A/N: My first Anne McCaffrey fic. Any and all comments appreciated.

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Something is not right. Something changed, and you're not sure it's a good change.

It started off like any other flight. She screamed, stampeding the herdbeasts into a frenzy as she flew just above them. You and your fellow bronzes crouched in a semi-circle, watching and humming as she snatched a beast and settled down to blood, ready to launch the moment she did. You had already blooded. You had sensed before she woke that today would be the day. You were more attuned to her than you would ever let on. You watched as she finished off her first, went for a second, a third. When she raised her head from the fourth, glowing golden in the sun, you knew. And you were ready.

She launched, and you were a breath behind her. The other bronzes faded away in your vision, only periphery motion now. She was all that mattered. You were distantly aware of your rider's mind within yours, your thoughts overtaking his until two were one, fighting for the prize, the queen. She led you a merry chase, winging broadly through clouds, bits of fluff streaming off her wingtips as she banked through them. She dove and rose, and you followed doggedly. You knew when competitors dropped out, having fallen too far when she dove and been too tired to follow her back up. Their anguished trumpeting wafted, high and thin, back up to you, but you ignored it. You knew her tricks. This was not the first time you had seen them.

And then there were three. Three and her. She slowed, turned her head side to side to look at her three suitors. Judged them. Judged you. She slid back through the air, wind currents caressing her luminous hide. She was so close, and you reached...

...and she was caught. Not by you. The bronze next to you had surged ahead to meet her, twining his neck with hers, a melding of metallics. And she accepted. She chose. But him, not you. And you realize..that is what is not right.

You bugle, a desperate sound. Not a sound you have ever emitted after flying after her. You sense your rider withdrawing from your consciousness, one entity again becoming two, as you let the air fall away beneath your wings. Why had she chosen him over you? You have fallen from favor in her eyes.

You spiral down to your ledge, dust stirring faintly in miniature whirlwinds beneath you as you backwing and land, heavily, and sink down into a heap of bronze dragonflesh. Your rider comes over, still slightly shaky from the flight, and you muster up the energy to thrust your nose at him. He caresses your eyeridges, murmuring reassurances to you in a steady stream until you fall mercifully asleep.

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So...tell me what you think?