I rise as I should, free to feel my wings, protected from those who follow by my size and the speed that is my birthright as a gold.
In my greatest moment, that final taste of freedom and ecstasy building along my hide, I find fear. My world is spiraling, unsteady and falling all around me in ways that make no sense. I cannot see up or down, and the tail that lashes with mine is not of a bronze I would choose had I flown fully. It is enough to feel him, and we land entwined all too soon.
They tend to think that I do not understand them. It is not the truth. I do, all too well. Low voices that accuse my Jora of fear and idiocy carry to me on their thoughts. I do not want to hear them. They say my Jora is broken and useless, that I will never fly high.
How can I want to do such, feeling her pain and fear now even just for the glide to the Grounds? She is my rider, and I am her dragon. I cannot bear her emotions without tempering my actions to meet her needs.