/Author's Comments:

First and foremost, the all-important disclaimer: I do own neither the world of Pern nor the Dragonriders of Pern series and story concept. They are the property of Anne McCaffery and associated publishers and writers. This disclaimer applies not only to the chapter, but to the whole story.

Also, the following chapter contains detailed descriptions of swordsmanship. I know nothing about swordsmanship, and all of the techniques described below are purely fictional. Do not use them for self-defense.

So, this is my second running fanfiction, alongside the Rogue of Pern. Note that the following chapter warrants the rating of T for violence. Reader discretion is advised.

Please give me feedback and tell me what you think of the story so far. I've got the first few chapters mapped out, but, as always, I'd really like suggestions from the fans.

Also, be it noted: when I say "the good man", I don't mean that he is inherently good, or good at what he does. I mean it as though its the figure of speech.

And, also, I figured out how to make POV/time breaks properly! There's only one in this chapter, but it should look right this time.

Notes On Pronunciation: the name "Coron" is pronounced like the English name "Corin".

Chapter Information:

Drafting Began: 2:48:12 AM (GMT), December 2, 2006

Drafting Ended: 7:30:00 PM (GMT), December 3, 2006

Uploaded: 7:42:04 PM (GMT), December 3, 2006

The Color of Blood

Prologue

High Reaches Hold

Seventh Pass, 12.6.1

Afternoon (Fort Time)

"Remember, its a movement of the arm that executes this blocking manuever. If you uncurl your arm, it reduces the power of your thrust." Master-at-Arms Arando, captain of the High Reaches guard, was an accomplished warrior, and, in the early hours of the afternoon, the sole teacher of soldiery in the mighty Hold. The man literally towered above the ground: at almost nine hands – two hundred and ten centimeters – he was easily the largest man in all the High Reaches, if not in all Pern. His swordsmanship lessons were nothing like Master Harper Kial's. Kial had a tendency to drone, but put all of the important teachings and ballads into a beautiful lyrical verse that you simply couldn't forget. Still, Coron had to admit to himself, Kial could be boring at times, and there had been once or twice when Coron had dozed off during class. Arando was different. You didn't dare ignore Arando.

The good soldier had stripped off his tunic, revealing his undershirt, and demonstrated the tatic he had described moments earlier, amazingly graceful and swift for someone of his awesome size. During guard duty, Arando could been seen bearing no fewer than four handaxes and tomahawks on various parts of his body, in addition to a massive battleaxe and a belt-knife the size of a wherry-skewer. During training, his heavily muscled arms put down the real weapons and took up the wooden practice swords. It was odd how the sparring tool looked, in Arando's hands, just as frightening as the colossal axe that, Coron was sure, could cleave solid stone.

"EYES HERE!" bellowed the Master-at-Arms, inspiring a jump from the class, and probably, the entire hold. "Your lives," said the man slowly, for emphasis, "could very well one day depend on what I am showing you now." It sometimes amazed Coron that even Razan, Lord Holder Triten's conceited eldest son (and one of Coron's classmates), jumped when Arando called. Then Coron remembered how even the Lord Holder had stopped gibbering and listened to the Weapons Master when Temmen Hold, beholden to High Reaches, had been invaded by Nabol troops, one turn ago. The day afterwards, sparring lessons had started.

Arando let his arm relax, flat of the wooden sword drawn protectively across his chest. "This is, in my opinion, one of the reactive stances you could adopt. If you are fighting a lone opponent, it would be wise to position yourself in this way as you try to analyze his swordsmanship style. Now, if I were trying to block, all I'd have to do is draw my arm back or slide it to one side. I'll demostrate. RAZAN! On your feet!" The boy, sixteen turns in age, was standing so quickly that Coron wasn't quite sure how he had managed to spring up. Razan drew own wooden sword.

"Now Razan, I want you to make one stroke at me. Just one stroke. I'll demonstrate the effectiveness of this technique."

Razan was the oldest in the class, at fifteen turns, and was first in line of succession to High Reaches Hold and all the land it controlled. Moreover, he seemed to love swordsmanship and took great pride in his own ability. Though he was a recklessly aggressive fighter, his immense weight and total disregard for his own safety made him dangerous. If Arando could block an attack from Razan, it proved the merit of the technique.

The two men touched the tip of their swords and then hit the flats together, signifying the start of the match. Arando immediately took up the defensive stance, while Razan, howling like a demon, launched himself at the weapons master. Yet his thrust wasn't as uncontrolled as it originally seemed. The charge turned into a feint as the Lord Holder's son turned the side-slash into an overhand attack, all his weight behind it. Arando brought his weapon up to block, one hand on the hilt, the other supporting the flat. Razan bounced off, though Arando's sword visible deformed.

The fight was over, just like that. The Master-at-Arms was left shaking his head at the training tool. "I could swear for a moment that this was going to break. Well done, Razan. I didn't see the feint coming. You're learning discretion." The boy was panting, face flushed with exertion and failure. He wasn't known for his temper, but no one had really expected him to outdo Arando. Any other person in the hold, save perhaps Lord Holder Triten or one of Razan's brothers, would have suffered greatly for showing up the successor to the High Reaches.

Arando faced the class. "That's how you keep yourself alive. Pair up. You're going to practice this stance until you get it right. Mean time, I'm going to get this piece of trash replaced." The man looked at the bent sword with disdain.

Coron had the good fortune to find himself practicing with Hennel, Lord Triten's youngest son, quieter and more mild-mannered than his older brother. He and Hennel were the same age – eleven turns – and roughly the same height and body weight. They often sparred together during class, as each judged the other to be an even match. Hennel might well have been Coron's best friend, simply because there were no other boys of their age and status in the Hold. Coron was the only son of Holder Legault, and was hence destined to inherit his father's extremely profitable Beastmasterhold. Because Legault was one of the most prominent and powerful minor holders under the High Reaches banner, Coron was schooled and trained with the Lord Holder's sons as though he was their equal.

As far as Hennel went, he was the youngest of three brothers, and hence third in line for succession to the hold. He would technically be considered at Conclave as a potential Lord Holder, but once Triten retired or died, general consensus was that Razan would be ratified, leaving Hennel as a Holder somewhere, but not the Lord Holder. Arando, however, saw all of his pupils equally: as people smaller than he was. As a result, the Master-At-Arms insisted that the two train just as hard as Razan or any of the other younger children. When they were feeling tired, Arando reminded them that, even though it was a Pass, High Reaches was at war, and it might be tomorrow that column of Nabolese troops came knocking at the Hold door. That sent them scurrying back to their training weapons.

One hard, sweaty hour passed before Arando returned with a new wooden weapon, possibly newly carved. The massive man surveyed the training arena before resuming his usual habit of barking orders. "Take a break, everyone. We start again in half-an-hour. Get some water." Hennel had never looked happier. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he ran out of the room, probably to find a drink. As for Coron, he took a deep breath. Time to talk to Arando. Slowly, the young boy half-tiptoed towards the weapons master's back, wondering why the man had to be so tall...

"Yes lad?" asked Arando surprisingly softly, as he collected a discarded wooden sword.

"Erm... well, sir..."

"Come now, Coron, don't be shy." Arando still hadn't turned to face him. Coron knew the man well, but was hesitant to ask him about this. The guard captain might think it arrogant and presumptuous.

"Well, sir, I've think I've developed a new sword stance."

"Really now?" Arando turned to face him, and, to Coron's amazement, he was smiling. "Let's see it." Coron gulped. He wanted to see it? Coron had just dreamt the technique up. Hennel thought it had been brilliant, but Hennel's admiration meant nothing in the face of Arando's scrutiny.

Trying to stay calm, Coron drew his own wooden sword from under his armpit and set the flat of the blade perpendicular to the ground in a two-handed grip, and cocked his right arm back. He sunk into a half-crouch, and tried to keep the blade steady. Arando brandished the blade he had collected thrust it forward.

At first Coron though the man wanted him to counter, but the Master-at-Arms quickly withdrew the weapon, and began to mutter to himself. Then, almost without warning, he thrust the blade again, and stepped back just as quickly. Coron realized that Arando must be evaluating the stance mentally.

After a series of other probes, the guard captain began to circle Coron, occasionally pointing or tapping the boy with his sword. Eventually, just as Coron thought his leg muscles would cramp from sustaining the stance, Arando spoke.

"Interesting. Here." He approached the student and wrenched the boy's left hand from the hilt of the weapon and repositioned it, outstretched, at the tip. The Master-at-Arms then stepped back and nodded.

"You don't need the strength of two hands behind that stroke. Better to use your non-dominant hand to guide the blade. If you grab the flat just so, you can avoid injury and have a deadly precise stroke. Now listen here. This stance you've created doesn't have any obvious weaknesses, but you need to be quick on your feet of use it. Can you tell me why?"

"Well..." Coron had given that some thought, and only vaguely understood it himself. "I'm using the sword like a skewer, in one sense. If you were to block, no matter how you did so, I could maneuver the blade around the block with ease, but I'd need to be fast to do so. If you counterattack, I could knock the stroke aside and retain the inside, leaving your chest exposed."

"Exactly," said Arando. Coron felt a well of relief bubble up inside of himself. "You didn't realize that you could also treat a block like a counterattack and knock it aside as well. Your main problem comes if you opponent tries to dodge you. You have to pivot faster than he can sidestep, but you can retain the stance while turning. Now, this isn't half as effective against an opponent with a shield, and a weapon with a longer reach would render the stance useless, but in a bout of sword against sword... I'll tell you what, Coron. I want you to test this stance against Razan."

"Sir?" asked Coron, hoping he'd heard incorrectly.

"Against Razan. Look, child: Razan has roughly the same height, weight, and recklessness as the average Nabol soldier. This is the proving grounds for this stance of yours." Coron gulped. This was a lose-lose situation. If he lost the match, he was publicly humiliated, and his stance probably wouldn't be viable in Arando's eyes. If he won... well, Razan would have his own way of exacting revenge. But, you didn't say "no" to a man whose tactical genius and strength of upper body had saved the High Reaches.

Coron slumped to his knees and sat in stunned silence, trying to divine a way out of his present quandary. Razan would have no reservations about beating Coron, alongside a "pal" or two if the fight went to the younger boy. But could he even win? For the past month or so, Coron had been tinkering with the idea of the stance, seeing the strength behind it. But was it enough to break through Razan's aggressive tactics?

Lost in thought, Coron hardly noticed as the other trainees, and, eventually, Razan, filtered into the room. He hardly heard Arando explaining the "exhibition bout" to the Lord Holder's son. What did knock Coron out of his stupor was Razan's malicious laugh. "That runt? I'll crush him into the floor!" Coron gulped again. When he dared to look up, High Reaches' successor was holding a wooden sword and wearing an evil grin. "Come on runt! Up! Time to show you what real swordplay is!" Coron tried to stand, but felt his legs giving out from under him. Arando walked over and helped him to feet. The weight of the Weapon's Master's hand felt somehow reassuring – he was hoping Coron would win. That was an encouraging thought. Somewhat shakily, with Arando's help, Coron regained his footing.

"Don't let him scare you with his talk." A whisper in his ear. "If he intimidates you, he's already won." One last strong pat on the should, and Arando stepped back.

"BEGIN!"

The two slapped the flats of their swords, and the sparring started. Coron immediately set his blade perpendicular to the ground, sinking into his stance. Arando had been right. With the left hand steadying the blade, it was much easier to guide. He really needed to invent a name for it. Call it something. Coron mentally slapped himself. He was distracting himself from reality. And, perhaps, the inevitable.

Razan came at him in the same way that a dragon comes at a wherry. He lashed out as he charged, in an overhanded sweep. Coron prepared to counter...

At the last second, Razan switched his strike to an overarching side slash from the right. Though his maneuver had been fast as lightening, the flexibility of Coron's stance saved him. The boy jumped back, maintaining stance, as Razan's stroke fell a fraction of a eighth-hand short. As the man followed through, he left his chest exposed. Coron charged through the opening...

"THIS MATCH IS OVER." Arando's below had probably woken the watchweyr. "The winner is: Coron!"

There was stunned silence. Disbelievingly, Coron was still staring at his sword. While Razan's guard was wide open, Coron had guided his sword directly to the other man's heart. Weapon positioned like a skewer, Coron still had yet to unfurl his arm, which would have been the killing stroke, driving the sword through his opponent's chest. Razan's face was already turning red. The Lord Holder's son pulled out of his temporarily frozen position and turned to appeal to Arando.

"But Master, I could have taken him down with another sidestroke. Just a second longer..."

The guard captain drew his own wooden sword and tapped Razan's chest with it. "You can't fight when you're dead, son." He turned to the class in general. "The point of this little exhibition bout was to show you that the best defense is not always a good offense. You have to be quick, smart, nimble on your feet, and you need to know how to defend yourselves. Now, pair up again. I'm going to watch and assess each person's ability. When I think you've got it down, you can leave. Got it?"

Coron had barely heard a word of Arando's speech. His gaze was locked with Razan's furious stare. The blood drained from Coron's face as he thought of the man's retribution. Coron would pay for his moment of glory, and his defeat of a boy four turns older than he.

"What are you waiting for?" demanded Arando. "HOP TO IT!"

They hopped to it.


Half an hour later, Coron walked out of the training arena, sweating profusely. He took a drink of klah from the skin that Hennel had offered, and dried his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. They had been among the last to leave, because Arando had started with the older students. Coron was grateful for that, because Razan had been among the first to leave. He might have reached the end of patience waiting and run off to do something else. If that was the case, Coron had avoided a beating for the day.

After a minute or two of walking, Hennel said his goodbye for the afternoon and went off to his quarters. Come to think of it, he, Coron, should be going home as well. It was getting late. Fortunately, his father's hold was just outside the main Hold, only a few minutes' walk. Coron turned down a corridor to take the usual shortcut he used, leave by way of the kitchens... The door to the kitchens was locked. Odd. Well, he could double back around and...

"Hello, Runt." Coron gulped. He knew that voice.

Sure enough, there, behind him, was Razan, blocking the only way out of the corridor. Coron could scream for help, but it would likely do no good, as Lord Holder Triten let his successor act with impunity around the hold. What was odd was that Razan was alone. He usually would have brought a "friend" or two. And he was carrying.

The significance of what he was carrying sunk in. Those were real swords, sheathed in the colors of High Reaches. The man had gone to the armory and pilfered swords. Was Razan trying to kill him? And then the significance of that sunk in. Maybe he was.

Razan dropped one sheathed weapon and kicked it towards Coron. "You think you're pretty smart with a wooden sword, don't ya? Well, let's see what you can with the weight of real sword! Show me that stance of yours again."

Coron drew the blade, and, in the light of the glows, could see the smithcrafthall seal. It was sharp, and real. And so heavy! He could only just barely hold it in one shaky hand. His heart began to pound in his chest as he clumsily set the flat of the sword perpendicular to the ground. Luckily, his left hand helped to steady the blade. He just had to be sure that he didn't cut himself!

The other boy looked at Coron's stance, and an evil grin filled his face. "You see, Runt," he stressed the third word noticeably, "I happen to disagree with Master Arando on one count, with all due respect to him. I think that the best defense is a good offense, and I intend to prove it." Coron gulped and felt the blood drain from his face. A real fight? With real swords? Someone could get hurt! As he surveyed his surroundings, Coron realized it would probably be him.

Razan had choosen this corridor, the other boy guessed, because it was narrow. That gave Coron little room to maneuver or dodge, except backwards. And in no time at all Razan would have pushed him back to the kitchen door. He was doomed. Coron nearly broke up in tears. He didn't want to die here!

Arando's words came unbidden to Coron's mind. "Don't let him scare you with his talk. If he intimidates you, he's already won."Alright then. Coron forced himself to calm down. He just needed to find a way out of, or to survive this mess. If he couldn't step left or right... there was a third option, he realized.

Razan drew his sword excruciatingly slowly, allowing the sound of metal grating against leather to fill Coron's ears. "No tricks this time, Runt. No feints. Just one slash." With an evil grin, Razan came at him.

Time seemed to temporarily slow to a standstill. Razan had his sword posed for a sidestroke, starting at high right and dropping to low left. If that was the case, Coron had one chance.

At the very last second, Coron ducked down and to the right, under the sword stroke, and carried through upwards, leaving the tip of his very real sword on the left side of Razan's chest (Coron's right). Razan had left himself exposed, yet again, and the younger, faster boy had exploited the opening. Razan would have to surrender now! With the tip of Coron's weapon on his tunic, the successor to the High Reaches was in a position to lose his life.

"Why YOU RUNT! I'll..." Razan began to bring his sword down in another stroke. Coron yelped in fear and instinctively pushed upwards with his arm. Whatever Razan had been about to say, it had been replaced with a unintelligible, guttural choke. A warm liquid trickled down Coron's hand and arm. A sword clattered to the ground. Coron's mouth dropped open as Razan slumped to his knees. The only thing that had stopped Coron's blade's progress through Razan's body was the hilt of the weapon, which had stopped at his chest. The sword was literally visible out the other side of the man's body.

Coron let go of the weapon and scampered as far as he could away from the body, towards the entrance of the corridor, while remaining in the corridor itself. How much blood did the human body have in it? The liquid was trickling out of Razan's wound and pooling near his feet. In the dim light of the glows it looked almost like it was dark purple, or even black.

Coron heard the sound of approaching footfalls. He was rooted to the spot, oddly calm. He was out of, yet still in, immediate danger. The footsteps grew louder. Mentally, he knew he done for, yet he still felt perfectly fine, probably more awake and alive than he ever had before. The smell, though, and the sight of the corpse... That was enough to make bile rise in his throat.

Master Arando and a guard Coron didn't know by name burst around the corner of the backwater corridor. For one long moment there was absolute silence.

"By the void that spawned us all," whispered Arando. Coron had never heard the Master-at-Arms whisper before. "I thought I heard shouting." Then, the man seemed to regain composure. "Don't just stand there!" he barked at the other guard. "Check Razan's vitals!"

Arando seemed to have the same effect on children and grown men. The guard broke out of his stupor and ran towards the fallen man. Coron knew it was too late, though. Slowly, the boy tilted his head to face the weapons master, and was surprised to find the man kneeling before him, looking him in the eyes.

"Did you do this?" Coron nodded slowly. There was another silence.

Eventually, the other guard's voice broke the ominously still air. "He's dead. No doubt about it. Sword pierced his heart."

"I think I know what happened," said Arando. "Let me guess. All you have to do is nod if I'm right. Don't try to talk." Coron nodded.

"You defeated Razan this afternoon in sparring practice, so he came after you. He cornered you in this sorry alleyway and tried to redeem himself, in his own mind, for his loss. He didn't change his style but just tried to intimidate you. He brought real swords with him." Coron nodded.

"You didn't fall for his tricks and got him into a position where you could kill him if you wanted to. Razan, being as bull-headed as a drow-beast, tried to keep fighting, and you stabbed him. Right?" Coron nodded one last time.

"I knew that that idiot was going to get himself killed one day. I just never dreamed like this. I don't blame you, son."

The other guard spoke up slowly. "With respect Master Arando, you may not blame the young man, but I doubt that Lord Holder Triten will share your view. He loved the boy." The man gestured at Razan's sprawled form. "He always said that Razan was destined to lord over the High Reaches. You know the law, Arando. Triten'll see this as murder, and murder of a Lord Holder's kin is treason, and treason is punishable by execution. Execution during..."

"I do know the law," said Arando softly. "Treason is punishable by execution by leaving the traitor chained outside during Threadfall. I know."

"Lord Triten will have it done in a second. He'll go crazy when he hears Razan has been murdered."

"That's why we're not going to tell him who killed the boy."

"Once again, with respect, captain, if we don't tell him and he finds out on his own, he could order you executed as well."

"As of right now, guardsman, the only people who know are we three. Coron won't tell anyone on the pain of death. And I won't tell anyone either. That leaves you, soldier. And if word somehow gets out..."

"I'd never do such a thing, captain."

"Good. Then help me get this boy to my quarters. Quickly now."

Coron seemed to have lost his legs, but Arando and the other man carried him, by some backwater route that he didn't know existed, to the Master-at-Arm's quarters. The scenery passed in a blur. All Coron could think about was the corpse, the smell, the blood. He felt bile rising in his throat again. He didn't even notice that he was laying on Arando's gigantic bed.

"Get the chamberpot, and be quick about it," said Arando.

"Why?" asked the guard.

"Just do it."

A moment later, Coron was sitting up in the bed, the chamberpot in his hands. The boy opened his mouth and spilled the contents of his lunch into the pot, and groaned. The vomit reeked, but it was no where near as bad as the smell of blood. Arando was patting him on the back, Coron realized.

Quietly, Arando spoke up again. "Have you ever killed a man?" he asked the other guard.

"No sir, I can't say that I have."

"I have. It's not pleasant. Even on the battlefield. Not pleasant at all. And look at Coron! He can't be older than eleven turns. Come on, lad. We've got wash your arm off."

Coron looked down and vaguely realized that his right arm and hand were stained red. Luckily, his shirt was short-sleeved, and no blood had leaked onto his clothing. That would have been nigh-on impossible to explain.

The cold water seemed to snap Coron out of shock. After Arando splashed some water on his face, he began to clean his arm on his own. The basin took on a light reddish tinge. Arando left him to washing as he went back and addressed the other guard.

"Soldier!"

"Sir!"

"Go to the Lord Holder's quarters, and inform him that his son is dead."

"Master Arando, at this time of day, Lord Triten is studying in his private chambers. Guards are posted at his door with orders not to let him be disturbed."

"The guards be Thread-bared and Lord Triten's privacy be Thread-bared. Tell the guards that the Lord Holder's eldest son is dead. That should get them out of the way. Now, are you going to go, or do I have to do it for you?"

"With respect, captain, Lord Triten is not going to take this well. I think you should come with me."

Arando sighed as he saw the logic. "Very well. Coron! Do not leave the room. Stay here. We'll be back." The two walked out of the Master-at-Arm's quarters, leaving the boy alone.

Coron spent some time just staring into the basin of water, looking at his own dark hair and eyes, tinted an ominous red by Razan's blood. Eventually he started to cry, soundlessly. Tears, reluctant and grudging at first, began to stream freely down his cheeks. He was crying out of fear and uncertainty. Crying because Razan, for all his defects, hadn't deserved to die. Crying because the blood was on his hands. Crying because he wanted to live, and didn't want to be left out in a Fall.

It might have been five minutes before Arando returned, or it might have been all night. The Master-at-Arms wordlessly poured the bloody water down the drain pipe, which led to High Reaches River. Then, he shoved a skin of klah into Coron's hands and began to lead the boy out of the Hold.

Coron drank deeply from the skin, and the liquid gave him strength. He sunk back into a stupor, but was vaguely aware that Arando was leading him back to his father's hold. He was also aware that he was still crying. Arando didn't say a word until the door to the hold swung open, after several judicious knocks from the Master-at-Arm's fists.

Holder Legault himself, Coron's father, opened the door.

"Coron! Where, by the First Shell, have you been? Do you know how late it is?" Then his father's tone softened. "Have you been crying. And Master Arando," he said the name as if he'd only first noticed the mountain of a man, "why did you bring him? He didn't commit a crime, did he?"

"No, not at all, Holder. Something terrible has happened at the Hold, but Coron wasn't involved. Razan is dead." Legault gasped.

"Murder, in fact. For a spell, no one was let in or out of High Reaches. I'm here because the Lord Holder requests your presence at the funeral two days from now."

"Yes. Of course. By the void that spawned us all, how did Razan die?"

"Sword wound through the heart. Pinpoint strike. Might have been a skilled assassin, might have been luck. Razan somehow armed himself before the attack, but he died all the same."

"By Faranth's shell. Get to bed, Coron. I'm going down to the High Reaches."

Coron obeyed his father's order without question, barely pausing to strip off his dirty clothes before climbing into his furs. But he couldn't sleep. Whenever he was about to doze, the memory of Razan's corpse returned to him.

The following day, Coron meekly asked his father if he could quit sparring class. His father refused. If assassins were about, he said, it was of the essence that Coron learn to defend himself.

Coron went off to class in the normal manner, but no one seemed able to focus. Master Harper Kial nearly cried when he saw Razan's vacant chair, and later adjourned class early, after he'd been unable to recite one of the Learning Songs without breaking into tears.

Master Arando started the afternoon lessons in just the same way as always, using Razan's death as just another reason why they all needed to learn swordsmanship. The titantic man treated Coron differently, somehow, though. His words were softer towards him, and there was something in Arando's eyes that Coron couldn't put his finger on. Pity? The weapon's master insisted that Coron continue to practice and refine the stance he had developed, though Coron's heart had left the class of swordsmanship altogether.

That night, Coron couldn't sleep. Nor could he the following day, on the day of the funeral. Nor the day after. For nearly a month after Razan's death, Coron never got a good night's rest. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see nothing but the corpse. The smell. The purple-black color of the blood.

/So that's the prologue. Yes, you read the chapter information correctly: I wrote this this in less than two days.

It was a tad dark, but I think it was well-written, and I'm happy with it. Still, maybe not for readers with a weak stomach. This is my second fic that I've published on this year, so I'd really appreciate reviews. Also, please remember, I'm open to plot ideas! As I said earlier, I've got the first few chapters mapped out, but after that, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the story. Obviously, dragons become involved at some point, or I wouldn't have set it on Pern! (By the way, my writing style is often something along these lines: write the prompt and prologue first, worry about the later chapters when you get to them.)

Until next time, The ACS Dude /