I don't like to clutter things up with notes (detailed ones are on my profile), but there are some warnings: Male greenriders (if you don't know the implications, please do read some DRoP before perusal), language, and coy references. Enjoy.

I, Too
Three Steps at a Time

It was a day like any old day. That meant it was real old since we're talking 'bout S'lem. And let me tell you, that dragonrider's so old, I can't tell his blue was a blue anymore the one time I saw it flying. Which, well, it doesn't do much no more, it being so rickety 'n all. Even then, I could see the other riders betting good half-marks on him not clearing the ground.

Just in case I gotta spell it out for you, no one's love for S'lem stretched further than your little finger. 'Cept for mine. I loved that old bastard the way some people loved on their felines; to anyone else who snuck a peek, they'd think they weren't missing nothing. But, of course, they'd be as wrong as men tangling and expecting to pop a baby from the way they were smiling. Sometimes, they'd be right on target 'cause that cat was being the biggest prig for all that was good and well on Pern. And that was how S'lem was being right about now and for the last three hours.

He'd been droning from sunup 'bout some sonnet he'd unearthed from the tunnels, swearing that the Ancients had written it and dropping several hints about how privileged we were to get to hear it. Like Bessim, I was wishing and praying to good Faranth that he'd just read the thing and be done with it. Unlike Bessim, I wasn't sleeping through half his speech out of respect, and unlike me, Bessim didn't know that respect existed. Favrielle blew me out of the water; she was practically swaying, completely enraptured with whatever gibberish S'lem was spewing.

Believe me, that wasn't even the worst of it, 'cause afterwards, he swept some self-satisfied monkey bow, peeking out of the part of his hair as if he wanted some clapping. To tell you the truth, I didn't even hear half of what he said, regardless of actually understanding it. Little Favrielle kinda saved me from some of S'lem's glaring simply since she didn't know any better, and practically tripped herself with whistles and applause. In the end, I think Bessim must've been the best at cheering, he was snoring so sharding loud. Can't say I blame him. When all that was said and done, taking its sweet time at it, S'lem creaked his old back up and glared at me anyway.

"Now for the proof that the boys in this class have capable ears. Rosen."

I jumped. S'lem's funny voice made everything sharp. "Yessir."

"Did you by chance unearth a characteristic of the sonnet in my, ah, blathering?"

I kept thinking that a sonnet had fourteen lines, but didn't want to say it 'cause all the while I was wondering why they didn't just call a sonnet 'a-fourteen-liner' or something simpler. I saw Favrielle falling off her chair with her hand raised blurry in the background, but that wasn't what saved me. S'lem cocked his head like always when he was talking to his blue and waved all three of us off, thank Faranth, but not before smacking Bessim on the head mid-snore. "Cosseth doesn't appreciate those who don't listen to his rider."

Bessim apparently didn't give the tip of Faranth's tail for what Cosseth thought; all he cared about was that S'lem had hit him and not me, and that anything bad that happened to him and not me meant that I was now the biggest walking target in the universe. Just to prove my point, he turned his great, lardy head towards me with eyes so small and squinty I swear that it ain't possible for daggers t'be made sharper.

Faranth, I was so screwed.

I think that was when I took off flying, balls-out and everything, forgetting about bowing and thanking S'lem for dismissing class early so I wouldn't have to make a fool of myself, tripping over Favrielle and nearly mulling drudges into fine wine as they carried fresh hampers of bread towards the crèche. I'd like to take it that Bessim's descent trumped my gracelessness tenfold since he actually bulldozed the overburdened babes.

I'd like to say the rest is history, but S'lem would probably kill me, skin me, and floss his teeth with my hide if I told a story skipping the middle. It's kinda unfair though, since it felt like a beginning and an ending all smashed together at once. But then again, that coulda just been my face smashed against the wall. It's hard to tell the difference when you're getting beat bad enough to swear the Dawn Sisters were dancing gavotte for you, y'know.

"Thought choo'd be funny, eh, ickle Rosee?"

"Sure did." Shards on me and my big fat mouth.

That earned me another fat wallop, and I could feel something warm dribbling from my nose. I sure hoped it wasn't bogies, and it wasn't 'cause bogies weren't red. That seemed to make Bessim happy; I could tell because he loosed the grip on my neck. Sort of.

"Sucking up to S'lem 'gain? Shards, Rose, you might as well go all the way and make us all happier."

Shards, I wanted to say, you're sure getting all finessey on me, Bessy. I was glad I didn't, or else I would've missed the footsteps coming down the hall.

I think Faranth was liking me today.

Whatever I heard or was dreaming, Bessy sure was missing. I heard it stop, probably looking at me, and say, "Faranth's tits, get your ass up. You'reso sharding pathetic I wouldn't even want to muck out stalls with your guts."

And let me tell you, I've heard some riders swear, but what they said was like chump change compared to how this guy was putting it. His vowels were all hard and edgy, and I thought I'd kiss Bessy for holding me up so I wouldn't fall into the cracked glass of them, and the way he said them pissed me off more than S'lem's ranting and Bessy beating me up fifteen times over and shaping my bloody remains into a cannonball and launching me halfway to the moon and letting me fall back down into a latrine hole. I must've snarled or something, 'cause Bessy twitched back and made a move to hit me again. He never got to. I loosed myself and for a moment, all I could feel was my fists digging into the soft of his belly until he was sick and threw up whatever he had for breakfast all over me in a warm, theatrical stream. Instead of leaping on him and giving him what he'd been giving me ever since I crossed my eyes at him five Turns ago, I pulled my hands free and ran after that lowlife dung heap that'd thought to say to me what he said.

I ran for what seemed like forever 'till I figured out I had no idea where I was and which way he went. It helped me get un-pissy, and soon I was walking and my face got back to its normal color and everything aside from whatever Bessim dumped on me. Which was all fine and good and rotten peachy, thanks. The voices was what finally made me stop, and I almost bowed and started stuttering when I figured out who was doing the talking.

"Good afternoon. I didn't realize I had a visitor."

That had to be F'lar, his voice was so sharding perfect in every way. Even if he was pissed off 'cause some other person was bothering him, he didn't let it leak out and drown anyone. At very least not much.

"Your watchdragon called. I merely let myself in quietly."

"Oh my, a spy?" I could imagine his brows lifting and fought not to laugh. I felt so sorry for whoever was on the receiving end of F'lar's oh-so-subtle sarcasm. "Never mind. Why did you find the need to let yourself in, ah, 'quietly'?"

"It wasn't a need. I—" I could practically hear the poor soul collecting himself. "I'm here to ask on T'ron's behalf if you needed any candidates for your latest clutch."

"T'ron's…" A pause. "Well, our Search has been very successful as of late, and I'm sure we'll have enough candidates. But, please. Do thank your Weyrleader for his generosity."

Dismissal was practically implied with every syllable, and the smart thing to do would probably be bowing and kissing F'lar's feet and leaving. But this little bugger was either a fool or T'ron a mighty big arse with a broom shoved up it for making him do what he was doing. "But you have thirty-eight eggs. Certainly the Holders aren't willing to part with that many."

"But apparently, they are. My apologies to T'ron." I heard shuffling chairs. F'lar must've gotten up. And being the numb dimglow I was, I didn't move until the door was open and F'lar was at it, showing the other idiot out. His amber eyes flashed, and I was now busy praying to Faranth and Carenath and wondering how I got into this mess before I heard the person being booted out and I could tell by his footsteps that he was the bastard in the hallway. I wanted to smash that good-for-nothing shitferface, but never got to 'cause F'lar patted me solicitously. "Why, here's one of those candidates now! Could you please show, ah…?"

"M'low." He snapped curtly, and for a second I was back in the hallway above the shards of his vowels.

"M'low! Of course. Could you please show M'low out?" His head cocked the way I was supposed to go, and I think my face must've seemed like some kid's who got locked in the bubbly pie vault. I bowed like, fifty times and smiled and almost tried to grab his hand and kiss it. "Yessir!"

"Good." F'lar turned around and shut the door, and I stood there staring with my mouth half open for forever until M'low or whatever he was called cleared his throat. "I would prefer not to have my bones moldering in Benden 'till the end of time." He said, like those people who pretend to be polite and suck at it. I wondered where his horrible vowels went and took to stare at him, and that's when I forgot about wanting to beat the dung out of him, not 'cause he was pretty or anything, 'cause he wasn't, but because he looked so sharding familiar that I was probably gonna tear my hair out trying t'figure out where I'd seen him before. I guess I gotta do him some justice, so here it is: His hair was red and curly and snaked about his honey-colored face in wild tendrils like seaweed. His face dotted all over with brown freckles without no pattern or nothing, and the other thing they was good for ('side from making him look like a cockatoo) was bringing out those huge gray-blue eyes.

"Well?" He said, sounding about a hair's width nicer. "Show me the way."

I kept staring and he sighed, his brow skewing like he being made to swallow arsenic or something just as bad. "If you please."

"Oh," I said, "sorry." And I finally started walking like I was supposed to be doing all along. When we were out of earshot from F'lar, I could hear him laughing, and I swore that if it was at me, I'd smack him for it, familiar or not. "What?"

"You got him good, didn't you? I can smell his barf on you." He had sped up to walk beside me, and I could see his nose wrinkling. But mostly, all I got from his face was this huge smile.

"Sure did." The rest of my anger pulled a Hoodini on me, and suddenly both me and him were grinning like mad catfish who'd known each other for years. We could've for all I knew.

"You aren't a candidate, are you?" He asked, incredulous. I could tell he wasn't really good at hiding what he really thought, like F'lar.

"Guess I am." I looked at him smiling, but he didn't notice. He was staring down now, thinking. S'lem would say it was no one's business but his own, and I'd say I want to know sharding now what you're thinking and you better tell me before I break your neck, but didn't. Finally, he broke the silence. "Lucky you." He said, sounding so wistful that it twisted me into a pretzel with the works.

"B-but you're a rider already. You don't need t'be worrying no more."

"Anymore." He muttered, but I pretended not to hear him. "You're lucky you got in like that, being at the right place at the right time. Some people would kill for that chance."

The words like me hovered like a curse, but we then we both got out into the Weyrbowl and there were so many people and dragons around we weren't thinking about talking no—anymore. He looked up, the wind making his hair an award-winning parody, and I could tell he was talking to his dragon the way he his eyes got sort of foggy. On the cliffs a green blob stirred and winked out, appearing directly above us. I screamed bloody murder and rolled out of the way before it could squash me flat, but it landed right next to M'low where I hadn't been standing, the dust rolling away in little dramatic poofies. I bet somewhere someone was making money off of me for the number of times I had looked like an idiot that day, and the only thing I could thank Faranth for was that M'low hadn't been paying any attention to me. He met his green in the eye and smiled, and unless you happened to be a rock, that smile would melt your heartstrings into a huge twisty wad. "Show-off." He murmured. I saw the dragon couldn't've care less the way her eyes were whirling, all big and blue and happy. And suddenly, M'low must've realized I existed again 'cause he said, all dreamy-like, "Rose."

"Yeah?" It hadn't occurred to me then to ask how he knew my name. From the hallway, I guessed.

"Want to ride Vivianth?" It sounded teary, but I couldn't see his face so I wasn't sure.

"Uh, if you're going with me, sure."

"Of course." He pulled himself onto the neck and motioned for me. I think I gaped for a little bit before scuttling on, wrapping my arms awkwardly around M'low's middle. It hadn't been my first time on a dragon, (I'd helped with small errands here or there, and it was Benden, after all) but it had to be the best. M'low hadn't been kidding about his Vivanth being a show-off; she was and knew she was like she knew her own hide. She could turn like a madman and go fast enough to make it feel like my cheeks were flying off to grease some frying pan down below. And I screamed (more than once) when it seemed like we was going to spear ourselves on some rock before she would dart away, shooting towards the deep blue something again and again and again. I think she was trying to impress me, and by Faranth, she made a thorough job of it. Well, at least enough to have me stagger-tripping after I got off her back and onto the ground.

M'low's cheeks were red and raw from the wind, but mostly with that grin that splitting his face in two. It shrank a little as he mock-saluted me, leaning forward to say, "Good-bye." But before he could finish off everything with an oh-so-theatrical exit into the sunset, I just happened to ruin it all and shout, "WAIT!"

He halted, and that's finally when the cheesy background music stopped. 'Bout time if you asked me. "Hm?"

I gulped and swallowed and couldn't quite remember what I was going to ask and finally blurted, "Will I see you again?"

He stared at me a little, and laughed. "This wasn't enough? We'll have to see, won't we?" He waggled his brows and urged Vivianth up and up and out. He had let his vowels slip, and I loved him all the more for it.

Yeah, 'cause you asked, I guess I was going a little insane.

Apparently riding on a dragon all day tires you out like riding a runner does, except you had to be bulldozed while juggling a couple of obese wherry-fens when you're at it, and I was plumb tuckered out when I finally made it all the way back to the crèche and onto my scratchy cot like it was no one's business that I smelled like I had been actually doing the juggling. It ended up being that it was, 'cause Momma Belinda smacked me awake and snarled at me to take a bath before I could put one toe in her room again without it being diced and stewed. And I had to drag my sorry self all the way to the pools, not realizing that it was, like, ten feet away. It coulda been a million dragonlengths for all I cared, and by the time I got there and in the water I was practically sleepwalking. The water was all foam and heat, and I guess I fell asleep 'cause when I opened my eyes again, all I saw was little Favrielle goosepimply and naked in front of me staring. It didn't really matter 'cause her hair covered everything that I shouldn't've been seeing, and, Faranth, she was the ugliest three-Turn-old thing in the world. And the second she saw me staring she darn gave me one of those glares that Belinda had t'have taught her.

"I'm going to tell Belinda you're staring at me naked."

Like I wanted to. "And I'm gonna tell her you're standing there lettin' me."

She kept on standing there gawking at me like I was a freakshow on display, and that didn't make me none too happy so I sat up and glared at her. "What d'you want? It's the middle of the night, y'know."

"I saw you walking with a red-haired man."

"M'low? What about him?" S'lem would've given me a big conk on the head for the way all my words were slurring, and I almost flinched by reflex. Favrielle jerked once she heard the name, muttering, "Belinda says my father was a red-haired man." She could've been singing opera for all I knew, and she walked away like she hadn't even talked to me to begin with. I blessed Carenath for the hundredth time that day 'cause my feet were starting to feel like raisins.

Anyway, I managed to get up and out and decent before heading back to my foster mother's, and I was groping for my cot in the dark before I was grabbed by two great piles of rising dough and, sweet Faranth, squeezed for all I was worth. I was cursing something bad, and finally the blob spoke before I started to get real nasty with it.

"Rose, you'd better watch that tongue b'fore I done slice it off that dirty mouth of your's, boy."

I stopped thrashing like a dying carp. "Momma 'linda?"

"How'ya doin'?"

"What'choo hugging me for? I thought you was mad about me smelling like sh—"

"Rose, Rose, ba—by. I just heard 'bout you becoming a candidate. Honey…I'm so proud. I'm gonna make you some bubbly pies tomorrow. Just you and me and Favrielle. A little Gather of our own, what d'you say?"

Oh, that. Suddenly, I was all happy again, mostly 'cause I remember when I first got fostered here and Belinda had said that I was a skinny, worthless bag of bones not even good enough for the porridge pot. 'Why don'tcha look at me now?' I wanted to say, but what I really said was, "Don't you worry 'bout it, Momma, but what I'd really like's some sleep right about now."

"Oh. I'm SO sorry, honey." She set me down and dusted me like I was some precious vase. "You go on and get your sleep. See you in the morning."

"G'night, Momma."

"'Night."

Since I've some time 'n all, I guess I should tell you a little about myself. And before you start getting turned off an' ditch me as fast as you can run, let me tell you that it ain't one of them boo-hoo sob-stories, and there ain't much to it either. My name's not Rose, Rosen, or "ickle Rosee" but "Rosenfield." Just Rosenfield. Apparently, it's a lot to say because no one ever says the entire thing, the lazy—well. It's been seven Turns since the Ballad of Lessa's Ride came out and made its route and thirteen Turns that I've been at Benden. How I came to Benden's that simple, too. My parents were Beastcrafters on some little cothold off to the side of Benden Weyr that I forgot the name of, and when I was three they decided they had too many mouths to feed. They hitched a caravan down here, practically shoving my scrawny self into Momma Belinda's gigantic hands. Guess I was the unlucky runt of the litter, but I ain't trying to have a pity-party. So I grew up in Benden, mostly doing what Belinda did: cooking and herding. The first thing I "had no aptitude for," as S'lem would say, which would be the nice way of saying that I could blow up little canine puppies with a redfruit and five fellis petals better than I could do it, and the second thing I was pretty much decent at. Like Momma Belinda said, I looked like a herding canine anyways since I was underfoot so much. Me and her drove each other half-mad just about all the time, and I was lucky that I didn't get turned into stuffing before I was thirteen (Bessim saw to that most of the time anyway) 'cause that's when Belinda got Favrielle, the baby girl she'd wanted all along. T'tell you the truth though, Favrielle could, and still can probably, scare a no-wit in the dark without even trying 'cause she never did nothing girly like playing Family and sewing. 'Stead, she'd spend her time hanging out with S'lem more than what was good for anyone and the rest of it muttering. To make the last three Turns mighty shorter than what they actually were, I kept away from Favrielle best I could, tried not to break anything when Bessim hit me, and got pretty good at not pissing off Momma too bad. And that's what I've been doing for the last thirteen Turns, and until today, tonight, whatever time it was, it seemed like what I would be doing for the rest of my life.

The moral of the story was that things change, but it'd take a bit for me to figure out whether I liked the change or not.

Oh, did I forget t'tell you? Change. Sharding. BLOWS. I'd give anything I own, which isn't a lot, just to go back to prancing in the meadow with Sukey and Bessie and Peter and chewing cud with the lot of them. But by the time Birto had me hacking at carcass-of-dead-animal-that-coulda-been-Sukey, I knew it was too late for wishing and hoping.

Alright, alright, back to the beginning before S'lem really does string me on the rafters by my entrails. My day started out okay, aside from my entire body aching like someone had been using my intestines as gitar strings, and I had the clever idea of going down and telling S'lem 'bout me becoming a candidate and all. When I finally got there, (it took bloomin' bloody ages) he looked like someone had found the fountain of youth or something. He wasn't leaping up and down and squeezing me half to death like Belinda was, but his face was that and about fifty times more. "My boy," was all the said, and that was enough to have me bawling against his smelly old shirt. He let me, patting me on the back and singing wordlessly. He was smart enough to let me go before I felt like the biggest baby in the world, but I wished that I hadn't looked at his face 'cause his smile was enough to make me fall back down to his shirt collar all over again.

I had a feeling like a whopper of a lecture was about to happen, so I plunked my not-quite cried-out self down on a nearby chair and stared at him for a bit. He started by sighing and rubbing at an eye. "…getting teary myself…" 'S what I heard, but I ain't too sure 'cause S'lem never cries. Then he straightened and looked me in the eye. "I figured the path of dusty tomes and lettering was never for you even before this, and because of that I thought you'd be completely useless, as smelly hides and pressed wood pulp are to me what blood is to your veins. But," He lifted a finger when I looked like I was about to protest, "But I had never imagined you becoming, of all things, a dragonrider, perhaps the greatest utility that was ever borne aloft by mankind's musings." He paused and took a deep breath like he was about to say something that looked like it was going to kill him. And finally, he let it rip all in a rush. "Yes, yes, even better than the sonnet, I do have to admit. But there is one. One I haven't found time to share with you yet, and this. This will be something no ballad of dragonkind will ever surpass, even if it eventually happens to be about you, dear boy."

Whoo-whee. I hadn't even made castles on the Sands yet and you see how he's a-ramblin'. I gulped and nodded and tried to look serious, but really, on the inside, I was doing flips with the butterflies. S'lem gave me his patented "whatever" glare and creaked his way up and over to a table, where he rummaged for forever and came up with a seriously ratty yellow sheet of something. I could tell by the way he was holding it with both hands and never taking his eyes off of it that it was something precious. He held it out to me, and I tried my darndest to copy him, taking it with both hands and all that. That wasn't good enough 'cause he tried to take it back, but thought better of it and pushed it towards me. I gave it a good look, and all I saw was some faded words that I had to squint myself teary to read, and caught the word sonnet in there someplace before S'lem's hand patted my shoulder approvingly. I didn't look up, 'cause if I did, I knew I would let the waterworks fly.

"Oh, and by the way," He sounded shy, like he was close to poking some ugly crawler without knowing how bad it would bite him yet, and scratched at the grizzle that matted his chin, "I would like to thank you for, ah, solving that problem I've been having for the last few Turns."

"You mean Bes—"

He wagged a finger at me, and I clamped that fool mouth of mine shut, but not before noticing that gigantic smile that made me tingle all over. But before I could really start to wallow in the cheese of it, there was a knock at the door. S'lem must've jumped dragonlengths and hit the ceiling, and when he was back down he gave me a good glare. "You know I disapprove of fighting, young man, but your work has been absolutely divine, and for that, I shall ghost over other grievances. However, be sure to calm your hostilities, or I cannot assure you of your future." He slid that sheet-of-something from my hand, motioning that he was gonna keep it for me. "Dismissed."

I had to high-tail it out of there, 'cause if I stayed I would blow both of us, I was laughing so hard on the inside, but hardly made it to the door before it opened. A face as plain as mine peeked at me. "S'lem?"

"Pellomar. What alovely surprise."

"I'm here to take Rosenfield to his candidate chores."

"Those things? I can hardly imagine anything more thrilling. Do go on then." He waved Pellomar off, not even looking at him. He did have an image to maintain, I s'ppose, and I was smilin' at his backside before realizing that his jaw was clenched, and Pellomar gave the fish eye before motioning for me to follow him. I did, and we tramped about the halls in a hurry for a while. All the while he was looking at me funny, and since he was I stared at him right back, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "I can't quite figure out your sire and dam."

It was some kinda random, and he sounded forced and strangled and snooty all at once, but I guess he was just trying to not mess this up too bad, and the silence was getting kind of awkward, so I said, "Well, actually, S'lem says my pa—sire was named Rose and my dam Field , and he shoved some seeds into her an' out popped me."

It was a lame joke; he knew it, I knew it, Rukbat prob'ly knew it and was pointing and laughing, but it made things a whole heck of a lot easier for him to hate me, I guess, 'cause he gave me this look like he was having a cow and ten babes on top of that. I cleared my throat and tried to start over, saying, all the while making sure that my syllables were good and spaced out like he was doing, "I can't believe I'm really a candidate." It had been an on-the-spot thing, after all, and I pinched myself for getting everyone pumped about it before I actually made sure F'lar hadn't forgotten or something.

"Really? I've known I would be ever since my foster mother told me my sire was a bronzerider." His chest got all poofy, and I knew he was on a whole other level from me. I mean, I was pretty sure my pa didn't have any pretty-shiny dragon tied up in one of them runner stalls. "What do you think you'll Impress?" If you Impress at all.

Nope. Just herdbeasts in that stable.

"I don't know." I said without thinking, "Maybe a green." I thought about M'low's Vivianth and how cool it'd be if I could ride something like that every day. But that, too, was cracked into little bitty pieces and had a jumping contest held on it, 'cause Pellomar went and said, "A green?" like there had never been no such thing.

"Yeah, a green. What of it?"

He scoffed. "I'm going to Impress a bronze."

I wanted to get all in his face and tell him to shove them words back where they came from, but never got to 'cause I would've ran into the candidatemaster. And this guy—Faranth. Would you believe me if I told you this guy looked like S'lem, talked like him too, but was a million times worse? Eh, probably not, and you'd have good reason not to, 'cause he was T'ron's arse with the broom in it, except with so much in you could hardly see the bristles sticking out.

"So, you thought to finally join us today, Rosenfield?"

I could smell Pellomar's smile, but I kept my head good and high like S'lem always said to and said, hoping it came out even, "Yessir."

"Late to me is as good as never, dearest. I don't run the crèche." That got some laughs.

"I know you don't—sir." I was trying to stay cool as you please, but it was gettin' awful hard.

"You knew something? Good for you. Maybe now you won't have to do those extra chores I reserve for those that don't…think." He smiled, and that had to have been the worst thing I'd ever seen, and the sad thing was I actually knew what he wanted from me 'cause of it. It took a huge breath to get it out, though.

"I'll do them sir." I blurted, and it didn't sound like me talking.

"Good. Now sit down." He snapped the last few words, and I was more than happy to oblige. I scattered like a crawler to the light, planting myself as far away from the 'master as I could get, hoping my face wasn't too red or my hands shaking or my nose… bleeding? I smelled blood, and finally had the sense to look around. And boy, I thought I'd pass out right then and there, hatin' master or no, 'cause there was a huge, bloody mound of something dead right in front of me. I never got 'round to screaming like a banshee, because someone next to me shoved a knife at me, handle first. And right then, that seemed like the biggest favor in the world.

My face must've grew less clenchy, because he smiled. "You alright?"

"Gonna be." I hoped I was telling the truth.

"Good. G'len probably would yell at you more if you passed out." He looked thoughtful. "He usually isn't this bad."

"Yeah," I said, wanting to believe him. "What's with the knife?"

"Oh. We need to cut the meat into pieces about this small," He gestured in midair for me. "Any bigger and 'master will give you a wallop." The last part he whispered, but still I thought more of him for it.

"What's your name?" I whispered right back.

"Birto."

"Nice to meetcha."

"Same." His smile grew, and he winked. I'd liked to have talked with him more, but he turned back to cutting meat like all he was worth. It did help that he whispered that if I made my meat bigger than it was supposed to be, G'len swore he'd starve you for a sevenday. Smaller, and he would force you to do everyone's mucking for Faranth-knew-how-long. I stared at the carcass stupidly, not wanting to touch it or be associated with it in any way, and Faranth answered my prayer. G'len shouted for everyone to stop and go wash up to get ready for the lesson, but not before glancing towards me.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You do know, Rosenfield, that the meat was for your supper. 'Those who don't work don't eat,' I'm sure you remember from your days in S'lem's nursery."

I bit down on my lip, drawing blood to keep from saying nothing besides a, "Yessir," as crisp and sharp as knives. Not to mention that I'd like a knife down his throat right about now, but that wasn't gonna happen.

The rest of the day didn't go any better. G'len herded us all into a really small room and started to talk to us about Impression, responsibilities, and stuff that a six-Turn old could probably explain better than him. He called me out every second my lids got even the teeniest bit droopy and made me recite all the dung he was spouting. Which, I couldn't do, obviously, which earned me three more sets of chores and no breakfast either. All the while, Pellomar was lookin' like he'd Impressed the biggest doggone bronze, and Birto was looking sympathetic, but really doing nothing to help. By the end, everyone ('side from Pell and his cronies) was giving me the teary eye, and I was about ready to have a good cry myself.

"…welcome Hatchlings with the warmth of affection and admiration, whilst turning… That's all I remember."

"At least you got more than two words, like last time." A pretty sigh. "Oh well. No dinner, I suppose?"

I lifted a fist, but heard Birto's soft, "Don't," and put that thing right back where it came from. "Yessir." I knew I sounded as strangled as I looked.

"Space out your words more. It's not 'YESSUH' all crammed in at once."

More giggles from Pellomar. "Yes sir."

"Good."

At sunset, after four sets of extra chores and no supper, I was wishing that I'd listened more closely to S'lem's "joke." But, again, it was a mite too late for that.

"What's he got against you?"

I hardly twitched a lid at the question, trying to sleep off hunger. "Wha--?"

"I said, 'what's he got against you?'"

I opened a miserable eye and saw Birto, looking worried. "I 'unno. Maybe I smell bad or somethin'." I stretched, and wish I hadn't. Everything hurt, even muscles and tendons and whatever else was in there that I never knew existed. Sleeping on a cot big enough for a babe didn't help much, either.

"That's not it. Be serious." He looked me in the eye, face all hard. But then he sighed, smiling. "You really think he'd make you do all that stuff and yell at you just because you smell bad?"

"Yeah." I said, rubbing an eye. "Why not? Or maybe it's 'cause I'm ugly or have bad breath or—" I couldn't say no more, 'cause Birto was laughing like that was the best joke in the world. Somehow, that made me smile even if I was hungry and tired and as sore as if I'd been used as animal fodder and spat back up and chewed ten times over.

Aside from the happy times like that, candidacy ain't no joke, and don't you for one measly second think it is. I shoveled more crap, cleaned more rooms, and got yelled at more times for one sevenday under G'len than in my whole entire sixteen Turns. Oh, and I spent more than half of it eating near nothing, thanks. Birto, besides being nice and all, was useless. He never snuck me no food or busted me out of somethin' even if I would for him in a heartbeat. I did, too, and got to stand in a corner, my nose touching the wall with no food, water, or people talking to me for 'till sunset. The sun was just starting to rise, too. During that, I wasn't allowed to see no one, 'cause G'len probably thought I'd conspire with S'lem to have him overthrown or something. There was good ol' Pell, too, don't let me forget him. He made everything, oh, about a million plus one times worse. He'd laugh every, single, bloomin' time I messed up, and G'len didn't do nothing about it. He'd stand there and let him with this little smirk on his face like I deserved every minute of it.

I'll tell you what I did: I sucked it right up and took it like a man, which I thought was the point of it all. But, since Faranth has a crush on me an' all, it wasn't. I had to crack sometime, and it's not something I'd like to tell you about 'cause I'd probably win 'the biggest dimglow in the universe award' if I did. Anyway, it all started the start of the second sevenday of happy-happy, joy-joy. Already I was woozy and drifting off while we were supposed to be mucking out the field dragon food was kept in, and my best friend Pell decided to shove me in one of the bigger heaps of manure. Apparently, I just laid in it for a bit thinkin' how blessed I was t'be getting a nap in the middle of the day b'fore I done realized that he'd just done what he just did. I got up, brushed myself off good 'n clean, and rushed at Pell like a wet feline that hadn't been fed for a sevenday. He wasn't expecting it; I saw his eyes bulging, and I tore at everything I could using not my muscle (Faranth knows they were shriveled) but all the crap I'd taken from him, that bastard G'len, and even F'lar for getting me into this tunnel of dung that I couldn't dig myself out of no more. The watchdragon called for some strange reason, and as if on cue his friends all jumped me too, mostly trying to pull me off but all the while roughing me up. An elbow in the eye, fists at my back, head, and below the belt, too, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to throttle Pell and give him bruises to show the ladies. His neck was too thick for me to get a good grip on, so I went to punching his face. Again, I hadn't eaten for a good three days, and my advantage was gone in about five seconds. He was on me, and we rolled over and over again hitting each other best we could with as much hate as star-crossed lovers had love. He got the best of me and ended up on top, smacking me harder than old Bessy had ever smacked me, and I did my best to cover up my eyes like I used to; someone had said they were the best part about me once-upon-a-time. Yeah, I'm getting random now, but then again, it felt like it was the end of my life anyhoo, and I might as well remember the best parts of it before I go and kick the bucket. My foot was mighty close, I can tell ya, but for some reason the hitting stopped. I opened one eye just barely and saw Pellomar a few feet away with his eyes wide enough to pass as a moon or something. Then, I looked up and saw why.

M'low was standing right above me.

"M'low?" G'len blurted like he was worried about something. Like he ever had to; all he had to do was starve 'em to death and he'd get anything he wanted out of 'em.

"Next time you say my name, I'll carve your lips off good 'n pretty and give 'em to T'ron on a plate."

"B-but…why'd…isthat why you left me?"

"No, you fool." He stretched the 'ool' all good and long, and I'd be smilin' if my face didn't hurt so bad. "You already know why as I can see. Now why don't you take the rest of your pets," I heard footsteps, and had to look up to see this. M'low strode towards G'len, and even though he was about a head shorter, stood up good and tall and pushed him back hard enough to make G'len stumble, "and leave." He whispered it, his voice all silk and snake all at once, and even G'len scuttled off in a hurry.

He looked towards me now, and I flinched, not wanting some of that at me, but his face softened and he kneeled down, saying, "Rose, Rose," all the while. I wanted t'tell him that my name was Rosenfield, but all I got out was, "Hey, I got to see you again."

Everything went black.