What It Takes: Thought (1/4)

Writers: Corrin, Shawna
Date Posted: 11th April 2026

Characters: Zariah, Sybana
Description: Sybana asks Zariah for help with a sensitive matter.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 1, day 2 of Turn 13

Zariah

Sybana

It was late. T’gyrlan had just left, despite the offer to spend the night. Losing Ridge Wing to A’brevan smarted. He claimed he wasn't fit for company and had taken himself off to lick his wounds-- or that's what Zariah thought. The heavy thump of a large dragon landing on her ledge suggested he had changed his mind. She opened the outer door before he could knock--before Relsath could warn her--and found goldrider Sybana in her pajamas and a fur coat.

“I need your help,“ Sybana said. “Ineedtomothagoldflight.”

“...That is the term, right? Moth?” She asked more slowly and tentatively after the silence had stretched a little too long. “Don't tell me that's another book fiction.”

“Miss me alr-,” Zariah’s welcoming grin faded into confusion for a moment, and she blinked at Sybana for a second or two too long before stepping back to welcome her in. Despite her initial surprise, the smile she pulled together after a moment seemed genuine. “Sybana, come in. Is this a tea conversation or an alcohol conversation?”

“Tea, please.”

Plucking her latest knitting project off a chair, she gestured for the goldrider to sit before moving to pour them both a cup.

As she fussed in the kitchen area (a surprising perk to this otherwise small weyr), she said, “Flight moth is the right term. Can you walk me to why you NEED to do that?” Her tone was warm and patient, not judgmental. Since the goldrider seemed to be in her pajamas, Zariah didn't bother to apologize for the fact that she was dressed little better in an oversized, faded, but delightfully soft sweater.

“Chioneth laid thirty-eight eggs today. Thirty-eight. I know part of it is a matter of age and dragon maturity, but part of it… isn't,” said Sybana as she took the chair, swallowing hard. “I let everyone down with that awful first flight. Galgi, my family, the Weyr. I’ll just die if it happens again.”

“You didn’t let everyone down. Everyone thinks the huge clutches are the norm these days, but those of us who’ve been around know that wasn’t always true,” Zariah said sternly. “I’m not saying your goal to do better isn’t good, but even if she never has a clutch more than fifteen, the world won’t end and Dragonsfall Weyr will survive. I’m willing to help, but I’m not sure how this would.”

The idea of never having a clutch larger than fifteen was ghastly and made Sybana’s stomach turn whether the Weyr could survive it or not. That couldn't be her fate. “I need practice--and I don’t mean with sex. I’ve taken care of that--I mean practice keeping my head when Galgi, or any gold, is rising. I can’t be biting guards and getting hauled through the Weyr in my nightdress. Not again.” She grimaced at the memory. “I thought maybe I’d get a small taste of it again when Chioneth rose, before I had to leave, but it turns out the warning signs are more obvious than I thought. Tsaera whisked us off to Barrier Lake before she even woke. At this rate, if I do nothing, the next time I experience that sort of draconic pressure will be at Galgi’s second rising-- and then what’s to say it’ll be any better than the first?”

Zariah nodded, sipping her tea, and from her serious expression, seemed to be following the logic at least. “It will get better. I’d be lying if I said I never bit someone, but it’s true, you don’t have the advantage of dealing with it four times a Turn until it’s no more than an annoyance. And there are higher stakes for you.” She considered, saying slowly, “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I don’t think being near a goldflight is nearly the same as being in one but… well, I’ve been here my whole life, I might just be accustomed to it. Do you know where you want to go? I know more about the brown and bronzeriders at the other Southern Weyrs to give you some warnings, of course. I could find out about who to watch out for at the Northern ones, though. Greenriders always know.”

Sybana relaxed palpably as it became clear Zariah was sympathetic to her idea. “I've already worked it out. Panitath should rise in a month or so, over at Dolphin Cove. I just need a ride there when the moment comes. That's where you come in. I can't ask any of the goldriders to take me,” and honestly Sybana would rather they not know. She didn't want them to see her as weak. “And my clutchmates--my friends--they'd never let me live this down if they knew. The last thing I want is to be teased and whispered about over this. You're the only rider I could think to trust… and I can pay you.”

The look Zariah gave Sybana was the universal look of a disapproving mother, “You do not need to pay me. Of course I'll give you a ride. Have you been to Dolphin Cove much? Someone may recognize you.”

“Just once. I visited last winter. I didn’t see much besides the goldriders there,” Sybana admitted. “Honestly, I’ve hardly been beyond Dragonsfall since Impression. Galgi rose so soon after we graduated that there was only a short while before she was egg heavy or on the sands. And then since our clutch… It’s been hard to attend other hatchings.”

There had only been two hatchings since Galgaith’s. Tymborikath’s massive forty egg clutch, just a month later, broke their shells so close to midnight that Sybana had an excellent excuse not to attend. Elleth’s she begged off of, claiming a headache. It was unsustainable and indulgent, but Sybana was in no mood to celebrate other clutches, not when hers was the smallest on record since the Pass began. Despite Zariah’s kind words about it, it still stung.

“I was thinking I could go in flightleathers,” she said. “I’ll braid my hair and keep my helmet on like I’ve just flown in. If you loan me a set of knots, I could pass as a greenrider and the chasers-- well, they won’t be all that observant, will they? I just have to be long gone before they get their wits back.”

“I’ve got some older spare knots,” Zariah agreed, eyeing the young woman with a critical eye, “the participants will be fairly unobservant, but you won't want to get too friendly with anyone else with an eye to ‘mothing. And there's always at least a few riders you'll want to avoid. I'll talk to some friends and get a list. N’vanik, obviously. It’s not likely he’ll lose, but if he does, you won't want to be alone with him.”

Avoiding a disappointed weyrleader was sensible advice--powerful men tended to have powerful tempers--but the notion of sourcing a list gave Sybana pause. “What will you tell your friends? Won’t they wonder why you’re asking about Dolphin Cove riders?”

“Greenriders gossip,” Zariah said with a smile, “and I gossip more than most. I’ll make it sound like I’m looking for a little fun and need suggestions. It’ll help keep anyone from asking questions when Relsath and I show up, too.” It would be an awkward conversation if T’gyrlan heard about it, considering Zariah wasn’t in the habit of flight mothing, but she could handle that if it came up.

Sybana didn't look entirely comforted by that. In fact, she looked more worried. “...You won't gossip about me, will you? About… this?”

“No, gossip is for fun things and people I don’t like,” Zariah said. “This is serious business, and I’d never spread rumors that made Dragonsfall look bad. Your gold was born here, you’re Dragonsfall now,” she said in a protective tone.

“...Alright,” Sybana relented, mollified. “Thank you. It _would_ be nice to know what the locals say and who to avoid. I don't need a lovematch, but I don't need trouble either.”

“Valuable advice- never look for a lovematch in a flight. Dragons just aren’t that clever when they’re riled up, just look at poor Saibra and R'enh. Scone?” Zariah opened a container of baked goods.

“Oh, yes please.”

Over tea and scones they hammered out the rest of the plan.

Last updated on the May 1st 2026

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What It Takes: Thought (1/4)