Quirala

Artaq Weyr
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Quirala, sitting a few tables away, heard the Weyrwoman's gasp, just as a deep thrumming began vibrating through the Weyr. The Hatching was starting!

Quirala wolfed down the remains of her breakfast before tearing out to her weyr, throwing on her white robe, and hurtling back out to the Hatching Grounds. Once there, she took a deep breath and stepped resolutely onto the hot sand with the other Candidates.

Several Impressions were quickly made, and Quirala caught her breath as Kiyatril Impressed a regal-looking chestnut brown dragon. She had been right, then.

Quirala looked away quickly as the young queen made awkward progress right past her to another Candidate. She knew she would never have Impressed a gold. Oh well. If she didn't Impress, then that was that.

Four more eggs, four more Candidates. A delicately lovely little green hatched first, scrambling to her feet. Quirala couldn't believe her eyes as the little hatchling made a beeline for her, stopping at the harper's feet with a sweet, pure trill. My name is Malatith. Do you like my voice? spoke up a slightly worried voice in the girl's head. Quirala wiped her tears away impatiently and smiled down at her dragon. "You have a beautiful voice, Malatith!" she told her new lifemate.

Quirala slowly fed Malatith a largish chunk of firestone, eyeing her dragon anxiously as the young green masticated the lump. "Should you be that loud?" the rider asked over the combined cacophony of dragons chewing firestone and snorting. Malatith blinked reproachfully at her Impressor. It is rock, you know. the weyrling told her indignantly. Quirala chuckled and jumped back as Malatith suppressed a tiny belch, looking as chagrined as a dragon can be.

Just then the Weyrlingmaster signaled the riders to stop feeding their dragons firestone. "Everyone done? Good! Now, you have to wait a little for the flame to come..." the older man might have said more, but Quirala's hearing was dominated by the sound of Malatith flaming. Malatith! she exclaimed in consternation as the other weyrling riders looked at them curiously. But my throat was burning! the green protested, a small trickle of fire escaping her.

Quirala rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Well, you've got a lovely flame, my dear. Although that smell isn't exactly appetizing..." she reassured her dragon, wrinkling her nose at the sulfurous fumes. Malatith fanned her wings helpfully, though the wind from her pinions almost caused some nearby dragons to singe themselves.

"You know, it might just be me, but isn't Malatith's hide brighter than usual?" one of the other green weyrling riders asked curiously while their dragons were sleeping. Quirala followed her gaze and peered closely at her dragon. "Hey, I think you're right. She does look quite brilliant. Well, we did just oil them." she responded after a moment.

"Yeah, but my green doesn't look nearly as shiny." the other girl persisted anxiously. "Didn't the Weyrlingmaster say that some of the greens will start rising after their first Turn? It's been more than a Turn since the Hatching..." she trailed off.

Quirala blinked and shook her head. "He did. But Malatith isn't even full-grown. How can she rise?" she said, trying to reassure herself. Malatith was too young to fly, wasn't she? Just because some of the weyrling males had begun participating in flights, didn't mean any of the greens would fly, right?

"Well, I don't know. But I think you'd better keep a tab on her." her fellow weyrling cautioned before getting up and walking off on some unknown errand. Quirala remained sitting in front of Malatith for a while longer, tracing patterns in the sand with one finger and contemplating her dragon. The rider didn't think she was quite ready for a flight yet. She was only seventeen Turns--suppose one of the older dragons won her green's flight...Quirala stopped that line of thought firmly. She decided to head over to the kitchens for a cup of klah.

None of you can outfly me! I shall beat you all! Malatith's fierce mental cry roused her rider from sleep. Quirala groggily rubbed her eyes and climbed out of bed. "Mala? What is it?" she asked her dragon apprehensively. The young green was perched on her hind legs outside the Weyrling Barracks, wings outspread as she bugled challengingly.

Quirala gulped as her dragon took a flying jump into the feeding pens, swiping at a big wherry. Malatith bent her head down to eat the flesh. No, Malatith! You mustn't! You can't eat it! Don't do this to me, Malatith! Quirala shrieked mentally, running out of the building. A mental battle ensued then, the likes of which the young woman had never fought, but she won. Malatith hissed once more and blooded the carcass, sucking greedily and then leaping for another. She was less resistant this time, draining her kill and raising her blood-stained head to survey the waiting males. The green snorted derisively and launched quickly into the air.

Quirala realized Malatith wouldn't last long in flight against the mostly adult chasers. The weyrling green was too small, her wings too weak, and had only blooded two. She would be caught soon, and the pursuing males knew it. Quirala looked around at the riders surrounding her, seeing K'tril with a small surge of hope and relief.

Malatith wheeled about in the air with agile grace, twisting and diving randomly. She succeeded in shaking off a few of the browns and blues with her maneuvers, taunting them shrilly. Quirala laughed triumphantly as several men left the weyr (though she had no idea how she'd gotten there) in defeat. "You'll never catch us!" she hissed, weaving around the remaining riders in an intricate dance.

In the air, Malatith was tiring swiftly. Her young wings were slowing, muscles screaming protest at such overuse. She let herself shoot upwards one final time and then ceased moving her wings, plunging down in free fall. The weyrling green knew perfectly well the male who caught her would have to be very fast to be able to catch up.

A shadow descended over Malatith, just as a strong, klah-colored neck and tail twined with her own. She made a token resistance, then abandoned herself to the brown.

Quirala drifted about the weyr, slower and slower. Suddenly she was pulled into the brownrider's embrace, and nestled herself against him contentedly, recognizing the young man as K'tril.

Bank up. Sharp right. Flame. Dive back into formation. More flame. Twist left. More firestone for Malatith. Shout to the adjacent wingrider. Drop. Flame. Return to position. Flame again.

Quirala wiped the nervous perspiration from her forehead with one gloved hand and rubbed Malatith's neckridge. Still okay, love? the rider asked her dragon. The green did not reply, instead opening her great jaws and spewing forth another tongue of bright fire. I am hardly tired! Malatith responded a moment later. Quirala chuckled mentally and thought back You are so! I can feel it.

Malatith rumbled assent grudgingly. Her rider noted the slowing wings and sweat-dampened neck, then signaled the wingleader of their retreat. She gave the mental coordinates and the green flashed into between. "You should know not to overwork yourself, Mal." Quirala admonished once they were back at the Weyr. Malatith craned her neck back to regard her rider with whirling eyes.But I must flame the Thread! she retorted. Quirala smiled and gave the green eyeridges a fond scratching. "You can't flame Thread when you're too tired, dearest. Come on. I'll give you a good washing." she promised, wrinkling her nose at the firestone stench emanating from the dragon.

Malatith glided to the weyrlake eagerly enough, submerging herself halfway and waiting patiently for her rider. Quirala grabbed a scrubbing brush and set to work diligently, rubbing at every handspan of her dragon's smooth hide. Malatith relaxed under her rider's hands, two of her inner eyelids drooping shut without masking the brilliance of her faceted eyes.

Suddenly the green surged out of the water, her clear-noted bugle piercing the air. Seth returns with the others! she announced brightly.

Quirala surfaced, sputtering as she climbed out of the water. "You really have got to stop dunking me like that." the rider chided teasingly, wringing out her short hair. "Are they alright?" she inquired, referring to her weyrmate and his dragon. Yes. Malatith replied quickly, pausing to let the young woman mount before springing back up to their weyr where Seth had just landed. Once there, the green curled up happily with her brown mate and promptly falling asleep.