Run for Your Life

Writers: Iluva, Steel
Date Posted: 26th July 2026

Characters: R'kiva, R'zen, Ralakor
Description: Wanna go for a walk??
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 5, day 1 of Turn 13

Since the move to Dragonsfall last Turn, Ralakor had been quietly optimistic about his chances. But not one dragon had looked at him at the Hatching. Out of the thirty-eight eggs on the Sands, not one. The only way it could have been worse was if his sister, Saphiva, had Impressed and left him behind. She was barely old enough to Stand. That would been the _worst_, an unbelievably bitter pill to swallow on top of the rejection.

Now, with half-hearted thanks, there was only the disappointment to contend with. That afternoon a few lazy clouds had strayed across the Weyrbowl, and in their shadow he trailed after his father with the same furrowed brow he’d worn off and on the past few sevendays.

It was a lovely day, and ahead of Threadfall there was plenty of activity in the ‘bowl, groups chatting in the shade or taking lunches down by the river, while a good number of people orbited the training yard. Most were riders, young and old, striking boards, running laps, drawing sweat in a way that only happened this time of the season. A few sparred in pairs, brief clashes of contact echoing dully across the ground.

They stood to one side and took a few minutes to warm up, arms first, then legs. R’kiva was still mildly surprised that Ralakor had come to the yard with him of all places. He didn’t seem eager to be seen in the company of a Weyrlingmaster most days, even at meal times. R’kiva just couldn’t imagine why, nor could he really blame him.

Bending a leg and reaching back to hold his foot, letting thigh muscles awaken, R’kiva felt the past few days of office work catching up to him. His back was slightly sore from sitting at his desk, and scar tissue tugged with fresh offence at what he was trying to do.

Midstretch, Ralakor paused. His gaze fixed across the ‘bowl on someone leaving the weyrling barracks, eyes rolling as he slowly, almost reluctantly, released his own foot.

R’kiva didn’t look over until, in the silence, it was clear something had transfixed his son. He recognized that blond head even from this distance. “He’s about your age.”

“I know.” Oh, Ralakor recognized him, alright. From the brief period they had shared in the barracks, too, before the Hatching. They were almost the same age, same height, only _that guy_ had Impressed. A blue, just like Dalonth. After the disappointment of that day and the reputation building around the blue weyrling, not much of it charitable, Ralakor's judgment was already crystallizing into a frown. He caught his father’s eye, like he suddenly and belatedly caught his meaning, and shook his head. “Oh, no way. That guy’s nuts.” His blue eyes squinted again, studying the figure through his lashes. “Ugh, _no_, he's coming this way.”

A combination of humor, age, and familiarity with the weyrling left R’kiva unconcerned. “Where else would he train?” he smiled slightly, moving back to stretching his shoulders. “Don't talk to him if you don't want to.”

“Somewhere that isn’t near me.” Ralakor said apprehensively to the first part. He was fast. He could still get away. Still frowning, he appeared to debate something, then kicked annoyance into the dirt. “I’ll, uh. I'll see you later, Dad. Maybe we can train another time.”

R’kiva opened his mouth to say a name and thought better of it. Ralakor was gone, and the blond-haired weyrling was almost within earshot.

“... Sir.” R'zen greeted, as he ambled over. His head turned, briefly, to watch the kid leave. **What was _his_ problem?**, he thought, then dismissed it. No matter. R'zen had _training_ to do, and he wouldn't get sidetracked.

He eyed R’kiva for a moment longer, then came to some decision. “... I’m training here.” It wasn’t a demand for the other to move on, he’d never be _that_ foolish, But it was a declaration of sorts. More or less.

R’zen paused, then added more slowly, “... What’re you starting with?”

“Hello, R'zen. It's good to see you here,” R'kiva greeted without missing a beat. His manner was the same regardless of which youth stood beside him, although given this particular weyrling's moxie, the possibility of overtraining was not a small one.

“I usually do some strength training and cardio when I can get here… Been at my desk a lot lately,” he added matter-of-factly. “Although I'll probably start with a run.” He considered him for a moment, tone and regard neutral. “Feel free to join, if you like.”

R’zen made a face. “Stuff you have to do at a desk is _boring_. Even if it’s important stuff too.” he said with some definite Feeling, and started to stretch. “Sure. Riders gotta stay fit.”

He’d enjoy testing out how fast he was against a Weyrlingmaster.

“Desk work can get a little tedious," R'kiva agreed. “But you do a lot of it as a Wingthird, too, and that's one of the few things that a bluerider can do outside of Search.” It was not a complaint exactly, but a good many blueriders who had dreamt of leadership, of making their way up the weyr ladder, still chafed under that reality. For others, the ones who didn't dream of it to begin with, a dragon at all was enough. R’kiva’s glance cut across the training yard as R’zen started to warm up, planning the route around some of the others still training. He gave the younger man a sidelong smile and prepared to set out. “Can't let the bronzes have everything.”

“I’m _going_ to make Wingthird someday.” R’zen said, instantly, stubborn. “You’ll see, I’ll be the _best_ pick.” His eyes flashed, and his shoulders set, stretching only once more before they set out. “Ibranth’s _already_ the biggest blue in our class, and he’ll have the power to match, when we’re ready to join the Wings. Desk stuff might be boring, but if that’s the job I’ll do it.”

Somehow none of this came to R'kiva as a surprise.

“There’s more to it than a desk,” he told R'zen, stride lengthening just a little more. “If the ‘second needs to step into the Wingleader’s position for whatever reason, _you’re_ the ‘second til things get sorted again. Depending on the circumstances, you could even lead half a ‘fall, too. You're one of the most versatile riders in that regard. Supporting the whole Wing, holding things together.”

R’zen’s eyes lit at the idea, and if he had to jog a little to keep and press the pace, so be it. “I can do it.” He said, with utter certainty. “You’ll see. Everyone will.”

}:Indeed.:{ Ibranth rumbled agreement.

R’kiva grinned and said nothing else. As the intensity picked up, he and the weyrling fell into a sort of rhythm, circling the riders locked in an intense sparring match, the heavy thud of a well-timed blow, and watching as one laughed and loudly claimed victory for anyone within earshot. The yard was packed today. Everywhere, people. They made a long, winding loop around and then a second, a column of sun chasing their backs. R’kiva lifted his dark hair away from his forehead as he slowed, then eventually stopped.

R’zen grinned at him, brief and fierce as ever. “Not bad.” he told the Weyrlingmaster, pleased. “Alright. I’m gonna go punch that guy.” He added, and headed toward where some others were sparring.

R’kiva had barely caught his breath before Dalonth observed pleasantly, }:That one is on a fast track to getting knocked out.:{

Last updated on the August 7th 2026

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Run for Your Life