Target Practice

Writers: Rochelle
Date Posted: 31st March 2008

Characters: Ariau
Description: Ariau reflects on flying and Threadfighting while practicing some archery.
Location: River Bluff Weyr
Date: month 8, day 14 of Turn 4

The small bolt thudded satisfyingly into the straw target, and Ariau sighed, trudging across the small field to the targets and letting the small crossbow dangle limply from her fingers.

They were flying now, she realized with a shiver, glancing back toward the weyrbowl where she could see the faint glint of Alabieth sunning herself with her clutchmates. Her first flight on Alabieth had been so exhilarating, so nerve-wracking, so terrifying that she had needed a candlemark to reassure herself that nothing untoward actually had happened. That she and Alabieth had surpassed that massive first hurdle without incident, without somehow managing to hurt herself landing or to strain the beautiful golden wings in the few beats and glide they'd been allowed. She hadn't actually been very worried about flying until she'd been standing beside Alabieth in her new harness, feeling the tightness across the shoulders in her flight jacket. The beloved gift from her grandmother was now too small for drill use, courtesy of tossing so many firestone sacks that her minuscule bust seemed to have vanished completely. The tightness of the jacket had brought home what they were about to do, and not the wind on her face, not the heady and exhilarating feeling of her dragon's wings beating behind her, not even the glimpse of the horizon from dragonback for the first time in months had been able to douse the fear that something would go wrong and she would be stuck in punishment duties until she died for injuring or overexerting the weyr's newest queen.

But they had landed safely, and Ariau had consoled her queen with the promise that there would be more flying together soon, and joined her exhilarated clutchmates talking excitedly about flying and the new weyrs they would be getting.

She reached the straw target and strode past it, picking up the two bolts she'd shot into the ground by accident before wandering back to tug on the bolts that had actually hit the target. It was after the flying lesson that she had started to be nervous all over again, this time about something completely different.

Threadfighting.

Sure, they had yet to go /between/ yet, and her clutchmates were all excited and worried about that hurdle. But Ariau had seen, in the promise of drills in the air, an impending difference that was about to separate her from her clutchmates even further.

Two of the bolts came out of the target easily, but the third had imbedded itself in the wood underneath the straw and was resisting her. She put down the crossbow and other bolts, and tugged with both hands.

They were still going to be tossing sacks for a little while before flaming practice was due to start, she knew. But when it did...

The bolt slid slowly free of the wood, before sliding out unexpectedly when she leaned just right and it came loose with a puff of straw dust, toppling her to the ground. She growled at herself as she picked herself off the ground, retrieved the cross bow and other bolts, and started trudging back across the small field again.

Her cluchmates whispered to each other in worried or excited tones about fighting thread, about delivering sacks to the wings and stoking their dragons. They worried, but knew nothing was going to happen to them. Why?
They trusted their dragons. Their dragons, bronze, brown, blue, and green, would flame Thread out of the sky the way they had been designed to by the Ancients, keeping Pern clear of the ravening menace. They would supply the firestone, watch the skies around them, and trust their dragons to flame.

Ariau couldn't do that.

She could trust Alabieth all she wanted. Alabieth would carry her in Fall and command and catch falling dragons. But Alabieth could not flame like her clutchmates. Alabieth alone would have to rely on the speed and training of the other dragons to keep her safe in the deadly rain. The other dragons, and her rider.

Ariau reached the point in the field that was the maximum distance of spray from a flamethrower wand, and turned around to face the target again. She loaded the crossbow with another bolt, sticking the others in the ground beside her.

The target was depressingly close to her. It was deceptively easy to hit, but if the breeze shifted just right, if she aimed just off enough, it was just far enough for her to miss.

But if she missed, it wasn't going to be grass and dirt that the Thread hit. Not this close. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to banish the image of golden wings, so trustingly maneuvering her directly under a falling thread, and roiling with sickening gray strands devouring them alive.

Only /between/ could stop that awful meal. And Ariau was not going to force Alabieth to resort to it, ever.

She opened her eyes again, frowning in concentration as she lined up the bow with the target, and let the bolt fly.

Last updated on the April 5th 2008

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Target Practice