Legiath was bored, bored, bored, bored, bored...Bored and restless, blood as itchy as the first spring pollen and growing itchier with every minute spent basking in the frigid winter sun. They had napped until they tired of napping. Until their wings ached with the urge to fly.
Legiath, who had always been a dragon who believed whims should be thoroughly indulged, snapped their wings to their full length and dove from their ledge, towards the waiting herdbeasts, ravenous with pre-flight hunger.
Blood only, Duke reminded them, biting her lip as she watched. She had let Legiath indulge in meat, the first time they rose, unable to discipline their dragon with enough firmness. That sort of weakness of will was why Duke had never been suited to ride a gold. She simply lacked the strength of character. But the cramps Legiath had suffered the next day were reason enough for even a garnetrider to find their spine.
No fun! You're no fun at all, Legiath complained, as their rider held them back from the meat they truly wanted.
But think of what fun you can have- if you fly light as a feather, Duke coaxed, well-practiced with trying to tempt Legiath into doing what they ought, With blood, not flesh, you will be graceful as the wind itself.
As the hot blood sprayed down Legiath's throat, the urge to fly triumphed over the urge to feed.
Meat forgotten, they dropped their blooded herdbeast to the earth and shot towards where they really wanted to go- beyond the firmament of the clear blue mountain sky.
Come one, come all, any who wish to be the dandelion petal to my brilliant breeze, Legiath called out, their pale hide aglow like the softest of sunrises, their odd wings enough to carry them gracefully aloft.
Duke opened her own door. Weyrfolk indulged when their dragons did and Duke was of the weyr now, so she followed the custom. She didn't know anyone at High Reaches well enough to have a preferred partner- but there was usually someone, when flights began, looking for someone to share it with.