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The anticipation around the Weyr was almost palpable. It was impossible to miss the glow of Amarath's hide, or the way she paced outside her weyr with her eyes turned to the sky. Soon. Soon. It was like a drumbeat inside Ash's head, an inescapable rhythm that was keeping her awake at night. This morning - after a restless night spent tossing and turning - it was worse, silently deafening, all consuming and overwhelming. Slightly verbose descriptions were not like her, she knew, and that was just another sign that her consciousness was already beginning to intertwine closely with her dragon's as the time of the Flight drew ever closer.

Throwing on a simple robe the grey-haired woman stepped out into the morning sun and lent against the arching entrance to her weyr. Shells but Amarath looked beautiful, achingly beautiful. The gold was lying down for now but Ash could feel that she was even more tense and restless than she had been when she'd been pacing, the only reason she lay still now was to save energy.

Soon.

Soon.

Very soon...

Now!

It started slowly with Amarath rising gracefully to her feet and stretching; if not for her glowing hide she might be rising from a perfectly normal nap. The next moment shattered that illusion as, raising her head, the gold bellowed her challenge to the males of the Weyr. Bounding forward she sprang into the beast pens and blooded her first kill, lusting for the flesh as she lusted for the chase but feeling her rider's will hold her back. Blood. Blood only. Fly light, fly fast, fly high, fly long. Eyes gleaming brilliant purple the queen snarled and pounced on another panicked animal, tearing out its throat and sucking it dry. A third beast was killed and drained, then a forth, and then Amarath raised her gore-strained muzzle and roared again. Her suitors would gather. She would fly, and she would not permit an unworthy male to catch her.

((All adult bronze and brown dragons may participate in this flight, and anyone may RP in this thread. Remember the effects of a queen flight, but also remember we need to stay PG-13. The named dragons who chase Amarath will of course not be the only ones, there will be a whole host of NPC bronzes and browns after her too!))

Selta didn't feel the rumble in her chest right away, absorbed as she was in one dingy old hide discussing the use of paper that AVIS had first brought to them. It wasn't until the second bugling roar from the queen that she realized what was happening. FLIGHT! Glancing around the room, the petite girl recognized that she had been in here for much too long- it would be good to get out during a flight and watch the chaos that would ensue. With a little reluctance to leave her reading, she neatly stacked the hides before scurrying out of the room and into the warren that was the Lower Caverns.

Already the older women were ushering the youngest of the brats away from the weyr. The emotions broadcast by a flight were intense- even for those not dragonbound. While it was a normal thing in the weyr, it was still better to keep the youngest children out of the action. There, a little green flit chittered accusingly at someone- the excitment getting to her. Here, one of the older boys who had stood on the sands of the last Hatching and been passed over, scrambled to set down his klah at a nearby table before darting and shoving his way away from where the flight was. Selta cocked her head at that, but otherwise moved on, thanking her smaller size since it let her slip through the chaos with ease.

Finally, she broke free of the crowd of the Lower Caverns and out onto the bottom weyrledge. The queen had just blooded her last, and was about to take off. Selta grinned at the male dragons around the edge- it was going to be an interesting flight. Someday, she would be dragonbound and would watch the males fly after her beauty... someday, she would be more than a watcher on the sidelines.

It may have been far from Nevan's first flight, but the Weyrbrat still felt his blood sing each and every time a female dragon and her suitors rose for a mating flight. Besides, this wasn't just any dragon rising. This was Amarath. This was a queen dragon! And, if all went according to plan, Nevan would be standing on the Hatching Grounds with fingers crossed after Amarath clutched.

Nevan had launched himself out of his bed and off towards the Weyrbowl the very second Amarath's bugle had jolted him awake. His dark, curly hair was almost inexcusably messy, his face bore creases from his bedding, and half his clothing looked like it'd been thrown on the wrong way. But over his dead body was he going to miss this!

Pelting through the halls at full speed, Nevan put his small size and agility to good use to duck around, between, and even under, dragonriders and other weyrfolk who were all hurrying the same way, though not in quite as reckless a fashion as the soon-to-be-Candidate. At last, he came to a skidding halt near the edge of the Weyrbowl, quite possibly bowling over one or two of those already gathered there, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the majestic queen blooding her kills and the males beginning to gather around her. Already, the waves of emotions and sensations Amarath and the other dragons sent out were starting to overwhelm the boy, but this was nothing new to him. He wasn't some holdbred child, fearfully sheltered from all things impure. This was the first time the flight had affected him quite so strongly, though.

With the very last shred of his own consciousness, L'ren saw some fool reach for Ash prematurely; grab her; and be struck down for his trouble. He would have laughed if his blood hadn't been screaming in his ears. If his dragon's eyes weren't interposed over his own, giving him a strange sort of double vision that was rapidly dissolving into blue skies, wisps of cloud, and a golden bullet that shot through the air ahead of him.

Kivath flew hard, soaring above the other dragons. He was strong, and he was fast, but he was not foolish enough to believe that he could outfly a bronze without employing some wit, some strategy.

He surveyed the dragons; the lust-maddened queen surging ahead of the rest; and he formulated his plan. He tipped a wing and flew diagonally, trying to slide in above, behind, and to the side of Amarath's broad wings.

Many males were chasing her now, streaking along behind her like a comet's tail. One by one they dropped out: some weary, some who swerved too much and knew they could not catch up, some because they had all but collided with one another.

After a moment and an eternity in one only the biggest browns and the bronzes remained in the chase. Seeing her suitors whittled down to the very strongest only drove Amarath onward, she would fly until there were but a handful and then maybe, just maybe, she would deign to make her choice...

Acriculeth. Distantly the sight of that particular bronze made Amarath angry, but with her mind smothered by instinct she didn't know why. He was a fine bronze, strong and fit. What was there to dislike? The feeling remained however, and she bared her fangs at him as he swooped closer, straining to climb higher and higher and away from him and the others.

Down below Ash turned to the bronze's rider, looking him up and down sharply and seeing a sleek bronze dragon rather than a sleek black-haired harper. He was as good a suitor as any, he was strong. Why did the bronze anger them? Now completely joined in thought to her dragon Ash had no opinion of her own on the matter.