Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows

Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold

Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold

Elsewhere on Pern
NPC Weyr
River Bluff Weyr
Seacraft Hall

Story Listing
Series Listing

Weyrling Training

Writers: Yvonne
Date Posted: 12th July 2006

Characters: F'lin
Description: Tabanirth rises, and Felarin's imagination gets the better of him
Location: River Bluff Weyr
Date: month 12, day 13 of Turn 3

Tabanirth bugled her lust across River Bluff Weyr, spead her wide, golden wings, and took to the sky.

And far below, Felarin banged a nail into a fence post with far, far more force than was strictly necessary. And then he hit it a few more times for good measure, to drown out the cries of the bronzes that streaked skyward after the queen dragon. It was sunny and hot. The candidate paused to wipe his dripping forehead with a soggy hankerchief before jamming his hat back onto his head, picking up the boards, and moving on to the next length of fence. Part of it was rotten and needed to be replaced, but why- WHY did it have to be today?! **Probably M'galec,** Felarin thought acidicly as he reached for another handful of nails, **Probably ordered them to make me work outside when Tabanirth rose. Sharding porcine.**

His mind drifted, then, to what it must be like near the feeding pens. Sweaty, lustful men, M'galec among them, all pressing around his sweaty, lustful _grandmother_...

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Felarin grimaced and reached for another nail. Shards... what if M'galec won? He'd hung around the feeding pens himself a few times during a greenflight, adolescent curiosity and a young man's fantasies getting the better of him. Dragonlust was supposed to be the pinacle of erotic experiences, a helpless, overpowering _urge_
that had to be sated or it would drive you mad. He'd seen greenriders and their partners tear at each other in sexual frustration as they stumbled off toward the nearest mating hut, and the losing dragons' riders reach out imploringly for the serving wenches and laundry maids that inevitably hung around. He'd almost gotten lucky once himself, but the woman had dropped him like a hot tuber the moment she'd realized that he wasn't a dragonrider.

That rejection had stung. A _lot_.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

He finished hammering in the board, flipped his hammer around, and started prying off the rotten plank above it. Thankfully the posts were sound, otherwise his job would be a lot harder.

A flash of gold caught his eye, and he resolutely bent his head to his task. Shards - what if M'galec's bronze _did_ catch Tabanirth?!
Tsaera would reach out hungrilly for him, and they'd fall into bed together in a tangle of limbs. Felarin unwillingly imagined M'galec tearing his clothing off as Tsaera watched, then saw him fall upon her groaning, thrusting at his naked grandmother, with her sagging breasts and wrinkles and grey hair and oh shards he was going to be sick.

The candidate closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath.
Calming in theory. Maybe K'sedel's dragon would win the flight again.
Maybe someone else's bronze - J'an's, maybe. Maybe someone else would have lusty, insatiable, steamy sex with his grandmother.

Shards.

He pulled at the rotten board and it gave way with a splintery groan.
**Be reasonable,** he told himself sternly, even as he saw M'galec's naked, excited body in his mind's eye, **Tabanirth's risen lots of times. Tsaera's been in lots of flights. And if she hadn't had sex with someone at some point, I wouldn't be here.** He frowned, picking at the rotten, splintered board. **She's had sex lots of times. So what if she's old. She's not _that_ old.**

The old nails were bent, but he pulled them out and set them aside anyway. One of the smiths could straighten them for salvage, maybe.
In theory. In theory, Tsaera having sex was all right too. But having it forcebly rubbed in your face that she was having dragon-lust induced sex with someone _right_now_ was something else entirely.

One of the dragons bellowed and Felarin winced. In spite of himself he glanced up at the sky, searching for Tabanirth and her skein of suitors. There- a flash of golden wing, of bronze burnt by sunlight, way up in the sky. He glanced away, ashamed, then abruptly sat down.
He clapped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tightly, concintrating on the feel of the sun trying to burn its way through the shirt on his back.

Scorch them all. He was taking a break, and he wasn't going to move until it was sharding well over.

Last updated on the July 12th 2006