[Vignette] An almost-escape
Straps strapped on at last? Lujayn unwittingly places herself at Rielsath's mercy during their first manned flight.
Rielsath had spent every spare moment complaining about the straps, or at least the times when she remembered they were there.
<< They fit funny. They're rough. And they're still stupid. Hello? D'you hear me? They get in my way! >>
Lujayn just counted herself fortunate that she had been able to coax the gold into them in the first place. Complaints were a small price to pay for the hard-earned victory.
"Another adjustment, then. Let's get more padding around your chest. Stupid or not, we'll use 'em." And so it went, give and take. Fighting the good fight.
Rielsath seemed to forget all of these grievances when the moment finally came. Fidgeting in the bowl, tail lashing excitedly at a too-close Kellnith, she hardly sat still enough for Lujayn to find a comfortable place to sit. Crouched low and still finding ways to remain constantly moving as Lu tried to fasten the straps - wings flicking, paws shuffling from side to side, making little starts forward - she turned so sharply that the tall girl found herself unseated, tumbling the few feet back to the snow-covered ground. Peering curiously down at her lifemate, nearly dancing in place, the innocent gold tilted her head. What's this, the mighty strap-defender down on her luck?
<< Told you they were stupid. >>
"Get back down here." Lujayn hauled herself up into place for what felt like the hundredth time, one hand now firmly holding to the strap before her as she buckled herself into place. It was rather like riding a skittish runnerbeast, and they weren't even in the air yet. "Sit still!"
Distracted as Rielsath was, she was still paying attention. As soon as that last strap was secured, she knew. And there was no need to sit still. Lean limbs coiling, wings snapping open as they were meant to do, a rush of wind. That warm darkness yet again, though the winds were freezing...
<< Open your eyes, you're going to miss it all! >>
Sky above the Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#848RIJaes)
You fly just a few dragonlengths above the bowl floor. The morning rays of Rukbat peek over the eastern edge of the bowl, lighting the westernmost of the Seven Spindles with a harsh light: they seem even more jagged than usual. Far to the north, you can barely see the white-capped peaks of the Northern Barrier Range as the sunlight begins its futile effort to melt the ever present snow.
A slight wind from the southwest almost seems to carry with it the scent of the apple orchards from Nabol, though perhaps it's just your imagination. Far below you, however, you can see rush about the weyr: people, looking more like trundlebugs from this height, scurry to and fro with their chores.
On the eastern lip of the bowl, the Star Stones begin the day as they always have: standing a silent vigil over the Weyr.
<< Come on, come on, I want to show you something! >> Open.
It was much smaller than she remembered. Lujayn's mouth opened in an exclamation that never came. Stolen by the cold winds whipping past, or by her lifemate's exultant mind. She was relieved to feel the straps holding her in place as Rielsath took a steep turn, diving down only to rise on a gust of cold air, wheeling dizzyingly upwards. Again she tried to work her mouth, but the words were ripped away as easily as before. And still Rielsath was rising.
Sky High in the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#844RIJaes)
As you soar high above the bowl, you find yourself at a most unique point in the sky; here, near the lip of the bowl, the southeast is fully visible - the open sky stretches to the Western Mountain Range. Behind you, though, to the northwest, you can catch only occasional glimpses of the landscape through the spaces between the Seven Spindles.
Through the first and second spires, you can see out to the mountains surrounding the weyr. If you know just where to look, you can also glimpse part of the winding road leading to the Weyr. Ledges are hewn into the rock face in all directions, each with a dragon's weyr behind it.
The winds here are usually calm, with the protection of the Weyr's walls to keep the worst gusts at bay. Still, flying can be a little difficult as an errant thermal sometimes crosses the bowl.
We shouldn't go much higher, they want us to come back down- Gathering enough wits about her to resume the tried and true mental conversation of dragonriders, Lujayn realized she hadn't said a single thing to initiate this. Hadn't told her dragon to take off, to turn or dive, to go higher so the group of weyrling dragons below were just colored flecks in the snow.
Interrupted. << It doesn't matter what they want, isn't this what you want? >> Less acrobatics, fewer harsh winds. Nearly a standstill, floating upwards. A rare peace, away from everything and everyone. Even Rielsath felt distant, but Lujayn knew her dragon was so close there was no telling their minds apart. Now she fell into place, urged her on.
Higher.
Sky Far above the High Reaches Mountains
Even as the winds play about, you cannot help but notice the landscape around you. Below, High Reaches Weyr is only recognizable by the Seven Spindles; any other details are lost from this altitude. The snow-capped peaks of the north and east form a barrier across the land, blocking the view of Crom and Nabol Holds. Looking southeast, the Western Mountain Range looks almost tame and easy enough to simply walk over, while directly south you can make out one of the river spurs. To the northwest, your eyes can just barely discern High Reaches Hold, noticeable only due to the slight wisps of smoke coming from it. And as you look southeastwards, the great Western Sea stretches to infinity, as the Tillek Peninsula juts into it.
There are words without letters to them, feelings that shouldn't be able to exist. Lu's light-headed wonder betrays her into a stupor, Rielsath twisting gracefully through the air, beyond responding to anything her rider might say.
The scalding command from Zunaeth is hot enough to startle them both, burning up stunned silence into action, so that the gold's dive is immediate and Lujayn's wonder-loosened grip flies free. Her stomach rises with the seat of her pants, but steadfast buckles keep the weyrling in place. Down, down, down, a missile from the sun itself. Past the spires, into the bowl. Her body tugs up against Rielsath's building momentum. The straps hold.
The landing is rough and sudden, Rielsath's signature sliding halt sending up snow and dirt in great waves to either side. Others mutter, I'daur looms, but Lujayn can only smile giddily as her dragon dares anyone to scold. There are a dozen things one could say to the other, but somehow it's Lujayn that gets the last word, tugging heartily on the handle-strap for emphasis.
I told you so.
Rielsath had spent every spare moment complaining about the straps, or at least the times when she remembered they were there.
<< They fit funny. They're rough. And they're still stupid. Hello? D'you hear me? They get in my way! >>
Lujayn just counted herself fortunate that she had been able to coax the gold into them in the first place. Complaints were a small price to pay for the hard-earned victory.
"Another adjustment, then. Let's get more padding around your chest. Stupid or not, we'll use 'em." And so it went, give and take. Fighting the good fight.
Rielsath seemed to forget all of these grievances when the moment finally came. Fidgeting in the bowl, tail lashing excitedly at a too-close Kellnith, she hardly sat still enough for Lujayn to find a comfortable place to sit. Crouched low and still finding ways to remain constantly moving as Lu tried to fasten the straps - wings flicking, paws shuffling from side to side, making little starts forward - she turned so sharply that the tall girl found herself unseated, tumbling the few feet back to the snow-covered ground. Peering curiously down at her lifemate, nearly dancing in place, the innocent gold tilted her head. What's this, the mighty strap-defender down on her luck?
<< Told you they were stupid. >>
"Get back down here." Lujayn hauled herself up into place for what felt like the hundredth time, one hand now firmly holding to the strap before her as she buckled herself into place. It was rather like riding a skittish runnerbeast, and they weren't even in the air yet. "Sit still!"
Distracted as Rielsath was, she was still paying attention. As soon as that last strap was secured, she knew. And there was no need to sit still. Lean limbs coiling, wings snapping open as they were meant to do, a rush of wind. That warm darkness yet again, though the winds were freezing...
<< Open your eyes, you're going to miss it all! >>
Sky above the Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#848RIJaes)
You fly just a few dragonlengths above the bowl floor. The morning rays of Rukbat peek over the eastern edge of the bowl, lighting the westernmost of the Seven Spindles with a harsh light: they seem even more jagged than usual. Far to the north, you can barely see the white-capped peaks of the Northern Barrier Range as the sunlight begins its futile effort to melt the ever present snow.
A slight wind from the southwest almost seems to carry with it the scent of the apple orchards from Nabol, though perhaps it's just your imagination. Far below you, however, you can see rush about the weyr: people, looking more like trundlebugs from this height, scurry to and fro with their chores.
On the eastern lip of the bowl, the Star Stones begin the day as they always have: standing a silent vigil over the Weyr.
<< Come on, come on, I want to show you something! >> Open.
It was much smaller than she remembered. Lujayn's mouth opened in an exclamation that never came. Stolen by the cold winds whipping past, or by her lifemate's exultant mind. She was relieved to feel the straps holding her in place as Rielsath took a steep turn, diving down only to rise on a gust of cold air, wheeling dizzyingly upwards. Again she tried to work her mouth, but the words were ripped away as easily as before. And still Rielsath was rising.
Sky High in the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#844RIJaes)
As you soar high above the bowl, you find yourself at a most unique point in the sky; here, near the lip of the bowl, the southeast is fully visible - the open sky stretches to the Western Mountain Range. Behind you, though, to the northwest, you can catch only occasional glimpses of the landscape through the spaces between the Seven Spindles.
Through the first and second spires, you can see out to the mountains surrounding the weyr. If you know just where to look, you can also glimpse part of the winding road leading to the Weyr. Ledges are hewn into the rock face in all directions, each with a dragon's weyr behind it.
The winds here are usually calm, with the protection of the Weyr's walls to keep the worst gusts at bay. Still, flying can be a little difficult as an errant thermal sometimes crosses the bowl.
We shouldn't go much higher, they want us to come back down- Gathering enough wits about her to resume the tried and true mental conversation of dragonriders, Lujayn realized she hadn't said a single thing to initiate this. Hadn't told her dragon to take off, to turn or dive, to go higher so the group of weyrling dragons below were just colored flecks in the snow.
Interrupted. << It doesn't matter what they want, isn't this what you want? >> Less acrobatics, fewer harsh winds. Nearly a standstill, floating upwards. A rare peace, away from everything and everyone. Even Rielsath felt distant, but Lujayn knew her dragon was so close there was no telling their minds apart. Now she fell into place, urged her on.
Higher.
Sky Far above the High Reaches Mountains
Even as the winds play about, you cannot help but notice the landscape around you. Below, High Reaches Weyr is only recognizable by the Seven Spindles; any other details are lost from this altitude. The snow-capped peaks of the north and east form a barrier across the land, blocking the view of Crom and Nabol Holds. Looking southeast, the Western Mountain Range looks almost tame and easy enough to simply walk over, while directly south you can make out one of the river spurs. To the northwest, your eyes can just barely discern High Reaches Hold, noticeable only due to the slight wisps of smoke coming from it. And as you look southeastwards, the great Western Sea stretches to infinity, as the Tillek Peninsula juts into it.
There are words without letters to them, feelings that shouldn't be able to exist. Lu's light-headed wonder betrays her into a stupor, Rielsath twisting gracefully through the air, beyond responding to anything her rider might say.
The scalding command from Zunaeth is hot enough to startle them both, burning up stunned silence into action, so that the gold's dive is immediate and Lujayn's wonder-loosened grip flies free. Her stomach rises with the seat of her pants, but steadfast buckles keep the weyrling in place. Down, down, down, a missile from the sun itself. Past the spires, into the bowl. Her body tugs up against Rielsath's building momentum. The straps hold.
The landing is rough and sudden, Rielsath's signature sliding halt sending up snow and dirt in great waves to either side. Others mutter, I'daur looms, but Lujayn can only smile giddily as her dragon dares anyone to scold. There are a dozen things one could say to the other, but somehow it's Lujayn that gets the last word, tugging heartily on the handle-strap for emphasis.
I told you so.