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Night was the veritable worst time of the day. During the long hours training, drills, even rising to fight thread now -- it kept her mind busy enough to pass by without event. But now, in the near stillness of night, Alluith grew restless. She was never a solid sleeper -- even from a youngling in Benden’s halls, she was more of a frequent napper than a solid night sleep type of dragon. It worked for their lifestyle, looking out for the large skybrooms and able to do laps around woodcrafthall at any given hour.

But the shift to a Weyr was a disruption, a bump in her carefully manicured order of life. Twelve turns hadn’t led to her suddenly falling into line so quickly, but she was loyal to Rh’tyb -- and his reasoning had been sound, after all. They could do so much more if they rejoined a Weyr, and they were doing such good. Actually searing thread from the sky -- what more could a dragon want?

The stars gleamed above her, shining with a radiance she knew was brighter in a lightless forest, and Alluith yearned for her freedom.

Duty and desire may war in her, but she had made the ultimate decision, and now was a High Reaches wingdragon -- to sear thread from the sky, to fall into line under order. It was the natural balance of things, and yet -- here, no one could touch her. Perched out on her ledge, wings half spread as if to leap into the sky and leave it all behind -- the Weyr, dragons, even her rider if she may dare. Yet her gaze drifted below -- far below, to another that found no peace this night. She had been still healing when they had transferred in, and yet Alluith couldn’t get the visions of the young dragon out of her mind. Bandaged, bloody -- doomed to a life on the ground.

Perhaps her perspective was a touch… skewed.

Having trouble sleeping this night, young one? Alluith let herself fall from her ledge, drifting down closer to the young adult. It would be any guess to her which of the weyrs closest to the ground was hers, but that wasn’t her concern for now, not when she was curious over the other green. Her touchdown was gentle, graceful -- one she had once worked tirelessly to perfect, especially outside a Weyr. Forgive my intrusion, if you would rather not be disturbed. The night is late, and I daresay I believed I was the only one without duties up to watch the moons arch. She could return to her ledge with no issue, should her company not be wanted. But did loneliness not desire company?