(TW: Injury, Flightlust and also TW: Strong Language)
It begins in the distance, far beyond where your senses can reach. You can feel great emotion, like before when the aftermath of the quake was one great roil of it after the other, but this is different. After only moments, enough draconic eyes turn towards the fracas that it comes into focus for you; Pertemarth whispers it as he wings his way over.
Malice. Pure, unadulterated malice. A blue and a green are tangled up in each other, bruised from falling from a ledge above into the sand. Whatever started their fight has dissolved into petty insults.
The blue, Ansith, screams out, -- slimy bitch! Can’t even talk shit properly!
The green, Utaibath, bellows back, taking snaps at Ansith’s wings. I wouldn’t have to if your rider wasn’t such a mule who forces greenriders! That sick fuck -- he doesn’t love you, he wanted a brown.
As if -- he sputters as Utaibath’s claws rake his face. As if your shit rider is any better. Everyone knows you hatched last and got the worst pick, a snivelling little coward of a woman! Ansith springs for Utaibath, and there is the vague suggestion of humans scattering around them as the green rolls head over tailfork and pins the blue on the other side. The spoken human words are lost in the lash of emotion between the two dragons.
Utaibath roars with throat-rasping power, standing on Ansith’s wings and grasping his snout with both hands, driving his head into the sand over and over. Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you for bringing that up, we try so hard, it doesn’t matter if N’hi isn’t good I love her -- you can’t use that against us!
Bah! I can and did, to your face like a proper dragon. This is what you get. Ansith gets his hindlimbs under him and uses his greater weight to flip Utaibath off, going directly for her throat as she lays supine. I’ll fly you every time just to spit in your face, and Y’sso can give your precious girlie what she likes --
Finally, a brown and a blue swoop in together to separate the two dragons, Utaibath still struggling against the hold and throwing ever worse insults at the blue. Humans are busy separating the riders, too, who had begun their own shouting match above; it takes some minutes before everyone had calmed down enough for the mindhealers to talk to them.
Pertemarth leaves then, gliding back to Gwillanth and clutch. He touches noses with his gold mate on landing, the shadow of the Weyrleader passing above to dispense punishment.
Gwillanth murmurs, Stress, I hope, making them see things that aren’t there. The quake has brought many rifts to light...
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You never saw the beginning of Ansith and Utaibath’s fight -- what do you think caused it? Why? What clues do you draw on? Between the swears, the pair of dragons mention a number of concepts you’re unfamiliar with -- how do you approach them? What do you glean? Between the two dragons, is there one whose words resonate more with you? Why? Gwillanth seems to be concerned not as much for the physical injuries of the dragons involved but in response to reading something between the lines. What is it? Why would she be concerned?