Compendium of the Arcane

[Arcane]

A place for standalones in the past and present

Old one shots and Impression posts from the pre-2018 site are labeled with "Repost".

[Arcane]

Lost and Found
Spring, 2752- Fort Weyr

Myalla had never been between before. She could still feel the cold biting her fingers and toes, a nothingness that wanted to eat her from the inside out. How did riders stand it? To face such a place every day? To know it was the last thing you might ever feel if you never came out?

She wasn't between anymore. But it was easier to focus on the memory of the sharp bite of cold and black then where she was. Alone. Somewhere that looked like home but wasn't. They had left her here. Why had they left her here?

Myalla always tried her best to keep out of trouble and keep her head down. Why had they left her here in the dark? She shivered and curled herself tight and tried not to cry as she watched the sky. Surely they'd come back for her. They had to come back for her. Even if she didn't make herself useful enough to Golre...they couldn't just leave her here, could she?

She was still standing there when the guards found her, waiting and staring at the sky.

[Arcane]

A Dangerous Woman
Fall, 2767- Fort Weyr

Vella needed a drink and she had one, albeit not the hard alcohol she'd have liked. Warm mulled cider for a frigid northern day. She'd forgotten how cold it got up at Fort. She didn't miss it. But she'd gotten what she came for. She'd seen her sister's new baby, brought her little nieces and nephews gifts from the south and now she was back at Fort Weyr, waiting for her ride to turn up.

It was always weird being back home. It seemed so...peaceful. Almost fake in its sheer domestic tranquility. Maybe another woman would have been jealous. Vella wasn't.

She was more than ready to get back to killing felines, leading her merry band of wherhandlers and trying to stop Semacans from making stupid choices that'd get them killed.

Vella loved her family but it had been many, many turns since she'd belonged with them.

It was that time between day and night when handlers were just waking up and riders were starting to drift off to sleep. The only other one still in the dining hall was a short, oddly built white rider who wore the knots of wingsecond. He'd clearly had more to drink that she had judging by way he was watching her. Vella wasn't the sort of woman smart or at least sober men leered at. Even her occasional bedmates remembered she had a knife and a wher and wasn't afraid to use them.

She raised an eyebrow in a quiet challenge. A sensible man would have backed off then.

He seemed to take it as an invitation to come right over and continue looking her over, "You're a lovely woman, really. No need to look so shocked. I'm not a lovely man but I am very, very rich..."

Yep. He was definitely drunk. Vella let out a bark of laughter, "Is that how you always pick up women, wingsecond? I would guess you are perpetually lonely."

"Extremely," he admitted, "But bedmates...Ah never any harm in a bit of fun. And a wingsecond's knots, a lordly father and a purse of marks make up for many failings..."

He reached out a hand. She didn't think he really meant it. She slapped it away, but not hard enough to do any lasting damage, "You think you're very charming, don't you? But you're not even really interested."

"Well that would be news to me...I think you underestimate your appeal, my dear."

Anyone who would call Vella his dear...She just chuckled, "Oh I'm sure you think you mean it. You're drunk after all. But I'm not your type."

"Really? Enlighten me," he ordered like some indolent lord.

"You like holding all the cards," Vella obliged because she was bored and it'd be another candlemark before her lift home showed off. And because she didn't often have a chance to match her wits against another's these days without lives hanging on the outcome, "You didn't try to seduce, coax or persuade me. No- your first move was to declare yourself rich and important and try to establish yourself as my superior. You don't want a bedmate who is your equal. You want one you can control. I'm sure you like a pretty face and shapely body as much as the next man but it's not even really about sex for you. It's about power."

"Isn't it always? Don't tell me you'd forsk a man who was your lesser."

"I wouldn't forsk someone who's in my line of command, no. I also wouldn't forsk someone who acted like a child or a fool. But would I forsk someone who didn't hold equal rank? Who wasn't rich or Blooded or beautiful? Yes. But I wouldn't forsk someone who saw me as inferior. Or who was doing it simply because he was bored and I was there."

"Touche," he acknowledged with a tip of his cup, "Tyrion of White Voluntauth, wingsecond of Aurora."

"Vella of green Vellask and magma Vesk, captain of the Weyr guard, Semaca weyr. As you'd know if you weren't drunk off your rocker. Grab my ass and I'll break your nose. Keep your hands to yourself and I see no reason we can't have a perfectly nice chat."

[Arcane]

Not Just Words
Fall, 2767

Yugoth didn't wait to see who Nornth chose. It didn't matter. As soon as he was far enough from the Flight, he turned away and flew back to his own ledge, head bowed in shame as he greeted his rider, I'm sorry, S'bor.

Because it had been the right thing to do. It had also cost his rider the chance to be weyrleader- the title all bronzeriders rightly aspired to. And Nornth could yet retaliate. Yugoth had all but called her a murderer, in public, in the middle of her maiden flight. It was bad.

But S'bor just smiled and wrapped his arms around Yugoth's neck, There is nothing to apologize for. I'm proud of you.

S'bor had never thought it possible but he missed Tuckal. For all her youth and impetuousness...She had never let Serapheth's flights turn into a bloodbath for all that Serapheth was herself volatile and often violent. There was a difference between a bit of a melee and what this had been- a massacre.

Neither bronze nor rider had any illusions- Nornth was still Serapheth's precious queen daughter and they were just another bronzepair. This could cost them their post. It was still worth it.

So...I hear Semaca's lovely and very welcoming to riders fleeing certain golds... Maybe they didn't have Harpers there. BLAZE was a Harper. Which should have been all the warning S'bor needed.

Semaca is a weyr of heretics and abominations, Yugoth's eyes whirled red at the thought he would belong amongst such creatures even as he admitted, Perhaps they would benefit from our example. Only if Serapheth demands it of us, of course. I will not leave on Nornth's orders.

S'bor nodded. Fort Weyr was the only home he'd ever known. He would not leave without a fight. It was just important to remember there were always choices.

[Arcane]

Better Part of Valor
Fall, 2767
TW: Trauma, abuse, self-blame
Why did this keeping happening to Ya'ra? Every time she thought she'd found someone good...a lover, a friend...it ended like this. With blood and violence and the dawning horrified realization that the wrongness had always been there. She'd just chosen to ignore it. Maybe her judgment wasn't as sharp as she'd thought.

And this time...it wasn't just her. It was Dymrith. Who had thought Nornth deserved a CHANCE and tried to teach her right from wrong. He'd thought she was his FRIEND and a good dragon. Until he saw her with her muzzle covered in blood.

Ya'ra knew exactly what the Bendenites had been doing. She had offered to punch them a few times. But there was a different between breaking someone's nose and killing their dragon.

They'd been overly ambitious pains in the ass and a lot of them had been rude and intolerant and cruel. But they'd never actually hurt Blaze or Nornth or any other Fortian. None of them had so much as touched Nornth.

Maybe Kujumath had been close enough to be a threat. Why had the others needed to die?

When Ya'ra left Aidan, she had sworn she'd never run again. It had been a lie.

Dymrith still stood there, utterly silent, gaze fixed on the bronze Nornth had torn to shreds. He'd been sitting there for candlemarks, her always verbose dragon finally at a loss for words. At first, he'd tried to fly after them- sure he could talk Nornth down. It had only been Ya'ra's own will that stopped him. And ever since she'd ordered him to stay, he'd just sat there...watching in silence.

Ya'ra's bag was already packed and her transfer papers were signed. Some would say she owed Blaze a goodbye and an explanation.

She would have agreed before his dragon had four bronzes torn to pieces.

Dragons like Nornth didn't change. She wasn't just going to let the one dragon she tolerated leave without a fight. Ya'ra wasn't taking that chance.

And Nornth adored Blaze. If he'd said no, she would have stopped. Which meant he hadn't. Which meant he was just like Aidan. Only he had a gold instead of a knife. Dangerous people couldn't be reasoned with.

Ya'ra and Dymrith would just have to make do with Semaca. And Ya'ra was never letting anyone close again. Because clearly her taste was utter crap.

[Arcane]

L'ron's Legacy
Late Fall, 2767

D'ark was pretty sure he could expect a visit from Dobby soon. So he decided to do it first. The young ones couldn't walk very far yet and his weyr wasn't particularly near the weyrling barracks.

Your tongue won't fall out if you just admit you want to congratulate him, you know, Masreith advised tartly, You're allowed to care about more people than just M'love. In fact, I'd venture to say she would agree that you having a friend is a GOOD thing.

It was more complicated than that. D'ark's father had raised Dobby and done a shitty job which meant D'ark was responsible for cleaning up his mess and helping Dobby have a normal life. Dobby showed up in D'ark's room at odd times and treated D'ark like he held the answers to all the world's mystery. D'ark was fairly sure that not was what most people meant by making friends.

None of which was to say D'ark didn't want to congratulate him. He was glad he'd Impressed. D'ark didn't believe that most people needed a dragon to make them whole but Dobby wasn't most people. Maybe he did need someone in his head to help him figure out what normal was.

You're right. I do want to congratulate him.

Because they were something like friends and because Dobby would be so disappointed if D'ark didn't and so excited that D'ark had come to visit him for once. It was the right thing to do and enough wrong had been done to Dobby by members of D'ark's family that D'ark did in fact care about doing right by him.

And...there were things D'ark needed to say. He'd thought it over for a few candlemarks and asked Masreith and one of his wingmates to go through it with him. Because this had to end. D'ark couldn't and shouldn't be the center of Dobby's universe and Dobby shouldn't be asked to fight D'ark's battles.
---
No matter how many times Dobby wrote it, it never came out RIGHT. The letters were too slanted or the words were all wrong or the paper was wrinkled in one corner. Stupid, stupid, stupid Dobby. Couldn't even get a letter right.

Or maybe someone who'd make you feel stupid over a bit of smudged ink isn't worth writing to, kid. I think you already know that and that's why you haven't sent it, Kersuth said as he lifted his head to peer straight at his rider who sat surrounded by crumpled parchment and hadn't yet said a word about the waste.

Don't be silly. Dobby loves Master L'ron. Master L'ron sent Dobby here. Master L'ron is too kind to Dobby.

Lie to me all you want but you can't lie to yourself, kid, Kersuth said as he turned towards the sound footsteps. It was a blond man and a garnet dragon and being bound to Dobby as he was, Kersuth couldn't help but know them on sight, D'ark. Grandma.

Why hello there... Masreith's eyes were warm and Kersuth trotted to give her a small, restrained nuzzle of greeting.

I'm Kersuth. And you know the kid. Think he could use your rider's help with some sort of a letter or something.

"Lord D'ark!" Lord D'ark was here! In Dobby's home! Oh but he hadn't unpacked yet and there was paper EVERYWHERE. He blushed to the tip of his ears at the sight of the mess and at Kersuth's suggestion. He would NEVER bother Lord D'ark with something as trivial as one of his meager letters.

"May I see?" Lord D'ark asked politely and because Dobby would never REFUSE him, he handed him the current draft.

"Dobby is sorry it isn't very good."

Use your I's kid. You're a person too, Kersuth reminded him as he nudged Masreith with his wing, I think we should leave the humans to their talk, Grandma. Want to go for a walk? I can show you where my favorite rocks are.

As the dragon's left, D'ark frowned at Dobby's letter and Dobby was sorry whatever he'd written had made D'ark sad. The silence stretched and stretched as finally Lord D'ark said, "Don't send this. He doesn't deserve it."

"But Lord D'ark..."

"And don't call me Lord D'ark anymore," D'ark interrupted with a deep breath as if he was steeling himself, "You have a dragon now, Dobby. And was does it say about him if you bow to me?"

Dobby had never thought about it that way. He still had trouble thinking of himself as someone with a dragon at all.

"Listen, Dobby...you can't serve me anymore," D'ark said and Dobby's heart stopped in his chest. D'ark had never let him serve him but when he said it that way it sounded so final, "You've Impressed. I can't be your first duty anymore. Kersuth needs to be. That's where your loyalty belongs- yours with him and his with you."

"But then who's going to protect you? And take care of you and bring you your klah just the way you like it?"

"Dobby...none of those things were ever your responsibility in the first place. I'm an adult and a wingsecond in my own right," D'ark's voice was so cool and calm as if it didn't break his heart at all, "You're a child with a young dragon. It's my job to see that you have all you need and keep you safe, not the other way around. Because if I can't fight off the danger myself, it's not fair to expect you to."

"But Master L'ron said..."

"My father lied," D'ark said as if it were a cold, solid fact, "And even if he didn't, you're a weyrling now. That's your job, not babysitting me. Kersuth needs you. Masreith and I will be just fine on our own."

"Can't I still write to Master L'ron?"

For some reason, that made D'ark smile the sort of smile Dobby had always wanted, proud and bright and happy.

"I think I should write this one, Dobby. He's my father and you're my friend. If he writes you again...bring it straight to me."
---
The last thing D'ark needed was another battle to fight. But until now, he'd had Dobby fighting it for him and that wasn't fair. L'ron was his father and his burden to bear. He'd been avoiding the question every since Dobby returned. But no longer. He would write him. Maybe he get some answers. At the very least he could make it clear that Dobby was off limits.

And that D'ark himself was no longer the scared, helpless weyrbrat L'ron had left behind. He could fight back. Somehow...the idea had never dawned on him. But he was a grown rider and a wingsecond. He didn't simply have to roll over, show his belly and give his father whatever he wanted. He could say NO. The thought was both terrifying and completely and utterly freeing.

But that was a battle for tomorrow. Today, Dobby was looking at him with wide trusting eyes and smiling like D'ark had just promised him the keys to all Pern, "Dobby and Lord D'ark are...friends?"

"Of course we are," D'ark said, no matter what he'd argued to Masreith. How could he deny something that made him so happy? "And my friends call me D'ark. Come on. Let's go find the dragons. I want to meet this Kersuth of yours and remind him that if he is not kind to you...Masreith will be highly displeased."

D'ark let the implied threat linger. Masreith might be a grandmother now but she'd lost none of her inner fire. Kersuth would do well not to piss her off.

[Arcane]

You Are Not Alone

She was on the sands again. Azul had promised herself she’d never be back here, when Fort offered her sanctuary without condition. She’d thought it was over. That she was free. But...it was the right thing to do. Fort had taken her in. She owed the weyr her best. And this was all she’d ever really had to offer.

The world was changing right in front of her. A bronze had chosen a woman. If this wasn’t just a fluke...if this was the start of something real...the world would never be the same. Surely that was more important than the fate of any one candidate. Nobody was even looking at her. Every eye, she imagined, was on Esther. Or perhaps the little green, pretty and sweet.

She still stood with her head held high, breathing as steadily as she could manage as the next egg cracked and a brown deliberately stepped towards the boys, looking them over one by one. And then he hesitated and glanced back towards the girls, as if noticing something that had slipped his mind.

His eyes met Azul’s and his voice rang in her head, clear and strong, as he turned towards her and leaned against her, We're in this together now, you and I. Your Claarisath will make sure to keep all the bad things away. I promise you that.

Nobody had ever kept the bad things from Azul. And here was this tiny brown offering her everything...Tears pricked her eyes as she knelt to better meet his gaze, We’ll keep them away together. I promise. I’m going to take care of you too.

[Arcane]

A Lady In Green- T'ir and Blysith's Impression

So far, the clutch was looking...not unpromising. The first egg had hatched garnet, which was not ideal, but the second had yielded a fine bronze, who had Impressed to a proper young man. And true, there had been some blood shed and a bit of mauling, but that was the fault of the candidates for forgetting their protocol. High Reaches' inability to properly train its candidates was no fault of the dragonets'.

Some might have seen the blood and the garnet as poor omens, but Tamir did not believe in superstition. The bronze had chosen well, the green had chosen quickly, the clutch was clearly healthy and now Tamir's egg was starting to rock.

She had positioned herself carefully, close enough to cause the dragonet no inconvenience but not so close as to appear presumptuous.

Tamir smiled a touch as the green broke shell. Her patterning was lovely and while Tamir didn't know enough about dragons to say whether or not she was well-formed, she had no obvious flaws. Yes, she would do very well indeed.

She didn't hesitate in approaching Tamir. Her decisiveness was indeed an excellent sign.

...And then she started to speak.

Tamir. Come. We have to go... have to go. Have to... we have to go greet Ofereth. Probably by kicking her, Blysith said.

Why had Tamir ever expected any luck? Of course, her dragon would lack proper manners and speak with a distinctive verbal tic. Maybe this weyr had corrupted her already. Maybe it was simply her nature.

It didn't matter. She was a rider now. She was T'ir. It was improper and untraditional for a woman to elide her name but T'ir had already decided to compromise. She needed to remind everyone of her new status more than she needed to obey the strict letter of propriety.

We will do no such thing. We will sit here and listen to your stomach growl until you agree to behave like a civilized dragon, T'ir crossed her arms and looked down at her dragon. They would not cause a scene on the hatching sands. That was not how they needed the weyr to remember them, We will not associate with this Ofereth. You are a proper dragon. She is not.

No we will...we will associate! Blysith all but stomped her foot in determination as she turned off to saunter away. Her rider didn't want a scene? Then she'd follow. Or she'd be the one causing the scene.

T'ir walked up behind her and scooped her into her arms, took a bucket of meat and walked as far away from the garnet as she could manage, ignoring the squirms and protests and the accidental scrape of Blysith's claws. T'ir was bigger, stronger and in charge. The sooner Blysith learned that, the better.

Now we will eat, we will smile and we will walk out of here like we like each other, T'ir said in her politest tone. It didn't matter who her dragon was. T'ir would work around her if she had to. She had a rider's knots. She was on her way up.

Blysith looked at her. T'ir looked back, I won't eat...won't eat here. I will only eat by Ofereth.

Then you won't eat, T'ir shrugged. Blysith was stubborn but so was she, And we can give your meat to some other hungry young dragon. That bronze, perhaps...

Fine, Blysith huffed with a bit of a sulk, But only...only because I'm really hungry. You're a terrible rider, do you know that?

T'ir didn't care. She was a rider and that was the only thing that mattered.

[Arcane]

What's Lost Cannot Be Found

Essa had spent two days searching. She had gone to every weyr. They'd all had the same answer. They knew nothing. They were sorry. They'd tell her if anything changed. A wherhandler at Semaca had told her to ask their sailors' colony. They'd known nothing either. Essa had even asked with the rebels of Fort Hold. They hadn't been happy to see her there but she didn't think they were lying either, when they said they knew nothing.

It was as if the eggs had simply disappeared.

Essa was exhausted. It felt like the cold of between still clung to her skin and her riding leathers were covered in two continent's worth of grime and dust. But she had to tell her brother. The news couldn't wait.

She found him still on the hatching sands, staring at nothing, fists clenched at his side, exhaustion written clearly on his face. Neozeoth was gone. Essa presumed she was still searching. Neozeoth wasn't a dragon who gave up easily.

"They took them. A dragon. What kind of dragon steals innocent eggs?" G'er asked, his voice numb and cold.

"A bad one. Not every dragon or rider is a hero," Essa said as she slid onto the stands besides him.

"I know. A rider poisoned Neo. Nornth wanted to see bronzes die. The Trailblazers killed people when they hatched," G'er said in that same un-G'er-like tone. He went silent for a moment, "What do you think will happen to them?"

"They were taken by a rider," Essa tried her best to sound reassuring, "They went to a lot of trouble to take these eggs. They'll know what they need and they'll take care of them."

"But their riders are here," G'er said, finally turning to look at Essa, "They found them at the Touching. Neo told me so. They need their partners."

"I don't really believe each dragon and rider has one destined partner," Essa said, "I think they do their best to pick from the choices they have. They don't become a pair because of some magic moment at the Touching or even Impression. They become a pair by working hard and growing together. It's not fate that makes a bond. It's people and dragons learning to live together. These dragons will have that too."

What had happened wasn't right and wasn't fair, but Essa had to hope that somewhere, the eggs were out there and the dragonets were going to be okay. Maybe someday, they'd find their own way back home.

"We're not going to stop looking, G'er. But even if we don't find them, the eggs are going to be okay."

G'er looked away, "Stop lying, Essa. You and Relli and everyone else keep trying to tell me it's okay but it isn't. It can't be. Neozeoth's eggs are gone. I failed her. I need to find them. It's the only way I can make it right."

"You were drugged, G'er. The only rider to blame is the one who stole them."

G'er's eyes were hard, "And when I find them, I'm going to kill them."

"And if you do, you'll never be able to live with yourself," Essa said. She'd seen the riders who'd survived the war. She knew their nightmares. It wasn't an easy thing, to take a life. It wasn't something she wished for her brother, "When we find them, we'll turn them over to Tuckal for justice. That is our way."

"But they didn't hurt Tuckal. They hurt me. They hurt Neozeoth. Tuckal doesn't get to decide just because she rides a queen."

"No, it's because Tuckal is weyrwoman. This is her job. It isn't yours. This isn't something you need to do."

"I'm Neozeoth's rider. It's my job to avenge her clutch."

[Arcane]

Not All That's Broken Can Be Fixed

Elyron had had enough of High Reaches. After everything they'd suffered, everything they'd lost, still they insisted on clinging to their ways. And now they were stealing eggs? Garnet eggs? This was heresy, madness! The weyr was doomed and he didn't plan on being around to see it fall to ashes.

"Come, Elysk," he ordered, as he carefully packed his bottles of Benden red. Most of all, Elyron had had enough of the way his queen had started to look at him. High Reaches was filling her head with dangerous ideas. Fort was where everything had first gone wrong. But now, it was salvation. Once they went to Fort, everything would be better. They'd go back to how they'd been, when Golre kept everything right.

Elysk had had enough too. Even after the hatching, she had tried. She had tried to get Elyron to go to the mindhealers, to put down his wine and his hatred and to focus on what he had. He hadn't stopped. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe she wasn't reason enough for him to change. Or maybe he had always been too lost to be found again.

Elysk didn't want to go to Fort. She didn't want to leave High Reaches. And she didn't want to watch her handler slip further and further away from the man she'd known before that horrible day they'd gone to battle at Fort.

No no, she said, soft but unwavering, Elyron go. I stay stay here.

Elysk sure? Elyrosk asked, already moving to get between the gold and her handler, whose face was rapidly turning red and contorting with disbelief. Elyrosk would go with Elyron. The man was simply too much fun to mess with and life would be far too easy without Elyron accidentally thwarting all of his plans.

Sure sure, Elysk repeated. She took a last look at the one human who had been a constant in her life since the day she hatched, her most beloved companion and her bitterest sorrow.

"You can't stay! You're my wher! Mine! You'll go where I order you," Elyron screamed.

There had been a time when Elyron would never have yelled at her. When he would have stayed, because he knew this was Elysk's home too and this was where she belonged. But those days were gone, Not anymore.

Elysk didn't know where she would go or what she would do. But her future had always been hers. Elyron was going to have to be okay without her now.

[Arcane]

The Selection

Elyron had been the first thing Elysk saw when she hatched. All her life, he had been her anchor, her friend, her guiding star, before she lost him to his drink and his hatred. High Reaches and Elyron were the two great constants of Elysk's life.

Now, Elyron was gone and if Elysk wanted to stay, she needed to find another human to bond with. It didn't matter that High Reaches had always been her home and that Elysk was still herself. Wild whers were not allowed in the weyr and that was what Elysk was now. Wild.

She felt more confused than wild as she looked at the small group that had been assembled for her perusal. These were the humans who had volunteered to be her new handler, after hearing the details of her situation. Some had whers already, while others were still candidates. She could pick any of them.

Elysk had chosen new handlers before, each time she'd laid eggs. She tried to pick humans who needed her hatchlings, who would be what the hatchlings needed in turn. Every time, she hoped that she'd gotten it right and they'd grow together and be happy.

It was easy to be certain, when she had eggs on the sands. It was harder to choose for herself. What sort of handler did she need? Elysk wasn't sure she knew.

There was a black-haired man who reminded her of a younger Elyron, tall and proud, with an ambitious gleam in his eyes and pride in his bearing. No. He wouldn't do. She knew how that story ended.

She liked the smile on a red-haired youth. But his brown was a possessive sort, jealous of his handler's attentions. Elysk had adored Elyrosk and wouldn't have minded sharing a handler again, with a willing wher. This brown wasn't willing, though, and she hoped his handler changed his mind about seeking a second.

Elysk's eyes next fixed on a woman she recognized. This one had been a candidate at Elysk's last hatching, one hadn't been right for either egg. Still, she had smiled and cheered for the new handlers, seeming genuinely happy for them both.

She had a blue firelizard perched on her shoulder, who looked well-oiled and content. The woman absently reached up to scratch his eye ridges every so often

A few sincere cheers and a well-tended firelizard didn't seem like much of a basis to choose a handler. Elysk supposed it was still more than most dragon and wher hatchlings alike knew. It wasn't much but it was something. It was a start. And right now, that was all Elysk had.
---
The last time Cynthia had been this close to Elysk, she had been a candidate for her eggs, hoping for a wherlet she could raise as her very own. She hadn't even considered Impressing to their mother. Elysk already had a handler and Cynthia didn't wish any of the weyr's handlers ill.

But there were many kinds of bonds. Just because something had gone wrong with Elysk's last handler and Elysk wasn't a tiny wherlet didn't mean she didn't deserve a partner she could learn and grow with. Even if it wasn't the traditional sort of pairing, it could still be something good.

As Elysk's eyes turned towards her, Cynthia wondered what she was looking for. She smiled encouragingly at the gold. Her hide needed oiling. It must have been a few days since she'd been properly tended to.

Elysk stepped forward and stopped, right in front of Cynthia, her choice clear.

"I'd be honored to have you, if you're sure," Cynthia said, as she reached for her knife. Finally, she could have a wher of her own, to care for and nurture. But Elysk wasn't an egg or a wherlet. She was an adult wher who needed to make up her own mind.

It was only when Elysk nodded that Cynthia cut her hand and smeared her blood across the wher's wrinkled forehead. The gold's mind touched hers, warm and kind and if not precisely sure, at least hopeful.

Cynthia didn't need to be told how to speak to her, Hi. It's good to meet you. I'm Cynthia and my firelizard is Garchomp.

Am Eliask. Garchomp hungry? Will bring lots sweet sweets.

[Arcane]

Everything Changes

The first of Fort's people returned that morning. Fortian crafters, candidates and the occasional handler were quickly brought home from High Reaches, before the storm begun.

Relli waited and watched for a familiar figure. Essa and G'er had both been forbidden to help with the transport. Neozeoth's hatchlings were at High Reaches and it was too big a risk.

But when Master Marland, the Harper who had taken Norell away dismounted, he was alone. Relli ran towards him, stomach churning before he even shook his head sadly.

"She's not coming home. I'm sorry. I asked her to reconsider but...you know how Norell can get. She refused to come back..."

A few turns ago, Relli might just have accepted that. But she had been a wherhandler long enough to no longer be intimidated by fancy Harper knots. Her voice was steely as she asked, "What do you mean she refused to come back? She's fourteen. She doesn't get to decide."

"She didn't want to come!" Master Marland protested.

"It doesn't matter what she wants! She's a child! You were supposed to look after her!"

The bluerider shook his head frantically, "If she doesn't want to come, we can't make her come. What if she's loyal to High Reaches now? We could go to war! She could betray the weyr! We can't take that risk!"

"She's not even old enough for candidacy. How much harm could she possibly do?"

Clearly, Relli needed to find a rider with enough courage not be scared of her fourteen turn old daughter. What was the weyr coming to?
---
Every rider Relli spoke to agreed- Fort Weyr was evacuating its people from High Reaches, but they wouldn't force anyone to return. Not even children. Which was ridiculous and clear proof that whoever was making these decisions had never had children. Any parent understood that sometimes, you had to protect the young from themselves.

"I don't know why she's staying, but she's gone. We can't get her back," Relli explained to Essa and G'er, her voice hoarse from crying.

"I bet High Reaches kidnapped her, just like Neozeoth's eggs! We've got to rescue her," G'er declared, swinging his arms as he paced as he around his weyr. There was a frantic look in his eyes Relli didn't recognize. She feared the G'er she had known was as lost as Norell.

Will find dragon not banned to fly us. G'er, Essa, Relli, Rellivask and Relsk can rescue little girl, Rellivask nodded. Relli's children were part of her family too. That included Norell, even if Norell was sometimes mean. Rellivask didn't leave her family behind.

Maybe was misunderstanding. Should try talking. See if will just give Norell back, once understand, Relsk cautioned. Why was everyone so quick to fight? Didn't they see there could be a better way? Maybe give back Norell AND babies once see they have family.

"If High Reaches cared about things like family, they'd never have taken Neo's eggs!" G'er retorted, his voice filled with hate and anger.

Neozeoth's tail twitched and she sounded utterly calm and collected, a general leading her troops, Norell has always done what's best for Norell. She has no loyalty, to this weyr or this family. She betrayed us for personal advantaged. It is simply what she does. Any rescue efforts would be a waste.

"She's a child! Why does everyone keeping talking like she's some nefarious threat?" Relli sighed.

Child don't know what wants, Rellivask agreed. She had watched over Relli's children enough to know they often did dumb things for no clear reason, Can drag back if need.

Essa and Gectusith had been watching in silence as the family argued but at last, Gectusith spoke, You're all wrong.

"Then enlighten us," Relli's voice was exhausted. She was tired of people pretending they knew her daughter better than she did.

You are Norell's family and you have been hurt by High Reaches, Gectusith said as he rose to his feet, She cannot let that go. She is exactly where she needs to be.

Neozeoth snorted, Norell has never stood for anyone but herself. She didn't save them from Geronor. We did. Nothing's changed.

She was a frightened child then. But children grow up, Gectusith said simply.

Essa rose to join her dragon, "We don't know what happened at High Reaches. We can't know what Norell saw or what she did. But I was barely two turns older than she is now when I left home because I didn't like the future my family had chosen for me. I was old enough to know what I wanted. So is she. She's old enough to chose her own path."

She smiled at Gectusith and patted his leg, "Norell is the closest thing to a friend Gectusith has. He knows and understands her. I trust his judgment."

As always, Essanora, your insight is impeccable, Gectusith settled back down, seeming far less concerned than the rest of the room, You all underestimate Norell. She has a firelizard and she has her wits. If she needs a rescue, she'll find one.

G'er punched the wall. Relli's eyes widened in surprise, "If she can find her way home and won't then that makes her a traitor! They STOLE dragon eggs! How could she join them?"

Such things are beyond your understanding, peasant. You'll simply have to take me at my word.

Neozeoth snarled. Gectusith hissed.

Relli sighed. It seemed there was no consensus to be found here either.

[Arcane]

Eyes Wide Open
Note: Nothing Master Rhuban says is established site canon unless it is repeated by staff OOC. Some reflects personal head canon and other bits are just the usual IC speculative nonsense.

"Have you ever heard the theory that queen dragons prefer holdbred girls?" Master Rhuban asked. He had been at High Reaches since before Golre came to power. Nobody even seemed to remember where he'd originally come from anymore.

Master Rhuban was an old, wrinkled man whose fingers were no longer quick enough to play the gitar and whose eyes were no longer sharp enough to make out musical notes, even through his spectacles. Because Norell's finger was broken, she couldn't play the gitar either, so while the other apprentices practiced their scales, she'd been assigned to help him reorganize one of the record rooms.

"Of course I have," Norell said. Everybody who'd grown up at a weyr had heard that. Norell wasn't sure she believed it, as there didn't seem to be any shortage of weyrbred goldriders, but it didn't matter. Norell didn't want to be a goldrider.

"It's not true. At least, not for the reasons most people think," he continued, not seeming to care that Norell wasn't participating in his little exercise, "It is instead an observation of a broader phenomenon. Holdbred candidates Impress at higher rates than their weyrbred counterparts and thus, are more likely to Impress dragons of all colors. Do you know why this is, Norell?"

Norell rolled her eyes, secure in the knowledge that Master Rhuban couldn't make out her expression by the dim light of the glow lantern. She wasn't interested in a lecture from a man who'd stayed loyal through all of High Reaches' crimes. But Masters pontificated and apprentices pretended to listen. It was the way of the world.

"Holdbred candidates are Searched," Norell guessed, "Dragons already picked them."

Master Rhuban nodded, "The harpers and scribes have been tracking riders and candidates for centuries. We think there is something inherent that distinguishes the few who can become riders from the vast majority who cannot. There seems to be a range of potency- some candidates will Impress quickly and likely would no matter the circumstances. Some need time to mature, or to come to terms with their own foibles. A few Impress only when the perfect dragon is on the sands. There was a young man at Fort who Impressed from the stands once, after being found unsuitable for Search by multiple dragons...But his was an unusual case and one we still can't explain. Whatever it is dragons look for, Searchdragons can sense it and the candidates they choose are almost always capable of Impression."

Norell remembered G'er's Search. The pair of riders had been the first to visit their cothold in living memory. Their dragons had seemed impossibly large and towering and their riders had dressed more finely that anyone Norell knew. Even with all the young men and women of the hold assembled before them, the dragons had only had eyes for G'er.

"There are other holdborn, however, who find their way to candidacy. In Golre's time, a few riders chose indiscriminately, based on convenience rather than suitability. And sometimes, holdborn come to the weyr on other business and later decide to try their hand at Impressing a dragon of their own," Master Rhuban said, looking pointedly at Norell, "Their rates of Impression are low, well below those of weyrbred candidates. There was a girl a few turns ago who dragonet hatchlings didn't seem to notice was even there. I don't know how she was chosen and it's possible the Searchdragon simply made a mistake, but she is proof that such people exist."

Norell's eyes narrowed. What was he trying to get at?

"Whatever it is that makes someone capable of Impression, we believe it runs in families," Master Rhuban continued, not waiting for a response, "It is difficult to find a weyrbred child without rider ancestry somewhere in their line and most of the weyrbred seem to be capable of Impression, although there are exceptions. The weyrborn are allowed to stand without Search because they are a convenient pool of candidates and many eventually prove successful. Screening them all would be a challenge, both because of the risk of offending rider relatives and because some dragons find it difficult to distinguish potential candidates in the weyr, when they are surrounded by so many other receptive minds."

How did he keep droning on this long? Wasn't his voice getting tired?

"Even outside the weyr, suitability seems to run in families," he just kept going and going. Norell was kind of impressed. He must have been quite the singer back in the day. Maybe he still was. He clearly liked the sound of his own voice, "It is common for siblings to be Searched together or for relatives of riders to later be chosen. Your own family is an excellent example. Your half-brother and sister were both Searched and Impressed quickly."

Norell supposed Master Marland must have told Master Rhubar about her, before he went home to Fort. But she wasn't talking about her brother and sister with a strange Harper from High Reaches, "Which means whatever it is, I have it too."

Master Rhubar shook his head and looked almost regretful, "If they were your full siblings, I'd be inclined to agree that the odds were in your favor. But Essa and G'er are your HALF siblings. It is entirely possible that their ability to Impress came from their mother, whose blood you do not share. We do not have your full genealogy, as you are not weyrborn, and the pattern of inheritance of rider potential is...murky at best."

Norell glared at Master Rhubar. She WAS going to Impress. She'd been raised at the weyr since she was eleven turns old. She'd built a place for herself among the weyrfolk. She belonged here as much as anyone did.

"And?" Norell asked shortly. Sometimes, if she just didn't engage, masters lost interest and moved on.

"You are nearly fifteen turns old. I am sure you've considered putting yourself forward for candidacy," Master Rhubar said gently, "But you cannot be sure you will ever Impress. It is possible you will stand until you age out."

"Lots of candidates age out," Norell retorted with an arch of her eyebrow, "Even weyrborn ones."

"Yes, but you are not weyrborn. You have lived at a weyr only a few turns. You have no family at High Reaches. Another places could become home just as easily," Master Rhubar reminded her, "You have been training as a Harper since you were twelve. Master Marland brought you here because he thinks you have potential. He had hoped to have this conversation with you himself."

"What was he going to tell me? That I should run away to Harperhall like Rellor did?"

"Your brother Rellor is a promising young scholar. So are you, in your own way," Master Rhubar said with maddening calmness, "Master Marland dug up your records from your early Harper lessons. You arrived at the weyr entirely illiterate and within a turn, were reading as fluently as your weyrbred classmates. Your singing is unexceptional, but your gitar work is competent and would improve with proper focus and instruction. You adapt quickly to new cultures and Master Marland was impressed by your eye for social nuance. There is a place for you at Harperhall."

"I don't want it," Norell said without hesitation, "I can be a Harper and a candidate."

"Yes, you can continue your apprenticeship during your candidacy," Master Rhubat acknowledged, "But you will be distracted and your progress will be slow. You cannot receive the same caliber of training you would at Harperhall, where you would learn from the best and brightest of our number. More importantly, if you wish to advance in the craft, you need to build connections with your fellow Harpers. You are young. The lessons you've received at the weyr have sufficed thus far. But if you stand and fail? Your studies will be many turns behind your peers and you will be associated firmly with the weyr, instead of the Hall. You can still be a harper, but the highest echelons of the craft will be closed to you. You have a choice. Make the right one."

Norell could read between the lines. If she stood and failed, she would be nobody, just another cothold girl who'd thought she had what it took to be a rider. Even if she stayed at the weyr, without a dragon, she'd always be an afterthought. Just another used-up, washed-out former candidate.

It didn't take any special quirk of the mind to be a Harper, only a quick wit and clever fingers. And...it wasn't as lame as she thought. She liked it and she was good at it. She could leave High Reaches behind forever.

But if she left, Majima would win. He'd get to think he'd succeeded in scaring her off and he could keep doing whatever it was he was doing. She'd never get her revenge for what he'd done to her family.

If she left, it meant it had all been a lie, that her life at the weyr had been just another trick, nothing more than a cheap coat of paint on a common cothold girl.

If she left, she would never have a dragon of her own. Dragons were power and a girl on dragonback stood taller than any common man.

Norell had always been a girl who took smart risks. Since she'd come to High Reaches, though, she'd run from disaster to disaster. Imprudent slips of the tongue, poorly planned invasions of a wherhandler's quarters, rumors spread about targets who hadn't really been her targets...Norell had made a string of bad choices. Was she willing to risk everything for the chance at a dragon's rainbow gaze? Was she willing to stake her entire future on the possibility that her loser father's bloodline was the special one?

"I'll think about it," Norell said.

She already knew the answer. She'd known the answer from the moment she first stepped off of Gectusith's back, into a new life where she got to decide who she was.

[Arcane]

Destinies Are Made
OOC Note: As before, none of Norell's theories are established site canon. They are purely her own speculations.

Master Rhuban didn't understand as much as he thought he did. Which wasn't surprising. He was an adult, after all. Adults always thought they knew everything. But he wasn't a rider and he wasn't weyrborn. It didn't matter how many books or records he had- he didn't understand dragons.

Master Rhuban thought telepathy was something people were born with, an inherent trait they either had or they didn't. But there was a hole in his theory.

L'ir of Green Byth. He was a greenrider at Fort and wingsecond of their Healer's Wing. He had a daughter who sometimes played with Norell's brothers. He was from Ista and had Impressed from the stands at Serapheth's first clutch. Norell had never found him all that interesting. She'd never known he'd been turned down by Searchdragons again and again. Not until she'd peeked at the records when Master Rhuban's records left for a cup of klah. Lir's name had been written there, surrounded by unanswered questions.

Master Rhuban had no idea why L'ir had Impressed, after being found unsuitable. Norell, however, knew L'ir. Unlike Master, Rhuban she knew what had changed.

L'ir had Impressed a flit, a little brown named Teddy. It made Norell think- maybe telepathy wasn't a binary trait at all. Maybe it was a skill, that like any other skill could be developed and honed.

And then Norell had remembered of Lazu, who Impressed a unique. She hadn't been Searched and she had no rider kin. She'd been a runaway, who'd showed up at Fort and declared residency so she could stand. Norell had no way to know if she had innate telepathic potential. But she had a flit too.

Norell knew there was more to it than that- that candidates without firelizards Impressed and candidates with firelizards failed. But maybe a firelizard could help a candidate strengthen their innate telepathic potential. And maybe, it could give someone who wasn't naturally telepathic a chance.

If telepathy could be learned, Norell would learn it. Whatever L'ir and Lazu had or hadn't done by accident, Norell wouldn't it leave to chance.

And so Norell had asked the Weyrlingmaster for a copy of weyrling telepathy exercises. Camilla had squeezed her cheeks and called her the cutest thing and praised her eagerness.

Norell practiced with the only partner she had: her own firelizard, Ramala. She practiced feeling where the green was when Ramala was out of her sight, luring the green in without explicit commands, looking through her eyes to see the things she saw. Norell practiced opening their bond and closing it, feeling everything Ramala felt and feeling nothing at all. She paid more attention to how she connected with her firelizard, trying to turn the habits of telepathy into something deliberate she could do at will.

It didn't matter how many other unsearched holdbrats had tried and failed. They weren't Norell. Norell was going to be a rider.

[Arcane]

TW: Death, corpses, injury, gaslighting, violence

The girl standing in T'ir's doorway looked barely old enough to be a rider. She wore a garnet weyrling's knots, interwoven with a thread of Harper blue.

T'ir nearly threw her out. Her dragon should have never hatched. N'ell of Garnet should never have been a rider at all.

"In the summer of 2769, brown Majimask bit her your right arm with enough force to break the bone," the girl said, her voice cool and focused, facts recited from memory. She spoke with the familiar accent of Fort Weyr but her knots bore High Reaches' colors, "Then-Weyrleader Schneizel brought you to the infirmary, where you were diagnosed with shock. The incident was reported as an attack by a wild wher who wandered too close to the weyr. If your allegations were ever recorded, the records have long since been destroyed. You never wavered from your story, but eventually, you stopped telling it when you could find nobody who believed you."

T'ir blinked. N'ell was only a weyrling, her dragon barely old enough to fly. Shouldn't she be focused on...whatever it was ordinary weyrlings did?

"I want to know why," she continued, absently fiddling with her pinky finger, "What did you see or do that you shouldn't have?"

"I didn't realize Majima had started sending children to do his dirty work," T'ir said. She shouldn't have been surprised. No one at this weyr seemed capable of behaving like proper riders. And N'ell WAS a garnetrider.

"I'm not with Majima," she said, entirely unperturbed.

"What business it is of yours, garnetrider?" T'ir's eyes narrowed.

Her eyes hardened for a moment, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. Her voice was just as calm and emotionless when she said, "My business is my own."

"Then why should I tell you anything?"

"You've repeated the story often," N'ell shrugged casually, "If all the weyr can hear, why can't I? I'm interested."

"I'm not hear to provide a spectacle to bored weyrlings. You can get your lurid gossip and cheap thrills elsewhere," T'ir said. The girl was still standing there, apparently not bothered at all by T'ir's refusal.

"You were born Tamir of Fort Hold in the spring of 2742," N'ell recired, after a slight pause, "Your mother was a drudge, as was your father. Your association with the lords of Fort Hold began when you were fifteen. You were a minor bureaucrat under Lord Vellat, a drudge under Lord Evander and a trusted advisor to Lord Vellaren."

T'ir looked at the weyrling. The weyrling looked back, expressionless and silent. She was a strange, off-putting child, T'ir decided. Perhaps that was why a garnet had chosen her, because there was already something unnatural in her character.

Why was this strange girl stalking her? And why was she bothering to pretend it was a casual visit? This was what happened when weyrlings were left unoccupied. They fixated on strange things. The weyr clearly would benefit from more rigid scheduling.

"The Scribes keep excellent records on dragonriders and weyrfolk talk. I know to read and I know how to listen," the girl answered the unasked question, "I'm not here on a whim. Don't you want the novelty of telling your story to someone who might actually believe you?"

T'ir's eyes narrowed

"I can get the facts from others. But secondhand sources are unreliable. I'd rather hear it from you."

"Why?" T'ir repeated.

"Why does it matter?" N'ell replied, "Tell me and you'll never hear from me again. Otherwise...I don't give up on the things I want. Do you think your green's interest in garnets extends beyond her sister?"

T'ir sighed. She supposed it didn't matter. This was the first time anyone had ever asked her to tell this particular story.

"It started..."

N'ell held up a hand and stepped forward. T'ir took a step back in surprise as N'ell entered the weyr, closed the door and took a long look around, "This is a conversation for closed doors."

Looking for an excuse to come inside, garnetrider? It's alright. I don't mind admirers, Blysith crooned as she noticed their visitor.

"It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Blysith," N'ell said briefly before turning back to T'ir, "Begin again, please."

"I was going for a walk in the Fireheights," T'ir said, voice filled with ladylike indignation. She wasn't the sort of woman who ordinarily believed in leisurely strolls. Experience had done nothing to improve her opinion of the practice, "When I came upon Majima's wher eating a human corpse. I objected, of course. The Fireheights are a public place and corpses are highly unsanitary. They spread disease. Besides, the sight could distress impressionable children."

"Was it Majima's kill?" the girl asked.

"I suspect as much, yes," T'ir nodded, trying to think back to that day. The details were a blur, until that awful moment of teeth in her flesh, "I knew this weyr has its difficulties, but was shocked to learn it had become such a den of ill-repute as to allow murderers to walk among our riders and handlers."

"And after that?"

"I objected, of course, as anyone would," T'ir said. It was their common duty to maintain what little decency this barbaric weyr retained, "We argued. He had his wher attack me and threatened that if I "lectured" him again, he would allow his wher to eat me!"
---
It was the sort of tale unlikely to be believed. Domestic whers did not engage in cannibalism. Wherhandlers were not such blatant criminals. Sometimes, the improbability of the truth was the best defense.

N'ell and T'ir were both exiles of Fort. They were both holders of low-birth, who had risen above their station even before they became dragonriders. Most importantly, they had both crossed Majima before.

N'ell had escaped her fate because Essa and G'er had saved her. T'ir had risen solely through her own merit. But T'ir had never learned when to keep quiet.

She was proud and willful and certain of her beliefs. And that was why she would never win against Majima.

Majima, who was a murderer. Majima who stole dragon eggs and fed his wher human corpses. Majima, who didn't need his wher to break bone.

"And after that?" No'el asked. Because clearly Majimask hadn't eaten T'ir, or she would be sitting there, sounding oh so concerned about the cleanliness of the weyr.

"Former Weyrleader Schneizel arrived. I don't know why or from where," T'ir said, "I tried to tell him of Majima's crimes, but he was misled by Majima's claims. Such a man does not deserve to be weyrleader. It is little wonder he continued failing, until he had no choice but to steal Fortian garnet eggs."

None of the accounts N'ell had heard of Schneizel painted him as a fool and she knew for a fact he hadn't stolen the dragon eggs. But Majima could be sly. N'ell knew that better than anyone. Perhaps Schneizel really had believed Majima's claims over T'ir's far-fetched claims.

Or maybe they were partners. Perhaps Majima had taken the eggs on his orders, in a scheme to secure Schneizel's position that had ultimately backfired.

"He was the one who brought you to the infirmary," N'ell coaxed, when T'ir's words paused. She hadn't expected it to be easy. T'ir had tried many times to share this story before and been met with disbelieving ears. And N'ell wouldn't have been her first choice of confidants. She was younger, only a weyrling and, worst of all in the eyes of an outspoke traditionalist like T'ir, a garnetrider. It was why N'ell had waited so many months to approach her, while she gathered her research and waited for Pamith to no longer need her constant supervision. Pamith didn't approve of N'ell's little crusade and her presence would only serve to remind T'ir of who N'ell was.

N'ell had done every she could to prepare for this meeting but had no illusions they would leave as allies. She wanted the information in T'ir's head. Nothing more.

"Yes. He took me the Healers. He believed I was in shock. He repeated Majima's story and told the Healers as much. They took his word over mine, which I suppose isn't surprising. He was the Weyrleader," T'ir murmured, her voice softening and for a moment losing its professional edge, "Everyone kept telling me I was misremembering. That it was the shock. That it had been a wild wher I just mistook for Majimask. But I KNOW what happened. I know what I saw."

Schneizel had known exactly what he was doing, N'ell decided. Disturbing as T'ir's accusations were, why an innocent party have convinced the Healers they were delusions, instead of conducting at least a preliminary investigation? Especially if there had been a corpse involved.

"How did Majima explain the corpse?" N'ell asked.

T'ir blinked at her and looked vaguely unnerved for reasons N'ell couldn't imagine, "That body was once a person. You should speak of him with more respect. Why does nobody ever seem to care?"

He had been a person but he had been dead for turns. N'ell didn't known who he was and didn't have any particular hopes of finding out. She'd check and see if the weyr or the hold had reported any suspicious disappearances about that time but given how thoroughly it had been covered up, she suspected the body was, quite literally, a dead end.

"Did you happen to see his knots or did he have any other distinguishing features that could help identify him?"

"There was a dead body right in front of me! I wasn't looking for his shoulder knots! What is wrong with you?" T'ir asked, losing what remained of her composure.

N'ell shrugged, "As I said, I'm curious. Now- how did Majima explain the body?"

"He said he'd already been dead when he arrived."

"Did Majima or Weyrleader Schneizel ever report it?"

"I...don't know. I don't think so?" T'ir said. N'ell made a mental note to look into it further herself. If there was no report...It would be confirmation of what N'ell already suspected: This went farther than Majima himself. He had gotten the weyrleader and who knew how many other Council Members in his pocket.

N'ell was only a weyrling. She wanted to bring Majima down herself, but more importantly- she wanted him brought down. Maybe it was time to start looking for allies.

But not T'ir, who didn't like her, didn't trust and didn't know how to keep her mouth shut.

"Thank you, T'ir," N'ell said with a hint of a satisfied smile, "That was an interesting story. And don't worry- you won't hear from me again."

If N'ell had more questions? Maybe next time she should send somebody else to ask them. Judging from the way T'ir was looking at her, N'ell didn't think the greenrider who would let her in again.

"Just leave, garnetrider," T'ir sighed, "You got the show you came for."