Finch could tell as soon as Aaneth awoke that morning that it would be today that she would rise. For almost a sevenday, she'd been increasingly restless, until she could hardly focus on her tasks, which did nothing to improve her mood. Like a spotty in a cage, Aaneth paced at her ledge, tail lashing in her agitation. Finch took care to steer clear, quietly drinking some klah within her weyr, knowing her green needed her space...and hoping her missing scarves would reappear soon, once a certain scarf thief had found her usual sense of calm.
Until something shifted in Aaneth's demeanor, signaling Finch through a rush of emotions and an intense need to fly that she had decided to rise. Finch, I must fly, Aaneth murmured, pausing in her tracks to look to her bonded. Finch smiled and nodded. Go on, she acknowledged, moving to lock her door, to indicate she wasn't interested in company. Perhaps you'll find a lady that catches your interest. Well, she'll need to catch me first, Aaneth insisted, but she didn't wait to hear Finch's answer; she was ready.
Dropping from her ledge, Aaneth soared high into High Reaches' skies, a dark green arrow against a powerful afternoon sun. But her hide glowed brilliantly, beautifully, as though to rival Rukbat itself. Aaneth did not pause to blood; she didn't intend to prolong things beyond her own natural strength. Hear me, High Reaches! she bellowed, wings spread wide to catch a draft, to buoy her higher into glory. Those who think themselves worthy, prove yourselves to me!