Post by Vitella on Jul 25, 2017 0:32:46 GMT
Blood watered the grass of the Caldera most days, but especially so when Cath hunted it. She was a careless eater. It wasn't that she was wasteful in nature--in fact, she didn't want to waste a drop. The problem was that as soon as she latched onto one beast, she would see another, and perceive it as instantly more desirable because it wasn't hers. If Vitella would let her, she would slaughter the whole of the feeding bowl, like a feral dog in a cluster in lambs.
But the Weyr would not stand for such wastage, even for a Queen, as the Weyrleader had explained to her through gritted teeth after one too many instances of uneaten corpses littering the roof of the Weyr. Cath would have to restrain herself, he had told her, as it was his duty to tell her such things. Otherwise, he never spoke a word to her. S'ris couldn't stand the junior weyrwoman. She knew it, but saw little reason to care. What had she to gain through being liked? She already had everything she could possibly want.
Face cupped in her hands, she watched Cath snap a runner's neck overhead, then crush its torso in her jaws, which were already running with a mess of blood. Vitella smiled. It was her only smile. Small. Private. Soft.
No more carcasses, please, she directed Cath, speaking only in her head as she ever did.
Cath eyed her rider over the grass, mentally testing to see how much she meant her command. This close to a mating flight Cath was always more restive. Less inclined to do as told.
They are very slow, she informed her rider. And stupid.
I'm sure they are, Vitella returned. But that's no reason to be wasteful. Others have to eat.
If dragons could laugh, Cath would have. How funny, that she should think to care about others. And, she thought slyly, looking about the grounds, what 'others' were there?
Sure enough, the caldera had emptied. No one wanted to be around when Cath fed. If asked, any one of them would have said hastily that it was out of respect for the Queen. But Vitella knew that respect was the last thing on their minds.
She didn't care. She had seen what respect earned a woman in the Weyr. She had seen it in the worry lines on Hydaja's face, in the wearied flight of Soforith when she strayed from her half-dead nest to feed. What an obligation it was, to be respected. To have duties, to be depended on. To be gravid. Why should she want that for herself, or for Cath?
No, she said sternly, as the queen contemplated another distant wherry.
Cath sent her a look of sweet, fake compliance, and Vitella smiled again. Soon. She would rise soon. Perhaps the excitement of the Hatching would agitate her to it earlier. Cath was always anxious to fly, to race her bedmates to the searing, bloody finish. It scarcely took a change in temperature to set her off. It would put the males off for days, ruining their sleep and the sleep of their riders, making them lose their taste for food as they waited for the moment Cath would blood her kills and drag them ruthlessly from their weyrs to pursue her.
On those points too, Vitella had once been lectured by S'ris. 'Don't let her feed. Control her. Remember that the longer the flight, the larger the clutch. Remember.'
The Weyrleader no longer lectured. Perhaps he thought Cath was as sterile as pale Izrulith. Perhaps he thought Vitella was incapable of controlling her. Perhaps, after watching Cath rip the eyes out of his son's young Bronze, he simply thought it best that none of Cath's get made it to the hatching grounds.
He doesn't like us, thought Cath dismissively, rooting in a pile of intestines. Vitella agreed. They had given S'ris no reason to like them, and what for? Why control, when you could revel? Why fly long and hard, wrapped in another pair of wings, when you could have a brief and brutal ecstasy?
Cath keened restively, distracted from her meal as Vitella's thoughts drew her away from concerns of the stomach, to entirely different concerns. H'lain and Suleth were gone on some duty. Remembering Suleth's absence made Cath neglect the rest of her dead runner. She abandoned it to look skywards and clatter her teeth, agitated to the point of animosity, as if her mate had personally insulted her by following orders. Him gone, and her so close to rising!
What would you do, wondered Vitella, if you rose to be caught, and there was no Suleth here to catch you?
Cath gave a kind of shrieking snarl, an unearthly sound that scattered any herdbeast within hearing distance. It was half anger, half mirth. Vitella felt her thoughts scattering from Bronze to Brown to Bronze, sizing up every eligible male in the Weyr, jaws slavering with the same indecision and aggression that had emptied the caldera and scattered it with carrion. Oh, she would take all comers, and punish them bitterly for daring to come at all!
Vitella laughed. Cath's opinion on her choice of weyrmate was as strong as her opinion on anything. For Vitella's part, H'lain's absence was a curious thing. It felt sometimes like she was sleepily reaching for a fur that was always near the bed, and unexpectedly wasn't. Touching nothing where there was always something. She hardly noticed the man until he was gone.
Cath was grumbling now, reconsidering the food, and Vitella silently reached out to soothe her dragon. Let her eat well now, and then sleep the anger and the lusts away, until the appropriate time arrived. Until H'lain returns.
But the Weyr would not stand for such wastage, even for a Queen, as the Weyrleader had explained to her through gritted teeth after one too many instances of uneaten corpses littering the roof of the Weyr. Cath would have to restrain herself, he had told her, as it was his duty to tell her such things. Otherwise, he never spoke a word to her. S'ris couldn't stand the junior weyrwoman. She knew it, but saw little reason to care. What had she to gain through being liked? She already had everything she could possibly want.
Face cupped in her hands, she watched Cath snap a runner's neck overhead, then crush its torso in her jaws, which were already running with a mess of blood. Vitella smiled. It was her only smile. Small. Private. Soft.
No more carcasses, please, she directed Cath, speaking only in her head as she ever did.
Cath eyed her rider over the grass, mentally testing to see how much she meant her command. This close to a mating flight Cath was always more restive. Less inclined to do as told.
They are very slow, she informed her rider. And stupid.
I'm sure they are, Vitella returned. But that's no reason to be wasteful. Others have to eat.
If dragons could laugh, Cath would have. How funny, that she should think to care about others. And, she thought slyly, looking about the grounds, what 'others' were there?
Sure enough, the caldera had emptied. No one wanted to be around when Cath fed. If asked, any one of them would have said hastily that it was out of respect for the Queen. But Vitella knew that respect was the last thing on their minds.
She didn't care. She had seen what respect earned a woman in the Weyr. She had seen it in the worry lines on Hydaja's face, in the wearied flight of Soforith when she strayed from her half-dead nest to feed. What an obligation it was, to be respected. To have duties, to be depended on. To be gravid. Why should she want that for herself, or for Cath?
No, she said sternly, as the queen contemplated another distant wherry.
Cath sent her a look of sweet, fake compliance, and Vitella smiled again. Soon. She would rise soon. Perhaps the excitement of the Hatching would agitate her to it earlier. Cath was always anxious to fly, to race her bedmates to the searing, bloody finish. It scarcely took a change in temperature to set her off. It would put the males off for days, ruining their sleep and the sleep of their riders, making them lose their taste for food as they waited for the moment Cath would blood her kills and drag them ruthlessly from their weyrs to pursue her.
On those points too, Vitella had once been lectured by S'ris. 'Don't let her feed. Control her. Remember that the longer the flight, the larger the clutch. Remember.'
The Weyrleader no longer lectured. Perhaps he thought Cath was as sterile as pale Izrulith. Perhaps he thought Vitella was incapable of controlling her. Perhaps, after watching Cath rip the eyes out of his son's young Bronze, he simply thought it best that none of Cath's get made it to the hatching grounds.
He doesn't like us, thought Cath dismissively, rooting in a pile of intestines. Vitella agreed. They had given S'ris no reason to like them, and what for? Why control, when you could revel? Why fly long and hard, wrapped in another pair of wings, when you could have a brief and brutal ecstasy?
Cath keened restively, distracted from her meal as Vitella's thoughts drew her away from concerns of the stomach, to entirely different concerns. H'lain and Suleth were gone on some duty. Remembering Suleth's absence made Cath neglect the rest of her dead runner. She abandoned it to look skywards and clatter her teeth, agitated to the point of animosity, as if her mate had personally insulted her by following orders. Him gone, and her so close to rising!
What would you do, wondered Vitella, if you rose to be caught, and there was no Suleth here to catch you?
Cath gave a kind of shrieking snarl, an unearthly sound that scattered any herdbeast within hearing distance. It was half anger, half mirth. Vitella felt her thoughts scattering from Bronze to Brown to Bronze, sizing up every eligible male in the Weyr, jaws slavering with the same indecision and aggression that had emptied the caldera and scattered it with carrion. Oh, she would take all comers, and punish them bitterly for daring to come at all!
Vitella laughed. Cath's opinion on her choice of weyrmate was as strong as her opinion on anything. For Vitella's part, H'lain's absence was a curious thing. It felt sometimes like she was sleepily reaching for a fur that was always near the bed, and unexpectedly wasn't. Touching nothing where there was always something. She hardly noticed the man until he was gone.
Cath was grumbling now, reconsidering the food, and Vitella silently reached out to soothe her dragon. Let her eat well now, and then sleep the anger and the lusts away, until the appropriate time arrived. Until H'lain returns.
