WeyrWatch Chapter 14 and 15

Lybae staid and chatted with Charel as she bathed, answering her seemingly endless questions about life in the Weyr. For her part, Lybae had her own questions about life outside the Weyr.

"Technically both of my parents are Hall," Charel explained, lingering for a moment in the warm water. "Ma's got her journeyman Healer knot, she wears it sometimes at Gathers when the Hold healer wants extra bodies on hand. It's just 'cause neither Ma nor Pa have any 'prentices right now that we're considered a cot hold and not a cot hall." She stood and took the towel Lybae offered her. "Ma sometimes says she wishes she had more hands around to help her, but then Pa says that's why they had us younglings." Lybae chuckled at Charel's good natured grimace. "What about your folks?" She asked the weyrling.

"Weeell... my birth mother's a queenrider-" Lybae paused seeing Charel open her mouth.

"Really? Does she ever have you help tend her dragon?" Charel asked, Lybae blinked then laughed.

"When Freeth wants tending, all the weyrlings help! A queen's a lot of dragon to clean." She giggled as Charel dressed in her last clean change of clothes. "I thought you were gonna ask me if I was gonna be a queenrider."

"That's a silly thing to ask. I thought the dragons choose." Charel said, pulling a comb through her wet, chin length hair.

"They do! That's the thing, some folk just expect that I'm gonna Impress just because my father's Weyrleader and my mother's a queenrider." Lybae said a little crossly.

"Well, I for one think you're crazy lucky to live around dragons." Charel said honestly, wincing as the comb caught on a tangle. "I mean, there's what, one queen for every hundred dragons, right? Most people would think they were incredibly lucky just to get Searched, but to get Searched for a queen, that'd be like getting struck by lightning twice in the same hour. And then to Impress the queen? That's be like getting hit by lighting a third time." Charel shook her head at the odds. "You have a better chance if you played cards against a Bitran."

Lybae stared at her for a moment, a slow smile dawning on her face. "That's the best description ever! I'm gonna use that the next time someone asks. Thanks!" Charel smiled and sat down to pull on her boots.

"You're welcome. Say, you think there's still time for me to polish my boots? I can't help not having my Gather clothes, but I could at least look presentable."

"Yeah, sure, you need polish too? I'll show you where Niko keeps it." Lybae lead her back to the entrance, then around the quarantine field to the shelter built out from the wall of the mountain. Inside was the tact room, and a number of barrels of leather oil and bit polish.

"Here, will bootblack do?" Lybae passed her a smallish tin. "What about a rag? Do you need a buffing brush?"

"Yes please." Charel's polish kit had been a casualty of the stampede.

"Great! We can sit under here." She led Charel to under the sugarfruit tree, then sighed as a green fire lizard appeared and landed on a branch, chirping down at her. "Okay, tell Nene I'm on my way." The little green flit away. "I'm sorry, they need all us weyrlings to help in the kitchen. I'll come right back and get you if Hatching starts, okay?"

"That's fine, but shouldn't I be helping?" Charel asked, perfectly willing to help.

"No! Today you're a guest! Enjoy it, after all, you're part of the reason we're eating fresh meat tonight!" Lybae waved at her, racing back to the entrance in the side of the mountain.

Charel shrugged and bent to apply herself to polishing her boots, whistling Keslo's tune.

She was finishing the second boot and about to set it aside in the sunlight when a shadow fell on her. Startled, she looked up and saw Branth standing over her. The young drover smiled at her in a manner closer to a leer.

"Polishing your boots for the Hatching?" He asked, and belatedly Charel realized that she was backed into a corner, between the tree and the side of the mountain. When she didn't answer he continued. "You know you're awfully pretty, why do you always keep to yourself?"

"I-I don't always keep to myself." Charel said, putting the bootblack aside nervously. She'd have to leave her boots behind, but anything was better than letting him get any closer to her.

"No, that's right, you like to hang around with Keslo. What's that one legged wherlover got that I don't?" Branth demanded, his smile fading.

"He doesn't scare me, for one." Charel said, gathering her feet under her.

"Scare you? I don't want to scare you- let me show you how good I can make you feel." He grabbed at her as she tried to leap past him, catching her by the shoulder, throwing her to the ground. Stunned, Charel let out a garbled shout as he started pulling her pants off.

For one dreadful moment Charel felt the heavy weight of him on her, his hard fingers poking in places they didn't belong, then the air was filled with the roar of an angry dragon. Charel's vision was filled with the visage of a green dragon as it literally backhanded Branth off of her. Sobbing, she clutched to the green's neck as the dragon leapt up and glided over to one of the feeding pastures. There a young man with a rider's tan ran to meet them.

Don't worry, little drover. This man is my rider. He is a good man. A voice, soft as a breeze filled Charel's head. Unable to speak, Charel nodded, but clung fiercely to the dragon. Please little drover, if you don't let go I cannot catch the bad man.

"I can't, I can't," Charel trembled so badly she couldn't stand. "Dragons are suppose to protect, I can't let you kill him," she whispered, sobbing.

"She won't kill him, but I might." The young man muttered, putting his arms around her, offering comfort.

Go with the man, little drover. He is good, I love him. The green whispered in her mind again, but this time the tone was calmer, and that calm communicated itself to Charel. Go with him, so I may stop the bad man. I will not kill him, little drover. I am a dragon. We do not kill people. Finally reassured by the draconic promise, Charel let go. The green hopped up into the air, all wind and sound, then flew out of her sight.

"Are you alright?" The greenrider asked, easing her to the ground and holding her as her shuddering eased.

"I-I think so." Charel whispered, clinging to him the same way she clung to his dragon. She could hear others approaching, concerned voices, but confused and frightened she turned her face into his chest.

"It's okay, it's not your fault." He reassured her, just holding her. "What's your name, lass?"

"Ch-Charrie." She whimpered, then looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "A-and you can't be much older than me." She sniffed, and unlatched one hand in order to wipe her eyes. The greenrider laughed, one of those forced laughs with very little humor behind it.

"True. I'm C'bay. Mirrth is my green." He said helping her sit up. Charel felt the grass under her and realized she wasn't wearing her trous. Her tunic was long enough to cover her modesty, but she looked around, tears threatening again, for her pants.

"Mirrth is the biggest, bestest, bravest green in all of Pern," she avowed, new tears trickling free. "Please, has anyone seen my trous?"

"What are you all standing around for?" A familiar voice demanded and Tress pushed through the crowd. "By the First Egg, have you no sense? Back up! Let the girl breath!" Tress knelt down next to her. "Are you alright, drover?" She asked, concern coloring her tone. Charel nodded, unable to speak, keenly aware that the Headwoman should not be there, but inside, helping get ready for the Hatching festivities.

"Here." Someone shoved Charel's pants and boots at Tress, who took them, then ordered everyone away. C'bay made to leave until Charel whimpered for him to stay.

"At least turn around, C'bay." Tress said with an exasperated sigh, helping Charel stand. C'bay did, and Charel pulled her pants and boots on, sniffing, trying valiantly to get her emotions under control.

"Did you see what happened?" Tress asked C'bay, who shook his head. "Sorry, Mirrth did, not I." C'bay said angrily, then turned when Charel touched his elbow. "I'm so sorry Charrie. He walked by me not ten minutes ago. I'd have popped him in the nose if I'd known-" He choked off what he was going to say when she hugged him tightly around the middle.

"Dragonmen protect. Dragons protect." She whispered, holding him bone crushingly tight. C'bay looked helplessly at Tress who merely shook her head.

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What was the old Igen saying? B'ton asked himself, 'it never rains but that it pours'? His first Hatching as Weyrleader was getting off to an inauspicious start. Mirrth had broadcast the attack on the drover girl almost instantly, forcing B'ton to leave the more than capable queenriders to greet the candidates while he headed up the manhunt for the would be rapist. He was peripherally aware of Zandur and Valtree going to Tress's quarters as he tried to muddle through the sea of volunteers. The dragonriders were rightfully irate that anyone who attack an innocent in their own home, and repeatedly B'ton had to bark out the 'no kill' order.

Three wings went out, and those riders not chosen to search were remanded to the task of collecting guests.

Freeth says Urlyra wants you to take a deep breath and count to thirteen. Wubath interrupted his train of thought.

Why thirteen? B'ton asked, taking that deep breath before he snapped at another rider. There was a slight pause as he counted to thirteen.

Because in your frame of mind you could use the extra three seconds. Freeth's voice, so similar to Urlyra's that B'ton actually turned to see if she was standing behind him, murmured in his mind.

Wubath, please tell 'Lyra I said thank you.
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Urlyra had been enjoying a cup of klah with Fulmar when Freeth relayed news of the attack. Putting down her mug before she dropped it, she repeated the news to her uncle, who responded with more than his typical phlegmatic response.

"The drover girl? Charrie? Is she alright?" He asked with a concerned look.

"Freeth says yes, they're searching for the attacker now- Charrie?" She tilted her head. "You know her?"

"I offered to foster her." Fulmar explained, causing Urlyra to blanch.

"How old is this girl if you're fostering her?" She demanded.

"Thirteen summers. She's the daugh-" A commotion in the hallway interrupted him as Fulsa and Namul, still in their bedclothes, burst into the room.

"Is she alright?" "Who did this?" They asked at the same time.

"Peace." Fulmar's stern tone silenced both wherhandlers. "the Weyrwoman was just informing me of the sistuation." Namul had the decency to look abashed, but Fulsa merely nodded to Urlyra.

"Cousin," she said curtly. Urlyra nodded, privately bemused to see that the incorrigible youth that was her cousin had grown into a formidable young woman.

"According to the dragons your Charrie is safe and unharmed." Urlyra neglected to add that the dragons also reported that the poor girl had had the scare of her life. "How did you hear of the attack?"

"Telgarsk and Namusk," Fulsa tilted her head in the direction of the courtyard, "woke us out of a sound sleep, demanding we take them to the Weyr." She stared accusingly at Urlyra.

Freeth-

I am already speaking with them. They are unhappy. They like the girl.

Freeth, how is the Weyrlearder? Urlyra asked suddenly, worried that if the watchwhers were upset, so might he be.

He is livid, too many want to kill.

Tell him to count to thirteen. Urlyra stared steadily back at Fulsa.

"Freeth is reassuring them right now. Telgarsk likes the girl?"

Fulsa stiffened.

"Don't poach!" She barked, causing Namul and Fulmar to wince.

"Backwing, flit." Urlyra replied mildly, swallowing her smile at having gotten a rise out of her. "There's no queen egg on the Sands." Fulsa relaxed, crossing her arms and frowning. Really, it was a shame that fighting colors didn't Impress women, Urlyra thought, Fulsa would have made an excellent Wingleader.

He wants to know why thirteen. Freeth reported.

In his current state of mind he needs the three extra seconds.

"Excuse me," Namul spoke up timidly, "do we know who attacked her?"

"Another drover," Urlyra paused, "named Branth." She gave the wherhandlers a glance. "Does that name mean anything to you?" Both wherhandlers shook their heads, but Fulmar nodded.

"He was a problem at a Gather, two Turns back. Tried to seduce a holder girl," he put a slight emphasis on 'girl', "rumor has it that he likes them young. But, the holder didn't want to pursue charges." He shrugged helplessly.

Wubath says that B'ton thanks you. Freeth added. Urlyra acknowledged the gratitude with a burst of affection.

"You mean her father didn't," Fulsa scowled.

"Her uncle," Fulmar corrected her, "and no, he didn't." Fulmar glanced at Urlyra, who merely raised an eyebrow. "He was afraid he wouldn't be able to make a good match for his niece if word of a trial got out." Fulmar shook his head. "I warned Branth off then, but I'm afraid I didn't recognize him the other day when they arrived." Fulmar sighed. "Old Larst is usually such a good judge of character."

"They had a herd of over 200, he might not have had much of a choice if he included a known trouble maker and a child of thirteen Turns." Urlyra noted.

"Don't knock the thirteen Turn old, she's as sharp as they come!" Fulsa bristled. Urlyra grinned that time, as Namul soothed his mate.

"My apologies, cousin, that was unkind of me." She glanced out the window. "Would you like to come to the Hatching and check up on Charrie yourselves? The dragons still aren't humming."

Fulsa nodded. "Yes, please." Namul also nodded.

Urlyra bade them a temporary farewell as the wherhandlers returned to their rooms to change.

Glancing at her uncle, she asked in a serious tone, "Does Telgarsk liking the girl have anything to do with your offer to foster?"

"That's certainly part of it." Fulmar admitted. "Fulsa says she's never seen Telgarsk this interested in a candidate before." He shrugged and offered to top off her mug.

"Is he as interested in her as he was of young Senli?" She queried. Fulmar let out a dry laugh.

"More. He let her ride him in an exercise. How is young S'nli and Duranth these days?" He asked pointedly. Urlyra flashed him a smile.

"He and his brown are doing quite well, they're training to be Wingseconds to D'ael."

Fulmar nodded. "I would warn you off of being overly interested in the girl in Fulsa's presence. She's convinced Charrie will Impress, and if she has her way, it'll be a bronze wher."

Urlyra raised an eyebrow. "Not a queenwher?" She teased.

"The current queen is only 7 Turns old, niece, and this close to the end of the Pass..." he shrugged again.

"Understood." Urlyra finished her drink. "And thank you, I'll mind my manners around Fulsa." She winked.

"Just make sure Fulsa doesn't Impress while she's there, or you'll never be rid of her." Fulmar deadpanned at her.

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Tress very kindly but firmly insisted that the Weyrhealer check Charel for injuries. Charel, too shaken up to object, held tightly to the Headwoman's hand as Zandur, with a gentleness rarely displayed, inspected the bruises on her thighs.

"The good news is that Mirrth interrupted before he managed to rape her," Valtree explained to an agonized Reelon.

"And the bad?" Reelon was nothing if not a realist.

"She's had the fright of her life," Valtree said regretfully, "many assault victims suffer night terrors and panic attacks for the rest of their lives. That's not to say-" she added in a hurry, seeing the panic set in, "that she won't recover in time, you just need to be aware that these things might happen."

"What my colleague is rather inelegantly saying is that young Charrie might act out," Zandur sniffed, joining them. "If she does, don't punish her, but hold her close, and remind her that you love her and are there for her. It's the only healing anyone can offer that will work."

Valtree ignored the slight from long practice.

"She'll be okay?" Reelon begged the Weyrhealer.

"Your girl asked me all sorts of questions about dragonhealing." Zandur noted dryly. "Curiosity is the surest sign of recovery in children." Reelon smiled weakly, privately reassured, and Zandur drew the skin aside so that he might enter.

Charel gave a soft cry and released her hold on Tress, hugging her father wordlessly. For his part Reelon just held her, petting her head, and making soothing noises. Eventually Charel pulled away and asked the one question he dreaded.

"Why?" Her eyes shimmered with unspilt tears.

"I don't know why, pup." He admitted. "I don't know why anyone would want to hurt anyone that way."

"H-he said he wanted to make me feel good. How is hurting me going to make me feel good?" She whispered. Reelon flinched, and took a deep breath, quelling his sudden burst of fury.

"Some people just aren't right in the head, pup." He murmured, helplessly.

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Freeth met Urlyra and the wherhandlers on the fireheights. The queenrider had left a note for Minket apologizing for the abrupt departure, and promising to return in time and ferry them to the Hatching. Freeth rumbled irritably, causing both wherhandlers to pause, but Urlyra relieved them of their anxiety by telling them of the earlier meeting with Minket.

"She'll never give up hoping, cousin, not since the two of you have been Searched." Fulsa replied, as Namul bowed to the gold. Freeth dipped her head in response, visibly mollified.

"Don't I know it." Urlyra sighed. "She's even convinced herself that she let me have Freeth, since she was already well appointed."

Both Fulsa and Freeth snorted at the same time. Namul bit his lip to keep from laughing as he climbed onto Freeth's back.

"Well appointed my wherry-hided backside. Lord Kestle only married her for 'her breeding hips'." Fulsa mimiced the old Lord's voice with an eerie precision. Urlyra choked back a laugh of her own as Fulsa seated herself behind Namul.

"Don't let him or the harper ever hear you say that." She grinned up at her and vaulted up into her spot in front of the wherhandlers. Flying straps in place she gave Freeth the signal to go and the pale gold leapt skyward, wings pumping before transferring between.
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Word of the attack had spread quick through the Weyr, so when Charel and Reelon emerged from the Headwoman's quarters all of the drovers were there, a show of solidarity for the young woman they had come to think of as one of their own. Nor was the gesture lost on her, as Charel felt new tears, grateful tears, prick at her eyes.

"Good." Tress breathed a sigh of relief, and B'ton glanced at her.

"Good?" He asked quietly.

"Good, they don't blame her." She murmured back. "Some folk would acutally blame her, suggesting that somehow she wanted it." She gave him a sympathetic look at his own horrified response.

"She's little more than a child. How could anyone-?" He started to protest.

"How could anyone see a child as a bedmate?" Tress countered, then turned as Urlyra strode in with two holders in tow. The young woman bore a strong resemblance to the goldrider, and she strode up to the crowd, then hovered uncertainly at the edge, as the drovers suddenly bunched up, protectively.

"Fulsa!" Charel cried, and worked her way free, "W-why are you here?" She asked as Fulsa enveloped her in a hug.

"Telly told us something had happened, pet. Are you okay?" Fulsa said soothingly.

Charel sniffed, trying very hard not to cry.

"I'm okay," she said with some difficulty, "I was saved by Mirrth. She's a green dragon. Please tell Telgarsk not to worry."

"Oh sweetling," Fulsa hugged her again and sent Telgarsk a mental 'she's alright'. Telgarsk replied with a faint burst of affection. Charel stiffened and looked up at the wherhandler with wondering eyes and a tear streaked face.

"W-was that Telgarsk, just now?" She asked, not entirely believing. Fulsa nodded, smiling reassuringly.

Freeth, would you ask Finth and Loucaith to give the drover girl a quick look over? Urlyra asked. In the pause while her gold bespoke the two blues she made eye contact with B'ton and tilted her head in the direction of the Bowl. He nodded slightly, recognizing her subtle request for a moment of his time.

They would be delighted to. They are very curious about a girl that Telgarsk finds so interesting. Freeth replied. Urlyra suppressed a smile as she walked with B'ton up the glow lined tunnel to the Bowl. Fulsa might decry her actions as poaching, but the drover girl was young enough to stand for a queen egg before her thirtieth Turn.

"You wished to speak to me?" B'ton asked curiously of his one time weyrmate. He still cared deeply for her, but in the days since he became Weyrleader he had come to appreciate her keen political intellect. And he was dead grateful for her support.

"How goes the manhunt?" She asked as they lingered in the entrance to the Bowl. B'ton grimanced, running a hand through his hair.

"Badly." He admitted. "Searchers followed him all the way down into one of those heavily forested box canyons on the east side, then he disappeared as thoroughly as if he went between. "

"Any chance that means he broke his neck in a fall?" Urlyra asked hopefully.

"We can only wish." B'ton flashed her an unpleasant smile. "If we don't find him by nightfall Valtree's going to have that artistic apprentice of hers do up a sketch of him and pass it around to all the Halls and Holds."

"Good. Perhaps that will keep him out of Tress's way as well." Urlyra nodded.

"Oh? Has he been bothering her?" B'ton queried, as this was news to him.

"He's been driving her crazy, always absconding with the tall stool to sit in the shadows and sketch Graesth. Tress had that stool commissioned for Nene, so she wouldn't stand over long on her bad knee." The queenrider explained airily.

"Wait, he's been sketching Graesth on the sly?" B'ton asked with a slow smile. "He doesn't have secret aspirations to Impress does he?"

"Have you ever known a harper that didn't?" Urlyra grinned. B'ton laughed, his low bubbling chuckle that built to a full blown laugh, that had first attracted her to him.

"Ah, I thank you, 'Lyra, I think we're just uncovered the source of Graesth's unusual broodiness," he explained as Graesth sat up on the Sands and began humming.

"Real- oh shards, I have to get Minket." Urlyra gave him a quick hug, her habitual apology whenever she had to cut a conversation short with him.

"Clear skies!" B'ton called after her as she hurried over to where Freeth landed to pick her up.

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"This way, if you please," Fulsa lead the drovers and her mate up into the stands, their early arrival permitting them their choice seats in the middle of the first row. Charel, bracketed by her father and the wherhandler leaned forward, and was rewarded with the sight of thirty-six evenly spaced eggs in three rows. One egg rocked. People were streaming into the stands, dragons arriving within fingerlengths of each other, some hovering with fast wingstrokes, as other dragons, already landed, hurried to unload their passengers. A gold trumpeted, sounding almost cross, and the other colors moved to one side as she landed, a well dressed woman, three young men in their teens and a man old enough to be their grandfather dismounted.

"That's Lord Kestle." Reelon said softly to Charel, who nodded.

"And my Lady Minket. Heh, she neglected to bring the girls. I told Shebet she wouldn't risk them Impressing greens." Fulsa remarked.

"Green dragons will Impress women?" Charel asked, glancing at her.

Fulsa leaned back against the stone riser and grinned at Charel. "That's what the earliest Records say, the first greenriders were all women."

"And there's the Ballad of Xhinna," Namul added, sitting on the other side of Fulsa. A dragonrider sitting directly behind them snorted and muttered. "The Ballad of Xhinna is full of lies." Realizing he spoke aloud he leaned forward, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to listen in." He was an older rider, with grey hair and an old scar from Thread lining the side of his face. Fulsa glanced back at him, then did a double take.

"L'stur! Good to see you. How's Joith?" She asked the former Weyrleader, who looked at her with a slow smile.

"He's well, thank you, wher mistress. How are Telgarsk and Namusk?" He asked easy in conversation while the drovers shifted a little uncomfortably in such august company. Fulsa let out a peal of laughter.

"Up to their old tricks, as usual. What's the betting for this hatching?"

"Ah," L'stur grinned at her, "the bookie's going with conservative odds. You care to make a wager?"

"Nooooo, bronzerider, wher eggs are my stock in trade, not dragon's. Your smooth shells are too hard to read," she bantered back, then they all fell silent as the candidates dressed in white filed out onto the Sands and formed a loose semi circle around the eggs.

"So many candidates..." Charel murmured, counting fifty young men, ranging from just out of adolescence to well in their twenties. The humming intensified and everyone in the stands leaned forward in anticipation.

First one, then three then most of the eggs where rocking, some harder than others, some merely wobbling. Charel held her breath as the largest egg rocked so hard it fell on its side before splitting right down the middle and two greens wobbled out, shaking their heads as they righted themselves, then looking around creeling piteously. Charel blinked as many in the stands gasped, then shrugged a little to herself. Twins were certainly common enough with her father's woolly ovines, and even humans birthed twins, as her own sisters were a testament to, so she supposed dragon twins could be hatched from the same egg. Although, weren't clutchmates technically twins of a sort? She wondered as the greens moved in the direction of the candidates. Two candidates, related if the strong resemblance to one another and clasped hands indicated anything, both knelt and smiled incredulously as they hugged the little dragonets to them. Around them a sigh went up from the dragonriders in the crowd, and Charel tore her eyes away from the violently rocking eggs long enough to look back at L'stur. His face was damp, his expression soft, she noticed, returning her attention to the eggs. Two more eggs hatched, also greens, then four eggs hatched at once, two blues, a green and a bronze. Charel's breath caught a little as the bronze turned to the smallest lad on the black Sands. Another candidate, a tall youth with a shock of messy black hair, clapped the lad on the shoulder, pushing him towards the little bronze with a laugh. Kneeling the boy's face lit up with such joy that Charel felt a twinge of jealousy. An arm settled over her shoulders and startled, Charel looked at her father, his eyes moist with barely suppressed tears.

"You can't possibly know, until you hold your own child for the first time, Charrie, but you were my joy the morning you were born." He said softly, barely heard over the cheering of a group of weavers as their favorite Impressed. Blushing profusely, Charel leaning into her father's embrace as another two greens and a brown found their life-partners. Directly below them another egg rocked, it's frenzied shaking pitching it precariously to the side of the slight mound it was sitting in, so that when the little dragonet finally broke its shell it somersaulted backwards with an indignant squawk, landing on its back staring up at them with an expression of utter surprise.

The drovers burst out laughing at the comedic sight, unable to help themselves.

All except Charel.

Reelon was only dimly aware of the slight intake of breathe before Charel was over the low partition, catching herself from a neck breaking plunge, dangling by her fingertips for one split second, then dropping to the sand below, and wordlessly helping the little blue to his feet.

"Charrie, what are you-" Fulsa cried as Charel looked into the blue's rainbow eyes, then looked back up at her father, a smile stretching across her face.

"His name is Vaeth!"

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Fulsa sat back in the stands as a stunned Reelon was congratulated by the his fellow drovers, biting her lip to keep from crying. Namul, sensed her distress and looked away from the remaining hatchings to hug her and whisper consolingly in her ear. "You were right, you know. This is merely vindication in another form."

Fulsa nodded begrudgingly.

Across the Sands Jurille shared a disbelieving look with B'ton. "First twins, now a girl Impressing a blue?" She murmured at him. "Do you have any more surprises for me?" She asked, weakly joking with him.

"Only one. That's the girl that was attacked." B'ton replied, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. Jurille stared at him for a moment.

They are well matched. Graesth informed her as the new dragonpair crossed the Sands together to join the other dragonpairs.

But- a girl on a fighting color? Jurille asked.

Do we not fight? Graesth replied with draconic logic. Go, reassure the pair, the girl is worried that she has done something wrong.

"Excuse me, I need to go and speak with our surprise." Jurille smiled apologetically at B'ton.

"That's alright," he replied, looking sheepish, "I've just been summoned to speak with our surprise's father." He said before moving in the opposite direction of the Weyrwoman.

Wubath, who is with the girl's father?

His men, the drovers, and the wherhandlers from Telgar, and L'stur. Wubath informed him.

"L'stur?" B'ton asked aloud, and made haste.

He is trying to calm the father's fears. Joith says the Journeyman is conflicted. B'ton let out a bark of laughter, startling a few remaining visitors in the stands, who nervously smiled at him until they saw his knotdevice. He nodded pleasantly at them as he passed. Please, Wubath, ask him to stay- no, tell him I need his support in this. Pride be seared, he decided, he needed L'stur's expertise tonight.

He says he is ever happy to assist you. Wubath's words were like a balm, and heartened, B'ton approached the group smiling.

"I hear congratulations are in order?"