A Prize to Catch

Writers: Avery, Corrin, Duskdog, Estelle, Halyonix, Iluva, Sia, Steel
Date Posted: 20th October 2026

Characters: N'kyri, Sybana, T'mhas, Th'reyos, R'kesha, T'lonas, M'kayre, H'kami, Rh'din, L'val, S'lahr
Description: Galgaith rises for the second time.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 2, day 28 of Turn 13

N'kyri

Note (Do not archive): Late/Delayed for irl reasons.

The great hall was alive with noise. It was the first dinner service and the tables were packed, the air full of chatter and the clatter of cutlery. Bluerider N’kyri was settling down to a well deserved meal after a long day of drills, elbow to elbow with some of his Alpine wingmates at their usual table. He was just about to dig in when--

A thunderous roar rocked Dragonsfall.

He felt it as much as he heard it, it reverberated through the stone, through the table, through his bones. For a moment there was silence and then-- answering roars erupted from every corner of the weyr as confusion gripped the hall.

}: Galgaith rises! :{ Oriath supplied in answer to N'kyri's wordless inquiry.

“What?” It came out half a laugh, disbelieving, rough with surprise. Her first clutch were still weyrlings! “She can't. Shells, didn't she just--”

But even as he said it, he knew.

There was no mistaking that kind of challenge, no mistaking the shift in the air-- the way something low and instinctive stirred awake in his gut, coiling tight and hot as the convivial warmth of dinner twisted into something sharper--charged--like the crackle of a storm about to break. And if there was any lingering doubt--

He found the gold's rider with little effort.

A few tables away, Sybana was on her feet, chair askew, hands braced against the table as though the world had just shifted abruptly beneath her. Her expression was one of shock, eyes wide, lips parted-- but as he watched she seemed to gather herself, wrestling something invisible into submission and straightening with a shaky breath.

“Well, I'll be a wherry’s uncle. She _is_ rising,” N'kyri breathed.

And then Sybana was moving, hurrying between the tables, racing for the doors.

Behind her, chairs scraped as all around the hall riders rose to follow.

N'kyri kicked brownrider Th’reyos under the table and nudged L'keri hard with his shoulder. “That’s your cue! Go, go!”

Not waiting for a reply he stomped his boots and launched into the now notorious refrain: “Ooooh, we're Alpine Wing! You've heard our song!”

B’rilivar, three seats away, picked up the next line: “Our browns fly fast, and far, and looong!”

And then half the wing was singing, full voiced: “Though bronze may chase, we bring the luck, when you reach our heights, it's time to--”

---

It _couldn’t_ be that time again!

Sybana fled the dining hall. It was too soon. Too soon! Had Panitath’s mating flight triggered something? In the days since that cursed excursion, Sybana had been plagued by the memory of heat and hands and the humiliating helplessness of wanting. She’d put it down to weakness and guilt, but had those thoughts pushed Galgi to rise? Or were they merely signs her rising was imminent. Had she been… proddy?

There was no time to wonder now. The thoughts flared sharp and fleeting, gone almost as they formed, drowned out by something far more immediate.

Hunger.

}:--omsumeEatBloodFleshMineWant--:{

It was less words than it was an onslaught of sensation from Galgaith. She was, as she had been the first time, starving and furious. Sybana felt her take wing, felt the sunset on her hide, felt her disdain for the world-- and Sybana ran.

}: Galgaith rises, :{ Isaoth purred with a lust that was not just sexual. Deprived of Wingleader rank, forced to watch another bronze lead the Weyr, Isaoth was hungry in more than one way. He wanted a win. Siring a clutch would provide that.

Oh. That was _interesting_, Teyrabth decided, and was off in the next moment. }:Galgaith rises, Mine. Get there.:{

H'kami downed the last of his drink, winked at his tablemates, and headed out briskly.

Haurganth hadn’t chased Chioneth, but any doubt that R’kesha had in his mind about Haurganth trying his luck with Galgaith was dispelled almost immediately.

}:MINE,:{ the brown growled, winging down towards the pens, and R’kesha felt that old familiar surge of lust and determination. It was easy to feel confident riding that high -- his dragon absolutely convinced of his superiority in this moment -- and he welcomed the feeling, grinning to himself all the way to the flightrooms.

Domorth didn’t chase often. T’lonas could never quite be sure if this was the bronze’s own nature, or his own bleeding into his dragon. There was a lot tangled up in that -- T’lonas was honest with himself, though he never felt the need to examine it too closely, as he and his dragon were both perfectly happy exactly as they were. Atop that, his policy was generally not to chase the dragons of those he’d taught -- especially recently. All other concerns aside, it was terribly awkward for the former student, and the last thing he wanted was one of their early experiences to be tainted by feelings like that.

But, well, bronzes would be bronzes, and the siren call of a queen was difficult to ignore.

Domorth did not apologize as his interest made itself known, and he clearly did not require permission, but T’lonas gave it anyway, as affirmation of their bond. **Go ahead, my dear. It’s good to stretch our wings occasionally!**

}:Galgaith!:{ Rhalith endowed that one word with all the adoration and desire a brown dragon could offer to his beloved mate. Since their clutch had hatched, he'd not been following her with quite the air of lovesick devotion that he once had, but he seemed perfectly ready to do so again. L'keri could almost see the stars and flowers in his mind’s eye as he headed out after the others, with his wingmates' song ringing in his ears. Could it happen again?

Obrianth was _ready_. Despite working a little more now that K'leriac was testing new riding straps, his leg wasn't strong enough for long flights yet, and he was crawling out of his hide with pent-up energy. A long goldflight was everything he missed while his rider was still grounded, and he wasn't about to turn it down.

E'kavas knew Roquath's roar was among the echoing dragons just as his newly ten-turn old daughter shot him a smug, knowing grin and his thirteen-turn old rolled his eyes.

"You are both way too comfortable with this." He admonished them. "I should have fostered you with your grandmother." His tone was teasing but his expression was serious enough that both kids made similar, irritated noises.

"Like we wouldn't know." Jevikas said, pointing at his candidate knots and tilting his head towards the Alpine Wing ruckus.

"If I'm not back, get Zariah to take you home." E'kavas said.

Kevia wrinkled her nose. "Please don't come back. _Gross_."

L’val was in his office, preparing to take a working dinner, when a thunderous bellow from a golden queen echoed around the Weyr outside, then the answering roars of bronzes and browns came in a rapid-fire following chorus. L’val heard them with his physical ears, and heard it in his head. The double feeling of a wall of sound felt like he’d been struck in the helmet with a firestone sack, and instinctively he pressed a hand to his ear as though it could stop the sounds.

He knew it wasn’t Chioneth, her clutch had barely hatched, and there was always that extra level to a Senior Queen going up, the way the whole Weyr seemed to ride on dragonwings with the queen and her loyal courting. And Tabanirth couldn’t rise. But it was awfully soon for Galgaith. Yvase was still in training! Usually golds didn’t rise that closely to herself - unless there was a crisis of too few weyrlings, or too few golds and they desired to over produce to make up for it - but Galgaith was young, her cycle not fully established yet. Could have taken longer to rise again, sometimes the juniors were sluggish…

And he was thinking, intellectualizing, as a shield to protect himself from the sheer _noise_ of the dragons, keeping himself as L’val separate from all the dragons’ thoughts. He would lose himself into his bronze soon, when they were in the air and in pursuit, but he still had to get himself out of his office and to the flight cot first.

Sybana made it into a flightroom and out onto the ledge in time to see the gold slam into the heart of the main pen like a falling star. She felt the impact as if it were her own body striking flesh-- felt the jolt up her spine and the violent, crunching give beneath her talons. A herdbeast screamed. The sound rent the air, high and raw.

Galgaith tore the beast in two with savage ease, throwing back her head to gobble down the--

**DROP IT. Drop it, now!**

The gold squawked in surprise, the gory hindquarters slapping into the dirt with a wet, meaty thud. Spitting with fury, she coiled to spring back into the sky.

Sybana was prepared for that. She bore down on the bond with a singular intention. **STAY.** There was nothing subtle about the demand, nothing coaxing or gentle, just the desperate force of her will crashing into the churning affront and alarm and rage of Galgaith. **We’re doing it _right_ this time. Stay. _Blood_.**

Galgaith shuddered, a tectonic tremor of thwarted instinct and desire. Wings flexing, talons gouging furrows in the earth, she fought the pressure-- fought the bond. Then, with a guttural roar, she lunged-- sinking her teeth into the fallen herdbeast half and Sybana felt blood, hot and metallic, thick on her tongue. It tasted like a small victory.

Ghraisath's head snapped in the direction of the feeding pens so fast that T'mhas swore-- the jolt of his hunger and interest eroding any question, or doubt, or protest before it could find form. With a growl that was as much Tam as it was Ghraisath, they were off.

T'mhas’ long, almost punishing stride brought the sky over him in what felt like no time. He watched the violent glitter of Ghraisath descend into the pens, snarling at a brown with feral ferocity.

Zarkarth bellowed back, the two of them hissing lust-fuelled hatred at each other, at everything, as they tore into frantically screaming beasts. }:Don’t flatter yourself. I catch queens.:{ He laughed, his tone oozing with smug challenge, }:You catch greens.:{

Ghraisath, practically inhaling the blood of his kill, hurled the carcass so hard it hit another dragon. }:You talk big. But she is too much queen for you.:{

Teyrabth landed next, snatching up his own herdbeast and killing it with one vicious shake, eyes whirling as he blooded it. He ignored the other dragons, eyes instead locked on Galgaith's glowing hide.

At least, until Ghraisath's thrown herdbeast smacked into his side, and he hissed. }:Neither of you squabblers are worthy of her monumental greatness!:{ he bellowed.

H'kami arrived at a near run.

Paskith alighted next, though he stayed to the very edges of the gathering, and quietly took a smaller herdbeast for himself, dodging an irate bronze.

**Faranth, _why_, Paskith?** Rh’din thought at his blue. **There are literally greens everywhere.** Still… maybe he'd get lucky again and Paskith would drop out early.

He entered, though he stayed back-- at the edges, like his dragon.

Bhelth, blooding his own larger beast nearby, took note of the blue’s presence, then thought no more of it. The browns and bronzes among the pack were no match for him, so why take offense at the presence of a nothing like this blue?

M’kayre, however, _did_ have more thoughts about it. Many, many more thoughts. He was only vaguely familiar with the face of the blue’s rider -- and only from his previous attempts at this travesty -- so it took him a moment to pick him out of the crowd gathering in the flightroom. At the fringes, where he would belong -- _if_ he had belonged here at all.

“_Boy,_” he hissed, advancing. “Does your audacity know no bounds? Do you not know your place? Or are you simply unable to control your dragon?”

“Are any of us, when a queen rises?” T’lonas mused evenly. He loosened the collar of his shirt -- it would be uncomfortably warm in here soon enough. “Good evening, everyone. Best of luck to you!” he greeted, the politeness a familiar fallback, a simple way of keeping touch of who he truly was for a bit longer. As often as he advised his weyrlings not to fight their dragon’s feelings in this moment, to let it be a part of them, he sometimes found it difficult to take his own advice. The person he became in the midst of dragonlust wasn’t someone he disliked -- nothing so harsh as that -- he was just… _off_. Like an ill-fitting suit that he was nonetheless obligated to wear for this very special event.

M’kayre ignored him entirely. He had his own thoughts about the Weyrlingmaster, but they were thoughts for another day. Right now, his eyes were squarely on Rh’din. “Speak up, boy!”

Haurganth landed on a herdbeast like a hurled boulder, talons digging in and weight crushing all at once. }:Pathetic, all of you,:{ he declared, though he could have been referring to the herdbeasts. Maybe. Perhaps. Probably not. }:I know what I want, and I take what I want!:{

}: You will not, :{ Isaoth snarled at Haurganth but his eyes were on Galgaith.

}:None of you are worthy. :{ Teyrabth said, simply, finished blooding his kill and went for another.

Rh’din faltered, torn between Paskith's singular intention and the advancing older rider. “I…” he started. Stopped again. “Paskith isn't hurting anyone.”

H'kami laughed. “C'mon, bronzerider.” He remarked slyly. “Are you really so worked up over a _blue_? Afraid he'll outmatch your bronze?”

"Hey." K'leriac said with a scowl and smacked H'kami sharply in the leg with his cane. "Mind your manners here, boy."

“Fine, fine… Guess Teyrabth and I'll just have to prove out against you lot in the sky.” H'kami huffed.

“Good luck,” S’lahr growled ominously. His eyes had already started to take on that faraway glazed look of a rider deep in connection with their dragon.

Th’reyos generally tuned out the bronzeriders and their posturing-- he’d had turns of practice doing just that, and once Zarkarth was in the air, everything but _winning_ ceased to matter. But that was harder to do when emotions were running this high already. Their dragons hadn’t even left the pens yet. H’kami’s goading wouldn’t help with that. Nor did it help that the bluerider’s answer was that bold. Actually he might’ve been impressed at the boy’s gall, snorting a laugh.

Just behind M'kayre, T'mhas’ flat look was too exaggerated by Ghraisath’s challenge to resemble anything other than blazing scorn. This boy and his blue had been at Chioneth’s flight, too, he suddenly recalled. Neither of them had learned anything there, either. He rounded on Rh’din, as well, looking way, way down at him. He couldn’t help the comparison to his own son. Not much younger than this one. But, for all M’rhas was brash and bull-headed and his own blue utterly opposed to the very idea of chasing, even if Alzaryth were more inclined, T’mhas had never once thought his son stupid enough to try something like _this_.

“Better for you to pull him now,” he growled at Rh’din, sounding less like a suggestion and more like a threat.

“If you care about him, you will,” M’kayre added. At least T’mhas was sensible. “Do you think the bronzes are going to play nice with him just because he’s small? There’s a natural order to these things for a reason. You’re not just young, you’re an idiot -- only one of the million reasons that you have no place here!”

He grabbed Rh’din roughly by the collar.

“Get off me!” Rh’din protested, and wrenched backward away from the hold.

Paskith dropped the herdbeast he'd been eating and took a smart hop backward in echo of his rider. But he did not leave.

Kyverth reached the feeding pens and saw the other dragons posturing - snarling, hissing, and throwing herdbeasts at each other. }:Squabbling like weyrlings in front of a queen his is disgraceful,:{ he remarked audibly to all of the dragons at the feeding pens, an air of almost-boredom in his tone, as though he was commenting on the poor weather rather than criticizing other dragons. Other _rivals_. Of course he was full of lust, of course he wanted the golden prize before him or he wouldn’t be at the pens, but right now he was shielding his rider in remembering which dragon was his among the noises of all the others, and it gave him a detachment that some of the other dragons seemed to be missing.

He hovered for a long moment, analyzing the beasts that had been dispatched and drained, and then the way that the beasts in the pen were rushing back and forth, maddened by the scent of the dragons and the splashes of hot blood and discarded meat. He did not want to be gored by one and miss the flight, so he chose a slower beast with blood on its leg and a limp, perhaps damaged by another when the herd began to stampede. He didn’t need the youngest and most aggressive - blood was blood, hot and energy giving, and he knew how to use it. Diving down, he selected his limping victim and pulled it high into the air, talons lodged solidly in its midsection as it screamed, before he swung to the side and smashing it into a nearby rock to silence it. Bending his head down, he sucked the blood, hot and sweet and energy-giving. Its life would fuel his wings to chase after the gold, and if he won he would join with Galgaith’s to create eggs and more life.

Filled with it, and sensing his rider had made it to the flight area with the other riders, he let himself fan the embers and lose some of the coolness. Addressing himself to Galgaith, his voice was entirely different. }:I will fly you better than these impetuous upstarts,:{ promised Kyverth to the young gold, his voice a low deep brown growl with a thread of red lust swirling through it.

The tensions were rising between the riders in the flight room, and if it was his Wing, L’val would have snapped at everyone to shut up and stand facing the wall, not looking at each other and not saying a sharding word for at least three minutes, till tempers had cooled. But these weren’t errant weyrlings or juvenile minded wingriders right now. Right now, rank didn’t matter, Wingleader equal to wingrider. Those hierarchies were for drilling and Threadfall, the world of order and discipline and flame. When it came to the world of a goldflight, they were all equally subordinate to her.

He still thought that Rh’din and Paskith didn’t belong, but he wasn’t going to put hands on him. Or stop the others from it. Perhaps if his mind was clearer, he would have. But that was decisions about responsibility between men, and right now L’val couldn’t think about anything other than not letting his mind be drowned out by the conflicting desires and thoughts of other dragons, getting swept up in other voices till he forgot his own. So he leaned himself against a wall and let himself dissociate into the feeling his bronze felt, the sound of _his_dragon’s voice, becoming unaware of the room.

"Hey, leave the kid alone." Any thoughts L'keri had about keeping a low profile while the bronzeriders made fools of themselves went out of his head at seeing one of them manhandle a blue. He stepped forward, trying to get between the two while staying out of reach of K'leriac's cane. "His dragon can fly if he wants."

“Yeah, ease up, M’kayre.” His amusement evaporating, Th’reyos frowned at the bronzerider. “No need to get rough with the kid.”

“If a child runs out in front of a speeding cart, do you not grab him before he gets his fool self killed?” M’kayre responded, disgusted. “_This_ child is too stupid to know where he belongs or when to stop, but you all want to _coddle_ him?”

He stepped up to L’keri, into his space. If the brownrider was going to put himself between M’kayre and Rh’din, he was fair game. “Are you even sure that _you_ should be here? We all saw what Rhalith produced last time. Or rather, failed to produce.”

"Still beat Bhelth, though, didn't he?" L'keri smirked, his lifemate's ambitious desire mingling with his own natural insolence. "Maybe your dragon's getting past it, Grandpa. You should be the one sitting this out."

Any reply M’kayre might make was drowned out by a primal scream from the pens. Galgaith had finished feeding. Blood streamed from her jaws as she drew herself up to her full, monumental height amid the chaos of the pen and her encroaching suitors. Bronze and brown (and blue), she felt their eyes, heard their boasts and blandishments. Their desire rolled over her in suffocating waves, a psychic onslaught that aroused only her disdain. This early into the matingflight, her instinct (and Sybana’s urging) was only that-- flight.

So fly she did.

}: WHO DARES!?! :{ she roared, a final, ringing challenge as she wrenched herself skyward.

}:_I_!:{ Paskith roared, and sprang up after her, the blue accelerating as only his colour truly could, rapid off the start. Or at least-- so he'd intended. Bronzes and at least one brown had been closer, and launched into his flight path, and Paskith had to twist to avoid barreling into one of them, wings beating frantically as he tried to use his full speed.

Isaoth wasted no time slicing in front of Paskith. As he passed, his tail lashed into the blue’s wing. No time to consider his actions -- Isaoth was off after Galgaith, leaving the blue to whatever fate.

Zarkarth was right on Isaoth's heels, the carcass-laden ground already falling out of memory. All that mattered was that Galgaith would be his, that he would be _there_, ready when she was. He felt her in every breath, every wingbeat, every savage snarl that erupted out of him like a rogue wave headed for shore.

It was a _glorious_ thing to chase. Ghraisath sprang high, hot blood flying from his maw and boiling ichor raging in his veins. He was _alive_. His and T’mhas’ hearts galloped as a resounding roar of desire and challenge followed him into the air over Dragonsfall with Galgaith’s glowing form lighting the way. Nothing would get in his way.

Nothing-- and no one.

He saw _him_ -- foolish youngster. A lost wherry in a tunnelsnake nest. Isaoth's tail had already found the blue's wing, and still Paskith held his line, stubborn past all sense. Ghraisath let loose a low, dreadful sound. Any other place, any other time, he could admire the pluck of it. Not here. Not now. To attempt a gold, to fold into the pack of her mammoth chasers, to think himself the _same_, was a fool's errand and Ghraisath knew exactly what he was about, even if Paskith didn't. The thought was gone as fast as it came. He cut past a duo of encroaching browns, Zarkarth’s jaws snapping wildly at empty air behind him, and was on Paskith the next instant, fury and desire in one swift lunge, his full bulk driving hard against the young blue.

Paskith had been struck, wing-clipped by the passing Isaoth, and he’d snarled in his own anger and spark of pain, though he’d flown onward determinedly. No one could hope to rival his sheer speed, if he could just make it out of the pack--

And then Ghraisath crashed into him at full speed, and Paskith bugled in shock and in pain, bowled nearly head over tail. He shrieked, and tried to push himself away and right himself at the same time, reeling in the air.

What answered Paskith was a snarl and another furious swipe-- and a distant inkling of pain as the shallow rake of talons stung his side, but Ghraisath veered right back into the pack, funneling upward after Galgaith with one victory behind him, another ahead.

In the flightrooms there was an echoing snarl as T'mhas moved to another part of the circle. The air was thick, and anywhere near Rh'din was a bad idea. If the blue was injured enough to seek the infirmary, T'mhas would check in once the fury scintillating between man and dragon had tapered.

}: Too slow! :{ Bhelth bugled to Paskith as he cut low to avoid the momentary collision of the blue and Ghraisath. It was only a small setback, one that Bhelth himself took in stride because he was a dragon who took joy in competition and in the (in his utterly cocksure mind) inevitable win he would soon have; M’kayre, however -- already worked up and decidedly less delusional than his dragon -- took it very differently.

“I _told_ you,” he snarled, grabbing Rh’din roughly by the shoulder, fingers digging in, and dragging him towards the door. “Dimglow, idiot, instigator! Utter _liability_! Get out, get out, _get out_!”

He gave the young man a half-spin, half-shove out the door without one bit of care as to where or how he landed.

High above--heedless of Paskith’s pain, of Rh’din’s predicament--the flight forged on.

Last updated on the October 28th 2026

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

A Prize to Catch