Blood in the Air-Flight

[kat]

Kilzanth was not one of the bronzes who was hemming her in, nay, he was above her! He could see everything going on, and his mouth dropped open in laughter as he watched the over confident bronze who would dare try to tease their queen. A folly, to be sure-and one that proved to be against the foolish beast. She rejected him with a slash to the left, and he was not sorry to see the reaction of Astoth, so proud and regal. She looked like a blazing fury, as she dodged her would be suitors, rising while he waited. Ah, how the others would expend their energy to chase! He had all the advantage once more.

He watched with mouth agape in a silent laugh, watched until the moment in which Astoth reached his level, and then with a powerful down sweeping motion of his wings, he was flying perpendicular with her, though unlike the wherry headed fool he did not in any way presume to touch her. There was another bronze who was a little above them, but off to the side enough that Kilzanth could see he would not make a collision. Wise choice-better that her mate be of her choosing than by force. At least the other bronze had that much honor. If he had tried to take her by force, Kilzanth would have thwarted him for his antic, his lack of honor. He would brook no tolerance for a bronze who made the choice for Astoth.

How he admired her! The will in which she drove ever upwards, it was as though it was driven with purposeful intent-and he knew why, he was no fool. Her clutch would be marvelous. Though he desired to be the sire of her clutch, she herself ensured that whichever of her pursuers caught her, it would be a fine one. He felt pride then, pride in their Northern queen of fine blood, and pride for being permitted to pursue her thus far. At this point, he desired her more than even life itself, and would at least win, or go away from this flight knowing he had presented himself at his best efforts to win. She would know that he had stuck with her until the end, and only her choice would deny him-not his own prowess.

As he flew beneath her, he crooned sweetly, filling her ears and mind with all the promises he could honestly bestow, and all the desires he felt for her, and just how truly magnificent he thought she was. He did what the others had not-he had not snarled, had not bragged, had not given in to pride and arrogance. He was showing her what kind of bronze he was, and what he would be to her. In keeping up and maintaining his strength this far, he showed her his power. In his tactics and in his not falling complete victim to his lust so that it wasn't purely instinct, he showed her the power of his mind. In his croons instead of roars, he showed her the love that could be hers. Power. Intelligence. Protection. Love. He could offer her this and more. Would she see this, and choose him?

No matter how fast they were, he would be faster. No matter how much stamina they had, he would not give up, and would have just as much, if not more. No matter how much lust they had, his would see him through. He was no fool to think they couldn't compare to him, because he was not the oldest or most experienced. He was not the lithest or strongest. But at that moment, he would be, for her. At that moment, he was.

He flew upwards with her, ignoring the slight strain in his wings, ignoring everything around him, including his competitors. He ignored everything but her. Such control he showed, then, his hide feeling the warmth from her own, his body only a foot or so from her own. He allowed her all the freedom which her choice would have, but he let her know that he was a choice, and a choice that would prove better than any, in his mind, and, hopefully, in hers. The sound of their beating wings, his heart racing in his chest, their labored breathing as they climbed higher and higher-he lived for the moment, wanting always to remember this feeling. Because in this moment, that seemed to span on forever, it was only him, and her, the rest of the world seeming to not exist at all.

Z'ayr didn't know how it was possible, but it was as if only him and Ilayria existed in a sudden moment, where the rest of the people and the world around him was a distant haze. Were any of the rest even paying attention to her, or was this just all dragon lust? He didn't know her, it was true. But due to induced emotions he wanted to know her. He wanted to know her inside out, every little detail of her mind, her body. He wanted to shield her from all harm, protect her from the rest of those leering men, sweep her off her feet and make her love him. She was a powerful and admirable woman, they were fools if they couldn't see that! He wanted to cry out to her, but his voice caught up in his throat, hoarse with the lust of the flight. So, he only raised a hand that stayed half upraised, his eyes trying to speak all that he could not. Would this feeling fade? Come crashing down with the ending of the flight? Or would Kilzanth, and in retrospect he, be the victors? Oh, how he wished he knew!

[maiwolf]

Brennanth knew he would be chastised. He knew he would have to think fast to dive away from her. He didn’t want to sustain permanent injury. What use would he be, then, if he were to be killed or maimed in a mating flight? She rose, and he could feel the tension slink off of her. She was a predator, she would teach him. But he was the male, he was, though not larger, stronger, conniving. He was lust-filled, and he would have her.

He could see her launch herself at him. Reprimanding him for teasing with her. He dove away from her outstretched claws, but gained a solid trio of slashes on his hide. They would heal, he knew, but the momentary sting of pain, turning his lust-filled purple eyes orange for the briefest of seconds, wakened an undying urge to show her. To be with her. He would catch her. He could dimly sense more Bronzes fleeing, but he was here. He would triumph.

Ichor fell. Fell slowly. Slowly to the ground. The residents of Fort Hold looked up. Though flight lust flowed through them, they were frightened. Was a battle starting during a mating flight? Had such a thing ever happened before? Ichor slid down Brennanth’s side, dropping off of his hide as he flew fast, too fast, but not as fast as her. It spiraled downward, caught by the wind. It splattered, large drops and small drops, on various items on the ground. Silly items, stuck to the ground. Why be stuck to the ground when you could fly, fly high in the sky, chasing this wonderful golden creature!

The blood stopped, scabs already starting to form. And he followed her, his gold. He followed her upward, ignoring his wings. Ignoring the growing pain. Ignoring the deepening breath. He would win this flight if his life depended on it. His life did depend on it. He thought, he knew.

Brennanth calculated.

Still following her, still keeping up. Brennanth would win; he would catch this wonderful golden form flying through the sky. He could feel his breath quicken, and he knew if this flight did not finish soon, he would have to drop out. His fourth herdbeast, but he could feel his strength start to give way.

He saw her falter. She was growing tired. He would move in for the kill—no, not kill—the capture. She was the bait, he the fish. He would capture her, she had reeled him in. He flapped his wings, and came up under her. He pushed another Bronze away with his gigantic wingspan. He would win her. Flipping upside down, he flapped his wings awkwardly, sustaining his flight only by the powerful drafts of wind the queen, and Bronzes, both, created. One flapped downward, forcing his wings down. The others forced drafts upward, keeping him aloft.

He did not tease this time. He grabbed. But his grasp was slight, tender. Slight, tender, but hard. She would not break from it. To further insure his success, he twined his tail around hers. His neck around her neck. She was his. His gold. His Astoth.

His Ilayria.

B’oone walked forward, forgetting everything. He saw her twice, but both looked beautiful; two images, one beauty. Radiant, beautiful. B’oone pushed the other males away, they were nothing to him. Only she mattered. He put his hand on her face, a gesture that meant that he would try not to hurt her. He never hurt women. But lust took over. He merged with his dragon. His dragon merged with him. And dragonlust washed over him. The rest of the world could wait. Somewhere in the sky, a Bronze cradled a Gold; In Ilayria’s Weyr, a man cradled a woman.

[stolenhart]

She knew the instant she felt his tender touch, a touch that she could no more break than the bond between her and the two-legged female who rode her. She wanted to but here was a bronze who had been injured and recovered, who had fought on and was now taking what he wanted. If only those other dragons had known, had known this is what she wanted. A dragon who would risk life and limb to take her. Not some mealy mouthed coward who asked pretty please and then cried when struck. No a real dragon.

The choice snatched from her, she did not really care, she wrapped her neck with his. Enjoying the one thing that made all this madness worthwhile. It was at times like this, she remembered why the humans sought out others, though her rider had always been careful in her conquests. She purred softly and feel downward.

Ilayria woke to find a soft touch on her face, and then she was overwhelmed by the emotions her dragon was feeling. She knew he was the one who was bonded to her victor and so she did not fight him. Though she did hope her other two flight winners would not come after him. He didn't deserve that kind of rude awakening to the Weyrleadership. It wasn't long before she found herself in his arms, oblivious to those who had not won.

[kat]

Kilzanth had been waiting in those hanging moments for the golden goddess to make her choice, as any moment the flight would be over. He was closest, and she wasn't making a move to divert her path away from him. Hope welled in his chest, then, as it was matched by the hope of his rider far beneath him. Hope-was shattered.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, another bronze came from underneath, and since it caught him off guard, shoved him roughly back, taking his place in front of Astoth! If dragons could be shocked, Kilzanth would have been the picture of it. Here the other bronze up above and he had been honorably waiting for her decision, and out of no where the arrogant beast she'd scored with her claws had actually dared to shove him, Kilzanth, aside. He gave a furious roar, then, but it was too late. Astoth couldn't resist the other bronze, he had brazenly grabbed her and forcibly entwined necks with her! He could not retaliate because he risked the queen, who was now responding in kind. The flight was over.

Kilzanth bugled, but it was a bugle of fury. He was disgusted with the other, more arrogant bronze's complete lack of honor. He had taken what was hers to give. Stolen his golden prize right out from under him by completely dishonorable means. A bronze did not physically touch another during a flight. It was an age old tradition. Though they might display, or roar, or snarl, no bronze touched another. This bronze whose name he did not know, had over stepped the line. Kilzanth would not soon forget, as his eyes were tinged red with anger. This bronze was beyond simple dishonor. He was abhorrent, and had no honor at all. With another angry snarl, Kilzanth turned and plummeted downwards and away from the entwined pair. No-he would not so soon forget.

Z'ayr down below was just as shocked as his dragon by the sudden turn of events. However angry he was on his dragon's behalf, he knew it was over. He felt cheated, as his bronze did, but there was nothing he could do, and so he merely stared wistfully after the pair, feeling a mixture of anger and loss, before turning and heading back to his own Weyr.

[phlysolo]

As he hungered to be bonded with her, to feel her wings, her body, pressed against his own, Erusth could see his error. Instead of allowing her to give, his prize was snatched away from him. What he had wished to claim as his own was gone, gone...He watched, a devastated warbling croon spilling from his slacked mouth, as she lovingly twined her neck with another bronze.

He had failed. He had lost. it was his fault. All his fault. If he had only acted faster...if he had only acted...But perhaps that was why he would not be perfect for her now, because he was hesitant, because he allowed H'zu to tell him, to impress upon him the values of honor and dignity.Perhaps the Weyr right now did not need those kinds of things. Perhaps they did need a someone who was more of a warrior...

Crestfallen, he lowered his weakened form to the grown, with no energy even to make it back to the Weyr itself. He settle down far beyond the reaches of the hold, falling into a troubled sleep just as H'zu stumbled out of Ilayria's weyr, desperately in need of a woman's touch to sooth his defeat away...