Pass me some memories (Open)

[neeuqtar]

Between. Colder than ice and the taste of Northern winter. Black, blacker, blackest... three coughs and they were through. The greenrider almost choked on the heat and humidity of the air of Selenitas. Wrapped around her neck, the slender green firelizard sneeze abruptly, leaving wet spatter on her neck. The woman snorted; her dragon houghed.

Home, she said, voice flat.

It's not like I remember... Tiramnet replied, feeling puzzled. She'd remembered the between-point perfectly enough to get them back to the southern Weyr, but Selenitas had suffered in the Turns of war. "Shard it," she muttered, her words snatched by the hot wind. It must have been cooled from the night, but it was almost beyond bearing. There's so much I don't remember...

Nikeath didn't reply as they glided upriver, towards the waterfall that had beckoned them back to the place of the green's birth. She simply houghed again, beating her great wings to bring them higher aloft into the night air, alive here over the river, as it was over the mountains of Tira's valley home.

Land on the drumheights? she suggested as they approached the Weyr proper. Nikeath snorted, her tail snapping behind her as she pulled in her wings, testing her capabilities after her convalescence. The dragon grunted as muscles pulled, unhappy after disuse. Flaring out her edges again, she backwinged with a bugle to rouse the watchdragon -- surely there would be some, even at night. This was Pern at war.

The landing was a little rough; Nikeath hadn't flown in a while. She snarled, irritated with herself, her tail lashing. With a bunching of muscles, she snapped her tail so hard the tips cracked like whip, sending a sharp burst of noise over the riverside Weyr.

Think there'll be anyone left alive we remember?

"Hmph." Tiramnet shook her head, running her fingers under the green-tanned riding straps she'd patched together during the winter. If Selenitas would take them back... would they even remember them? Would they see her as a defector... or had her Wingleader told them where she had gone, and why? If anyone had survived the attack at High Reaches, perhaps they, too would have come back to the Weyr from which they had been taken. "We'll just have to wait and see, hm?"

[tarra]

Juliya and Eriannath

Night was still over the Weyr, and in the silence Juliya found she could think. Eriannath and her were on watch tonight; but even on the southern Watch Point, not far from the riders' weyrs, there was silence in the warm night air, devoid of dragons' voices. The greenrider took pleasure in the peace. So much had happened since she last saw this place; so much had changed, and so much been lost or gone away forever. Some things remained, of course; not everyone she had known was dead or gone. But even R'wign and K'lir had changed much since she last saw them, and the war she had fled when she left the North had finally found its way here as well. That she feared most of all, knowing what it might mean if she were sent into battle with only her stubbornness and the fierce will of her dragon to stand between her and the mental collapse she had just recovered from. It was not an encouraging thought.

Green wings stirred beside her, sifting light from the dim forms of Belior and Timor in soft reflections as the dragon stretched her limbs. Eriannath had added to her collection of scars during the Seige more than a turn before, and most of these were still visible over the sea-flecked flanks and shoulders. Her mottled colouring, with lattices of sea-foam green over a dark hunter-green base, blended in with the shifting shadows and the warm outlines of the rock beneath and behind her; she showed herself only when she moved. And move she did, head flicking around in a quick, light motion as a dark shape flowed across the sky above the Weyr.

Mine.

The warning in her voice sent Juliya scrambling to her feet as she turned with her dragon's gaze, following the line of her sight to watch the stranger settle on the Drumheights not far off. Shine, dozing on the curve of Eriannath's tail, startled up at his Bonded's alarm with a hiss. A sharp snap, not unlike a whipcrack, brought another hiss from the brown as he sprang to his human's side. Staring at the spot where the strange dragon - a blue perhaps, by the size of it - had settled into the shadows, Juliya caught the faintest hint of dragonspeech, distinctly feminine in nature and oddly familiar. The sound brought a tremor down her spine, but the distance was too great for her to catch the words.

Take her name and reasons for being here, love; and alert the nearest brown or bronze you can find, she started clambering up onto her green, trying not think of what a lone stranger, even a familiar-looking one, might mean for them. It could be an attack for all she knew, though the air around her held no other dragon's voice. Not non-Selenitas ones, at least. Eriannath rumbled as she reached out for Nikeath's mind.

Stranger, I saw you come. State your name and purpose for coming to Selenitas.

Curt; but after recent events Eriannath was not willing to be too polite. Without waiting for an answer, she cast back and around for the nearest dragon of authority who was still awake - a bronze or brown, or if possible even the Weyrleader himself - and almost immediately lighted on the mind of a drowsy but alert bronze lounging on his ledge. She spoke at once.

Eriannath reporting from south Watch Point. We have seen a lone dragon alight on the Drumheights and requested a name.

******************

S'kor and Morreliath

Noted, Eriannath, stand by by to alert the Weyrleader and Weyr if needed, the grimness of his dragon's tone turned S'kor from the records he had been perusing. Late night paperwork was becoming a daily affair, what with the reshuffling of the Wings and the endless updates needed now that he had become a Wingleader. Should this continue he was very likely to develop a thickened thumb and middle finger from so much writing, and the thought rather amused him. Standing, he reached for his bronze's mind even as his fingers slid thin blades into his bootlaces and belt.

Strangers?

One, on the Drumheights, the dragon was craning his head, staring into the inky blackness that shrouded the top of the waterfall, Eriannath on Watch Point south called it. Could be anything.

I'll tack you up. We should be ready to fly, S'kor pulled the harness from its peg with one hand as the other clipped the fastenings of his sword to his belt, beside the knife. Morreliath lowered his fore, presenting his neck and shoulders to his rider to facilitate the tacking process though his eyes never left the Drumheights. The bronzerider worked quickly, skilled fingers moving with the muscle memory of numerous tack-ups in the past.

[neeuqtar]

They waited in the hot air for what seemed an interminable time -- really only long enough to hold the briefest of conversations. It wasn't as if they were trying to make their appearance a secret; though it was night, when few dragons were awake or at all aware, they had done everything customary besides greeting the watchdragon. And they had no idea who said watchdragon was, though looking out over the river, Tiramnet could now see a dragon's neck arching up out of the foliage that shrouded the Southern Watch Point. Looked like a green, with a snake-y neck.

Stranger, I saw you come. State your name and purpose for coming to Selenitas. [/i][/b]

Nikeath let the call resonate through the bond that she and Hers shared, so that Tira might identify the voice which Nikeath certainly would not remember. It took a moment for the sound of the green's voice to drift through the fog of old memories left untouched for so long, before images came through, clearer than fine crystal. They'd met and known each other for a short time; scarce months before the defecting Fortian queenrider had come to Selenitas and taken so many of the next generation of dragons and riders.

Eriannath, Tiramnet said quickly, before she let herself get lost in memories. Eriannath is her name; Juliya her rider. A green. Tira's own green made a sound of agreement, rearing up and fanning her wings as she arched her neck to stare over the river at the Southern Watch Point, where the call had originated from. Her rider leaned forward, gripping with her knees to keep from putting undue weight on the poorly-tanned straps she had made that spring. It would be a delight to have properly made and requisitioned straps once more.

We made no attempt to arrive secretly, Eriannath, only to leave without notice, Nikeath replied. Or did you not hear my bugle? It is Nikeath and Tiramnet whom you call, returning home.

Nicely done. Tira's approval was clear to her green. It wouldn't do to raise old emnities which might yet linger, or to spark new ones. And one thing that she and NIkeath seemed to be quite good at was getting into fights and making enemies, rather than friends. Nikeath was too wild and independent to get along well with most dragons; Tiramnet had so little patience with most human flaws that she was likely to snap at people.

The woman tugged her scarf looser as Nikeath settled back onto the ground, craning her neck to look around at the Wery. Many of the landmarks had burned; there was more stone and signs of scorching and dragonfire. Benden or Fort, do you suppose? Tira thought idly at her mindmate, pulling her riding goggle up to rest on her head and replacing them with glasses. Her green firelizard shifted, putting a wing out of the scarf and letting her tail drop down, tips twitching as she tried to keep cool. Nikeath didn't respond, paying more attention to her surroundings. Turns of torment by other dragons had taught her to be suspicious of calm... and to always expect ambush.

[tarra]

Juliya and Erianath

A shiver ran down Juliya's spine, and she paused as she was perched on Eriannath's shoulder, listening to Nikeath's reply over the roar of the waterfall. Yes...she had suspected, had guessed, but to hear that green's voice again after so long, and after so much that had happened was...painful, almost. They had lost so many friends and familiar faces that it to hear of one who had made it out was...like, having hope again. She shook herself out of the flood of emotion welling up within her, and pulled herself up to settle herself onto her dragon's back. The lanky green was watching the tops of the Drumheights as well, her eyes whirling and her voice, when she spoke, soft.

She lives.

The vivid, raw feeling in Eriannath's tone tugged at Juliya, and with heavy reluctance she dragged herself back to the realities, Yes love, but we cannot fly to welcome her. It might be a trap. Just what sort of trap she did not know; and frankly, the thought that it might be one was still rather alien to her. But she had a responsibility to the Weyr and its dragons, and after all that had happened she could not in good conscience shirk it. With a sigh, she laid a hand on her green as she continued, Inform Morreliath, then ask Nikeath to come openly to us on the Watch Point. She'll do it if she has nothing to hide.

Eriannath warbled agreement as she spoke, Nikeath, it is good to hear from you again. We have informed bronze Morreliath. Please come to us on the Watch Point.

She turned her attention towards the weyrs, mind seeking the bronze she had just bespoken. Her mind still held emotion, though it had lessened considerably since her rider brought up the possibility of betrayal; not that she believed it either, but like Juliya she was not about to trust anything to chance. Hers was the seasoned warrior's tone; the voice of an experienced green who, though still loving and calm, had long ago learned that kindness meant little in a world of war and bloodshed, Morreliath, it is green Nikeath with Tiramnet, who left turns ago with the weyrlings to High Reaches. She is returning home and we have requested she come to the Watch Point to prove she is alone.

Shine, eyeing the Drumheights as his Bonded did, leapt skywards suddenly and then vanished. He appeared again above Nikeath, his brown hide merging into the shadows as he dropped to the rock and crouched still and silent, surveying his surroundings. Juliya clipped her harness on, awaiting the bronzerider's instructions if any whilst she kept track of what was happening through Shine's constant reports.

******************
S'kor and Morreliath

Morreliath, listening to Eriannath's report, might have become stone for all the stillness that went through him like a rod. S'kor fell it in the muscles between him and froze himself, half-confused and half ready to leapt into action with a given command to rouse the entire Weyr if needed. That stillness meant shock, or something as close to shock as Morreliath could ever pertain to; and if his bronze was exhibiting such behaviour it could only mean that the watch dragon had given some news of importance. He scanned the blackened sky uneasily as he nudged his mindmate.

It is Nikeath.

The words took a second to register; and then the breath seemed to have squeezed out of his lungs and away into the warm, humid air. He gasped once, the sound suddenly loud despite the pounding in his ears. It was as if all his blood had gone warm and was rushing full-tilt through him. A flood of memories - a young woman, eyes attentive, tending a green firelizard; the same woman falling under a bonze dragonet's claws; two youngsters, standing on the chaos of a Sands in a Hatching, watching their newfound mindmates confront each other. Suddenly he was 15 turns again, and all the strength and courage he had won in turns past fading into uncertainty...

I...

Thought she was dead? the bronze finished wryly, Apparently not. He turned on his ledge, fanning his wings as his legs tucked under for an easy leap into flight as required, But we must remember our cause. She might have returned with others; she might have come alone. Eriannath's was right to call her to the Watch Point. Many turns have passed, Mine: she may not be the girl you remember. She might not even be loyal to Selenitas anymore.

Painful. It was painful to hear these things, and S'kor could feel his insides twist with the thought. He grimaced, forcing his emotions into containment with long, heavy breaths - it was a surprise to know he could still feel as he did now, this evening seemed ready to be filled with less than pleasant surprises - and then let out a long, long sigh. Morreliath was right, of course; but he would rather not have heard what he needed to hear. The mask of the bronzerider's roles and duties, though battered from the spur of emotions and memory, still functioned enough that he was able to pull himself together and make quick commands, Take us to the Watch Point as well, Morry. We'll meet them there.

With a rumble the bronze crouched. He would only take flight after Nikeath had passed them so that he might follow the greenpair to the Watch Point.

[neeuqtar]

Patience with stupidity had never been a skill Tiramnet nor Nikeath had professed to possess. Neither were inclined to call the Weyr stupid -- nor to apply that label to the dragon and her mind-mate who now kept the night's watch from the Southern Watch point. What surprised woman and dragon was that they had not been more than called. But... perhaps Selenitas was used to strange visitors at all hours of the night. Refugees from Benden and Fort surely came here: survivors from battles, those who flew out on sweep duty and simply never returned, reasoned to have been killed. Living in constant terror of discovery while her dragon lay wounded (that self-same terror which Nikeath had felt each day while her delirious and drug withdrawal-wracked rider had lain, hardly able to eat the things her dragon managed to find and having to lay by the stream that ran through the valley... memories Nikeath still carried, albeit faintly) had taught the duo to fear wings in the sky. They had fled the evening shadows; should not the Weyr be more worried?

Nikeath, it is good to hear from you again. We have informed bronze Morreliath. Please come to us on the Watch Point.[/i][/color]

Morreliath, Tramine...? Nikeath's query came from a hunt for an elusive memory many Turns past, a memory her rider could hold, though it had long fled from her own mind. Tiramnet blinked rapidly, sorting through the words which Nikeath passed to her. Eriannath's words... how strange to know anyone alive. Perhaps... perhaps some of those she had charged herself with teaching and protecting would have survived, despite her failure. Survived, and come here. And now Morreliath... and with the bronze, S'kor.

Your Clutchbrother, my love, Tira answered quickly, doing her best to hide away the feelings of remembered antagonisms, echoes of Nikeath's emotions far more than her own. The bronze was a snotty beast, as she remembered, but he was a bronze. Concessions could be made. The green dragon snorted, clawing at the ground with a hind foot, all of her fore-talons unsheathed. She remembered disliking Morreliath, but for what reason she could not pin. And Tiramnet was not telling her. Very well. She would find new reasons, if they were still there.

It will be as you say, Nikeath sent to Eriannath ritualistically. About to bound forward off the cliff, the green froze as something dark appeared over her, hissing balefully. But it soon betrayed itself to be a small thing, and Nikeath houghed slightly at it. A bug, she told her rider, disdain clear in her words. Her name for the smaller kin of dragons (and indeed, all things besides dragons which flew in her space) betrayed her dislike of the little creatures, Tiny not withstanding.

Indeed, Tira replied seriously, a smile touching her lips. Almost unconsciously, she leaned forward and gripped tighter with her legs, the inside of her calves pressing against Nikeath's hide. The dragon responded with all the sensitivity of a well-trained runner, bounding forward from a dead standstill into the loping, rabbit-like run of a dragon. In moments, the green had reached the cliffs, leaping off over the river. It felt like a memory -- the first time they had flown at night together, under the full moons... never mind that the moons were nearly dark now. Without thinking, Tira voiced a hunting-darter's call, a shrill ki-i-i-i-hiii that rang through the canyon to be deadened by the sound of the waterfall.

A few heavy wingbeats took the massive green past the scorched trees in which so much of Selenitas had been built. She wove them lazily, banking past one on the right, another on the left. Neither saw Morreliath below them; the darkness of the night favored those on the ground, not those in the air blocking the stars from view. In a show of power, Nikeath powered upwards in the still night air, spiraling up until she was over the height of the Watch Point by a few dragonlengths.

I hope there is room for me, Tramine, Nikeath teased, always enjoying how much larger than other greens she was. Even at High Reaches, she had never been caught by a blue. Rather than dropping altitude and swooping in, Nikeath simply... stopped flying. She dropped rather like a rock, then flared her wings out, backwinging heavily to land next to Eriannath. Nikeath didn't attempt to make herself seem smaller; she rather loomed above most greens and wasn't about to attempt to skulk to make them more comfortable. That was just... silly.

It is... good to see you again, Eriannath, Nikeath said after a moment, as her rider scanned the sky, looking for another pair of (much larger) wings. What would S'kor have to say to her, she wondered. Moments later, she turned her eyes to the woman by the other green.

"Greetings, Juliya," Tiramnet called, not yet dismounting. If she was going to have to fly somewhere again (and doubtless she would; they weren't about to sleep on the Watch Point), she wanted to not have to deal with these terrible straps more than necessary. "Could you... could you tell me, did any of the High Reaches children reach home... alive?" The guilt she felt, at failing, at not even being there, or being sane, to protect them with her body and her bow (gone now), was a looming chasm. She would have to make reparations to them... should any remain alive. Or sane.

[tarra]

Morreliath launched and drifted into the cool night air as the storm-green dragon passed their ledge, his slower and more ponderous wingbeasts taking him gradually towards the Watch Point and the watchdragon green awaiting all of them. The loud cry of a hunting darter echoed up and down the canyon, sending shivers down his rider's spine who, in spite of himself, was beginning to wish he had not been called to attend to this. S'kor watched the dancing motions that brought Nikeath high in flight over the Watch Point, then dropped her straight with but a quick catch before landing to place her onto the spot beside Eriannath, A thin smile twitched his lips. No matter how many turns lay between them, and how far their experiences differed, Tira did not seem to have changed at all. And the sight of she with her dragon in flight was so...so...

Needlessly acrobatic, Morreliath scoffed. He turned his head from side to side as he flew, watching for hidden ambushes, She's going to startle half the Weyr and create unneeded alarm.

S'kor snorted: trust his bronze to interrupt his thoughts regarding the green-pair on a whim. Nonetheless, he was half-inclined to agree with him; but Juliya, still astride Eriannath, could not hide a grin as the large green came powering down almost on top of them, causing her dragon's sails to lift sightly with the wind of her backwinging. Here was a girl who was, to all appearances, unchanged; a refreshing counter to the sullenness that seemed to have come over the Weyr at large, with Fort's assault and their entry to the wars of the North. Gathering herself with dignity beside the towering green, Eriannath tilted her head to glance upward at Nikeath with one eye, happiness tinging her thoughts as she replied.

Same to you, Nikeath. We thought you were dead...as are so many others, she shuffled her wings, plucking half-formed memories from her rider's mind to recall the devastation they had felt when they first returned and learnt of all that had happened. Her rider, watching Tira with careful eyes, noted the condition of her clothes and the wear of her straps. It was dark, but at such close quarters there was little to miss, and she noted that the pair seemed to have been living rough for a while. Not at High Reaches, very likely; they must have escaped the slaughter and holed up somewhere for a while. Joy was swirling in her heart to have one of their riders return to them, like one of those miraculous stories come true; but it was an uncertain joy, tinged with fear at the thought of betrayal. Juliya took care to keep an alternate coordinate in her mind at all times, least they had to between suddenly to avoid an attack. Inclining her head upwards as Tira spoke (why did this green have to be so monstrously big and tall?), the greenrider let herself smile as she replied.

"Good to see you, Tiramnet. Some of the High Reaches riders came here, yes," she was reluctant to say more. She had not had a chance to get acquainted with those strangers, and was uncertain if there might have been former Selenitas weyrlings amongst them. Catching sight of light flashing off large wings in the airs above the waterfall, she diverted the topic, "S'kor is coming."

Unwilling (and anyway unable) to land on the now crowded Watch Point, Morreliath angled his flight into long, lazy circles above and around Nikeath. S'kor, leaning a little from the harness for a better view, felt his stomach churn much as Juliya's had as his gaze lit on Tiramnet. She looked...older, more seasoned than he recalled. Even as a candidate she had been tough and experienced, but that appearance was now tempered with something more. It had grown deeper; it might have darkened. A wave of memory swept him again, drawing a small gasp from his throat: regardless of what she was now, she was alive. She had survived against all hope. His bronze's tone, expressionless and businesslike, jolted him as as he addressed them all.

Thank you Eriannath, he inclined his muzzle towards the larger green as he swept past in circling. Unlike his green sister he recalled a little of what had transpired between them at their Hatching, hazy though the remembrance was. But in spite of her wilfulness and the colour of her hide, his clutchsister had survived the troubled turns since then, one of the few dragons to have done so, and the accomplishment merited respect. He would be sure to remember her when there were tougher assignments at hand. S'kor scrambled to consider if the situation might require the Weyrleader to be called in, and Morreliath helped him with his next words.

Nikeath, it has been a while, his tone held welcome - and warning, I trust you have come alone? We welcome those seeking refuge; but anything more than one dragon pair would be a crowd.

[neeuqtar]

It was strange to be around dragons again. Nikeath had spent so long avoiding the dragons of High Reaches, and then hiding from the Fortian sweeps, that to be in conversation with anyone at all besides her Tralove was an unusual and slightly unsettling happenstance. She couldn't bring herself to relax, even by a dragon she knew to mean her no harm. The green shifted slightly, lifting one forefoot and setting it back down, much like an anxious runner. Tiramnet soothed her slightly, though she, too, kept an eye on the skies. Habits of fear and secrecy would not easily be unlearned

Same to you, Nikeath.[/color] came Eriannath's voice into her mind once more. We thought you were dead...as are so many others,

We would have contacted the Weyr if we could, Nikeath replied after a moment. Her tail lashed, less at the implication that she and Hers were incapable of surviving -- for it only made sense to assume lack of communication for Turns meant death -- and more at the reminder that most of those they would have known had found their lives cut short. It would be more of a loss for Hers than for the dragon; dragon-memories were short, and she would not miss those she did not recall. Any draconic company at all would be an interesting change from her rogue life.

"That is... good to hear," Tira replied to Juliya, leaning forward a little to hear the other greenrider. Luckily, sound carried well at night, even in the jungle and over the river. They were far enough from the Falls that the rushing water didn't drown out their words. Juliya's warning of S'kor's arrival was unnecessary; Tiramnet was used to searching the skies for wings, even at night. She tensed automatically, then forced her body to relax. The bronze wings in the sky were not signs of impending danger; the likelihood that Morreliath and Eriannath would turn on them suddenly were low.

But possible, Nikeath muttered to Hers, watching as her bronze Clutchbrother soared over them, circling above the Watchpoint, which held no room for him to land. Automatically, Nikeath ducked her head and flared her wings, prepared to leap off of the Watchpoint should the dragon above come dangerously close. She lashed her tail again, though not fast enough to crack the tip. Tiramnet tightened her grip on the poor riding straps, enough that her knuckles paled. The woman trusted her dragon's instincts.

It was strange to see Morreliath so close. Memories of weyrlinghood with S'kor were memories of a better time. It was strange that he was alive -- as strange as the fact that she, too, was alive. She couldn't truly see more than a fuzzy silhouette as the bronze dragon swept by, but her memory and imagination supplied pictures of the serious young man, mounted on his dragon and watching her with the intensity which he had always approached things. Tira had always respected that about him -- though it was sometimes misdirected, as it had been at the Hatching so many Turns ago.

Nikeath, it has been a while. I trust you have come alone? We welcome those seeking refuge; but anything more than one dragon pair would be a crowd.

Nikeath, bristling at the implication that she would have led enemies to the Weyr of her birth -- or any Weyr, for she would never have even betrayed High Reaches to warring dragons, though they had done her and Hers great harm -- farried Morreliath's words to her rider.

Now is not the time, Tira said slowly, her reluctance at curbing her dragon's natural wildness making the words less of a command, and more of a suggestion. We are dependent on his goodwill for the time being. Nikeath shifted her weight, not liking her rider's words but accepting the truth of them. Very well.

We took care to leave in stealth. It is dangerous enough to live as a rogue dragon in the North; alerting others to our presence would only mean our death. Politely, she included Eriannath in her words. Neither woman nor dragon had any real desire to keep their past Turns a secret from those of the Weyr. They would likely be the interesting gossip for a se'enday or two, but it wouldn't last. So yes, brother, we are alone. Nikeath watched the circling bronze warily, despite her words of familial affection. She was not comfortable with another dragon menacing her from above. A position of weakness was never preferable.

[tarra]

Nikeath's reactive emotions were only too clear to Juliya and Eriannath, given their proximity and the rapt attention they were giving the massive green. But lashing tail and cautious stance notwithstanding, the smaller dragon held her ground with cool, dignified calm. I'm sure you would have, she said in response to Nikeath, the tension in her own limbs the only sign she was ready to jerk away and into flight at an instant's notice. Juliya was tense too, but she had to hide a wry grin from her features as she overheard Nikeath's words to her rider and understood that the other green-pair were just as wary. The guilt that came of hearing things not meant for her had lessoned over the turns as the need for such an unfair advantage grew with their changing circumstances. But there would always hints of it. Enemies, traitors, friends who took sides...was there no sanity or honour left in this age? There were still riders alive who could recall a kinder time, few though they were; and the thought of them left Juliya feeling chaffed at her continued vigilance towards Tiramnet.

Morreliath overflew them just then and the bigger green crouched beneath his shadow, her wings flared. Eriannath drew back a step, ready least something went wrong and aggressive measures had to be taken, but Juliya cooled her with a thought. She could hear almost everything being said between the two dragons, and Nikeath's anger was palatable across the thin space between them. For a moment she wanted to speak directly to her: tell her that Morreliath meant no harm, that he was doing what was needed in view of everything that had just happened. But the big green seemed to calm of her own accord, though she stayed tense, and Juliya almost pricked an ear at the term she used on Morreliath. Brother? Were they clutchsiblings then? She had not known that. Eriannath sidled back another step beneath her to give Nikeath room and hopefully keep from crowding her; the move took her footing to the very edge. Her rider blinked once in Tiramnet's direction, then reached for her dragon's mind.

We should put in a word for them. Nikeath is not one to lie.

True, Eriannath agreed, her thoughts turning towards the bronze circling above them. Morreliath was an imposing beast to give an opinion to, given his generally proud aloofness; but the green had a duty to fulfill, and the turns had seasoned her with too much experience to be daunted by an arrogant bronze, She speaks truth. There is no lie in her words nor actions.

S'kor, for his part, was listening as Morreliath relayed Nikeath's reply almost word for word, his arching wingspan casting a dark shadow against the moons and stars above. Both were just about coming to the same conclusion as Eriannath; and though the bronze felt he really did not need a green to tell him what his rider and he already knew, he acknowledged her words with a mental pulse anyway. Recognition was always important when dealing with subordinates. S'kor made his decision quickly.

If she's alone, there's no need to bother S'rei, he said, We can deal with this.

Crazies up? What crazies up? Where?

Sky, unfortunately,had just woken and was beginning to clamour for an explanation for his bonded's absence from the weyr. A pulse of annoyance from S'kor was met with a flurry of upset as the blue salamandyr began to rise from his basket beside the desk, Crazy not funny - leave Sky, run run. Where crazies? What what what?

The bronzerider ignored him, not bothering to spark off another round of complaints with a reply. Not yet, at any rate. Morreliath returned with a mental shrug of agreement, True: my clutchsister is many things, but she is no liar. They should be treated as transfers.

Aye, and that's paperwork, he peered down at the pair beneath them again, trying to get a clearer view of Tiramnet, We can't do it here, there's no space to even land. The new Main Hall isn't ready and even our Hatching Grounds arn't fit now.

We will have to use the little sunning beach, but it's a hassle, the bronze noted, Mine, I would prefer if we returned to our weyr. There is space and to spare on the ledge, and you have your papers there.

True, the admission was grudging, and reluctance coloured his thoughts. Call Tiramnet to his weyr? Well...

Morreliath rumbled, It is also the safest as it is least exposed. It would be best, Mine, if you could focus on the task. She is just a transfer, and a possibly dangerous one as she has been living wild.

Right, S'kor drew in his breath, Call her then, and take us back. I'll have to get the papers ready and we need a spare weyr for her for the night. No way was she spending the night in his weyr. He wasn't ready for that. At all. Morreliath might have laughed (S'kor could have sworn he heard the edge of a chuckle in his mind); but he merely swung across the wind, taking his shadow over the Watch Point one last time as he made a line for the cliffs.

Well-met then, clutchsister. We take your word for it, his mindvoice held no expression except a professional aloofness as he bespoke Nikeath. He added no threats as he might have done with another dragon; a threat would only anger the big green, and Morreliath was, for all his arrogance, masterful in his management of those beneath him. At any rate, if the green's words proved false at any point his talons would speak louder than words, Come with me to our weyr: we must settle your papers and find you a place for the night.

He made the flight back up towards the Waterfall and the weyrs along the cliffs at a good speed, and S'kor tried not to look back until they had landed neatly on the ledge - where a waiting Sky was raving enough to throw a fit.

Crazy Mine ignore? Stupid, me knows more, help. No want help? No help tell?

Sky, not now - we have a visitor, behave yourself.

Crazy bring visitor now? Crazy crazy, sleep not play, late...

Morreliath snorted, blowing the salamandyr back a full step even as the bronze folded his wings and stepped aside to leave space for Nikeath. The near-tumble was enough to quiet the blue 'mandyr, if only momentarily, as S'kor twisted in his seat to watch the green pair behind him. He was too practices, too experienced, to even consider dismounting before the incoming rider was landed properly on the ledge.

[neeuqtar]

It seemed to take a while for Morreliath to decide what he wished to do with them. It certainly did nothing to ease the tension Nikeath felt, nor to improve the green's view of the bronze. He did well not to threaten her more than he was with his circling; neither woman nor dragon had ever taken well to being controlled with force or the threat of force. They were very alike in that way, and the Turns had only drawn them more closely together. Despite the green's independence, they worked well together as a team -- partners who trusted the other to complete all that had been promised by them.

Well-met then, clutchsister. We take your word for it,[/b] Morreliath finally responded. Try as she might, Nikeath could find no malice in his words, simply aloofness. She was not fond of being looked down on, but Turns at High Reaches had turned her natural response to being treated as a lesser being from biting replies to covert distaste. Come with me to our weyr: we must settle your papers and find you a place for the night.[/b]

To his weyr? Tiramnet asked Nike in surprise. He wishes us to come to his weyr?

Apparently so, the green replied, amused, as Morreliath wheeled and turned off. Let us say our farewells. Tiramnet assented, turning back to Juliya.

"I am glad to have seen a remembered face this eve," she called to Juliya. "I am certain we shall see each other again." Nikeath said nothing, simply inclining her wings forward and ducking into a bow towards Eriannath, before leaping off the watch point, following Morreliath's shape through the dim starlight, with almost as few wingbeats as he. She glided the last few dragonlengths to the ledge, flaring her wings out to slow her even further. The green landed almost silently, with only a half-beat of her wings as token backwinging.

We need to work on that, Tira commented. Time was you could land without any wingbeats at all. Nikeath shuffled her wings as her rider swung off, dismounting her massive green without using the dragon's foreleg. The duo had always worked on maximum speed and efficiency of required movements, such as tacking, mounting and dismounting, and landing and takeoff. It still served them well.

"Well-met, S'kor," she called softly up to the bronzerider. "It has been... some time."

((Sorry, short x.x))

[tarra]

(OOC> A lot of double meanings being expressed - quite unconsciously too! Happy finding them )


S'kor watched as Tiramnet and Nikeath alighted alongside, and he felt once again that the greenrier had aged. No, not aged...matured. Her features were still somewhat youthful, for all that she was older than him; but there was a certain set to her jaw and caution in her movements he did not recall. They hinted at the turns that now lay between them, turns apart following different roads, and with an inner jolt he wondered what he might seem to her. Surely the changes were not all visible on one side only. Morreliath, watching Nikeath's skillful deftness in the landing, flicked the tip of his tail as he blew a thought into his mind.

All people change, surely you know that. But Nikeath does not seem to have - baring the scars and the build of course.

Some personalities remain, S'kor agreed. The chromatics, who in general had shorter memories, were less apt to change than those who could remember and grow bitter over things. It was a general advantage of being chromatic, no matter how much Morreliath might dispute its being an advantage. Sky, having receovered from his momentary shock at the bronze's outburst, peered up curiously at the towering green as he projected his speech to everyone at once.

Strange strange? Who strange crazy?

A friend, Sky, we are registering her into the Weyr, S'kor addressed the 'mandyr directly as he unclipped his harness and slid off his dragon. Tiramnet, already dismounted, chose that moment to speak.

"Well-met, S'kor," she called, "It has been... some time."

The soft sound of her vioce, like an echo from some forgotten memory, nearly softened his own legs enough that he had to make an effort not to crumple on landing. But his features gentled in spite of the cool bronzerider's mask as he turned to her, his voice light on the night air.

"Some time indeed, Tira; so good you have decided to return to us," his voice betrayed none of the swirling emotions inside. If there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone he could hardly be faulted for it. She had left Selenitas to go to High Reaches; left them all, and not just him in particular. He gestured towards the weyr entrance,

"But you have come back, and I, for one, am willing to take you back. First though, there's the paperwork," the softened calm of his features became a wry grin, only a tad lopsided for the emotions behind it, "My papers are inside. It'll be easier to take down your particulars without having to fumble for papers and pens. Come."

He led the way inside and a rather offended Sky shuttled aside to make way for them. The tiny blue hissed, lashing his tail and fluffing whatever he had of a frill as he snapped the everyone, No good crazies, disturb sleep. Bad time visitors - go go away!

Be quiet, Morreliath rumbled at him, one massive talon raised. The 'mandyr ducked away and into the space between two stones - very close to Nikeath's forelegs, Bad - big - sulky. Go sleep, why disturb? No want stranger, go 'way!

Ignore him, Morreliath said, turning his attention to Nikeath, Mine was attending a Hatching and received this nuisance by mistake. But I forget courtesy: have you eaten? Our Feeding Grounds are dark at this time, but arrangements for lighting can be made if you need feed.

Inside the weyr itself, S'kor nodded for Tiramnet to take a seat at the small dining table as he paused beside his paper-laden desk. Organized mess though it was, he sifted it easily and picked out a sheaf of papers with a set of three writing quills. he spoke over his shoulder as he assembled them into a neat stack.

"Drinks are there, do help yourself," he cocked his head at the pantry beside the dining table. Had it been any other girl he would have played the gentleman, respecting the protocols of a dragonrider hosting another person in his weyr. But this was Tiramnet and...as far as he could recall, she could occasionally be more offended than flattered if he were to try waiting on her. The memory brought another rush of feelings, but somehow his voice remained steady as he continued.

"Morry mentioned you had been living wild. If I may guess - High Reaches was probably not too hospitable for you. We've heard all sorts of things about it, but nothing substantial - except the latest."

He refrained, quite discreetly, from mentioning the details of their latest knowledge of the doomed Weyr.

[neeuqtar]

Nikeath wasn't entirely delighted to be on the same ledge as her bronze brother -- more because she was no longer trusting of other dragons than because of any particular ire she carried for Morreliath. Being forcefully controlled by the dragons of High Reaches Weyr had made her wary of dragons who called themselves friends, though she no longer had clear memories of those times. She had a decent memory for a dragon, perhaps a few months long, but it had been a much longer time than that since she had kidnapped her rider from that fell Weyr.

The blue bug on the ledge suddenly talked to her -- to everyone, it seemed. Nikeath, surprised, poked her nose down toward it. There was very little light due to the nearly-new moons, but up close she could see the bug. The massive green snorted at it. Strange little thing. Did it think that it could command something her size?

"There's always paperwork," Tiramnet replied neutrally. She had caught the terseness in his voice, the sarcasm at her return, but chose not to take rise at it. It was unlikely that the full story of High Reaches was known at Selenitas, let alone that her many reasons for following the stolen weyrlings were remembered, let alone understood. Let him enjoy his superior place to her, and his ability to cast judgment on her actions. His choice of words was... unusual... but then, this was S'kor. They had an interesting past, to say the least.

A salamandyr, she commented to Nikeath, as the blue creature hissed, spat, and danced at her passage as she followed S'kor. He'd become quite the bronzerider, with commandments and judgment coming as easily to him as breathing. Tiramnet wasn't quite sure that she enjoyed the change, but she could not make herself argue for her classmate having stayed the boy he'd been. He'd matured; battle and the necessity of bronzerider command (a necessity she argued against, though that was neither here nor there) had crafted him into a weapon for battle.

The blue creature jumped between two rocks at a menacing from Morreliath, almost between Nikeath's forelegs. The dragon blinked and followed his movement, nudging her nose between the rocks and snuffling at the blue. She was curious. The movement had the side affect of making her look absolutely ridiculous -- Nikeath just dared the bronze to mock her. But she looked back up as he spoke to her, sifting his words with care. She, like Tira, did not care for the casual commands the bronzepair uttered with every breath. They were sensible -- even she could see that -- and ones she would have followed on her own. But to have the choice not to make that choice taken away ground on her nerves.

I ate yesterday, Nikeath replied after a moment. Dragons rarely ate every day, and though it had been dangerous in the mountains, sweepriders rarely overflew the deep valley where she and Hers had hidden. But...? Tira prompted, trying to maintain pleasant relations, at least until they were rejoined with the Weyr. But I thank you for your offer, she said quickly, the manners coming hard to her. Nikeath sounded rather like a child blurting out half-understood honorifics. She hated to accept charity or even treat it with honor, but it was required at times.

"Thanks." Tira sauntered over to the pantry at S'kor's casual invitation, more comfortable being companionable to him than Nikeath was with Morreliath. But then, the two dragons had never gotten along well from the beginning. Tiramnet counted herself lucky that Nikeath wasn't growling and snapping her tail against the larger bronze. I could start, if you wanted, Tramine, Nikeath drawled.

Please don't, Tira laughed back, finding a bottle of klah. She uncorked it and poured herself a cup, then one for S'kor. You are a battle-maiden, but I should hate to have to leave again so soon. I haven't had a hot bath in Turns! Literally. Tiramnet put the klah back away before coming out of the room with two cups, setting one on a clear spot of S'kor's desk before leaning against that same edifice quite casually.

"I went to make sure the weyrlings got proper training, and a few months later that bitch of a queenrider started drugging us." Tira's eyes were hard, but her voice displayed little emotion. She had cried her bitterness and pain to the mountains and unforgiving skies, until there was no more need to scream in frustration. There was nothing to do for the past. "Nikeath tried to get me out of there, and was forced to ground by the bronzes. She's not fond of having dragons overfly her anymore, though she doesn't remember why."

Tiramnet took a sip of her klah -- lukewarm, but the familiar taste made her want to sigh in pleasure. It had been a while since she had lived with the niceties of civilized life. Her eyes flicked over to watch S'kor for a moment.

"I owe my life to her independence," she added after a moment. "Nikeath taught herself night-flying and attacked the Weyr. Ripped out the side of the Main Hall and grabbed me. It took months for the drugs to work out of my system." Tiramnet shook her head at the memory. She knew she sounded cold, saying this all in the even tones of a narrative, but it was better than breaking down every time she thought of it.

"We went back to try and rescue some of the weyrlings, but... dragonriders were already there. We got attacked by a pair of dragons and barely got between. It took months for Nikeath's neck to heal from that rake." Tira shrugged, drinking more of the klah. "And here we are." She looked at S'kor sidelong. He'd all but asked her for the story, and there was the bare bones.

Outside, Nikeath shifted, disliking waiting. How has Selenitas fared in the Turns? she asked suddenly, turning to regard Morreliath with her intense gaze. I thought it would feel like home to return, but nothing feels the same. I don't even know, she said, vaguely frustrated, Who are our queens?