Somewhere Outside of the Amethyst in the Pines Camp…
With the "trial" concluded and the Guards moving in to complete the next step concerning the holdless, it becomes almost a twisted sort of interlude for those volunteered for the transporting. Now comes the time to prepare, if that is even possible and as the Senior Journeyman Harper Garan leads them from the camp, a sort of charged silence settles over him and the Weyrleader. Th'ero follows briskly behind the older man, his expression troubled and as tensed and stiff as his posture and movements. Each step seems to grow heavier, weighing on him as he tries not to think too deep on the task looming ahead. Occasionally, he will glance to see if Kimmila and D'ani continue to follow as well or perhaps spy out their moods. The skies above remain overcast, the clouds heavy and threatening to drop cold, miserable rain on their heads any moment to add insult to injury. Eventually their path will lead to a wide expanse of flat ground, more than enough for several dragons to land. It is here that Garan pauses, giving a significant look towards the trio of riders following in his wake and says nothing — yet. Is there a need? Th'ero meets the Harper's eyes for a moment and then glances away, turning instead to Kimmila and D'ani both. "Let's get this overwith," he murmurs in a flat tone and then glances skywards as he no doubt reaches with his mind over his link with his bronze to call Velokraeth from his ledge.
Kimmila does follow, and gloomily so. Her mood is sullen and closed off, quiet and introspective as she no doubt reaches to her dragon for support. Though how much support the empathetic blue will give is questionable. He soars quickly enough into the clearing though, landing neatly with straps on and tightened. "How is this going to work?" Kimmila asks quietly. "We take a…man and a guard?" She'd rather not be attacked mid-flight, thankyouverymuch.
D'ani looks thunderous, a rare expression for him. Dark brows are lowered and knit, hands no longer jammed in his pockets, swing at his sides and are balled. He looks like he wants to put a fist through a wall and in truth, he probably does if one were near enough to oblige. His tread is heavy, but quick enough to keep pace and so when Th'ero turns, he's right there, off to his right or left (whichever side Kimmila isn't on) a half step behind. He nods sharply, muttering from tight lips, "Aye, let's." Brown eyes turn to Kimmila while he both summons Dremkoth and listens to her. "I guess crating them is out of the question," he mutters wryly in a weak attempt at humor. It would solve so much though!
If there was a wall nearby to oblige, D'ani would not be alone in attacking it. Th'ero's expression is not thunderous like the Weyrsecond's, but his silence and stoic look does not mean his temper is not raging beneath. For it is, along with a slew of conflicting and warring emotions that a man like himself could not even begin to articulate or verbally express. So for now he only stands rigidly straight, one hand at his side and the other gripping and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. Harper Garan snorts for D'ani's weak attempt at humor, but it does bring a faint, but equally weak smile from the old man. "That'd almost be too kind," he says and then sighs, speaking in a slow and measured tone. "We hadn't thought of a Guard, but that could be arranged. The holdless are going to be bound and tied. Not terribly comfortable for flight but…" Better than some alternatives. The Weyrleader's frown deepens to a scowl as Velokraeth arrives to join Varmiroth in the clearing and swiftly tucking his wings tight against his sides. "There's the matter of having to untie them. So we'll need the Guards for that." Th'ero remarks dryly, glancing to D'ani and Kimmila with a questioning look. Maybe the crate idea isn't so bad after all? Garan clears his throat, "Regardless of what is done, it has to be decided fast. We all saw how swiftly they were worked up. Longer we tarry, the more the risk. They are not armed and I doubt any of them are foolish enough to attack a rider mid-flight." And here the Harper adopts a grim, dark look to his eyes and mouth. "After all, all it'd take is just a 'malfunction' of the straps and…" Point taken?
Kimmila wouldn't be hitting any walls, but she's watching the men around her closely. It doesn't take a lot of effort to gauge their moods, either. "I would like a Guard," the bluerider says, putting her pride aside swiftly and without remorse. She's not stupid and she does not want this to turn into a bad situation, like so many of these situations do. As Velokraeth lands, Varmiroth swings his head around to wuffle at the bronze, eyes spinning in a rapid display of dark hues. "I can take a guard and two prisoners, I think," Kimm says, eying her dragon's straps.
"We could leave them on their island, untie one and leave him with one knife?" suggests the Weyrsecond, reluctant it seems to take along guards for some reason. "I assume we're leaving them with some supplies to hunt and fish with. Or…" the question is directed to both Th'ero and Garan, "will the Weyr be dropping of rations regularly?" Like… feeding canines or something. Weird kinda pets, those. Dremkoth arrives then, landing with unusual force, eyes carrying a hint of yellow in his shared mood with his rider. The bronze, looking to be the more serene one of the pair, is also already harnessed and with passenger's straps too. Someone anticipated the outcome, it looks like. Hey - it beats hangman's nooses.
Some would argue that hangman's nooses would also be kinder than an end seen on some unforgiving island. Garan remains silent during D'ani's questions, though his eyes remain keen and alert and again the resemblance flickers briefly between the older man's features and those of the Weyrleader's as both men turn at an angle to keep D'ani and Kimmila within their gaze. Almost like some eerie mirror, before Th'ero's change in mood ruins the effect, his scowl deepening and mouth twisting into a grimace of distaste. "The supplies have already been transported ahead of time. There is enough of the basics that they CAN survive, if they are smart enough. Some rations, but once they run out they are on their own. The Weyr will not be interfering, save to patrol at a distance in sweeps to be sure none are getting an idea of escape." And from his tone, he seems to doubt that any will. In fact, he sounds as though he is convinced they are handing death sentences to all these men. Slow and miserable deaths. He quickly shoves the thought aside, focusing instead back on D'ani's suggestion. "I'm in favor of untying one or perhaps a few and leaving them to tend to the others. We will bring Guards, just in case that backfires. Not many, just with Kimmila — if that offer still stands " And he glances sidelong to her. " And I do not mind taking one along. Agreed?" Velokraeth whuffles back to Varmiroth, eyes also whirling in a rapid pattern that alternates between yellow and red as he turns his oversized head to also greet Dremkoth when the young bronze arrives. Strangely the pale bronze is silent though, but his restlessness shows in the way his talons shift against the ground, clicking and digging shallow grooves into the hard soil.
Kimmila frowns, shaking her head a little bit and then she just sighs and shrugs. Then she looks askance at Th'ero. "Which offer? Me going? It stands," she says firmly, straightening her spine and her shoulders. "Agreed," she says with a nod, looking around. "Multiple trips, then?" How many exiles do they have to transport?
D'ani nods to that, agreeable and there's a release of a relieved breath. "Good," he says briefly. He seems to think they'll be wily enough to make a go of survival. Either that or Ezra's vigil at Stonehaven with a pile of frozen slain weighs heavy on his mind and he could think they deserve a vigil of their own. He doesn't comment other than to say, "I can probably take four besides myself." Whether a bronze can carry more, that's the number he's comfortable transporting without a guard.
Th'ero is momentarily distracted as Kimmila sighs and shrugs her shoulders, giving her a lingering look that soon has him leaning to the side to whisper low to her ear. No guesses as to what he is asking. So it is the Harper who speaks up, while the Weyrleader settles that matter. "Multiple trips. In fact," His eyes grow distant as he glances down, working a few swift calculations in his head and then shaking his head. "Too many. We're talking men and women involved. You will need more riders, unless you wish to spend the day on this grim business. Half a Wing, at least," he goes on to say and for his credit he does not flinch when Th'ero jerks himself straight again and pins the Harper with a glare. "Half a Wing? Such requests are usually best known in advance!" he says in a tone now laced with anger as his frustration boils up and past his control. Muttering a curse, the Weyrleader takes a step back and then begins to pace back and forth, never straying far but clearly agitated even as he struggles to work out a solution. Glancing sharply to Kimmila and D'ani, he keeps his eyes trained on them, even as he moves. "Can we trust that many riders in this? Thunderbird is the likely Wing to call upon. Do we have any other option?"
Kimmila tilts her head to whisper back to Th'ero, and then she straightens and nods. "We do," she says quietly. "My riders." Well, 'hers' in a loose sense but both bronzeriders should know what she means when she says that. The cothold volunteers, the riders the cycle throughout all of Fort's smaller cotholds - and have ever since Stonehaven - keeping up with their news, making sure they have the supplies they need, encouraging trade. "I'll bet most of them would be fine with this duty, and them plus perhaps some of the guard trained riders…that should be enough."
That many going into exile? D'ani is surprised but schools his face to cold neutrality. They bought it, he reminds himself. "Abigail's good. Jaye too," the Weyrsecond names the only Thunderbird riders he both knows and has confidence in. A few notable riders he knows are left off but that's his personal opinions, left unvoiced coming into play there. "Inri could handle it, if she'd agree to come." Well, the goldrider doesn't like fighting (who does, really?) but she's got a mixture of compassion and tough grit. He's seen that in their searching for Anrila. Other… options? "Unless you want to ship them by boat, I don't think so?" He ought to add Harmony in there and give some poor fool what he really deserves riding Crosenturath there!
Th'ero's pacing comes to an end as both Weyrsecond and Wingrider (Weyrthird!) speak up with their opinions and suggestions, which are enough to allow him to regain some control over his frustration. Now he has something to focus on again, something concrete and attainable. The Weyrleader nods his head stiffly, glancing between Kimmila and D'ani both. "I agree. The wingriders who work with you Kimmila, are they available now? If so, call them off if possible. Tell them to speak nothing of it, but to come as swift as possible." He trusts her to the rest of it, focusing now on the young bronzerider. "We may need Abigail and Jaye here, at the Weyr. They're two of our best." But he pauses all the same, giving D'ani — and Kimmila as well — time to either agree or disagree with his opinion. "Inri as well should remain here…" Th'ero's tone takes a strange edge to it then, his frown turning to one of concern as he tries to convey so much and perhaps too subtly, to the Weyrsecond. They all saw how the Weyrwoman left, how shaken Dtirae appeared to be despite not outwardly showing it. But the Weyrleader does not dare utter the words out loud that she may be compromised by her emotions. That does not need to be spreading. "There are seasoned riders in Thunderbird who dealt with the first exiles. I will have Velokraeth bespeak Azath and see if Nishka can spare them. They are Guard trained." So done is done then? It would appear so or at least fast approaching, as Harper Garan then clears his throat. "I'll leave you to it then, as I must go meet with the Guards and my Journeymen. They should be arriving shortly." With that he half bows to them and takes his leave and disappears back the way they had arrived.
Kimmila nods, turning from the men to approach Varmiroth. Many know of the blue's limited telepathic range, so it takes quite a bit of focus for him to reach some of the riders that are far afield. But either with his own power or the help from Velokraeth, soon other dragons are swooping in to land, their riders approaching with subdued expressions but set shoulders. Briefed on the wing, it seems.
D'ani nods, but reluctantly so, about Abigail and Jaye, a concerned gaze flicking back over the camp before returning to Th'ero. There's a glint of shared understanding in D'ani's brown eyes about Inri remaining as well, his own personal concerns about the Weyrwoman's brittle control once again firmly wrestled down where it belongs for the time being. No, he won't be voicing that to anyone, but he might have Dremkoth try to keep in touch with Zuvalayuth if the gold will hear him… Harper Garan's words yank his mind back and he watches the man go, expression thoughtful. "Interesting about him…" he mutters under his breath before he's saluting Th'ero and heading for Dremkoth to await his passengers. That final thought is just left to hang tantalizingly in the air for another conversation at another time.
And so the tense silence returns as both Kimmila and D'ani move away, Th'ero following and then coming to a stop only a few short steps in before turning and facing the path that they had come from. Seems the Weyrleader will be playing the role of 'greeter' to their unfortunate passengers. The Weyrsecond's final muttered thought earns a brief and sharp sideways glance from Th'ero, but he holds his tongue. Now is not the time but once the dust has settled from this, perhaps it will be revisited. Now comes the hard part: waiting. Velokraeth will likely help Varmiroth with his task, but as the additional Wingriders arrive to the blue's summons, the pale bronze exhales in a near sigh and lifts his bulky, boxy and malformed body, weight shifting heavily onto stunted limbs as he steps forwards to take his place next to Th'ero in his vigil.
It is then that the weather seems to mock them all, as the late morning overcast skies open up and rain begins to fall. Lightly at first and then steadily heavier. Velokraeth rumbles then, his mind reaching to Dremkoth and Varmiroth both and outward still to the other Wingriders present and en route. « Thunderbird Wingriders join us. Our numbers will be sufficient now and one already sends words that the Guards are marching. » Which is the truth, as soon they are visible along the path: Guards leading and flanking to the sides and behind, with the bound and subdued holdless in the middle and in marching order.
To say that it is grim is an understatement, and Kimmila holds herself rigidly still, her hand firm against Varmiroth's muzzle. Even though she might wish to go to Th'ero's side, she knows her place right now is here, to accept her passengers. So she'll wait, adjusting her hood against the rain and tugging on her gloves to protect her hands from the chill.
Rain is befitting D'ani's somber mood and he almost welcomes the icy drops as he squints up into them. His flight leathers will keep him dry; the skintight hood, neck and helm keep the moisture out, though it beads up on his jacket and trous, the drips accumulating and rolling down him like tears as the sky cries. He too, dons gloves, then reaches up and pulls his flight goggles down over his eyes, the expression in them hidden now. Only the flat, grim line of his mouth betrays his emotions as he watches the condemned approach. He could step nearer so they don't have so far to walk, but no, this too, is fitting, that long, silent walk they must make to their fate.
Thunderbird Riders are indeed on the way, a few blinking in overhead from between and one of them Niumdreoth with his rider. A low bulging greeting escapes the brown down towards the other dragons in the area. Abigail shifts in her straps, sending a glance downwards as her dragon circles one and then soon lands, near the others, though far enough away to not cause any problems with the landing bit. Once landed Abbey hops down, pulling her hood up as she goes, goggles pushed upwards to rest upon her head while her pale gaze flicks towards the movement as she catches sight of the guard some distance off, and ones with them. A faint breath escapes her before she looks back to where Th'ero, Kimmila and D'ani happen to be.
Th'ero wishes to be anywhere but where he currently stands and perhaps it is fitting that it is the Weyrleader they will see first, flanked by his Weyrsecond and most trusted Wingriders behind. It makes for an intimidating tableau and perhaps adds a finality to it all. This is real, this is happening. As the Guards march on, most of the holdless follow with heads held up despite the chill of the rain while others have their heads bowed, subdued and submitting to their fate, features hidden. If any of them weep (and there are some who do), the rains will thankfully hide their shame as it is doubtful any will find much pity or sympathy here. Th'ero barely moves, save to slip on his gloves and helmet, keeping his goggles up for now so that his eyes can follow the progression with stony coldness, mouth downturned and grim. Without a word, the Guards have the group split off and they flow around where Velokraeth stands like much of the rainfall pooling at their feet. Again and again they'll split as they approach each waiting Wingrider and the rains only seem to grow steadily heavier with each footstep taken. Bound by their hands, the holdless are led and then ordered to stop, left then in the care of the riders for transport and Guards on hand to help if needed. "Mount up!" Th'ero's voice rises to be heard above the rain and then turns to face those holdless left to his "care". All men and that only has him smirking and reaching, he hauls the first one forwards by the very bonds tied about his wrists. Nothing says he has to be gentle, right? It'll be awkward work for sure and slow going. Not all are so eager to approach the dragons and even less to mount up.
Kimmila watches the pair that approach her - a man and a woman, and a husband and wife from the way they stand so close. A guard approaches as well, saluting the bluerider. "Up we go," Kimmila says quietly, and she mounts up first, pulling while the guard pushes and the man is lifted up first, then the woman, and the guard at the last. When they are all mounted and strapped in securely, Varmiroth kicks into the air to circle above, freeing space for the larger dragons to lift off. And there he will circle and wait for the others. Up there in the clouds, the woman weeps for their child left behind, and the man tries to hold it in, murmuring softly to her. And Kimmila, she stares rigidly ahead.
D'ani's hands are oddly gentle as he assists the three sullen men and one still-unrepentant woman aboard the crouching Dremkoth. He says not a word and neither do they. He's said it all these past sevens; he's got no more words left. Had they been more willing to speak up, perhaps… but no. Admission of guilt would likely not have borne them any clemency. Not after Stonehaven. He clips them all carefully in the traces, double-checking them, triple checking even, then swings aboard behind them where he can keep a sharp eye on them, leaving a good twelve inches between him and the man directly in front of him - as if the contact of helping them aboard is all he can stomach.
Abigail frowns slightly while she watches the guards and the ones that are with move closer and closer. Her head lowers a touch to eye a puddle or two at her feet, plenty of things on her mind at the moment. Though her thoughts are soon forgotten once the four for her to take are there, two men and two women. The men look more scared of Niumdreoth then the women, which for a moment Abbey finds a tad bit amusing and gets to the task at hand. With the two men seeming fearful she works with the women first, clips are set in place, along with making sure hands are well tied so no one can g moving. With that done she moves on to the next two, which with the help of a guard she is able to get them moving. Niumdreoth rumbles out low like, which doesn't help as one of the men yelp thinking perhaps they are to be eaten, or who knows what! "Enough.." Comes from Abbey, tone soft as she can make it with everything that is going on, a few words are said which seem to be enough to make the man relax and then allow himself (somewhat) to be tethered into place upon the large brown. With that done Abbey settles upon a spot herself, and waits for the word to be giving to leave.
Th'ero will see the three men allotted to him up the straps in stony silence and soon joined by a Guard who helps (and perhaps encourage) them aboard. The Weyrleader has little time to spare much attention to the others, trusting that they can manage and with no call of alarm being raised he assumes all is as well as it could be, given the situation. Two of the men settle into the straps with almost blank and empty looks, too stunned and overwhelmed to do much else. The third is much the same until Th'ero mounts up behind them, echoing D'ani in the sense that he wishes to place as much distance as he can between himself and the holdless but also position himself where he can watch them. That third man though cracks just as the Weyrleader makes the final checks and Velokraeth begins to spread his wings. Just mumbles at first, then swiftly gathering speed into a more panicked speech that turns to pleading and begging. It all falls on deaf ears, save perhaps for the other two holdless who only turn their eyes to glower darkly at their 'weaker' comrade, who then begins to slip in a few curses when he discovers that Th'ero is not responding. He does hear every single word though and each digs it's way in, already adding to the weight of his decisions and emotions and somehow he fights it all off and shoves it down.
The signal goes out then, just as Velokraeth springs aloft (and briefly cuts off that one man's litany before it redoubles once airborne), for all to take wing and join in formation above. « Join formation. » The pale bronze sends over the link formed and strengthened by many minds. « We head to the eastern ring islands and to the north. » An image is shared then of the islands: cold, mostly barren and non-tropical. Once satisfied that all understand, there is a heavy pause and then the order is given. « Go. » Crisp, curt and final. Velokraeth winks Between first and when he reappears above the islands, he checks his speed with great reluctance, already feeding from his rider's anxiousness to be done already. As for the holdless, they all sit in dumbfounded silence and even the pleading from the third has stopped for now.
Varmiroth angles into position, taking up formation behind the bronze, and he winks into between with the rest of them. Emerging, he soars down towards the designated landing area, fanning his wings to touch down. The woman is openly sobbing now, her husband murmuring gently to her - showing his wife a kindness that he didn't show to others under Laris' rule. Jaw clenched, Kimmila keeps her leathers on, goggles and all as she dismounts and then assists them to the ground, pointing to where they need to go stand and assemble by the supplies already brought by earlier Fortian riders. Is it time to get drunk yet?
Dremkoth launches abruptly, and since there is no warning from D'ani, all four of his passengers necks jerk with the force. The bronze beats his wings strongly to gain altitude and reach formation. There isn't much time to view the panorama and gaze upon those left behind, but the woman tries, white-faced to catch a glimpse of someone. The whisk into *Between* likewise goes unwarned and when they emerge over those barren isles, the raindrops glitter frozen on but four of Dremkoth's passengers. The fifth… isn't there! D'ani notices it a beat later, a string of curses issues forth from him as he leans to grab the dangling straps in disbelief where the woman had been sitting. The other three exclaim in shock but all the Weyrsecond can do is shake his head. Somehow she's seized her fate and wriggled free to remain *Between* rather than in exile. They land and the white-faced rider unclips the remaining passengers, half handing, half-sliding them to the ground untied. That they'll have to do themselves. He ignores the accusations from the men who rode aboard his dragon. Right now? Drunk sounds very good. But he looks like he's going to throw up first.
Once the word is given Niumdreoth jumps into the air following after the others, large wings flapping a few times and then there is for sure no turning back for any of them. The image of where they are to go is passed on Abigail, a slight frown seen at the thought, her gaze drifting towards the ones she is to take to this place. With the command given Niumdreoth goes Between and is there with the others on the other side, hovering over the barren island. Soon enough the brown lands off to the side and crouches down. The four passengers are quiet, the one man that is afraid of getting eaten looking rather pale after the trip between, almost to the point of being sick. Abigail is first to get unclipped and then goes along doing to the same to the women, which she helps down to the ground making them sit and keep put for the moment. As for the men the sickly looking one is undone and pulled downwards as he isn't moving on his own, instead Abbey has to drag him out from the straps and put muscle behind it to get him off and in the end there is some kicking and shoving from the man. Once the kicking started Abbey let go, which means the man fell the rest of the way (about two feet) to the ground and landed in a heap. A soft sigh escapes Abbey and she eyes the man a moment whom is promptly vomiting now that he is on firm ground, at least it wasn't all over Niumdreoth. The second man goes a bit easier, and if by easier meaning he doesn't fight Abbey, though she still has to drag him down from the straps.
Not time yet to drink but soon enough. As the rest of the Wingriders appear, Velokraeth folds his wings and makes for a steep dive towards the islands below, just as deaf to any protests that his swift flight may earn from his "passengers". Now that the shock is wearing off, they are eying the lands below with growing apprehension and one man looks ready to be sick and not the only one to suffer such a fate as poor Abigail and Niumdreoth undergo similar with one of their charges. No wonder that he is unbuckled first and hastily helped down from the straps and just in time before he loses the contents of his stomach. Velokraeth shifts back a little, either in disgust fed through by his rider or to give the man some form of privacy. The second man goes down with no protest at all, staring emptily ahead and staggering off. As for the third, he's regained his voice and now he spits (figuratively and literally) curses at Th'ero, belittling him, calling him every foul sort of title and name under the sun, anything to try and spark a flash of temper, any reaction out of the Weyrleader. Instead all he gets is a cold glare and a bit of a rough shove forwards once safely on the ground.
As discussed and decided upon, only a few of the holdless have their bonds cut and then are left with the necessary tools to do the same for their fellow comrades — or not. For now that they are "freed", the Wingriders as hastily withdrawing. Their duties are done and completed now and any protests or pleading from any of the holdless now are ignored. Once again, several dragons take wing but there is no organization. Go when ready is the order and so they drift away in singles and pairs. Unaware of the disturbing fate of one of D'ani's passengers, Th'ero turns back to Velokraeth and mounts up with haste, his gaze trying not to settle on the huddled forms of the men and women they are leaving behind on this desolate rock but he will catch glimpses. Enough that it will haunt him for many nights to come. Gripping the straps tight, he has Velokraeth leap into the skies again but only to circle high above and well out over the waters. All others can go, but he will be the last, as always and despite the strong desire to just leave and be done with it.
Kimmila sees that her prisoners are well on their way before she hastily - very hastily - swings aboard again, Varmiroth soaring into the sky to circle with Velokraeth. She heard - and saw - the treatment that Th'ero received, and she blinks a bit as her brain nags her about something amiss with D'ani's passengers, but she can't put her finger on it. Airborne, the pair circle and Varmiroth reaches out to a select few. « Alright? »
The Weyrsecond hasn't even bothered to dismount, unwilling - and perhaps unable to stand on that barren isle. He scoots forward to his proper riding spot, just grips the leather-padded handrail and urges Dremkoth upwards. The bronze obliges with a roar that reverberates off the stony reaches of this island prison, climbs just high enough to safely wink *Between* D'ani doesn't look back. The man is haunted by Stonehaven and a lost boy left to commune with the ghosts. This? Is the necessary end to bad choices and deception, of heartless bloodthirst and incorrigible greed. He won't lose any sleep over it. Hanging in the air behind him, Dremkoth will leave a faint, hurried communication shared with Velokraeth, Varmiroth and Niumdreoth, « Not…exactly. He will speak with your riders later. Now must see to something. »
Abigail pulls and pushes the one sick man back a few feet so he doesn't wind up getting stepped on, or well really do he isn't in a puddle of his own mess. With that done she turns moving back to Niumdreoth and is back in the straps, a slight glance offered to the ones she is leaving here but she has nothing to say. Her gaze flicks away and Niumdreoth is back into the air circling with the others and waiting to be given the word to return home. Niumdreoth is quiet at first as to what answer to give back, alright really wasn't the word his rider wanted to use it seems. « Fair.. » Is offered back to Varmiroth. Though at the answer from Dremkoth both Niumdreoth and Abigail send a glance after the leaving bronze and Weyrsecond. With the answer to leave is given Niumdreoth does not hang around, blinking between to head home along with the others.
« Just call to me when yours is ready to speak. » Velokraeth hurriedly extends back to Dremkoth, the pale bronze's tone wary and almost tired sounding. In fact, his hide does appear a little on the greyed side but not overly concerning. Even so, he cannot stay circling the skies forever and neither he or Th'ero wish to remain here. Once the last of the Wingriders vanish Between and back to Fort Weyr, Velokraeth will swing his head to Varmiroth, a silent confirmation passed between him and the blue before he too vanishes to another destination far from here. Now it has ended, closure at last but at what price? One that was deserved and paid for by those left to face their dismal fate on the island below. For others involved from all the damage wrought by Laris and what remains of his followers, there may now be chance for healing. Not immediate, but a slow start at least.
'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.