Oiling.

A tedious task for every rider, a needed and welcome relief to every dragon.

He repeated his personal mantra to himself as he began.

"Why couldn't you be a green? Or a blue?" he grumbled. "There's so much less of them."

Because then I wouldn't be a bronze. I wouldn't be one of the strongest dragons in the weyr and you would not a wingleader.

"You may have a point there, my dear."

A large, whirling eye regarded his human companion. I always have a point. You're the chatterbox.

The rider began oiling over a scar, barely visible on the hide.

"Last Fall of the last Turn. You did some fairly impressive betweening to stop that being serious."

I'm always impressive

"And modest to go with it."

If I was not, we would not be wingleaders. We would be wingseconds.

The rider laughed at the draconic logic behind the statement, and gave his lifemate an affectionate thump.

He continued to oil, complain and banter with his dragon, as he always did.

The thing the Candidates and weyrlings never did get told, though they often cited oiling as the least pleasant task of dragon care, is that oiling was the activity that allowed the partnership to blossom and just to be.

Not focused on Thread, or who would win the mating flight, or even the trivialities of everyday living.

Just man and dragon in that ancient partnership.

Oiling.

I had a few things pointed out that were wrong with this (thanks Orlith, and especially astrokath (the sentence is still clunky, I know), so this is minor editing.