Condition Grounded but Determined to Try [Open]

[Windra]

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted
Just an earthbound misfit
I

"A brave man once said, 'If fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts!'" Worrell was pacing back and forth at the lake's edge. But this wasn't Worrell - it was somebody who looked like him but wasn't. Maybe? Dressed in rider garb so old that you could smell the mildew wafting off it and slapping a leather riding crop in the palm of his left hand with heated intent. Mouth set and firm, facial features drawn tightly. He squared his shoulders and marched unwaveringly. Left to right. Right to left. Periodically, he glanced over his shoulder at one of the weyr's many cliffs. "He also said that 'The fear of flying is only due to the fear of falling! It isn't the fall that kills you, its the sudden stop'. KnowwatImean?"

There was a green shape perched at the edge of that cliff Worrell kept glancing at. A wher - long in body but short in height. All the makings of her body gave the impression of a bird trapped in landlubbing form. Feathers tethered to soft hide, tangible only by sight and not touch. Whirling yellow eyes focused on the lake. She shifted from one leg to the other. A green tongue licked at beak-shaded lips.

Floatin' like a butterfly. That's gonna be me, she broadcast with boldness and determination in each word. No fall like anvil. Gotta stretch wings. Blood pumpin'. Hoo, hoo, Worrsk can do this. She was pumping herself up. And for what?

"We do not quiver in the face of fear!" Thwap! of the prop again his hand. The snap caused Worrsk to jerk unintentionally - not fear, but having her concentration broken. "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush! One good leap deserves another!"

Worrell is rambling! The wher rumbled amusement.

"But it's takin' the edge off, innit?"

At his feet, Rimshot lay on his belly. He covered his muzzle with his paws in an 'I can't watch!' pose.