From Nightmare to Reality (A'emi;K'sel?)

[Requiem]

He was already off his game today, and it was barely past daybreak. Bruises and scrapes covered his arms and legs from a short tumble down the wooded slope when he’d noticed a log too late and tripped backwards over it. His hair and clothing were still sodden from the resulting plunge into the river. That was only the worst of the falls sustained in the last half candle mark since he’d first come out to the river to do his staff work. The evidence of the subsequent stumbles was clearly written in the streaks of dirt and grime caking forearms and darkening knees. When Inocenth pointed out that his upper ‘skin’ had been put on both inside out and backwards this morning, F’ur merely cursed and left it as an unimportant detail. Most of the time this was one of the best ways for the bluerider to blow off steam. Not today.

Odd noises were causing him to jump, the river didn’t sound right to his ears, and the faint breeze seemed to be whispering things malevolent. There were goblins in every shadow and great, slavering beasts with eyes that gleamed on the edge of vision. But they were never there when he turned his head. Now, F’ur was no fool. He knew he wasn’t a particularly imaginative or fearful man and, apart from the physiological responses he could not control, he paid no attention to the demons of fantasy. That Terror’s mind had such a hold, though, said much about the state of his own. Inocenth couldn’t even do much to help. He’d curled up by the river and was now watching through lidded eyes as F’ur continued stubbornly, his mind a solid if somewhat cold presence.

Stepping lightly on the balls of his feet, the bluerider kept up a blurred screen of movement as the staff whirled and circled around him. It even looked like the man was finally finding his stride. Until a frog croaked, that was. He gasped. His foot came down early. The hard wood slammed into the ankle. The staff was thrown down with a colorful curse. Terror streaked down his body, inserting anxious thoughts of shattered bone piercing through skin. F’ur growled audibly. “It’s a bruise, crazy.” He caught up the ‘mandyr, plopping down and tugging up his pant leg until the blotches darkening around the knob of bone were exposed to open air. “See?” Terror chirred worriedly and wound himself around the finger that was home to F’lix’s inking. Already swelling, too. A second curse was added to the first.

Distracted, Inocenth commented from his vantage point by the river. They were only dreams. I know, F’ur snapped back irritably. He knew. F’lix was not someone to speak of dreams to, though, not these dreams. F’ur had been guiltily relieved when Ba’sun dropped by with the request for F’lix’s company on a pre-drills hunt; it meant that his weyrmate wouldn’t notice his jumpiness and start asking questions. It might be silly, but he didn’t want the man who admitted to fearing ghosts reading anything into the nightmares that had plagued his sleep.

A dark room, hot irons, knives and flails, long buried memories of the same questions over and over and pain. That was bad enough. When he suddenly became the interrogator, though, the beaten face had not been his. He dropped the instrument and tore at the bindings that held F’lix, but they were like steel beneath his fingers. Then he was again in the midst of enemies, a blind rage and the searing, gaping pain of emptiness driving him forward. Bone shattered and blood flew beneath his hands. He left the gutted body of his lover, his first love, behind. When all had fallen to a dreadful silence, though, he found his way back to the healers on site. One bit his lip. “If we’d gotten him back when he first fell…” Just as they’d spoken turns ago. But when the healer reached forward, the eyes that he closed were a feline’s gold.

F’ur still couldn’t banish the images from his mind. He shivered. Come, Mine. You‘ve done enough damage to yourself. A healer should look at the ankle. That was when man and mindmates froze. The keens rolled over them in a wave from the direction of the Weyr and Terror let out a terrified wail in response. Ino? I think…all of Immunis… the blue responded, and even he sounded slightly shaken. An accident? F’ur had pushed himself to his feet, snatching up his staff in the process. By the time the blue replied, the bluerider had managed to mount despite the ankle. No. Saber sends coordinates to a glade. What? What did he say? Go. That is all, Mine. F’ur hesitated. This didn’t feel right. But then he shrugged it off as the residual effect of the night before. We’ve no conflicting orders. Which, in and of itself, was disturbing. Do it.

When Inocenth emerged from Between, the sound of dying dragons had vanished. Were they too far away to hear them, or had it ended in the three seconds the jump had taken? More upsetting, the glade was empty. Inocenth settled to earth. “These are the coordinates Saber gave you?” Yes. “Then where are they?” Inocenth’s answer was slow in coming. He said only ‘go,’ Mine. The knot in his bowels twisted tighter, F’ur’s finger subconsciously tracking the inking where a holder’s ring would be. “Delayed. They’ll be here.” The image kept swimming in his mind, a slender body surrounded by a crimson pool and discolored snakes, golden eyes blank. So blank. He pushed it back forcefully.

[Avu]

You don’t have to. You could find some other way to—
“No,” he smiled, watching the waves lick against the sheer cliff, standing at the edge with his toes curled over the edge, “This is good. This is perfect.” A shiver, arms wrapping around himself tightly. The greenrider’s jaw clenched with the wind licking against his bare arms and chest, eyes rising to the highly anxious dragon wheeling just above his head, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s gonna be fine, promise.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Kyrahth did not seem appeased, twisting so fast around him that the gust of wind she kicked up sent another shiver down his body, A’emi making a small displeased sound.

You’re cold already. It’s too early for this. Bring someone with you, later. Don’t. Please don’t. This entire concept is stupid. You don’t know there aren’t rocks under the water. You could die and I don’t /want/ to die today. Her claws slashed at the air uneasily, Kyrahth dropping into the edge of the cliff and draping her forearms around him, attempting to pull him back, breath warm against the nape of A’emi’s neck, You said you wouldn’t. A trickle of upset flickered through the dragon’s ‘voice’, hurt at the lie.

A’emi leaned unconsciously back against Kyrahth’s muzzle, turning his cheek into the warmth of her exhale, “Changed my mind, s’all. You could catch me, if you’d like. I don’t have to…” he echoed her previous statement, closing his eyes in a hum of contentment as her tongue rasped wet across his cheek, a light affectionate touch. Kyrahth folded her forearms across each other, trapping A’emi in the triangle formed by her body, and her muzzle dropped against his shoulder, dipping into the small of his back. “Warm,” he commented, near incoherently, then, pushing away again, “Stop distracting me—I wanna jump.”

The green hissed, the sound sibilant against A’emi’s spine. Suicidal.
“Right. I detest you so much I can’t wait to get away, Kyr, why would you ever want to Impress me, don’t you know I wanted to Impress a queen?” His deadpan delivery earned a small sniff from the dragon, so A’emi crinkled his nose and spun on his heel to plant a kiss to her muzzle, “Relax.” A playful grin, A’emi stepping back towards the cliff again.

Then Kyrahth froze—a sudden release of tension, her eyes blanking, and A’emi stopped dead, inches from the cliff’s edge, eyes narrowing, “What?” The green didn’t answer immediately, and then she blinked, once, twice, eyes clearing and focusing again. “What, Kyrahth?”

The sharpness in his tone earned the response. Saboth.
“What—drills? We don’t have them till later.” A’emi stepped towards Kyrahth again, “You’d better not be lying about this.”
He says ‘go’. And he gave coordinates for /between/. I don’t understand—why do we go? Unease rippled through the dragon’s mind.
“Just go?” A’emi echoed incredulously, indignantly. “Why?” But he still moved to mount, wrapping his fingers around Kyrahth’s straps and pulling himself onto the green dragon. “That’s—Faranth. Better be a good reason, and you’d better not be lying.”

Kyrahth made no response, instead flaring her wings and leaping between from the cliff. She reappeared low in the sky, dipping lower into the glade. Blue hide, but not Saboth’s. Still recognized as Selenitas, at least. Kyrahth coiled once in the sky, uneasily, hesitating before she closed her wings, sweeping in to land on the opposite side of the clearing. A’emi remained mounted, blinking uncertainly at F’ur. What was going on—F’lix had never made them do anything dumb before, and A’emi didn’t think he’d start now, what was this—“Where’s F’lix?”

Something’s wrong. The soft wisp of thought whispered across his mind, Kyrahth’s gaze darting between Inocenth and the surrounding trees. Her wings were half-furled in preparation for quick flight, eyes narrowed intently.

Everything’s wrong.

[Lotty]

Have you as they say...woken up on the wrong side of the bed? K'sel stifled a dark, humorless laugh and returned to his similarly stygian thoughts. When he was young, he had never had many friends, and what friends he did, were by now all lost. A cruel reality that he had never rejected, but at times drew itself up and ticked away at the back of his mind; repetitive, monotonous, splattering like the sounds of a leaky faucet. There was never a cure, not really anyway, but there were a handful of distractions for when human contact was lost and pessimism had a rather dangerous hold over the young man. Too bad it was too early for wine, the brownrider has a strict no booze before noon rule that knocked out the first option, and sleep...he was too weary for shut eye.

Which was, little did he know, a good thing. Dropping from a tree branch, the rider caught onto the muzzle of the sandy, diminutive dragon which of course left him dangling there above the ground, arms pulling his head up so he could stare face to face with Pettahth. One of them looked out stoically, civilized, the other as an untamed beast, their tongue waggling out between snarls. I didn't know all that time ago that I had picked a rabid canine as a rider... "You love it," he planted a kiss on that freckled maw before dropping down onto the forest floor, landing in a manner that constituted his occasional nickname of "Tiger".

It was good though, the dragon thought, that his was at least trying to cheer up, and sometimes losing themselves in the forest was their only way to stay sane. Pettahth stalked forward to poke his rider in the stomach when he suddenly stopped, his neck arching and head turning over his shoulder to look up to the airspace above the canopy. It didn't take words for K'sel to know something was wrong, and furrowed his brows together into his typical pensive scowl, What's going on...

The dragon ducked his head down between his forelegs, a move that the rider understood made an instant bridge to his spot on the creatures back, and without command or any more of a suggestion he strode up along the lines of the dragon's skull and neck with quick and fluid motion. Whats going on. Pettahth. Keens began to roll out across the skyscapes as the brown pulled his head up again and poised to depart. Saboth. We can make the jump. No time to break the tree line....careful. They confirmed each other's suspicions and but inches of their lives the pair winked between unsure of what was in store for them on the other side.

It was no surprise that they were not alone. F'ur and squad-fellow A'emi were already waiting in the glade, and without F'lix in his sights he had the strange feeling that he wasn't really the dragonrider that they wanted to be greeting. The brown corkscrewed down to the ground, cautious for some kind of subterfuge before landing on the grassy flats next to Kyrahth and Innocenth. K'sel like the others stayed mounted, nodding at the others in place of words. After all was now really the time for his tongue? His dark eyes said it all: Where was F'lix and what exactly was going on?

[Requiem]

The seconds were ticking by and feeling like ages. F'ur slipped down off Inocenth's back, his hand pressed to the dragon's side. He leaned against him to take the weight off his ankle. It never occurred to him to fix his disheveled appearance. How's it coming? Still no luck in raising him. I've tried Kierjaarth and Ruskeath as well. Aonith. Even that snot, Craivaruth. Nothing. I think we're too far away to reach them from here. It was more of a reassurance than an actual assessment. Ekarth? You've tried him? Can't feel his mind, either. They can't all be dead. Just saying the words in his head was difficult. No. I agree. Not this quickly. Calm, Mine. Terror is trying to burrow into my shoulderblades.

F'ur let out a breath, his dark, hazel eyes turning upwards at the sound of another dragon emerging from Between. Tension spread across his shoulders, followed by relief and disappointment in quick succession. Inocenth eyed Kyrahth coldly. What was she doing here? The greenrider's question was ignored in favor of another popping sound, F'ur's head snapping toward the second dragon as he tried to figure out why A'emi was questioning him about F'lix. The kitten couldn't have sent...Pettahth. Not Saboth. K'sel's look was just as questioning as A'emi's words had been, and now F'ur found himself in the uncomfortable position of being presented with a question that he had no answer to.

For a moment he just stood there, still as stone, before he finally forced himself to respond to the two riders. K'sel's appearance reminded him that A'emi did have a connection with F'lix, after all. His squad. Why would he send his squad here, to the same place as F'ur and Inocenth? And didn't that mean Phremath, Ekarth and Saboth should be arriving here soon, too? He licked his lips. Patience. It had taken awhile for these two. (Less than a minute, but still.) "I wasn't with him. He...went with Ba'sun this morning, to hunt, before drills." His voice managed to stay steady, but only barely. Did they know about Selenitas? About Immunis?

"We were at the river when the... Immunis is gone. I don't know, we never saw why. Immunis, Morreliath, there was still keening when Inocenth made the jump. Saboth gave us the coordinates seconds after it started. I...I thought he'd be here." The quiver finally made it into his voice, then, and his jaw tightened against any further slips. He frowned at K'sel and A'emi. "Do you two know anything? What about Kalierre and Ba'sun?" And F'lix. But he already knew the answer to that. Inocenth's tail had coiled around His, protectively or for comfort it was hard to tell, but he still didn't speak to the other two dragons, eyeing them impassively.

[Avu]

The sound of another dragon emerging from between.

Green and Rider both looked up instinctively, expecting Saboth, but—no. Still, no. K’sel and Pettahth. A’emi’s brow furrowed slightly in a frown, lip catching between his teeth. Would Kalierre and Ba’sun be arriving soon, too, then…? But still. If it was just the squad, then why was F’ur there, some kind of combat instruction? Kyrahth edged sideways to make more room for Pettahth, more out of a desire to keep decent space between herself and the other dragons than politeness. One hand resting lightly on the green’s shoulder, A’emi glanced over at K’sel hopefully, only to find an expression that said without words that K’sel had absolutely no idea.

And F’ur hadn’t spoken—this was clearly going spectacularly already. He tapped his fingers restlessly against Kyrahth’s neck, Can you reach Saboth…? Or any of them? And—inspiration. Darkling. He’d left the firelizard asleep, curled in the darkest corner underneath one of the chairs. Why she thought that was comfortable A’emi hadn’t the faintest idea, but whatever worked. The speaking distracted him from contacting the green for the moment, though—information was good.

Well.

Not this information.

But he supposed knowing it was good.

A’emi was quiet. An entire wing, gone. And Morreliath. The annoying bronze was dead? He shook his head silently at the request for information, “Wasn’t at the Weyr.” Unhelpful, but for right now, it was the best he could give, unless Darkling was already awake. He dropped the mental barriers he’d kept up against the firelizard—more for his sanity due to Kyrahth’s jealousy than any real desire to keep her out—and found her definitely awake, hidden in a crevice and just watching, a sharp stab of fear spiking every few minutes, Come here.

The firelizard’s appearance from between was immediate. She had the sense to stay quiet—thankfully—as she dove for A’emi, coiling around his neck and shivering against him, eyes yellow with upset. Kyrahth shifted, a low hiss of irritation in her throat, but the dragon was otherwise silent as Darkling whined softly.

“What,” A’emi demanded, trying to pry Darkling from his bare shoulders. She clung stubbornly, wrapping her tail around his neck tightly, but she still answered in the form of a broadcast, a jumble of incoherent images; flames dragons that weren’t foreign words and a mental touch she hated and ichor the smell of death and wings painting the skies in Northern colors…another shiver, a low creel, and the green’s mental touch receded.

Everything’s wrong, Kyrahth echoed, sibilant. Then, turning to Pettahth, You. Yours has firelizards, does he not? Call for them. The green’s wings settled closer to her sides, another glance up at the sky. Her eyes—if not entirely calm—were certainly not as distressed as Darkling’s bright yellow; her choice was unspoken, but already decided. She was not going to risk her life for Selenitas, especially if an entire Wing had already fallen.

A’emi touched her neck lightly, rubbed his fingers down the nearest neck ridge in silent agreement. There wasn’t anybody he would die for at Selenitas—and he doubted there would ever be. In the end, you’d still be dead.

[Lotty]

And still, in all the time that had passed - the time that was honestly a matter of seconds, but to him were dragging on with all the speed of a crippled turpin - not another face showed up, not even F'lix. Not a good sign. He didn't know exactly how hopeful the other two were, but his own pessimism spelled it out for him. The bluerider and his dragon were not going to show face anytime soon. More importantly, and the thought caused an eyebrow to lift, "hunting you say..." a gut instinct told him that Ba'sun wasn't about to make the rendezvous either. Again, words left for the most part, unsaid. His vision cut back and forth between the two men again before focusing on F'ur's brief quivering lip.

Not good.

He knew the man only barely to be honest, they were playmates more than anything, what with their shenanigans in the jungle, but rumors and reputation held true and he had never held Northern born riders to be anything other than contained, conditioned, and impervious to weaker emotions. Perhaps, K'sel thought, the South had a way of bearing bits of the soul. All poetics aside, it was still a sign, it was still a call to arms, and surely the three of them should know by now that they were alone, and in a place that he at least, did not recognize as being exceedingly familiar.

Mine... the little cousins. Kyrahth suggests calling for them. It was at that time that he did take notice to the yellow eyed Darkling and reached out with mental touches for his own troop of lizards, or at least two of them. Fracas he expected was a lost cause, and would likely fight with raucous screams should he ask her of anything that might put her out. Would she be gone at the end of this? Would her loud noises spell out her own demise? That he didn't know, but for her he merely wished a safe meal and good hiding space. Eyesore and Mojo though. They were quick to respond; the zippy blue materializing on one of Pettahth's head knobs and the bronze alighting on the rider's shoulder. A brief stroke of the hand was given to the creature as he gathered his thoughts.

"Kalierre...she's at the infirmary perhaps?" He didn't know schedules, especially that of the healers. It wasn't in his job description. However, and this was merely speculation that he was hoping that at least one of his sneaky pets could confirm, that if anything riders would be congregating there if history did in fact repeat itself. As for the other two...well K'sel didn't want to be the one to say it but, "I'd imagine where ever F'lix is Ba'sun is not far behind..." with a knife or something to bludgeon someone with surely...but again, the cynic's mind was purely speculation.

"But how long can we wait? And where is there to go?" Theoretically they could be sitting here all day as long as they didn't have a plan, and really what all could just the three of them do when a whole wing was murdered in one swoop? Speaking of which what were the other wings doing if F'ur was here? He certainly wasn't on the same wing as him, "What about your wing F'ur? Did you hear nothing from them?" Wouldn't it be their luck if a whole fighting wing was gone too. All in all, K'sel had questions, too many questions the he doubted anyone had answers to.

[Requiem]

A'emi didn't know anything at all. Before K'sel could say anything, though, Darkling's images spilled over F'ur and Inocenth. Mine... The man had frozen, face slack and paling. It was a chaotic bunch of images composed mostly of fear and death. A flit's viewpoint. There was nothing there that should have shaken the older bluerider, and Inocenth's jaws snapped sharply right beside him, F'ur sliding back further down his side on instinct. He shot the blue a questioning look, then turned blank eyes on K'sel as the young brownrider spoke again. It was at Inocenth's prodding that F'ur shrugged a shoulder, his response barely above a murmur. "Who knows. Stay out of there." Kalierre was a woman he knew more by reputation than anything else. F'ur made it a point not to know women.

His eyes dipped toward the ground, and he curled his toes in the dirt, concentrating on the feel of them there in the gritty coolness. A twig poked into the sole of his left foot just behind the pad of his pinkie toe. A couple pebbles in the arch of his right foot. He spread his toes, feeling the dirt fan around them, thinking only of his feet and the ground beneath them that he hardly ever noticed. Shut up. Just...shut up. But K'sel's words refused to be ignored, and even though he put all his effort into the feel of earth beneath his soles, they rattled around in his head. "I'd imagine where ever F'lix is Ba'sun is not far behind..." Ankle throbbing. Listen, like drums, if you listened close enough. Growing louder. Drumming out the words.

Mine. Inocenth's voice was sharp this time. Look at them. This is not the time. They have questions, no direction. F'ur's eyes moved over the faces watching him, swallowed, then turned his gaze to the trees beyond. Fuck them. Saber's... What? F'lix what, Inocenth? He was unraveling now. It was possible, perhaps, if he just grasped the ends of the strings and held on, that he could keep it all together for a few more minutes. Hours. Days. But he didn't care. He'd want- Shut up. F'ur pushed away from Inocenth violently, the blue letting him go and watching in cool silence as his rider limped away from him, sweeping his arm as if to brush the dragon away. Away.

"No." He looked up at K'sel. "No, I'd heard nothing before -" Which didn't mean that they were gone or that nothing had come after he'd left, and if they thought less of him because he hadn't waited to see, well, he didn't give a rat's ass. Stinging. He hadn't noticed them. Fuck it. "I'd imagine where ever F'lix is Ba'sun is not far behind..." He dragged his arm over his eyes, smearing dirt in its wake and not caring. "That wasn't Fort or Benden," the man finally managed, in a near-hiss. Foreign colors. Traitorous fucking bastards. He'd kill him. He'd kill him. Wasn't Fort or Benden, but some of the older dragons in Darkling's brief wash of images he recognized as old enemies. If F'lix had truly been with Ba'sun... His eyes turned to A'emi for a moment, willing him to understand, to think, so he wouldn't have to say it.

Inocenth didn't respond to the mental nudge, his wings remaining mantled. F'ur stared at him for a long moment, then turned away angrily. Fine. Fuck them all then. He stalked for the trees, ignoring the pain and the limp...until he realized he didn't even know which direction to go in. New tracks were being cut into the dirt smeared across his face. F'ur stopped at the treeline, stepping behind the nearest thick trunk and simply sliding down it, limbs limp. Terror had left Inocenth at some point and now curled along the line of his clavicle, crooning sadly at the man. He lifted his hand. Stared at it for a long moment. F'ur turned the hand over, his fingers closing into a fist.

No matter what he started to tell himself...Immunis was destroyed. Saboth wasn't here. Why had he let F'lix go with Ba'sun? He buried his head in his arms.

[Avu]

He wet his lips, let K’sel talk as he quietly gathered his own thoughts. Wasn’t going back, that was for sure. A’emi trusted that Darkling’s images were true—she had never lied to him before and the surge of her fear was palpable, genuine. Absently he stroked his hand down the trembling green’s back, hummed a nonsensical reassurance. Couldn’t go back to Fort, wouldn’t go to Benden. His gaze flicked up to F’ur, briefly, then to K’sel again, “Then it was Wasteland, and neither F’lix nor Ba’sun will be coming anytime soon, and Kalierre probably won’t either, since she hasn’t already.” His voice was level, steady, emotionless. He’d liked the others well enough, but…

There is no time to mourn. Kyrahth’s words were private, the green’s eyes tracking F’ur’s progress, narrowed. The dragon’s tail slashed through the air in distress, a low hiss pulsing through clenched jaws. Inocenth’s is in no shape to answer questions or make decisions. Do something.

It was startlingly easy, letting the usual smiles and smirks fade, replace them with survival and steel. “We’re not waiting, we’re leaving. Can’t go North, sure as hell I’m not living out here. Just need to get out of range now. Let’s,” he considered, swiping his tongue across his lower lip, “Let’s go to Southern.” The words, his gaze, were primarily for K’sel, A’emi tilting his head slightly sideways to give F’ur privacy, vaguely embarrassed for witnessing such emotions—ones he couldn’t really even understand. Never had, and he didn’t think he ever would. And if this was the result…well, he preferred it that way.

“Unless,” A’emi added quietly, a flicker of a glance at F’ur this time, “Either of you want to stay, go back…” There was the slightest hint of a question to his tone. He wouldn’t imagine F’ur would want to—he was well-known enough that any Northerners, Wasteland as suspected or not, would probably kill him on the spot, but he had just possibly lost his weyrmate. Still had Inocenth, though. And as for K’sel…well, Southern-Impressed, wasn’t he. Probably wouldn’t be considered much of a threat one way or another. Always a risk.

Are you, the faintest hesitation in Kyrahth’s voice as she brushed lightly across his mind, You don’t mind leaving. It was rephrased, not a question as she’d begun before, but the intent was clear. A’emi’s fingers stilled on her neck, curling around the riding straps. You won’t miss it, if we don’t come back. Her mind curled around his, questioning, softer than A’emi would’ve imagined possible for Kyrahth.

No. I don’t, and I won’t. The words came out harsher, almost with a bite, that he hadn’t intended—why would Kyrahth pick now to let uncertainty trickle in? What are the closest coordinates we have to Southern?

[Lotty]

His frown deepened if that was at all possible, and a hand came up and washed over his face only to linger at his chin; the classical thinking pose as he wrestled with very serious questions of loyalty versus sanity. Of course, going back was the patriotic option. He was born at Selenitas, and raised there, he knew the land better than the back of his hand. Shards man, "Sel" was a part of his very name; a fact that he had never realized until now. He sighed. The temptation was to run back even if he knew he wouldn't like what there was to find, but nostalgia was for the weak...and the stupid. No way on Pern or between was he going back, a fact that was punctuated by a flash of flitter talk...some grim images indeed were filtering in.

So a return was out of the question, but the brownrider was not going to go flying solo, and was willing to team up with A'emi and F'ur...

Nevermind the fact that one of them was currently... mourning for lack of a better term. It wasn't his place to tell the bluerider to man up and march his ass back to them, he himself was moping over more trivial losses but minutes before, and so his lips pursed together as he watched the other man slowly emotionally deteriorate, eyes sliding away back to A'emi as he sensed something of a private moment. So, back to business it was then, and K'sel fought the risk of awkward silences with his verbal musings, "...I agree," he nodded solemnly, "we need the fuck out," profanity was completely appropriate at this point.

Pettahth shuffled uncomfortably at the thought of leaving his home, he had hatched there after all, but the dragon even knew that necessity called for this, and as determined as the brown tended to be, he did not address his concerns to his rider...only the support that was needed, Adventures will be good mine... Yeah....adventures. That's what we shall call them hmmm... A strong pat on the back before he continued.

"I don't know how long Southern can house us before Wasteland shows up poking around. If they don't outright hunt for us I imagine they'll poke around and check out their territory. They'll have their curiosities, maybe even badger the hold for tithes," K'sel would wager they had a couple of days tops and then the pressure would really be on. Of course this was assuming that the intruders haven't been fought off...assuming that once again Selenitas defended themselves from surprise attacks.

Shards, who was he kidding?

"I'm not leaving him though..." he nodded over at F'ur. Or at least the tree that F'ur was sunken behind. Should he call out to the older man Should he even attempt to be caring? To act brotherly? Guh... this was probably why he had so many female friends, they were easily to console with a hug and kiss, men came with codes, a fact that begrudgingly had to be acknowledged. After a moment of silence he called out, "F'ur man...." and left it at that. He wanted a sign first. A reply. Even if it was a big "fuck you".

[Requiem]

F'ur was very determinedly blocking out the voices. He didn't want to hear any of it, not about who wasn't coming, not where they were going, nothing. Life couldn't just keep going like nothing at all had happened. Like...fuck him. Once was enough for anyone. F'lix wasn't supposed to... Hunching his shoulders further, he struggled to push it all down, if only because these men were not allowed to see him like this. No one was.

F'ur didn't hear A'emi's question. Inocenth, however, did. He let out a low hiss that was unmistakably menacing. He had enough to deal with without stupid little greenriders putting ideas into the head of His. F'urHis needed no help in that department. Ever.

When K'sel called his name, though, F'ur lifted his head and rested his chin on his arms, eyes slitted as they moved in the direction of the brownrider, blocked off by the tree. "Fuck off," he muttered, not loud enough to be heard. They couldn't just leave him alone, could they? I'll take care of it, Inocenth interjected coldly, the words directed at both dragons. He moved between them and His, tail whipping to slam into the trunk with a resounding thud. You will not do this right now, he told His, following the stream of curses. It is time to think about living. No one takes from us, remember? You cannot make them pay if you sit there. F'ur glared at Inocenth from around the tree. He didn't want to make anyone pay right now. He just wanted to...sleep. And then maybe he'd wake up and it would just be a nightmare.

Nevertheless, the man emerged, Inocenth's body blocking him from the others' sight for the moment. He yanked off his shirt and replaced it as it should be, rightside out and forward, then used water and his sleeve to clear some of the dirt from his face. Okay. He could do this. Concentrate on problems, solve problems, think about that. Inocenth moved away after a moment to a more open space that he could jump from, eyes still trained on His warily. F'ur approached the other two, a stony neutrality having settled over his face. "Southern. We won't be housing the dragons at any Hold, not even for a few days. They'll have to stay outside." He passed his hand over his mouth and glanced roughly in the direction of 'south.' A hold was good though. Holds meant goods, which they'd need. And information. It was possible - unlikely, perhaps, but Selenitas had pulled off unlikely before - that the attack had been thrown back. Somehow.

"I want to know what happened." There was a defiant edge to his gaze, the eyes still gleaming with moisture but no longer threatening tears. "What is happening. We need to get close enough to find out. Eventually." Not now. Better to let everything settle. "Inocenth can get us close to Southern." F'ur had only been there once before. With F'lix. His throat felt tight. That was when he finally asked the question. "If Wasteland has taken Selenitas, what do you two plan to do? Ignore it and hide in the jungles and Holds for the rest of your lives?" It was clear F'ur had no intention of doing that.

[Avu]

Inocenth says he will take care of it, was Kyrahth’s mechanical passing of the message to A’emi, the green’s eyes having narrowed in irritation at the blue’s hissing, nose wrinkling in the barest hint of a snarl.

Fine, A’emi shrugged, “There’s bound to be some caves or something where the dragons can stay when we’re up at the main Hold, if we even do go, we’ve just got to get somewhere other than immediate Selenitas territory for a while.” He wet his lips again—he’d never noticed it as a nervous habit before, but hey, learn something new every day—tugged lightly at Darkling’s tail to reassure the green firelizard, touching her mind with quietly faked playfulness, felt the green relax against his shoulder, molding her body to the fit of his neck, tail twining around his throat.

He nodded at F’ur, “They’ve got to tell the Holds something,” anything…“Might could send the firelizards back in?” It was probably near suicide for the firelizards—but if he could get Darkling to go between directly into someone’s weyr, someone that wouldn’t hand them over—maybe? She shivered against his shoulder, clicked in his ear at the turn of his thoughts, and A’emi dismissed the notion for time being. He’d bring it up later, when she wasn’t as distressed. And anyway, F’ur’s question was more than adequate distraction—because he hadn’t thought of anything along those lines.

Still, A’emi wrinkled his nose in immediate dismissal of the suggestion. “Yeah, no, but…” Hesitated. Couldn’t live Holdless forever, not with Thread falling, not with Kyrahth to support even if the dragon could, perhaps, take down her own prey; needed to get oil and leather for hide and straps somewhere and Holds wouldn’t just hand that kind of stuff over to whoever needed it. Couldn’t go back to Selenitas, not really, not without the risk of death. “I think we should get out of here and set up somewhere we can get information first,” he finished quietly, “There’ll be time for planning later.”

If we could have the coordinates. Kyrahth’s words were less her typical icy-cold, more nervous; she didn’t like being there, not so long in one spot without knowing. True, they were far away enough that they couldn’t feel the dragons of the Weyr anymore, but it was still unnerving. Needed to be moving, needed to do something.

[Lotty]

Inocenth. Thank Faranth. Or as K'sel would say Thank That Golden Flying Egg Maker! The man would have been at a loss had F'ur's own mindmate not intervened, the brownrider after all was not a mindhealer and his version of therapy would probably consist of profanity and a submission to booze. Speaking of which...he might as well say some of his final good-byes to that. The way it was looking he couldn't afford to be lax and of guard even if he had the great fortune of coming upon the sacred stuff. Luxuries were going to be beyond them, and he was counting the clothes upon his back, the supplies on Pettahth's saddle bags, and the knife on his belt among his now few possessions. So much of it was left behind....his chair...his big brown leather chair was going to have Wastelander skunk all over it...and his favorite patterned shirt, that would be stretched out beyond recognition by some freak of nature meathead. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

There was simply no time to think about that though, and the young man had to abandon the memories quickly as to survive; sealing his lips shut as he listened in to the two older riders. His firelizards were unflinching even as they were subtly implementing in a spying operation. Most flits were not the sort built for such tasks, Fracas for instance would blow a cover in an instant...but...she was of no concern. Mojo was better, he was if nothing else a master of illusion, magical almost and he had been known to follow around Erilena like flys on stink and he had no doubt the dark bronze could ghost his way into her weyr on the chance she was there in one piece. His greatest drawback however: he was a professional griefer and his image work while clear as a bell was not always the most reliable.

A picture was not worth a thousand words.

This of course left Eyesore: mission oriented, silent, tiny, and quick as any salamandyr but with the added bonus of between. If ever there was a flit he trusted to a task, it was this one...and the blue would do it for the fun rather than the praise at that. He smirked a touch evilly at the idea, but much like A'emi dismissed the idea for the time being, "An option to keep in mind for sure..." These were all operations for a later date however, and in K'sel's opinion, they were getting far too ahead of themselves. Step One was getting to Southern. Step Two was gathering information, and Step Three was making decisions. They didn't even have that first phase together yet. A task that he was leaving up to F'ur...he doubt he had coordinates that were any better after all.

"A discussion will only be as good as the information we have on hand..." he said blandly, quietly, trying to avoid the subject all together because he doubted that any man would call him sane with his thoughts in his head. He would never call his outlook hiding, but it wasn't exactly a far off notion. The real difference was that he was not of a mind to ignore any of this. He wouldn't live contently with the thoughts at the back of his brain...if his home was taken from him then he would want nothing more than to do what he did to everyone who wronged him: be the biggest thorn in their sides. As miserable as it could be to be caught in a virtual purgatory for the rest of his life sometimes that wasn't what was important. There are places I have heard of Pettahth...where Happiness was not an important value... What was may I ask? The dragon stirred curiously, finally distracted from the anxious vibes the green next to him was giving off. Freedom. To some people being free is much more important than being happy.

So yes, A'emi and F'ur could take solace in the fact that should they return, should they get sick of leeching off the land or whatever it was they were going to do, they are immediate targets. Their Fort heritage more than likely bought them the title Kill on Sight. Would he ever be so lucky? Maybe. Maybe he could be dead by proxy...or just as likely get sucked into Wasteland's war machine.

Fuck that.

"I can say that nothing will be ignored..." still in his more whispery tones, ones that probably fell off from the hearing of anyone inattentive. Shrugging it all off, "Going then?"

[Requiem]

The answers of the two riders satisfied him, and he gave them both a brusque nod. F'ur didn't need A'emi and K'sel to be like-minded in order to help and take their help in this...flight into exile. He did need it, however, if he was going to stay with them for very long. The Fortian wasn't sure what exactly he would do, but he knew for sure that he needed to find out the details of the attack on Selenitas. The nagging inner voice that refused to believe until he verified for himself that he was again alone was persistent. He had to know beyond all doubt. It was a dangerous road, though, this spark of hope, and mostly drowned out by the reality that his weyrmate would be here if he could. If the truth was as it seemed...no, hope was too dangerous. Think of it in terms of finding the specific ones responsible. Inocenth was right; no one took from them.

"Inocenth." The male rifled through F'ur's memories in a blur of images, pulling free the clearing a couple candlemarks' walk north of Southern Hold. Grasping it before it could fade, F'ur let it crystallize, Inocenth taking the coordinates and passing them on to Kyrahth and Pettahth. It took a couple moments of awkwardness for F'ur to mount the inky blue with his swollen ankle. He hesitated long enough to make sure Terror still had a firm hold on him, then Inocenth was twisting upwards, disappearing Between with a pop. The clearing was half-covered with marigolds at this time of turn and a stream ran through it. Pollen rose in clouds upon the blue's landing. Once man and mindmates had stopped sneezing, F'ur slid down and grabbed the staff he often strapped to his back. Today it would be a walking stick.

He made his way over to the stream and crouched, filling his hip flask with the clear water. "It's a bit of a walk from here. As much as a few candlemarks. But no one should spot them, especially once they take cover in the trees." He paused, then, corking the flask. "Do you think any of your firelizards could scout for a save place for them nearby? Some decent-sized caves, maybe?" He glanced up at the nearest of the other riders from his crouched position. F'ur had once been part of a strike team and knew how to survive in the wilds, and K'sel he knew spent much of his time outdoors and knew this land the best of all of them. That only left A'emi F'ur was unsure about. Saying he knew nothing of the greenrider was something of an understatement. A'emi was far too young for them to have crossed paths much at Fort.

"Southern should be roughly due south. Do you think you could lead the way, K'sel? I believe you know this land better than the rest of us." His hazel eyes flicked over the brownrider's face. Truthfully, he could probably get them to Southern himself without much trouble, but the weary emptiness setting in on him was consuming the man with a ravenous hunger. He didn't want any fruther responsibility, even if it was just leading the way for awhile. Besides, his ankle was really beginning to hurt. He should wrap it. Somehow, though, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to actually rectify the problem. The physical pain was good for keeping his mind off other hurts.

[Avu]

The image blinked into his mind’s eye, passed quietly from Kyrahth. A’emi closed his eyes, drew the details from the green, before he held it behind his eyes, I’m ready when you are. The green’s wings flicked at the tips, barely opening; she hovered a bare moment for F’ur to mount entirely, and then she pushed into the air, vanishing between before she hit the treeline. Probably not a necessary precaution, if they were as far from the Weyr as they guessed they were. Still one Kyrahth took regardless: Why not, after all, if she could. The brief moment of still coldness was almost welcome, A’emi noted absently as he relaxed against the straps, exhaling into the silence before

Birdsong, the smell of flowers, the sound of a stream. Cheerful, a far shot from the sound of keening. He hadn’t heard it, but he could imagine. Kyrahth spun on one wingtip, dipping lower to scuff the grass, before she landed near the trees, sulkily curling her tail around one of the trunks. Her claws were left carefully loose so she wouldn’t leave telltale scratch marks in the dirt, but she did reach out defiantly to pop the head off a marigold with one claw, huffing in quiet disapproval. Darkling made her appearance a second later, but short of the dragon’s disdain, the firelizard gave a low, musical flute—so far away, it was easy to be calm.

A’emi wrinkled his nose at the green, leaning his head forward to unsnap the straps and wiggling free, poking through the mostly-empty pouches attached to the straps. Had his boots in there and his shirt—wasn’t about to dive off a cliff into the ocean wearing his boots with a stiletto in them or a shirt, wasn’t about to leave the Weyr without them—but nothing else. It was supposed to be a short excursion. Not supposed to turn into semi-permanent exile. Oh well. Could pick some stuff up at the Hold, anyway. Pulling on the boots and doing up the laces and then wiggling into his shirt, A’emi poked Kyrahth in the neck, “Be good.”

Of course. /I/ stay put and the nuisance goes with you everywhere, the green retorted, a ghost of her usual snappishness.

Only if we can’t think of something better for her to do, A’emi replied indulgently, sliding off of Kyrahth and loosening the straps for her comfort. Wading through flowers until he was within easy earshot of F’ur, he turned slightly to gesture for Kyrahth to actually take cover in the trees instead of at the edge. “Darkling can. Are firelizards common at Southern? Don’t want to have to sneak them in or anything but if we have to…” At least Darkling was sneaky enough to probably be good at that. “Go,” he added to the green firelizard, who straightened on his shoulder agreeably, clearly over her scare, and chirruped before she darted into the jungle.

He dipped his head in a nod at K’sel, one hand twitching slightly to indicate the brownrider was free to lead—he didn’t know the lay of the land. Never had been to Southern, either—or maybe he had and just got all the Holds mixed up, but that wasn’t terribly promising either. “O Fearless Leader,” he commented wryly, hands slipping into his pockets, “Miles to go before we sleep, huh…”

Only—hopefully—in the literal sense.

[Lotty]

K'selmine. I have the coordinates from Inocenth. So it was then, time to finally begin their journey, and the rider was soon bombarded with the coordinates to further cement the notion that they were past the point of no return. Super awesome... A bittersweet concession from the young man before he patted the dragon and Pettahth waited his turn to stretch his wings and fly. Are you ready? Rhetorical mostly, but still given the courtesy of a reply, Ready and willing great captain... Of course it was slightly droll even in the mind voice, and the brown snorted at his rider's sarcasm before lifting off the ground and mimicking Kyrahth's quick bout between. The determined little creature refused to be bested by even the most experienced...anything they could do he could do better, even if they didn't know it yet.

After that moment of bitter cold - particularly nippy without the extra warmth a riding jacket offered - and the blackest blacks, the pair re-emerged to yet another Southern landscape; a pair of firelizard's dancing around K'sel's black hair. With short efficient strokes of the wing, the brown dropped into the clearing, carefully landing where the grass grew short and thick like a lush green blanket. Lightly he tread so that not a soul would think his footprints were anymore than impressions of lounging felines or perhaps a wild slumbering wher. K'sel wasn't wasting any time either, and as soon as they had landed, he was digging through his sparse belongings for typical survival supplies. His trusty knife was already on his belt, forever and always, but from his packs he pulled out items he didn't even knew he had. Was that a hatchet? A canteen...for water?! Novel ideas!

But mostly he had nothing. It wasn't like there was a change of clothes in there, and the blanket that was rolled up within probably wouldn't come into play with a day trip to the hold. Slinging the waterskin over the shoulder by the strap and tucking the little handaxe into a belt loop the brownrider was feeling a little like some kind of lumberjack...he just needed some suspenders and a poofball hat. Nevermind that though, he was sure voicing the observation wouldn't earn him too many points at the moment, and after filling the empty vessel with water from the stream he took the small strides over to the other two, "I can send one of mine out too..." Eyesore. He couldn't trust Mojo's visions, and if he did he doubted Pettahth would, "As for how common flits are around there? Unfortunately I don't exactly think its a hotbed..." Based on memory anyway.

Meanwhile the khaki dragon had began drifting his way into the cover of the trees, regretful he wasn't of a darker cast that might further hide him in the shade. See you sooooon. Is that a threat? A promise. Don't have too much fun without me. And the tips of Pettahth's tail flickered a very deliberate farewell before fully disappearing into the forests.

Smirking at the nod from the greenrider, the scruffy youth scratched as his chin a moment as his eyes glazed over the horizon and considered their trails, never really answering F'ur...the fact that he was even thinking about the way to go should be evidence enough that he didn't mind taking up the lead, "We're well past any rivers, but there is a rather large trail to the west there that we could probably do to avoid. Wouldn't buy us any time to take it anyway. Otherwise I think we're good to go..." and casually he nodded before marching forward at a steady pace. Being at the helm wasn't typically his thing, it meant responsibility for others, but in this case the other two were big boys who could make big boy decisions. At least nobody could hang him for leading the already clueless astray.