin, blinking.

Kestra looks at T'ram. Err. That's not safe. Looks at Macami and
Laila. Probably not safe there, either. Finally, she looks at the
ground, scuffling a toe in the dirt.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ordoneth seems to think it's about time.

Laurene's obvious weariness begins to disappear as Idrelth loses
himself in the heat and feeling of the hunt.

Midway up in the Bowl, Ginabeth's form plummets to the ground without
grace or skill, simply sinking like a stone.
Just overhead, Ginabeth glides down cautiously.
At the feeding grounds, Ginabeth backwings to land in the grounds
neatly.

Dragon> Flight sense that Sharath filters a beam of ruddy light
through Ordoneth's sending: Indeed. Slow one. Lazy one. /Poor/ one.

Davienne folds her arms over her chest definately, moving off to stand
to the side of the gathering. She stands there sullenly, mumbling to
herself about dragons and flights and sharding searches, scuffing her
boot in the dirt. She looks over her shoulder at the others once in a
while as her mood slowly shifts to a moody one.

Dragon> Flight sense that Choloth attends to Ginabeth's arrival with
dark surety.

At the feeding grounds, Idrelth lands on the back of a second
herdbeast just as the green arrives. He lifts his head and bellows out
a challenge to his fellow males before dropping it again to drain the
blood from this 'beast.

At the feeding grounds, Hargroth seizes his second kill of the day in
strong talons, rending the hapless animal. He crouches over it, purple
eyes locked on Ginabeth, wwith a low, sensual croon.

At the feeding grounds, Ordoneth tosses aside the first kill, whirling
eyes on Ginabeth for a moment. Amusement

At the feeding grounds, Tivuketh bugles throatily, stretching his
neck, as Ginabeth comes to the feeding grounds. Blood streams from his
muzzle and he shakes his head, droplets flying. More blood, more
sustenance is needed!. Carcass tossed aside he jumps up and dives onto
a fat buck, repeating his rough treatment.

At the feeding grounds, Ordoneth tosses aside the first kill, whirling
eyes on Ginabeth for a moment. Amusement

At the feeding grounds, Ginabeth crashes into the ground with
tremendous force, tremors rocking the Bowl. Tail and neck erect before
and behind her, fangs extended. A warning hiss and she draws her
circle about her. This, this is hers!

Dragon> Flight sense that Rafeith lets waking desire mingle with the
sudden pang of hunger that drives him to drink. The beasts, and the
green, those are his thoughts. Beautiful green.

At the feeding grounds, Ordoneth tosses aside the first kill, whirling
eyes on Ginabeth for a moment. Amusement- then hunger. He snatches
another wherry, another sickening snap.

At the feeding grounds, Jaecinth gathers up another kill and kills it
cleanly, muzzle sprinkled with the warm life blood. He looks up and
notes where Ginabeth is, admiring her glowing color and form. He
doesn't bother answering the bugling challenges of his competitors but
waits cautiously to rise at the slightest provocation.

Kestra shakes her head, closing her eyes, trying to sort out two
equally powerful sets of stimuli. "T-too much," she whispers.

Cellia is lost, now, in Choloth: that is, if her pale expression and
hands dangling loosely at her sides are any indication. Her mouth is
open, breathing faint words too quiet to be heard over draconic noise.

T'en walks over from the field to the southeast.

Dragon> Flight sense that Tivuketh can't hide his strong reactions to
Ginabeth's arrival, emotions spilling over. Admiration, desire, lust,
a blinding whirl of colours.

Sonya goes home.  [RL]

Laila murmurs, "It'll be fine, Kestra..." Her tones suggests she's
convincing herself as well.

At the feeding grounds, Sharath slips a snarl out of bloodied jaws
like a hand drawn naked from a silken red glove, and stares at
her. Tail lashes, and eyes glow like maddened, madder jewels:
carnelian and amethyst, lust and rut. His tongue takes another lick
from the wherry's throat; then he pauses. Stills.

At the feeding grounds, Choloth angles neatly away from Ginabeth's
arrival, bloodstreaked muzzle dipped to her in respectful salute. Full
of blood - and lust - he hunches, crooning tribute, awaiting.

At the feeding grounds, Hargroth considers a nearby herdbeast, snaps
at it. He merely toys with his kill, this time, largely sated in his
appetite--for blood, at any rate. Other appetites burn hotter than
ever.

E'vrin agrees, "It will," and offers Kestra a thin smile as bright and
brittle as mica even as he moves closer against Laila, behind her with
his chin jutting against, over, her shoulder. Wide, wide eyes on the
killing fields--

Macami reaches out a hand to Kestra, unsteady on her feet. "What a
folly. I should have listened to /him/", it sounds spiteful, "just
once. You shouldn't try something like this when you're pregnant."

At the feeding grounds, Rafeith kicks aside the emptied carcass of the
herdbeast before him, and bugles his admiration of Ginabeth for every
dragon to hear. A wherry startles and, panicked, darts directly for
him, which satisfies the big bronze. The head is removed, and the
geyser sampled.

Kestra squeezes Macami's hand, tightly--for her support or her
friend's, it's unclear.

At the feeding grounds, Idrelth settles back, his last 'beast emptied
and forgotten. Now, muzzle and hide gleaming, he watches the green:
intent, methodical.

At the feeding grounds, Ordoneth is anything but respectful, but when
has he been lately. The jilted suitor, the first, he mocks her hiss in
an odd, brassy tone, then tosses aside his kill. Number three is
sought out.

T'ram turns his back on his lifemate, to view the riders
assembled. The Weyrs of Pern represented before him. A chin lifts and
a forgotten statement gets nothing but a sneer and he is away.

You sense Laila is shaking, very slightly, attempting control.

At the feeding grounds, Tivuketh finishes the once fat buck, now
shredded pieces of flesh drained of its lifeblood. While he watches
Ginabeth he moves forward, lunging out with a talon, snatching a
helpless wherry up. Snap of the teeth and the head is gone, blood
spattering down his gullet. For her...

Laila senses "E'vrin is utter rock: immobile, steady, roots sunk deep
in earth. Only his breath moves him, light against your back."

At the feeding grounds, Ginabeth's maw opens and her cry to pierce
stone dominates the pen. A kill, quick and clean yields blood and
nothing further. Eyes mark each, brown and blue and haughty bronze.

T'en comes across the bowl floor with a package still caught firmly in
his fingers. A little too firmly, perhaps, as hide already bears the
stain of sweat from his hand. He searches faces, eyes narrowed, a
mixture of hope and dismay etched on his face.

[Urieth glides down towards the living caverns.]

At the feeding grounds, Hargroth settles back into a seemingly relaxed
crouch, all patience and endurance and waiting power. He can wait. Oh,
yes...he can wait.

At the feeding grounds, Sharath flares narrow, nimble wings tall and
bright, twin banners flung out in answer to Ginabeth's challenge. No
trumpet for him, no fanfare to accompany the flags, but a swift leap
onto a fleeing buck's back, a sip and a suck -- pale bronze feeds, and
tail lashes on.

At the feeding grounds, Rafeith is confident, as sure of himself
blooding the kills as he is in flight, as he will be in chasing after
lovely Ginabeth.

At the feeding grounds, Ginabeth wastes no time with a second
blooding. She rises with no pretense. Glimmering jade into Rukbat's
oppressive twilight.
At the feeding grounds, Ginabeth leaps into the air!

[She moves to the highest skyroom in the bowl.]

At the feeding grounds, Jaecinth sucks another poor beast dry and is
finally full, his belly warming, muscles tensing, eyes all for
Ginabeth. He settles back and presses into his haunches just waiting
for the signal to chase.

At the feeding grounds, Hargroth leaps into the air!
At the feeding grounds, Choloth leaps into the air!

At the feeding grounds, Ordoneth feeds, almost lazily, this last time,
then lifts his head to rest jeweled eyes on her. About time.

At the feeding grounds, Ordoneth leaps into the air!
At the feeding grounds, Sharath leaps into the air!

[Hargroth and Choloth move to join Ginabeth.]

At the feeding grounds, Tivuketh leaps into the air!
At the feeding grounds, Rafeith leaps into the air!

[Tivuketh, Ordoneth, and Rafeith move to join Ginabeth.]

E'vrin swallows a thick moan and presses his brow briefly into Laila's
shoulder before spinning away and around -- away.

At the feeding grounds, Jaecinth leaps into the air!

T'ram heads towards the main entrance to the inner Weyr.

[Riders move to the guest weyr as Jaecinth, Idrelth, and Sharath
 complete the flight on high.]

T'ram comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.
Cellia comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.
Davienne comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth surges forward. A good start,
an early start, andf he intends to maintain it. Mahogany wings hammer
down the air, forcing him higher in pursuit of the glimmering green.

Macami comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.
Laurene comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.
Laila comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.
Kestra comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.
T'en comes up the steps from the floor of the bowl.

Cellia stumbles inward, pursuing the closest wall for support.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ginabeth's mind expands in time with her
wingsails, her own emotion, her own havoc now left behind in the
bowl. Up, out and away, she sprints beyond even the Harper's wit.

Kestra shuffles in, still clinging to Macami's hand like a
lifeline. Once in the weyr, she reluctantly releases; there are no
friends here, only competitors for the same prize.

Macami seems glad when she arrives in the weyr. She leans against the
wall for support, a bit pale in the face. She mutters something to
herself, a perpetual litany, like a mantra.

Laila's eyes are glittering, and she closes them tightly, assuming her
usual position - Against the wall, knees up to her chin.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Idrelth lags on his take off, but
powerful wings sweep the air, propelling him upwards after the glowing
green who fills his focus.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth pushes upward, powerful beats of
his long wings cutting through the air with practiced ease. He keeps
her in sight, ever in sight, reserving his energy for later in the
flight.

Dragon> Flight sense that Sharath's mind sweeps through body's jesses
into exultant flight after green's own. Harper? Who needs a harper? A
catch, a lover, a mate -- a victory.

IgenW-Bowl> Just overhead, Jaecinth pumps his excited wings to gain
quick altitude, this time opting for height rather then manuverability
at first. He closes his eyes briefly, letting the feeling of the
rushing wind and air carry his thoughts, projections and emotions
after him, falling in love with Ginabeth with each wingstroke. He can
make it this time, he has to.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth beats his wings, moving wth a
remarkable swiftness, and certain grace. Through the field of
competitiors to her. Simple enough.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Jaecinth pumps his excited wings to gain
quick altitude, this time opting for height rather then manuverability
at first. He closes his eyes briefly, letting the feeling of the
rushing wind and air carry his thoughts, projections and emotions
after him, falling in love with Ginabeth with each wingstroke. He can
make it this time, he has to.

Dragon> Flight sense that Hargroth's thoughts are more primal and
direct. Fly. Pursue. Catch. Then again, he's always been more
pragmatic than poetic.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Rafeith's reach for another wherry is
aborted as he watches the green rise, then crouches for the powerful
spring of muscle that will launch him upward, arrowing after her and
into the sky. Strong, long downbeats of broad wings carry him upward,
perhaps not as quickly as some of the other males, but with a
determination that none of them will match.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Tivuketh obviously wasn't prepared for
the swift ascent. Straining not to lose sight of Ginabeth he forgot
all about his latest kill that is still between his teeth. His muzzle
opens, the drained wherry falls, falls, falls, while its killer rises
higher, following the green sparkling pinpoint, the center of his
being. Ginabeth.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Sharath courses up the winds like syrup
poured in reverse, and there's no hurry in his slip-and-lick through
the broken slipstreams of the suitors ahead. No, he rides, he harries,
he glides through a thermal's unexpected buck, and moves around a
lagging brown to press lazy advantage through experience.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ginabeth is up over the western lip of
the bowl, chasing the sun. Chasing her own destiny. Outstripping the
pack, a pause of dark profile in the rock's duststorm, and then down,
skimming the outer rim of the caldera.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ordoneth manages a bright ribbon of
amusement through the tumbling emotions. She'll not fly forever.

E'vrin is there. More needs to be noted? He folds his hands primly
before him, drops his head a politely inclined amount, and lets his
gaze and the hard twist of his mouth glower at Ginabeth's rider.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ginabeth to them all, particularly Ordoneth,
<< I'll outfly you! >>

Dragon> Flight sense that Sharath sleeks a crystalline dagger of
thought through the cry: but not all, never quite all of them--

T'ram, a moment's hesitation stopping his tongue, focuses on each of
the riders in turn. Comments for some die anguished deaths in his
throat. "It doesn't matter ..."

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth pursues, perhaps without quite
the grace of Sharath or the cunning of Raifeth, but with a steady,
driving power that cuts through the thermals, the updrafts and
downdrafts, cleaving through the air--and from his attitude, through
any dragon that dares get in his way.

Laurene, with a heated gaze, keeps her distance but watches T'ram
closely. Every movement is noted, each nuance of feature and color
seemingly committed to memory. Though, possibly only dragon memory.

Dragon> Flight sense that Rafeith rumbles enticingly, << Outfly the
rest, lovely green. Outfly the rest and I will still be here. >>

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth follows the luminous green with
a steady, sure rhythm, ever reaching, ever forward. Focused only on
the green, he cranes for advantage, pushing his way through the pack.

Davienne comes in and stumbles over a raised piece of stone or wood or
something under her boot. She curses like the most impotent drunken
seaholder and finds a chair to lean against, scowling. Her normally
pleasant expression dirtied by the uncomfortable frown.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth makes a turn, less tight than
the green's, ready to shift. He attempts to match her pace, but not
her speed. His wingbeats are measured, confident.

Dragon> Flight sense that Tivuketh does not sound amused like his
brown progeny but intent. << For one your flying skills won't be
enough, Ginabeth. For most, but not one. >> He tries to sound
flattering but it comes out rather primal.

E'vrin murmurs, "Not yet, anyway," and smiles.

Cellia leans up against the wall, then slowly sinks down. As Choloth
to Ginabeth, so she to T'ram: she stares unabashedly at the greenrider
now, the brown's lust edging her eyes.

T'en nearly collides with another rider, and recoils so quickly he
almost unbalances himself. Somewhere, he must have lost the package
for his hands are empty, fingers curled into white-knuckled fists.

Dragon> Flight sense that Choloth only croons, wordless, intent.

Dragon> Hargroth bespoke Flight with << I will catch you, lovely
one. >> Fly. Pursue. Catch. No poetry, but deadly earnest. << I will
be that one. >>

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ginabeth has no time to tarry or
rest. Headlong down the volcano and out. Out into the inferno. The
summer desert radiating a mirage hellfire before her, behind her. To
the dunes, a mere halflength above the sands.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ordoneth allows the amusement to
brighten. Spoiled, petulant brat. She'll slow down. He'll be there.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ginabeth, to Rafeith a simple denial,
<< NO! >>

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Tivuketh doesn't try to be graceful. He
never was graceful. He always was strong. West he goes, sun glaring,
burning, making green hide sparkle, making her look more desirable as
she is, and oh, she is everything in the world already. His wings pump
steadily as he follows. There's nothing else to do but follow her.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Jaecinth turns here and there in the
thermals and air that is kicked up by the passing and falling dragons
near him. He retains his speed and position at this point but is
distracted by the thrumming in his chest and belly. This thrumming, it
consumes him, keeps him focused on Ginabeth's diving form.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth echoes the green's flight,
mirror mirage above her. Matching her path, he continues to move
forward, edging out a blue and then another brown. Poesy is lost in
his straightforward flight: for him only the trial, the endurance, the
will to have her.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Idrelth does not allow his energy to be
squandered through bragging about what will or will not occur. Like
most, he is a roiling mass of lust and heat and hunt. Ginabeth is his
world, his vision, his sun. He follows.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Sharath slips through a blue's wake,
though still remains behind, dawnfire plunging for hellfire, and no
difference between them in his bank and plunge. Light calls to light,
and green calls to all. Afterimage, he follows.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth banks in pursuit. Down, ever
down, in a dive so precipituous as to be truly alarming. His turn is
not quite as sharp as Ginabeth's, and he skims the desert, so close
that a cloud of sand is kicked up in his wake.

Dragon> Flight sense that Jaecinth keeps his humor with him as his
desire consumes the logic that he retains in moments like these and he
merely muses, "Blue and green always make a lovely pair in fading
twilight."

Macami continues her litany, eyes squeezed shut. "Don't spill, don't
spill, don't spill, I beg you, don't spill, not this time, not again,
she'll never forgive me, don't spill." On and on her words go. Her
hands are balled into fists.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth shifts, up on a thermal, past a
slower, older brown, and up higher still. He angles, wingbeats less
and less conserved. Must catch up.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Rafeith dives over the bowl's edge after
the glowing green, wings tucked neatly at his sides before he opens
them again to let the air fill his sails, stop his downward
plummet. The others will falter, will slow, and he will keep on, his
wingbeats proclaim, neck stretched out before him to point toward the
beauty that will be his.

Kestra's breath hitches in her throat for a moment, her face going
ash-grey.

Cellia ... just... stares. What else can she do?

E'vrin only drops his eyes and studies his folded hands.

Laurene stalks back and forth, travelling no more than a couple of
feet with each length. Her eyes remain fixed upon T'ram/Ginabeth. Does
she see man or green?

Dragon> Flight sense that Rafeith is undeterred by denial. He croons
soothingly to her, heedless of other voices.

Laila begins muttering. "Be nice to her, for once." She pauses, then
lets out a digusted groan.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ginabeths talons unsheath beneath her as
she dives and writhes through the mountainous dunes of the Igen
desert. No green but her. No life but her fire -- and always those who
would take her. Capture is not an option, a twist, and away through
the sandstorm the pack creates this night.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ginabeth shatters Sharath's dagger. << Back,
worm! >>

[There was something wonderfully _Dune_ about that.]

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth narrows eyes, narrows wings,
managing to keep on the tight track of twists and turns, following the
chase wherever it may lead. Life she is, and her life - and love - he
seeks.

Dragon> Flight sense that Sharath only laughs, flying shards of
crystal and dancing fire's tongues, and reforms himself for the chase.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth remains higher, at a good
vantage point. Up, eventually - he -knows- her. And slowly, slowly,
gaining ground, single-minded.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth , for all his power, shows his
inexperience and youth by attempting to pursue the much more agile
green turn for turn--and nearly pays dearly for it. A sharp bank by
Ginabeth leaves him face to face with a high dune, forcing him to bank
hard. A taloned hindleg tears a gouge in the sand, mute testimony to
how close the call truly way.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Tivuketh grumbles softly as sand is
sprayed at him, as he pursuits her over the dunes, as fine particles
scour his hide. But what are little prickings compared to the grand
prize? And she is a grand prize in all her beauty and defiance. His
route is straight, no dives and turns. Never out of reach. Straight
route, his hope for success.

Kestra lets out a strangled whimper.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Sharath cleaves the veils of dust with
gem-pommelled stiletto: the madder-eyed head stretching away from his
wings' quillons. No fire but hers, no life but theirs -- capture not
an option, but catching the consummation -- doesn't deter him at
all. Striving away from the earth, he bursts higher, higher, to pierce
the sky.

Cellia winces, puts a hand to her eyes as if to wipe something from
them.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ordoneth echoes Sharath's laughter, blinding
for a minute. Posturing.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Jaecinth narrows his youthful eyes and
tries something new, he tries to mimic her play in the dunes. He's
young, he's lithe, he's fast...or so he thinks, so he tries skimming
the surface of the sands, twisting in and out. He kicks up some sand
and decides to go a little higher, suddenly losing sight of his
objective. The desert jewel.

T'en finds a wall to back him, cracking his head against the stone
behind him, hard enough to remind him of it's presence, not hard
enough to do him any harm. He lifts an absent hand to lift at it, eyes
intent on T'ram.

E'vrin slants quick glance, measurement, at the whimper's source then
returns to fixed stare on hands, on nothing, on everything. A breath
moves him, sways him from the wall, and then brings him back to steady
stance.

Macami lowers her head, stretching her body, tense, straight,
following. "Don't you dare spill..." A dying mutter, then her eyes
open and she stares at T'ram, straightly.

Davienne shouts outloud to nothing in particular, "don't go so low,
shardit! You'll crash..." and her eyes cloud over for a frantic
conversation with her silly lifemate, her hands clenching and
unclenching.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ginabeth rises only to clear the next
dune, each decapitated with a swipe of claw or tail. A duststorm
behind her. The desolate horizon ahead.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth may be inexperienced, yes. He
may be less than graceful yes. But stupid? ...no. Not in the
slightest. He learns from his mistakes...and oh, see! His climb has
lifted him above the sand-clouds, out of the labyrinthine sand dunes,
and left him with a clear view of shimmering green reflecting golden
sunlight below!

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Sharath pushes reckless behind from
above, as if to catch her with his shadow first, the hard hoops of
neck and tail later to come. He jostles for wind position with a brown
and falls perforce further behind ... shadow stretches out palsied
wings towards Ginabeth, falling away, falling.

Laila's chin sinks between her knees. She stares at the ground beneath
her.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth rises from the storm, pushing
attempt to extricate himself from the pack. Tail lashes out, and he is
free - and above her, still, heat and depth and energy all with him.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Tivuketh rises higher. Too low is
dangerous. That's just plain instict. He looks very dark against the
stark contrast of sand whizzing past him, of him flying past all those
dunes. A bugle escapes him. She slows down, her maneuvers make him
come closer. He sounds almost jubilant.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Jaecinth gets a mouthful of sand as he
opens up to bugle most romantically for Ginabeth. That didn't work. He
shakes his head clear of the grit and sees that he is off his course,
the rolling cloud of pursuers away off to his right. He rumbles and
pumps strongly to catch up, passing a few behind him.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth is above, as he was before. As
the others rise as well, he rumbles a warning. His place in the sky,
his plan, his green... He surges forward, angling above her. He'll
take his chances.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Rafeith climbs to avoid as much of the
backward-flung sand as he can, to keep it, at least, from his eyes,
innermost eyelids shuttering then opening again as he focuses on the
beacon that draws him onward, commands the chase. When the sand is
gone, so is excuse for lagging behind, and he closes some meters of
distance.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ginabeth hovers ever nearer the dunes
rising only to crest them and then diving into the long, darkened
shadows between. A twist and writhing turn. Up, over, down,
turn. Hesitation overtakes her frame and her so-bright eyes pierce the
sand that is her past.

Dragon> Flight sense that Ginabeth astonishment and anger and lust,
<< You are still there!? >>

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth hovers above: though he does not
steal Ordoneth's place, he does find his own, shadow racing over the
dunes in tempo with pounding blood, heat, lust - in tune with the song
of flight, all in the key of Ginabeth.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth learns from his mistakes,
yes--and he's learning now. See how her twists and turns slow her, how
a steady, driving course brings him closer, gradually closer, closer
still. And she will have to climb again eventually. He will be there.

Dragon> Hargroth bespoke Flight with << Still here. Always here. >>

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Tivuketh doesn't give in to
temptation. How easy it would be to move down and up with her but
would it help him? No. He would lose her. Up he is, straight he flies.

Dragon> Flight sense that Choloth can only croon. << We cannot leave,
will not. >>

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Sharath pursues the track of her
passage, following shadows, following scent, following sure sense of
presence. Harrying again now, he strains past physical shortcomings
for some kind of speed to keep up, even from on high, and even from on
high begins to keep up -- begins to drop, to angle down. He's there.

Dragon> Flight sense that Sharath's thoughts mutter thickly, ground
glass and globs of ash: as if she could be rid of them so
easily. Pressing on, always on--

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Rafeith does not follow the peaks and
valleys so closely, riding the hot air above them while watching the
green bob below. She must come up some time, and to dive so close to
ground that erupts in clouds of stinging sand would be folly.

E'vrin catches a breath for his own from the too-crowded air and then
doles it out in spaced spurts timed to another's rhythm. On high, on
high...

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth lets out a burst of speed, not
only above, but attempting slightly ahead now, he lets out a brassy
roar. A challenge. He maintains the height, muscles tensed, ready to
rise or drop.

Dragon> Flight sense that Rafeith will not be the fool, will not be
fooled. And he will not simply disappear.

T'ram's Adam's apple bobs in his throat. Sweat-drenched now in the
oppressive heat of the weyr: Laila and her champion, the
mother-father, Ista and Fort, and some he knows not at all. A simple
hiss. Salt burns his eyes.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Jaecinth merely combines all his energy,
passion and awareness into one complete focus. Join Ginabeth and take
care of her forever, just as he has been taught to do. He outstretches
his talons and brings them back to his body in preparedness for the
moment he might need them. Gaining on the pack his wings slow a bit as
he notices Ginabeth's hesitation.

Macami rubs her pale face, her lips moving, murmuring, too low to
understand now. Dark soulful eyes are on T'ram. Hungry. She absently
touches her middle.

Cellia clenches fists around wads of wherhides trous, gripped tight
against taut calves. Her eyes, almost black, glare, determined, at
T'ram.

T'en bows his head now to knot one hand's fingers in his hair, only a
brief gesture of frustration and struggle for control before he
straightens again, shoulders squared and jaw set. Defiant. Let the
rest fade away. He'll still be here, like his 'mate above.

Davienne sits in the chair and places her chin in her hands, watching
T'ram closely, her breath coming ragged.

Laila draws in a sharp breath, head up, and eys to to air,
widened. She blinks, and looks to T'ram, then E'vrin, an odd mix of
determination and fear in green depths.

Kestra is biting her lip, hard. How long has she been doing so? A
second, an eternity. A trickle of crimson blood runs down her lip.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Idrelth exhibits the same restlessness
as his rider, so far away now, as he follows the green. His flight is
not as straight as usual, though his powerful wings make up for the
slight zig-zagging.

E'vrin slips his eyes closed -- on T'ram, on Laila (ah, Laila), on the
others -- and lets his head roll back against the wall, caught in the
agonized ecstasy of Other.

Laurene's body stiffens, pacing ceases. Her chin is lowered a bit,
eyes almost fever bright as they remain fixed on T'ram's figure.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ginabeth breaks her silence. Defiance
now finding a champion only in her voice as her body fails
her. They're on her like a pack of dogs. Her moves are now desperate
with no escape from above. A roll and twist, the dune looms before
her!

Macami sighs wistfully. A single drop of sweat runs from her brow,
down the bridge of her nose. She looks weak yet determined, pale but
tense, weary but demanding.

Laila murmurs something soft, quiet, and warm, before her eyes shut
tight again.

Kestra leans forward, unconsciously mimicking her lifemate as he
begins the final dive, the final attempt...

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Sharath strikes. A poise, a stoop --
he's /there,/ yowling with thrown sand in the midst of the pack and
reaching for her through sand and pack together. His wings flare for
balance; his rest ... reaches for her.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth dives, wings tucked in now,
tail snaking out, throwing caution to the winds and risking all in one
desparate gamble...

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth drops, suddenly. His size
allows for the manuvering, Gravity'll take care of the rest. Perfect
timing, position - so he thinks, he stretches out to his full length,
grasping for her. As per usual.

Dragon> Flight sense that Sharath stretches out one last quivering tip
of touch--

E'vrin poises.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Rafeith darts forward as the green
falters. Darts, no, that's the wrong word. He drives toward her,
determination giving way to desperation as he reaches for her, cries
out a long, low croon that shudders through him as he reaches with
neck and tail.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Tivuketh is deep in the middle of the
pack but above her. He drops, he dives, his tail reaching out, his
neck seeking to entwine hers. His wings are folded to his body, in a
breakneck attempt to have the most wonderful lady for himself, now
that her strength is faltering. If not now then never!

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth gives his last energy in one
burst of speed, diving, not caring who might be in the way. Tail and
talons, claws and wings, all reach to ensnare, to offer his warmth and
strength in a rhapsody of all that he is.

Cellia's breathing seems to stop altogether. And then--

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Idrelth manuevers within the crowd;
body, mind, wings all straining towards the green, glowing
prize. Hoping, wanting, desiring. Can he reach?

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Jaecinth catches up and flits in for a
nervous grab with his tail and neck, anything that might catch a hold
of the glowing prize. He almost gets knocked down by the others in the
way but he tries as best he can, with the limited experience he has.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Choloth cries out -- and he is there,
all unexpected, tail fouling against luminous green hide. Almost
unbelieving, as his capture turns to a tender embrace.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ginabeth's scream dies in her maw as
tail and neck entangle. Caught!

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Tivuketh cries out his frustration then
dives down deeper, deeper. To hide.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Ordoneth fairly hisses, and banks away,
not even a last look.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Hargroth blurs by, a second too late, a
few handsbreadths too far, with an anguished creel.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Idrelth peels away, abruptly. A roar of
frustration comes from deep in his chest as he wheels and heads back
towards the Weyr.

[Those dragons drop out, down into the bowl.]

Laurene walks out into the hallway.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Jaecinth bugles his dissapointment and
then his encouragement to the mated pair and wings his way down with
the others.

Davienne walks out into the hallway.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Sharath swings awkwardly into a bank --
a turn, that is, and not a pile of sand -- that leads him back to the
Weyr, limping but eyes ... eyes /bright./

Kestra's strangled groan echoes her lifemate's outcry. She stands and
staggers out into the sunset.
Kestra walks out into the hallway.

Macami slowly stands, heaving herself up. "Faranth, thank you!" She
heads outside.

E'vrin, eyes /bright,/ glances them off T'ram, off -- others -- and
then goes away.

Macami walks out into the hallway.

You walk out into the hallway.

IgenW-Bowl> High in the Bowl, Rafeith roars his loss into the sky as
he swoops away from the joined pair, and upward.

[The rest of the disappointed suitors leave.  Log stops +watching.]

T'en comes out into the hallway from the guest weyr.
Laila comes out into the hallway from the guest weyr.

Macami calls after Kestra. "Don't go." She weakly moves over to the
wall. "This is one flight I am glad I didn't win. Imagine sleeping
with that tunnelsnake."

E'vrin laughs, or coughs, or -- whatever. "Yes," he mutters and hugs
himself.

T'en heads down the staircase.

Kestra turns, her face sickly pale. She nods, weakly. "Y-yeah...glad I
didn't win." Funny, how unconvincing she sounds.

Laila blinks, several times, eyes bright and glittering. She nearly
runs into the group, and manages to turn the tumble into E'vrin.

Imagine that. And imagine E'vrin catching her. "Yes," he says again,
but directs it at Laila, and leaves it there.

Macami touches Kestra's cheek, then takes a deep breath. "Last flight
before the baby. I'm not going through this again."

Kestra hugs Macami, gently. "I was worried for you," she whispers.

Laila looks about, quickly, then up at E'vrin, questioningly.

Macami nods and returns the hug. "It was silly. Never again." She
kisses the top of Kestra's head. "I'm tired. And then not tired. Maybe
you would like to join me in my weyr? Jaela's at Honshu." She pouts.

Kestra nods, wordlessly. She bites her lip, then makes a small sound
of surprised pain. Apparently, she bit it harder than she thought in
there.

E'vrin simply catches Laila's hand and goes without another glance at
the others.

You head down the staircase, past the balcony and into the Weyr's
Living Caverns.

Laila comes down the stairway.

Celie licks her lips, reaching for her juice. "I've always wondered
what it was like on the other end of a flight."

Laila follows E'vrin, hand in his, mutely.

Mirval's eyes go a little wider, in surprise - it seems, from his
expression, that he truly had not realized he'd spoken
aloud. Surprisingly, for those who know the youth, he colors a bright
red, not the usual light flush he displays when he blushes at
all. "Nothing," he says hastily, "I'd better go settle Koli down." The
green firelizard is, in fact, roused again, creeling for his
attention. He hastens out to the Inner Cavern, still brighly colored.
Mirval strides through the passageway into the Inner Caverns.

E'vrin, thus catching and caught, pursues a purposed stalk straight
through the cavern to the exit.

K'tel looks up and gives E'vrin and Laila a friendly nod before
turning his head to listen to Mirval. He smiles slightly, "That didn't
look like nothing."

Celie purses a lip thoughtfully, then turns, glancing at the top of
K'tel's head. "Funny...you don't look as if you've sprouted horns,
K'tel. Do I have a tail? We seemed to have scared him off.'

[E'vrin and Laila's travel deleted:]
--
Igen Weyr Hatching Grounds - Stands(#228RJ$)
These observation bleachers, hewn from the sandstone which surrounds
the entire cavern, span the length of the western wall of the Igen
Weyr Hatching Grounds. The cavern is of a tremendous size, stretching
something like 10 dragonlengths up to its apex, and having a diameter
of roughly 20 dragonlengths. The walls and roof are of rough stone,
with long spires of lime hanging down. Just out from the bleachers, an
opening gapes to the sky overhead, providing light and air for the
dome.
There are stairs at one end leading out towards the Bowl. One may
simply 'observe object' to see an object on the sands.
--

Laila climbs into the stands.

E'vrin catches both hands now, facing her, then drops them. Doesn't
step away, though. Eyes still bright, and giddy laughter riding his
voice. "Here?"

Laila is shaking openly now, control lost. She blinks, eyes as bright,
and murmurs, lowly, "You have a better idea?"

"/Shards,/ no. Mind the splinters," E'vrin adds as he steps forward
to, into, her again.

["Splinters" is a joke:  the tiers are definitely stone.]

Laila laughs, and winds herself about him, tilting her head up
slightly. "You too." And for once, she pushes.

[Fade to black.  Log ends.]