 |
|
| Sourly, G�yr surveyed the miniscule mouth of the Talor Cliff ground weyr. It was /always/ Anyghari. Ghari this, Ghari that, and D�tol not letting him get away from one class without being paired with the sorry wherry-brain. <<I�m sorry you don�t like Anyghari, G�yr, but it isn�t Inyxith�s fault. We do owe her a lot, after all, since that firestone drill,>> Jyvadoth rasped in his head, moodily. <<What�s the matter today? You�re far too grumpy.>> He glowered up at the big blue, who nonchalantly flexed his wings a little. �Only that the rest of our class graduated a fortnight ago, and /she�s/ still not ready, so you and I are held back! You deserve better, Jyvadoth.� Jyvadoth snickered rudely in his head. <<If we all got what we deserve, G�yr, we�d be in sorry shape. Don�t be a naughty boy. Kiss and make up.>> G�yr glanced up, outraged. �If you think that I�m going to apologize to that addlepated twit of a Holder�s daughter, you can go flame Thread straight from the source.� <<It was only a suggestion. There�s no need to be rude,>> Jyvadoth said tartly, stretching. <<We need a break. Why don�t we go Weyr-hopping? You can see all the sorry Candidates, and see a different set of riders than this poor lot. Inyxith is rather overwhelming if you have to talk to her /all the time/. Which I do, since /you/ are busy feeling sorry for yourself.>> �Stow it, Jyvadoth,� snapped the slender, dark-haired young man, but he rappelled up the azure shoulder and settled between his lifemate�s ridges. �Let�s try Dark Moon Weyr.� |
 |
| The distinctive markings of a Dark Moon green flashed in the feeding pens below, and, quick as though, Jyvadoth�s matte wings tilted, sending him in for a landing on a ledge crowded with glaze-eyed riders. <<She flies!>> boomed Jyvadoth, and G�yr twitched, sliding hastily down his lifemate�s flanks and unhooking the riding straps. They slithered to the ground, and Jyvadoth hissed audibly as he leapt into the air. �What�s happening? Who�s flying? /Jyvadoth/!� the bitter young man cried out, and a brownrider glanced at him with poorly-concealed contempt. �Wenaveth is proddy and flying. It�s purely natural,� the man said clearly, then muttered into his beard, �Honestly! Pure-as-rain /weyrlings/. He�s old enough to know better.� He�d have tried to introduce himself to the obvious lifemate of the glowing green, but a surge of heated thought came to carry him away�up with Jyvadoth. The blue�s straight, driving style and his expert use of the unfamiliar air currents enabled him to catch up to the main body of chasers. His baritone klaxon warns off a smaller blue who came close to fouling his wingtips. <<Give me room�Let me through!>> <<I can fly as fast as any of you, I can fly her if I wish!>> <<I am young, but also strong, and she is blinding you all with her wake!>> <<G�yr, she�s so small. It�s like trying to brush a vtol!>> <<Wenaveth�I almost had her, I almost had her!>> The same brownrider elbowed G�yr in the ribs. �Make your wretched blue stop that. What is he doing, playing tag?� Indeed, Jyvadoth�s alarming speed was continuously being foiled by a wingtip-turn by Wenaveth, who gleamed against the sky like a quasar gone haywire. In his efforts to turn, the large, broadwinged blue had cut off more than one chaser. The thin, ascetic G�yr paled. �I can�t help it,� he whispered, and was dizzied as his blue began a steep dive, and /there/�. Pendactyl claws closed with the gentlest of motions around Wenaveth�s muscular shoulders, and she shrieked in rage, and then called an ecstatic note as she and Jyvadoth twined and fell, a meteor of azure and viridescence. �I�m sorry,� he gasped as the delicate blonde fell into his arms, and dark and light heads met for a dizzying kiss� |