The return of the Weyrleaders

21st December 2003
Logged by Pyrene

Leaders Return TP
NEXT: unexpected arrivals

Above High Reaches, on the Weyr rim…

Alasse leans back against Chrideth's leg with a yawn. Night watches were always so boring, but this night seemed to be worse. She reaches up and scratches the green's shoulder lazily. "No one invading the weyr tonight, huh love?" Too bad that didn't mean she could go to bed, so instead she pulls her jacket tighter, obediently peering around into the night.

Bannyth blinks in from ::between::! [along with ten others]
Bannyth lets out a trumpet of success as the bronze appears from ::between::, having safely brought forth not only himself but his 'rider as well. From a top the dragon, one arm can be seen pumping up into the air, a sign of victory, while the other continuously pats the bronze affectionately on the neck. Other dragons of all colors, emerge around the brazen pair, each one also letting out a mixture of sounds, ranging from relief and triumph, to declare their arrival.

In the Central Bowl, Laeth has the answer to that. Scratch her only! Two hands are better than one. A paw extends, as if to possessively snag her scritcher, but she doesn't. It's set close by, though, incase anyone got any ideas. She tilts her head a bit, and her purr continues, her sides vibrating a bit from the effort.

In the Living Caverns, Pyrene snorts at Nylca. "Very worthy of you. But some nights you need wine. But I'm delighted to see you so conscientious about wing reports. I can only hope you are as diligent in night-sweeps?"

In the Living Caverns, Nylca coughs a bit and is quick to take a sip of klah. "Well, I have a list of who's supposed to be doing what, but I haven't checked up on them. I'm sure their reports are in my stack as well but, well… It's gotten to be a very big stack."

Following in Bannyth's wake, Thranduith echoes the trumpet with an opening croon, allowing all to know that -she- has survived, that Thiern has survived, and that others come. Her rider lifts a hand in response to their Wingleader and Weyrleader, forming a fine salute before returning all attention to her gleaming green.

In the Central Bowl, Sylara decides to stay here for now, eyeing the big paw near her. "It's ok, Laeth, I'll scratch you for awhile."

Alasse jumps as a number of dragons blink in above the bowl. She stands up, squinting at them, but it quickly becomes clear that neither she or Chrideth recognize any of them. The girl scrambles up Chrideth's leg, yelling at the riders to identify themselves as the pair launch into the air, getting her green to echo the command.

<Local> Chrideth senses that she flaps hastily toward the arriving dragons, her tones a bit more polite than her riders. « Please? We need to know who you are. »

Eleven dragons in total appear across the skies, bugling and trumpeting their feat across the spires.

In the Central Bowl, Scritch, scritch. She switches hands to give one a rest.

In the Living Caverns, The slow smile of hidework sympathy spreads across Pyrene's face. "Tell me about it," she notes. "I need to dig out those end of pass hides to figure out how much we expect our clutches to drop off - at least /that/ should mean less work."

The sound of trilling and happiness slowly dies off as the dragons already present start to take notice of their comrades. At first, none of the beasts or 'riders take notice of the watchrider, instead just staying eerily quiet. After a few more moments of silence, Bannyth suddenly raises his head to the sky and lets out a loud, mournful keen for the lost. The dragon's voice cuts through all other noises, blaring crisp and clear as his agonizing tone intensifies. As more and more dragons appear around him from the bleakness of between, they each lift their heads and join in to add in their sorrowful howl, so that all of High Reaches is aware of a dragon's death.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Bannyth's voice enters loud and mournful to all present, the colors of his mindvoice flashing vivid whites and oranges and all and any soothing scents long gone. « She's gone! She's gone! » The bronze wails, adding another octave to his cry. « Mergoth and her own have been lost in the darkness of ::between::! » And the voice is gone, leaving only his bellow ringing on.

In the Living Caverns, Nylca takes another swallow of klah, nodding her head. "We can only hope. I'm starting to get complaints about wingdrills. And I thought people would be /happy/ that I made them later in the day! There's no pleasing them."

In the Central Bowl, Laeth purrs once more, then stops abruptly, lifting her head. She peers around curiously, her eyes spinning.

In the Central Bowl, Cadgwith stares suddenly to the skies, as dragon-keening fills the bowl. A dragon has died, and yet she does not immediately take up the cry, a confused sound creeling through her throat.

In the Central Bowl, Sylara has never seen so many dragons in her young life. Wow. Usually, there's only a couple on the sands.

In the Central Bowl, Ainth looks up as well, snorting at the sky.

In the Central Bowl, Laeth turns to Cadgwith. To keen, or not to keen? The almost always confused green is even more so now.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that she sends out startled shockwaves. « Mergoth? I do not know the name… » And yet a Reaches dragon has died. But how can that be possible if the name is unfamiliar?

In the Central Bowl, Sylara looks over at the queen, confused.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Thranduith continues to echo her wingleader, mourning and sorrowfull and leaving saddened chimes in its wake. « They have gone and shall not return … They will be sadly missed. » The green is usually grieving over something silly, but her dark tones have sense to exist. Her keening joins with the others, no form of puzzlement in why others do not yet join.

In the Central Bowl, Inadvertently, Sylara quit's scratching and eyes the skies where some of them are looking.

In the Living Caverns, Pyrene blinks, jerking from her seat and dropping her wine. Over the tinkle of shattering glass, she echoes her dragon: "Mergoth?" She stares at Nylca in confusion for a moment and then rushes outside.

In the Central Bowl, Urzketh lifts his head skywards, just as befuddled as the others. Not one to follow, yet not make a fool of himself, he hesitates, though every inch of his hide burns to keen with due respect to the death of a dragon. But… where is the dragon from? Especially if a /Reaches/ dragon?

In the Central Bowl, Laeth shifts in her spot, uncomfortable and confused. She bugles once.

In the Central Bowl, Pyrene and Nylca step out from the Weyr's living caverns.

F'renkil sits proudly atop his dirty brown Sonrith, although his posture wilts a little as he hears the echoing of the dragons. His own joins, quite promptly, a long wail.

In the Central Bowl, Sylara steps back, startled by the bugling.

In the Central Bowl, Nylca is quick to arrive in the bowl, heading towards Laeth. The green's eyes whirl rapidly, but she seems to calm a bit. "Silly green, calm down," Nylca sooths, touching Laeth's muzzle gently.

In the Central Bowl, Minoyath ,even if others will not keen, he will. His keening lifts to the sky in proper respect. Even if it was a 'Reaches dragon he didn't know of… they still died and deserved every keen that they could have. Confusion could come later, right now… there was death.

In the Central Bowl, Ainth gives in to the keen. Any dragon's death is the loss of a dragon, any loss of the drag on deserves respect. When Minoyath joins, Ainth keens the louder.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Urzketh crackles and sizzles, flares and fades in shades of indigo and amethyst. « I do not recognize such name… yet it cannot be a mistake. Can it? »

In the Central Bowl, Cadgwith does not meet her rider's befuddled gaze as she raises her head to the skies and finally bellows her response, a lonely foghorn half of sorrow, half of challenge.

In the Central Bowl, Laeth goes with the crowd. She lifts her head from Nylca's embrace and keens along with her fellows, a sharp, high note of loss.

In the Central Bowl, Sylara is scared. she's never heard such noise.

Chrideth adds her keen to the sounds echoing around, although she's not quite sure who she's mourning. The young dragon is highly confused. "Identify!" Alasse roars at the riders from her perch. "Who is Mergoth?" she adds in question to her dragon as she picks up on the name from Chrideth's own wailing. When it seems that she is being ignored, she waves an arm to gain their attention. "Where /are/ you from?"

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Laeth is confused, and her mindvoice mimics it, colors and patterns jumbled and mixed. « I do not understand this! »

In the Central Bowl, Urzketh's deep bellow of a voice, despite his size, rises in tune with the others as he, too, finally begins his death keen, wings half-mantled in respect.

In the Central Bowl, Pyrene stares upwards in confusion. "Mergoth?" she repeats, and then her mouth opens in a startled O. "Shae - Keyla's Mergoth? But… She died turns ago!"

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Ainth is not confused, at least not at the moment. « A dragon has succombed! What is there to understand! We mourn! »

In the Central Bowl, Nylca tries to console her dragon. Laeth's wings rustle, and the green drops her head once more, nudging her lifemate insistantly and almost knocking the young woman off her feet. Nylca turns to Pyrene with a frown. "What's going on Weyrwoman?" she asks, looking around. "Laeth's confused out of her mind, she's starting to make me confused."

In the Central Bowl, Fawn walks in.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Minoyath lets his mindvoice tumble into the fray with all the power of molten rock. « We mourn. » He seconded Ainth « What is it that we don't know her? »

In the Central Bowl, M'nty walks in.

In the Central Bowl, Sylara begins to realize what's going on, and a tear rolls down her cheek. They're all so sad!

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that she assembles information as it trickles in from around the weyr via confused dragons and their rider's memories. « Mergoth was gone turns ago. Now we mourn her. » She says it with conviction if not not comprehension.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Chrideth keens along with the new dragons, lavender exploding from her in almost overwhelming scents. « Dragons died? I do not recognize those names! »

From Thranduith's neck, "We're from here, stupid!" calls Thiern, mentally mourning the loss of Keyla and Mergoth … and outwardly being snappy. She's not exactly sure how to explain their presence if one is so confused, commenting only, "From here but not from now." R'meld is looked too, if only to see that the greenrider has explained this correctly. She's probably only confused Alasse more.

In the Central Bowl, Laeth lifts her head once more, leaving Nylca empty handed again. She swings her wedge-shaped head from side to side, her eyes whirling brightly. Her tail lashes once, then she seems to settle again.

In the Central Bowl, M'nty tries to keep Fawn up on what people have been figuring slowly out, through the grapevine of dragon and human. "Apparently…" He whispered, "From what I'm gathering from the disjointed words that Mino's throwing my way is that Mergoth has died… only she died a long time ago. But we're only just mourning her now." Uh… yeah. That so explain things. "Wait… she died a long time ago?" He peered up at the sky, curiosity warring with the confusion now.

In the Central Bowl, Sii'kyn slides down the black hole - that is, slithers down Sidramuntalath's neck to thud lightly on the ground.

Bannyth abruptly stops his wail of sorrow, as R'meld snaps his attention over to where a green and her 'rider demand their attention. "Where are we from?" He shouts back, urging Bannyth over to the two. "Why, we are from here, of course!" His arms are thrown out at this declaration, though tears still stream down his face and a frown adorns his mouth. "Then again, I guess you would not know me, or my wing." The Weyrleader taps his chin thoughtfully for a moment, most likely trying to organize his thoughts. "There is much to explain, and we have just lost someone close to us. I ask you to give us a moment to collect ourselves and then we can descend and I can answer your questions."

In the Central Bowl, Pyrene stares upwards, trying to recognise the dragons high up in the darkness, while Cadgwith rears up onto her haunches, spreads her wings and joins in the unearthly keening. "Cadge, call them down! Who's on duty? Chrideth? Tell her to bring them down! Call them down!" Her voice rises to a shrill yell as she tries to interrupt her dragon's mourning.

In the Central Bowl, Nylca glances over to M'nty, then back to her lifemate. "Laeth, settle down," she says firmly. The green stops her shifting, though her tail still flicks every now and then.

F'renkil nods quickly, shouting as well to Alasse. "We can answer all your questions, as I'm sure there will be more than you who are going to be asking." He glances briefly at R'meld, although smiles little - there is a glint of an attempt in his eyes.

In the Central Bowl, Sii'kyn is running. Full pell forwards, a rare speed for the actually pretty quick weyrleader. Ram's keening is rising with the rest, however baritone it might be; his rider careens to a halt, nearly tripping to crane his head back to the sky, eyes seeking for the dragons high above.

In the Central Bowl, Sylara steps back out of the main circle of things and watches. If the /riders/ were confused, there isn't much hope for her. She looks up to the sky, wondering what they're hearing.

In the Central Bowl, Fawn hides behind M'nty, one arm hanging onto him tightly. "That doesn't make any sense!!" She's scared, shes never heard dragons do that before.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that her tide of mourning ebbs as duty eddies through. « Those that herald Mergoth's death must land. Bring them down to the bowl, Chrideth. »

From Chrideth's neck, Alasse drops her arm, staring about in bewilderment. "From here? What're you talking about, I've lived here several Turns and I don't know you!" Chrideth's keening isn't helping her at all, and she tries to distance herself from it as she takes in R'meld's words with wide eyes. "Circle then and land! I'll have to tell the Weyrwoman to meet us there." She shakes her head as she watches, prepared to follow them when they descend.

In the Central Bowl, Minoyath stops his wailing, grinding down into disconsolate rumbles as he finishes his mourning. Then he's got his eyes on the sky and the some-odd number of dots as Cadgwith orders them all to decend. He rumbled a bit more, proabably telling his 'rider to give the news to those without dragons.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Chrideth nods absently, too distraught to be thinking clearly. « Land! And we need your rider, Cadgwith. Will she meet us there? »

In the Central Bowl, Pyrene looks relieved to see Ike. Riders are /his/ domain. He can handle this. "Do you know who Mergoth is?" she asks him, her voice raised rather than lowered since there's no way it would be heard over the remaining keening. "Or Keyla?"

In the Central Bowl, Nylca stands with her lifemate, though she's much more calm than her green partner. She glances around, and spots Sylara. She motions the girl over with a movement of her hand.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that she flicks an image of the whirlpool of confusion that is the central bowl at present. « She is here. Many of us are. »

Thranduith obeys Alasse's every word - or rather, the command of Thiern listening to Alasse. Dragon is caught up in her own grieving and only moves at the silent urge of her 'rider. Thiern tries to hide her sadness, masking emotion with the nagging sense of duty. "We land, Weyrleader!" she calls, holding up a hand to a section of the wing and urging the others on.

<High Reaches Weyr> Cadgwith senses that Bannyth thinks « All shall be explained in a few moments. My own tells me to tell our wing that we should all land now. So be quick about it. »

From Bannyth's neck, R'meld nods to the lass, sending her a slight salute before throwing a glance over to F'renkil. He does a rather good job giving the Weyrsecond a slight smile, before his hand lifts up and he gives the direction for all to land in the bowl.

The Central Bowl…

Sylara walks over toward Nylca. "What's going on?" she asks softly as the dragons land.

M'nty patted Fawn's arm absently, before trying to pry her fingers off. She's cutting circulation. "Fawn. Relax. Don't worry." He's concerned, but not scared. He doesn't know enough about the situation to be scared. "They're just keening the death. You've never heard one of those, have you?" He asked, not expecting an answer. "They're landing… we should back up." He gestured for Fawn to move back a bit… there were a lot of dragons that had to land.

Trajan walks in.

R'meld slides from Bannyth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Alasse slips from Chrideth's neck, the long limb offering a gentle incline that leads to a smooth arrival on the ground.

Sylara moves closer to Nylca, trying to become smaller, as if able to make more room for the landing. "What's going on?" She repeats.

Nylca watches as the dragons land. She stands next to Laeth, a hand on the green's shoulder. To Sylara, she replies. "I'm not quite sure. A dragon has died, but no one knows of her, well, we don't know of her. Apparently she died a long time ago, I'm not sure. Laeth's too confused to answer anything inteligently. I think they will explain it," she says, motioning towards Bannyth's rider.

Thiern slides from Thranduith's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Sii'kyn's face is a complete mask of disbelief as he turns to shake his shaggy head at Pyrene. "No, it's just not possible," he states, blinking upwards incredulously. "Mergoth - no. She was part of Cloudburst." Does he make any sense? Maybe to Pyrene, who should know the history as well as he. As they land, he strides forwards without pause. "Hail, riders!" Eyes are cool once more- a nice facade- "High Reaches welcomes you, but we ask to which weyr do we hold the honor?" There's a way to put it.

Fawn loosens her grip from M'nty's arm and just grabs a handfull of shirt. She blinks, trying hard to see in the dark, "No, never heard that before…" She steps back with M'nty her eyes wide at the sight of so many dragons.

Cadgwith is polite at least. She croons, stretching her nose out to the new dragons, only to pull it back with a startled trumpeting as she exchanges introductions with Bannyth. Confused anew, she takes a step closer to Sidramuntalath, trying to reorient herself again. Pyrene just nods at Ike, before moving to her dragon. "Cadge, keep with Chayath, OK? Let me know if Shaela needs help."

Sonrith's great brown wings spread as he circles down behind Bannyth. F'renkil braces for the landing, quickly unhooking himself from his dragon and climbing down off the brown. He trots in R'meld's direction.

Trajan hurries out of the living cavern. It's not as if people couldn't /hear/ all that keening and wailing from the dragons. The baker hangs back though, hesitant to approach all the commotion. Gaze does flicker to pick out Sii'kyn among the riders though, eyes somewhat wide. Indeed, what /is/ going on?

Laeth is just a confused green dragon. She grunts and rumbles towards the arriving dragons, but doesn't really greet them. Even after Cadgwith greets them, Laeth is withdrawn.

Sylara's mouth hangs open. /Now/ she has seen a lot of dragons.

Alasse slides off her dragon, making a beeline for Pyrene. "/Pyrene/!" she exclaims as she gets close enough to be heard. "They say they're from High Reaches! And they called /him/," an arm is flung in R'meld's direction, "/Weyrleader/!" It's a bit much for the girl, who stands in confusion as she finishes this announcement. "Who are they?" she asks, turning to Sii'kyn to see if he knows.

M'nty nodded and made a silent count. "Eleven that we don't know. Fawn, hon, you've seen more than that… don't worry." He's making things up now, but sure. Whatever. Now this whole /Weyrleader/ thing… That tickles something in M'nty's history-loving brain. "Shards… Fawn… You won't believe this…"

Sylara cranes her ear toward M'nty. Has he figured out what's going on?

R'meld composes himself to the best he can as Bannyth lands. A hand is quickly wiped across his face to eliminate the signs of his tears. With a deep sigh, the Weyrleader dismounts from his dragon and lands with ease. He spots Sii'kyn right away and eyes the badge on the man's shoulder. Clearing his throat, he gives a smile. "We are thankful for your welcome, Weyrleader." He pauses, clearing his throat once more, "As unbelievable as this might sound, we all hail from High Reaches as well. Just from a different time period, is all." Eyes suddenly grow serious as R'meld throws a glance to the sky, "It is the end of the pass, is it not? The Red Star seems to be more bright then I would have thought it to be."

Thiern, once settled 'pon the ground, ambles to where R'meld and F'renkil stand, playing her part as the duty-centric wingrider perfectly. Thranduith gives Ram and Cadge her crooning regard, meekly being social after Mergoth's death. "Wait. Did she say Shaela? Shaela is Keyla's little girl … that's so sad," and Thiern shows emotion for the first time … quickly shrugging it off. "Anyway. We -are- Cloudburst, dear sir," is her response to Sii'kyn.

Nylca always hated history, and so it's no wonder that she's a bit behind. "That's silly," she mumbles. "Sii'kyn is Weyrleader." But she's quite as others seem to know more than her.

A different time? Huh? Sylara's brain can't handle it. She just sits there open-mouthed, not caring that she looks fairly stupid.

F'renkil glances back at Thiern with a shake of his head. Duty-centric wingriders can get tedious from time to time. But be that as it may, he's still going to stand here and make sure whatever R'meld says makes sense to the lot of them. "This would be Weyrleader R'meld, sir, and I weyrsecond F'renkil." Names are in order, of course.

"Calm down, Alasse. This is no time for hysterics," Pyrene lies curtly. "Cloudburst? Oh, great Faranth…." She flicks a glance to Thiern at the strange greenrider's comment, and then moves forward to stand next to Ike. "Senior Weyrwoman Pyrene for Cadgwith and Weyrleader Sii'kyn for Sidramuntalath," she introduces, although she'll leave the bulk of the explanations to Ike.

Fawn stares at M'nty as if he had a second head. This makes sense to him? She's seeing more dragons in one place than she's ever imagined, someone died again and he can make sense of it? She just shakes her head and turns back to the group of people.

M'nty snorted and then… "Shards and Shells. I didn't think it was possible." 'Cause, you know… M'nty's not one who believes in drivel like that. "They -timed- it. But that's just supersition." M'nty frowned. "Pure fantasy." He watched Pyrene to see her reaction. If anyone would know if it was possible, a goldrider would. "Fawn, hon… Remember I was telling you about the Nuff and 'Reaches earlier?" He trailed off, frowning. Yup. Same name. He sighed. "Name of their Weyrleader was R'meld."

Sii'kyn's jaw nearly unhinges, but it stays shut. A slow blink to R'meld, and he rocks back on his heels, slowly. "R'meld, then, is it?" Sii'kyn shifts his gaze to blink, slowly, at Thiern. "Cloudburst." He's at a sheer loss for a moment, perplexion flexing at his brow; then, "Indeed, it is towards the end of the pass, though Thread still falls," he responds as if on automatic to R'meld's last question. Swift eyes switch over to F'renkil, then land on Pyrene, before switching over to the 'oldtimers'. "If I may have the pardon of all of you, but what the -shell- are you doing here, now?" Great tact, Ike.

Nylca is silent as she watches her Weyrleaders with the band of new riders. Or old riders, rather. "So, they're from the past," she mumbles to herself, putting the peices together a little later than everyone else.

Fawn nods at M'nty but still remains quiet. She's trying so hard to hear what -everyone- is saying. Also has a scrap of hide in her hands and is scribbling furiously.

Sylara ventures to whisper a stupid question to Nylca. "Is that possible? From the past?"

Thiern chooses to tactfully wait until R'meld speaks, and then F'renkil, and then perhaps she'll have something to say. Her generally cynical nature makes her want to lean over toward Laeth's rider and mutter 'duh,' but momentary sanity stops her from doing so. Speaking the single word of 'Cloudburst' got her the central attention she wanted for the night.

Nylca glances at Sylara. "Well, I've been told that there are records of time travel, though they were more like myths, or legends. They," and her hand waves towards Pyrene and Sii'kyn, "Probably know more about it, though." She looks at R'meld and his band. "Apparently, it is possible."

Still highly excited and bewildered, Alasse steps back, eyeing R'meld and the others. M'nty's comments are heard, but evidently he remembers what she still doesn't, because she shoots a glance at him. "Timing it?" she whispers almost to herself as she stands, waiting for everything to be fully explained.

Sylara looks over the dragons. "Is that safe?" She's not sure she'd want to time travel, even if it were possible.

Nylca gives a bit of a shrug. "I have no idea. Like I said, it was more of a myth than truth. Until now, I thought it was just a story."

M'nty shrugged at Alasse, letting Fawn scribble for the nonce. "Um…" M'nty shook his head. "It's… well. It's not supposed to be possible. But you know how dragons can go ::between:: place to place?" M'nty sighed. He'd spent enough time exploring to have read some of the old scrolls in back weyrs during candihood. "It's like that. Only… not space… Time." M'nty shook his head. "It's not possible. But… Unless they're lying and this is one brilliantly elaborate hoax. I'd say it's true." But that's as far as he got. The comments on the bit of thread being over he would chuckle at, if they didn't seem to be completely serious.

Pyrene worries at her lower lip, apparently unaware of her obvious discomfort. Her eyes are roving over the dragons, counting thoughtfully. "Eleven of Cloudburst," she murmurs to Ike, placing a light emphasis on the number.

"Oh, yes, introductions," R'meld flushes pink as he nods to his Weyrsecond. "Err, yeah, what F'renkil all said." He waves his hand in dismissal, before it flops down to his side. "Thread /still/ falls? No! That can't be! I know I read the charts correctly, we were all supposed to appear at the end of the pass, that way you all can come back with us to save the Weyr!" The Weyrleader curses under his breath, clenching his hands into fists. "Where in the bloody shards did I go wrong? Can you think of anything, F'renkil? I mean, I didn't look at the charts /that/ long, but I thought I had the basic idea." Cough. Sii'kyn gains R'meld's attention once again; his face lightening up once more. "We can fix it, somehow. But yes, as to why we are here. High Reaches of -our- time," Cloudburst wing is indicated at. "is going through a horrible plague. Many dragons have already gone between and we need as much help as we can get to go back with us to save the Weyr!"

Nylca frowns a moment as she tries to listen to R'meld, the Weyrleaders, and answer Sylara's questions. "Um, anywhere from twelve to thirty, depending on the need and the dragons available," she replies in a hushed voice. Laeth has finally calmed down and is now just watching the band with curiuos, slightly perplexed interest.

Fawn continues to scribble, also doodling small sketches of faces in the corners. She nods as M'nty talks, her eyebrows up her face twitching as so many thoughts are racing through her head. "Time travel?! How!?" She blinks, confusion causing her to actually stop writing, "If they're from the past, why don't you all know how to time travel?"

F'renkil again gives Thiern a warning glance, but happily keeps to himself as well when she does. Good greenrider. The tall man crosses his arms, listening with his usual proud posture having fully returned after the impact of death was dusted into the back of his mind. "It is no hoax," he mutters to anyone listening. "Mergoth was not an apparition." And then a solemnness washes over his face. "Thread still falls - R'meld, both you and me studied those charts! Every star… there is no explanation - all I can think of is that what we studied could have been faulty. Who made those charts?"

Sii'kyn's brow completely clears at Pyrene's observation. His chin dips and raises subtly to note her observation, before he blinks at R'meld's outburst. "If you're accusing me of lying, dear sir," he drolly states to R'meld. "Because it does fall yet, and claims the lives of my riders still." Then, another pause - and what does he do? Laughs. "You expect me to send -my- riders back into a danger zone that has already happened, to a plague that has already killed?" He's absolutely taken aback, one eyebrow scaling ever-higher towards his hairline. "And may I point out, R'meld - " Note he does not use the term weyrleader - " - this weyr -is- saved."

Trajan blinks rapidly, brows lifting up as he listens to the conversation at hand. Gawk. Timing it? Plague? The baker remains silent, mouth slightly opened. Oh my.

Alasse listens to M'nty's explanation, her head jerking back around to stare at the Cloudburst riders. They came ::between:: from a different time? She tries to get the idea through her head, although R'meld's explanation leaves her even more confused. She sidles over to M'nty, speaking to him in a low whisper. "When was there a plague besides the one we just had?"

Pyrene's hands suddenly fly to her mouth. "Oh, shards, the /plague/!" She spins around, taking in the numbers of people here. "/I/ remember the plague and I wasn't even here at the time!" Her face goes from white to red in the next instant and she wheels on R'meld. "You /fools/! What if you've brought the infection here? You wish to save your own time - needlessly - at the expense of ours?"

Enter M'nty's face turning slightly pale. Plague? The first thing that came to his mind when the word was mentioned was the dragon plague and Minoyath turning that nasty shade of yellow. Then… history reasserts itself in his mind and he frowns. "Fawn… if they came from a time with a plague…" He trailed off, wanting to go forwards and tap Pyrene on the shoulder and point this out, but not sure if she would take it well… He become distracted when Fawn asked him about time travel. "What? Time travel? I mean… we can't do it. I mean. It's been done, apparently. But it's not supposed to be." Short glare. "It, in the records, is dangerous and stupid." Especially from a /when/ with a plague to a /when/ with a plague. "The When with a plague was when Nuff first came to the Weyr… some… quarter century back. Maybe a little more." Oh look. Pyrene figured out what M'nty was just going to tell her.

Thiern eyes R'meld, pausing a moment to think of some way to bring her thoughts to words, and finishes with, "Perhaps there was a neopolitical scandal, and no one wanted us to save the Weyr after all," is said in a sarcastic drawl. She knows that R'meld loves her - in fact, the whole wing does except for F'renkil, who seems to have it in for her. Pyrene's sudden statement causes her face to grow pale and blank. "… Oh dear. How could we have been so -stupid?-" She glares at her dragon as if it's all Thranduith's fault.

Nylca jumps a bit at Pyrene's outburst. The word 'plague' makes her shiver just a bit, and Laeth noses her gently. Well, this is getting interesting. She absently strokes Laeth's head, comfort for herself and her green lifemate. She swallows a bit, and eyes Pyrene, and R'meld.

F'renkil turns towards Pyrene, angered before he even consults the Weyrleader. Not that he would anyway, but. "Your time does not exist yet! Ours is in peril! Who knows what means saved it. Perhaps we did!"

Being the thoughtful person that she is, Sylara just sits there, wondering about the circles of time travel. If there's a plague here, and there /was/ a plague here just a bit ago, things could get very hairy around here.

R'meld nods at F'renkil, arms crossing over his chest, "The harpers, is my guess. Making us faulty charts. Remind me to have a talk with them when we get back." He snorts, shaking his head. "You have no clue if the Weyr really has been saved or not! As my 'second says, you all may go back with us to help. Are we all not dragonriders? Do we all not dwell in the same Weyr, regardless of time? Is it not our job to fight Thread? You can't just say no!" Well, he can, but that doesn't mean R'meld will go along with it. Pyrene gets a blank stare, as the Weyrleader's mind goes on a slight hiatus, though his eyes widen once an actual thought filters through. "Oh… Faranth. I… I never thought about bringing the plague here with us." His dragons get a quick glance, and then a present time ones, his face looking much like Thiern's.

Sylara voices her worry. "Are there still dragons that are contagious?" She remembers the blue that sneezed on her just before all this started happening.

Nylca shrugged a little. "I don't know. I'm more worried about them bringing the plague here. That would be… horrible," she states with seriousness.

Sii'kyn lifts his jaw and stares at F'renkil. "Yes, boy, I don't exist, and surely Sidramuntalath doesn't, and Pyrene and Alasse and M'nty and the nigh five hundred other riders and all of Pern that lives right now. We're apparitions here to haunt your future." Eyes just roll, and then he focuses in on R'meld. "I -can- say no." He pauses to look over at Pyrene, however, as if trying to gauge her feel on the subject. "Ah, great," he then mutters. "I hate quarantine." He shakes his head, flabbergasted by the entire situation, and just looks to the skies as if an answer is just gonna come dawning onto the group.

And indeed, an answer -does- come from the skies, in the form of gold Ulrinath and 12 other dragons appearing from :: between:: and winging their way down.

Pyrene is shaking her head softly. "We'll have to quarantine the entire weyr…" she moans softly. Quite aside from the risk of the plague, this will be a logistical nightmare. "Cadge, spread the word. Nobody comes and nobody goes - oh, that means Wyn gets to have an extended vacation in Igen. She'll blame me for this…" And then her head stops shaking in favour of snapping upwards, a vicious smile appearing on her face. "By the way," she snaps at R'meld. "Adel and the rest of Cloudburst followed you."

Another large grouping of dragons appeared from ::between:: high above 'Reaches. At their head, a shimmering golden dragon ridden by a human who was almost radiating waves of fury. And then… there are twelve more dragons landing in the bowl. Twelve more that are bugleing and trumpeting and…. pausing and starting to keen again. -They- hadn't gotten the news until just now.

F'renkil turns, having calmed from his outburst to sooth R'meld. "Our dragons are not infected. They would not have been able to successfully between had they any sense of the plague. It has not come with us," he resolutely decides, "there is no threat." Sii'kyn gets a twitching eye. Being condescending, is he? "You do not - " and then he looks upwards. "Ah, shaffit."

L'vek slides from Zipheroth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Adel slides from Ulrinath's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Cadgwith ignores her rider's command for once in her life. Her eyes flash red, her wings spread wide and she bugles a fierce challenge as the other queen dragon lands, startling even Pyrene into silence.

Laeth looks at Cadgwith, and mimics her, to a degree. Her wings flare out, and she turns a heated look to the others (when confused, Laeth just copies her senior). But there's confusion in her movements.

"Oh, dear." Sylara shrinks back again, hearing the challenge.

L'vek dismounts stiffly, frowning at his gunmetal grey dragon as the blue beast starts to keen. "Hushit already, Zip. You're causing enough trouble. They're already done that." L'vek gazes around at the crowd and gives them a rather wan smile, before turning and saluting his Weyrleader and throwing a greeting to Thiern, F'renkil, and the rest of the wing he'd missed only this morning. And now… smirk…. for the fireworks.

R'meld just stares at the present-day Weyrleader, his face slowly contorting to anger. He never thought that he would actually fail with his quest. Afterall, the ballads had said that another had done such a deed, except going into the past. Pyrene snaps the bronzerider from his little inner debate, his eyebrow arching up high. "The rest of Cloudburst…?" He gives the Weyrwoman a queer look, wondering if she is perhaps off her rocker. But a trumpet of delight from Bannyth causes R'meld's blood to run cold. Uh oh… he's in trouble.

Ulrinath bows her head apologetically to the Cadgwith-anger, as Adel shakes with fury. Eyes are past narrow, but bloodshot and tense, so that she can't even articulate herself. " You… " A fist filled with starcharts shakes apocalyptically at R'meld, the object of her fury.

Sii'kyn pauses, and blinks at the skies. Hey, they weren't supposed to answer him… "Whoa. What the - " Then? All he can do is smile maliciously at F'renkil. And /then/? He jerks back from Cadge, even as Ram snakes his head out to back up Cadge. Har har har. Yeah, bring it on! Ike just shakes his head tiredly, and reaches a hand out to lay on one of Ram's back 'paws. Eyes switch to Adel, and he steps forwards, disregarding Cadge and Ram to holler, "Hail, riders." The rest of his traditional greeting is dropped, however, in favor to, well, watch Adel and R'meld, moving back to stand next to Pyrene. "This should be interesting."

F'renkil doesn't even say it. It's too obvious at this point. R'meld didn't even need a good pointing out and reminding. In fact, the man takes a few steps back and promptly attempts to pull at R'meld's shoulder - to get him to do the same. Give Adel time to stomp out her anger in front of them before she reaches R'meld.

Sylara is more scared by the new queenrider's anger than the keening. "I'm glad that's not directed this way," she whispers to Nylca.

Pyrene steps back from the Weyrleader-faceoff to try and soothe her queen. "This isn't like her," she mutters, not sure whether to be embarassed, concerned or proud. Cadgwith holds still, but she doesn't drop one whit of hostility, and Pyrene settles for standing in front of her, eyes slightly vague as she conducts a mental argument. "And you're /supposed/ to be laying a quarantine on the Weyr," she finishes out loud.

Nylca frowns. This was too much for the poor Wingleader. She settles herself on Laeth's forepaw, watching the action. Laeth is just a confused little green, who's given up on understanding anything.

Trajan sees a chance, and moves forward, making his way over to pop up beside Sii'kyn. He couldn't help it, he's /curious/ about all this, and worried as well. His voice is rather low though as he gently pokes Ike's arm. "Are they /all/ from back then?" Yes. The baker is having a slightly hard time digesting this fact.

L'vek will actually, sigh, attempt to do the right thing and diffuse poor Adel's anger before she rips her weyrleader apart. Dodging up to her side, he tries to talk a bit of sense into her. "Ma'am. Weyrwoman. Goldrider. Please? If you rip him apart now we won't get the full story from him. And I believe we own the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader of this time a bit of an explanation?" Cajole, coax, and beg. "Please? We don't want to be too rude. We are guests, after all." Proper forms must be followed.

R'meld holds his hands up, waving them about and creating a pathetic shield, that will hopefully hide him from his Weyrwoman's wrath. "A-Adel!" He exclaims, his voice having a nervous tilt to it. "W-w-what are y-you doing here? And how did you even know where we were going? And…" So many other questions the Weyrleader has to ask, but he snaps his mouth shut and sticks to silence for now. From behind him, Bannyth sends a soothing croon, or as soothing as he can get, to Ulrinath, in hopes she can calm down her fuming 'rider.

<All> Cadgwith senses that she issues a command to the dragons of High Reaches and news to the dragons of all Pern. « Sickness may come to the Reaches! All within the Weyr must stay. None may enter. Strange riders may have brought death with them! » Her cry is firm with an edge of anger, but she offers no explanation because she knows none.

M'nty winces at Minoyath's booming voice, touched with a tad bit of residual anger from Cadgwith's proclaimation. "Ahh… Fawn…" He spoke quietly, but never-the-less pointedly. "I hope you didn't have any messages to deliver any time soon. Because Pyrene's Gold just issued quarintine for an indeterminate amount of time on 'Reaches." Pain. Wince. Nobody ever goes in… and nobody every comes out.

F'renkil shakes his head, muttering to himself. "… put away the star charts before the shaffing trip, those harpers…" And he consequently fumes quietly, taking steps away from the arguement between R'meld and Adel. He'll only defend his Weyrleader if it comes to blows. He's got the sense to stay out of it. If they let him. He's not a coward. He's just sensible.

Nylca, being Nylca, is thoughtful at the quarentine proclaimation. "Does that mean we don't have to do sweeps?" she questions. It would mean less work for her! She brushes that thought away as more pressing matters appear.

Sii'kyn warms -immediately- to L'vek. L'vek is good. He already trusts in the L'vek. "Yes," Ike states towards Traj, nodding. "Indeed." He points and pops off, "R'meld and Adel. Bets on Adel kicking the living tar out of him?" Not time to be playing bookie, Ike. "Adel. I've heard a rather lot about her, but - " He lifts a single brow as he studies the goldrider. This isn't what he would have expected. He just slants his eyes at F'renkil. Wyn's better. [Just don't tell Pyrene.]

Fawn blankly looks at M'nty and her voice is slightly higher than normal. "Can't leave? But… That means that there's no way to send messages?!" She prays under her breath that she doesn't get in trouble with her head messenger.

Adel doesn't appear to pay much heed to L'vek, as she brushes him aside, but then again, she does stop short of kicking the living tar out of R'meld, instead opting to thrust the star charts in his face. "You left /these/ in your weyr. When Ulrinath couldn't hear you anywhere, we knew you must have gone between times! What did you leave for, a cure? You make a funny-looking Moreta, I must say."

Sylara doesn't suppose the messenger will get in trouble. "Your boss's stuck too," she says.

Sii'kyn has the grace - or lack thereof - to snicker at Adel's last words. That is all.

Fawn winces as she hears Sylara, "See, that's the problem," She points out her hold colors, "My boss is at Ista…."

Pyrene who remembers a time when she childishly thought Adel ruled the known world now knows why she had that impression even without ever seeing the woman. Cadgwith doesn't seem to share her awe, still standing to fearsome attention.

L'vek utters some rather lengthy curse as he backs up to get out of the line of fire, accidentally backing into Nycla. "Ah… Many pardons, M'lady 'rider. I just didn't want to be in /their/ way." He motions towards the rather angry Adel, which could be the understatment of a lifetime. "You know… Adel doesn't thinkg R'meld is all the bright to begin with." L'vek remarks, just offhand. "Now I'm pretty sure she believes he's brains that rival a wherry."

M'nty shook his head at Fawn. "Nope. you can't get anywhere. I can't take you, and none of the dragons will take you, and unless you sneak out by runner…" M'nty trailed off. "But that's besides the point. You're here for the duration. Whether or not your boss is at Ista." Shrug. But… look! M'nty would bet on R'meld. Just because anyone that stupid ought to get in a good punch by accident if he just starts flailing.

Nylca snorts a bit, covering a smile with her hand. This was hardly the time to laugh, she thought. She does pause to face Fawn. "If your Headmessenger gets mad at you, he isn't such a nice person. It's Pyrene's orders. There's nothing /you/ can do about it when the Weyrwoman orders something."

Sylara hopes the Istan was here officially. "Oh. If you were here on business, they can't get mad." If not, well….

Fawn shakes her head in terror, "Oooh noo! I ain't sneaking out!!" Sheesh, look at those dragonriders going at it!! She'll follow what they say.

Of course, Adel has the bigger dragon… Which reminds Pyrene of another thing. "Where are we going to put them?" she hisses at Ike, stepping forward again. "Eleven extra dragons is bad enough, but twenty-three including a queen? We don't /have/ an empty queen weyr. Jh'ral's in the spare, remember?" Stair-accessible weyrs become appealing to riders who survive long enough to get old.

R'meld gathers up the charts as they are thrust at him, dropping a few on the ground but worrying about those. "I left these in my weyr?" He gives himself a mental slap, "I knew I forgot to do someting before I left. Oh well, can't help it now." Shrug. "Adel, my dear, I came to gather more dragonriders to come and help us fight! There was no way High Reaches will be able to get through that plague. Dragons and 'riders were dropping by the day!" He won't comment on how the Weyr of this time looks to be in perfect order, since that doesn't matter much to him anyway. "Why, in the name of Faranth, did you follow me? F'renkil and I can handle this!" Really they can! "You didn't leave the Weyr leaderless, did you?" He gaps all of a sudden, leaning towards his Weyrwoman and ignoring all else in the bowl at the moment.

F'renkil doesn't believe it. There's that incredulous tint in his eyes. They screw up along with his nose, and he regains the distance he's put between R'meld and him. "R'meld! I told you to shelve those before we left!" His fury dissipates and he turns on Adel, "What did you expect us to do? The entire Weyr is dying back there, Weyrwoman! It was a solution to the deaths! We'd gone through all other options. I wouldn't let R'meld do this if it were that faulty." It's just insane, is all.

Nylca just shakes her head. "This is starting to confuse me," she says, mostly to herself.

Trajan settles a hand on his hip, frowning as he watches the argument at hand..and then looks up at Sii'kyn. "They didn't even consult their Weyrwoman before doing this? And they act as if they have no faith at /all/ in their dragons to pull through this mess." Arms fold over the baker's chest. "Just sounds selfish to me."

Sylara looks up to Laeth. "She's pretty confused, too, isn't she?" The girl asks Nylca, indicating up to the dragon.

Nylca wrinkles her nose at Sylara. "Laeth's always confused, so it's not too new. She's just more confused than normal," she explains. The green's pretty much relaxed. She's too lost to pay attention.

Adel glares at him. "You don't look the part of Lessa either. And don't worry," her voice oozes sarcasm. "I'm sure Lara is taking excellent care of the Weyr. Leaving her as acting Sr is at least as sensible as leaping forward in time to find riders to help fly Nabol's fall." Her hands fly up, but she clenches them into fists and holds back. "Fortunately, having given /some/ thought to my actions, I left Jh'ral in charge." At F'renkil's plea, she falls back somewhat. "Maybe it /is/ a solution, but you will /never/ go off without warning like that again, you hear me?" Her voice shakes somewhat on that last, although by the look of her, she's not slept for a good two days, so perhaps it's not surprising.

L'vek steps right towards F'renkil. "What could you do? What could you -do-?" He's not shouting, he's just restating the words that had already peen thrown out. "Why… send out a call for help among the other 'riders of the time. It's not unheard of. Surely there would be some brave souls that would have been glad to help out, if just for threadfall." L'vek sighed, "And then… after the plague was over, we could have repopulated." Note words of wisdom from solemn little L'vek. He tries to sooth is Weyrwoman, "Adel. I doubt they'll be going anywhere for quite some time. Didn't you hear the Gold's instructions?" A moment to ask around and he nods. "Cadgwith, I believe her name is? We're now under quarantine." He paused, "You know… you still haven't even looked at the Leadership you're interrupting." And, of course L'vek knows he'll not be listened to, but it never hurts to try.

Sii'kyn shifts to stare at Pyrene. "Oh, sheckit." He twitches. "Oh, shells. We'll… figure something out. I believe there's a host of weyrs along where I'm at that are vacant.. maybe one of them will be big enough. And we could always put her into the ground weyrs if we have to." There's a hint of a smirk on his face, too, before it gets wiped out. He steps forwards, clearing his throat to give a bit of his history and their future: "Ah, she left Lara as the weyrwoman. Nuff transfered in and was declared senior after Tia rose first… And the weyr -didn't- die out, boy." F'renkil will now be known as 'boy'. At least to Ike. "Or we wouldn't be here now." Duh. "And if you go back, you mess up -our- timeline." He shifts to toss a look towards Pyrene, more than fifty percent pleading. Help?

Nylca frowns a bit at Sii'kyn's words. "Wait. Does that mean they're not leaving? They're here for good?" Poor Nylca's getting confused now. "And I thought I was up to speed on things," she said halfheartedly.

Pyrene rolls her eyes at him. "Do we have to get into that now?" she mutters, before raising her voice clearly. "Fall over Nabol was met by all the Weyrs of Pern. I remember hearing about it at my hold. I was nine at the time." Why she feels this is relevant isn't clear, but putting it into context seems to help her. "Look, we're going to get nothing settled tonight. You're all tired, and if you haven't had the plague already, you're not doing yourself any favours now…. Can we sort this out later?" Because, quite frankly, Pyrene has a headache.

F'renkil simply grunts at having been reminded not only of the quarantine but also of how alive and well the Weyr seems to be. "But we have to go back eventually," he notes towards Sii'kyn, "I didn't come to stay forever." He doesn't mull over this thought, but simply turns his back on both the arguement and the predicament and heads towards his dragon. He's pouting. Because, really, now that he thinks about it, nothing really makes any sense any more.

"You left Lara in charge?" R'meld shudders with that thought, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "And Jh'ral? Ah, good choice with him." He says, hoping to ebb some of Adel's anger. He only half-listens to Sii'kyn's history lesson, the Weyrleader more focusing on the last bit of his speech. "And what do you mean we can't go back? We /have/ to go back. The Weyr needs us and all the 'riders that were brought foreward. You seriously can't just keep us here! …Can he?" He whispers the last part to Adel, a disgruntled look flickering across his face. "I think sorting this whole predicament out at a later time might be the best idea. I do not know about the rest of my 'riders, but that jump tired me out."

Being a nanny, Sylara can't help but wonder about the new riders' families. "I wonder about the kids that got left behind. Are there any of them left now?"

Adel looks down at the other Weyrwoman, frowning for a long moment. Finally she nods and speaks on behalf of herself /and/ R'meld. "I suppose our own weyrs are no longer available to us, but if somebody can show us to quarters for the duration, I for one would appreciate a night's sleep." She casts an eye to she sky wryly. It was full day when she left, although her body clock had long since been thrown out of synch.

Sii'kyn tilts his head towards Pyrene fully, and backs a graceful step back. Yes. Let Pyrene deal with it. That's his motto.

Trajan rests a hand lightly on Sii'kyn's arm. The baker still looks somewhat troubled, but at least relieved that the incident is calming least for the night anyway.

L'vek sighs and will just follow Adel and the rest of his wing to wherever they may end up. At least he was… if not precisely heard, that what he had said was being taken into account. "As you wish." Was all he said, clambering back up on to Zipheroth to wait for orders.

Now that the trouble has settled down, Sylara wonders about the noise. "Did a dragon die? Which one?"

L'vek clambers up Zipheroth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

Nylca stiffles a yawn. "I think it's time to go to bed. Any news and I'm sure Laeth will get wind of it. Good night Sylara," she says. She turns and mounts Laeth, who quickly ascends to their ledge.

Sensing it's time, Laeth kindly shifts her weight to her haunches, stretching out a compact forearm for Nylca to climb. From there on, thick, sturdy loops of leather offer a ladder up Laeth's neck, where Nylca can easily swing their leg over the side, and settle into place.
Laeth goes home.

"Good night, Nylca", Sylara waves to the retreating pair. "And you, too Laeth."

Pyrene glances with sweet respect to her Weyrleader. "Do you want to take care of that, while I check with the healers on this plague. Catia'd be the one to talk to, damn this quarantine. What time is it in Southern?" She sighs, scrubbing her eyes. "I want to check on Shaela too… I suppose you lot remember Keyla's daughter?" She glances to Cloudburst. "She's a goldrider now. She heard the instant you came from between."

Sylara hears at least part of the answer to her question. She looks around to see who could answer her. Finding no one else, she moves closer to Fawn.
Sylara looks at Fawn, wondering if she knows the answer. "Do you know which dragon died?"

M'nty heard Sylara and nodded at Fawn. "Green Mergoth, Rider… Keyla?" He looked around, but there wasn't any one who could confirm or deny this. "She's of the Cloudburst Wing. From… them." He gestured towards the newcomers.

Some of the riders do indeed remember Keyla's daughter judging from the surprised looks that greet Pyrene's words. An undertone comment wonders if Shaela's actually learned to read yet, although most reactions are sympathetic.

Sii'kyn mutters under his breath- something about 'weyrwomen' - but no doubt it's said with some grain of fondness. He pats Traj's hand, and nods towards Adel; "I fear the only accomodations we can make your queen would be the groundweyrs- V'der, here, can show you the way, though I doubt you've forgotten." He sighs with resignation at the others - "Well, follow me- I think we have enough weyrs above the 'ling grounds to house you all." A sharp look to a side, and, "N'zgul. Fetch the headwoman and Kalyssa - tell Kal I need new bedgarments for approximately two dozen beds."

Fawn shakes her head at Sylara her eyes confused at the whole situation. She looks at M'nty as he answers for her and shrugs at the other woman.

A sad frown crosses Sylara's face. "And one of the queenriders here is her daughter?" That is so sad.

R'meld nods to Pyrene, "Yes, I remember Shaela. Cute li'l child, and a goldrider, you say? That's a lovely surprise." His face falls though, eyes mournful once again. "Shame Keyla won't be able to see her now." The Weyrleader now surrenders himself to silence, only nodding slightly before following Sii'kyn.

Pyrene slaps Cadge's chest, before moving off towards the lower caverns. Still red-eyed, Cadgwith trumpets again as she lifts off, heading back to her own weyr at the silent request. Even so, a golden figure can be seen for a long time upon her ledge, vigilant and defiant.

M'nty nodded at both of them. "It is sad. But yes. one of the queenriders." He waves his hand generally in some direction. "Fawn… I think we should be getting back…" He sighed and motioned towards Mino. "Shall we go?"

Sii'kyn leads a wing of total strangers, and his proverbial 'ancestors' in the rider sense, off to warm beds. Ta.

Sylara waves at Fawn. "Good night, Fawn. If you need a friend during your stay, I'm in the resident dorms."

Fawn nods and waves to Sylara, "well, now that i'm going to be around for awhile, i'll probably run into you again. so yes, see you later." she follows M'nty.

M'nty nodded at Sylara and waved farewell to them. Leaving the older 'riders… and supposedly wiser riders, to deal with this mess.

Sylara yawns, deciding to head back into the caverns, and get something to eat. Then, sleep.

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