So here we have the beginning of the end of the questions about Andoya and her suitor Vikna, and the dragonriders who passed through so long ago most people have forgotten them and think it only legend and myth that the family holds so fiercely to the tale.
I do not own Pern or the dragonriders - that privilege belongs to Ann McCaffery who has gone from us to the Great Gather, RIP, but she lives on in our remembrance.
The girl gathering greens at the edge of the field glanced anxiously at the angle of the sun, calculating the time passing. They were free of Thread at the moment, and it was only a quick run back to the house and compound to be safe. She bent again to the wild greens growing under and between the tumbled stones of the wall; this would have to be mended soon, but she could not see her father Kaval ordering men out to do it until Fort Weyr signalled a few days clear of Thread.
On the thought, her unease grew too much, and she closed the flap of her satchel, turned, and began to jog back to the house. Seen from this lower elevation the various roofs and chimneys crouched on the horizon like a dragon itself.
"Like a dragon? Why compare those beauties to that old place?" she muttered crossly to herself, but the image stuck in her mind, and she began to sing snatches of one of the old songs, not Harper Crafted, but handed down through the tight knit family, and sung around the winter hearth.
"Bronzeandgold,greenandblue,
See the dragons passing through.
See their riders proud and tall,
Onwards, onwards, save us all."
She added a few trills of her own to the old tune, and was smiling as she came to the gate of the compound. Nevertheless she looked around warily in case anyone had seen her slip away, and gave a huff of relief as she arrived safely in the kitchens.
"And where have you been, missy?"
"Just to gather greens, aunty,"
"Andova, you will be the death of me, running off like that," her aunt said crossly, but Andova, eldest daughter of the cothold, tipped the greens into a bowl, and began to wash them, expertly swirling a minimum of water to get the grit off the dark green leaves.
"Good growth," her aunt said grudgingly, and the chief cook Sara came over to gather a share.
"Andova knows all the best places, Arun," she said with a smile. "Thank you for those, youngster, but it don't let you off the chores. I've a basket of mending to do, or you can sit with the old aunties."
"I'll do both," Andova said at once. "Their room has a good light, better than the storerooms."
She blew a kiss to the two women and left the kitchen, executing a few dance steps as she did so, knowing they were probably tutting and shaking their heads.
"Chores and more chores, and chores after that," Andova murmured aloud, a bad habit of hers, but one she had grown into, being the eldest of the family, and a long gap between her and her siblings.
"Hello Senjoy," she continued in a louder voice as she came into the storerooms. "Counted it all?"
"I count it in and I count it out," Senjoy said in a resigned voice. "Only it's never the same total twice, Ana."
"You should use a marker," Andova said in a gentler voice, coming in to survey the crocks of food. "Go and get a shingle from the wood yard, and a piece of charcoal, and mark the crocks, and write down the number of marks on the shingle."
Senjoy looked doubtful. "They won't run away from me, will they?"
"What? The crocks?"
"No, the numbers. I don't do numbers very well."
"Well, try the trick with the shingle, and see if it helps."
Andova collected a basket of mending, sniffing at the clothes and wrinkling her nose; these days the clothes were dried indoors, and sometimes they smelt stale and dank if the windows had been shuttered closed.
"Where are you off to?" Senjoy asked. "Mending again? I thought you did that last week?"
"I enjoy it, and it keeps the old aunties company," Andova said truthfully.
"You mean you can listen to their tales and sing unCrafted songs," Senjoy replied accurately, with a smile and a shake of her head that reminded Andova of their mother Hintra.
"Tra-la-la! And what's wrong with a few old songs and stories, eh?"
Andova grinned at her sister, tousled her hair, kissed the tip of her nose and was off again down the corridors of the ancient cothold, finding her way with ease through what visitors grumbled was a maze and a labyrinth. New rooms had been built in each generation, and since it had seemed a shame to waste the warmth of a chimney, the outer passage would be roofed over to make a long narrow hall, and then subdivided into rooms again, perhaps with a half roof put in for storage, and that became another room.
Andover opened the door to the old aunties' room and came in, swinging her basket of mending to a stool, and going across to the three beds.
"Hello aunties!" she said in a cheerful voice. "Here I am again, turning up like a bad mark, and moithering you with my questions!"
