Garrett was fairly sure he'd never walked around the Weyrbowl so many times in his life. He was surely wearing a groove into the ground. He knew the feel of every pebble under his shoes by this point. The other new wherhandlers were having a nice, relaxing night in, getting to know their new wherlets and bonding with them. Garrett, though? Garrett was walking in circles around the Weyrbowl with a(n increasingly heavy) blue in his arms. Seriously, was Garrsk growing in his very arms? That was the only possible explanation for the growing burning in his arms, and Garrett wasn't exactly a slouch.
Is training. Is good, the blue had said when the burning feeling had slowly begun in Garrett's arms.
"This is not training," Garrett grumbled. "It's not sanctioned by the wherling masters, so it doesn't count."
Is training, Garrsk insisted. I offered walk. You said bad idea. So now training.
"We could just be relaxing like everyone else," Garrett complained yet again.
Will be grown before we know. Must be ready. Thread not rest because we tired.
Garrett groaned, but continued putting one reluctant foot in front of the other. Maybe he was right. And this was good practice, anyway, using Garrsk's vision to navigate. It could be worse. He just felt foolish walking in circles around the Weyrbowl (or 'doing patrols', as Garrsk insisted on calling it) hauling a tiny blue wher when everyone else was either taking advantage of a day off or busy with real work.