How lonely can a dragonrider be? I mean, he has his dragon, he has friends in the Weyr, and he has his duties. But sometimes, perhaps, those are not enough.
Pern is not in my ownership, but I like to add to the story, like the facets of a dragon's eye, bits and pieces for others to read.
B'lan leaned up on an elbow, blinking against the fierce western sunset; something had moved in the corner of his vision.
Using his wide brimmed hat to shade his eyes, he saw a small figure zig-zagging up the path from the Weyr. If the youth wanted to get to the Heights, he or she would have to pass the blue dragonrider sprawled across the path, his head in shadow, his legs baking in the last of the day's heat.
B'lan sank back to his resting place, using his hat to cushion the back of his head. He was not interested in weyr brats, or weyrlings, come to that. He was not interested in anything at this black moment of his life.
"'Scuse me, rider, 'scuse me."
B'lan raised his head again. The small figure had made his way up the path, and now stood in front of him; a boy, skinny, gangling, with scruffy clothes and shoes. A shock of yellow hair was dampened by sweat that had trickled down his face, making rivulets that looked like tear tracks. B'lan thought there were tear tracks as well.
"Where are you off to, youngster? Nothing up there but the rimwall."
"Yes. I'm going up there."
"Why? Going to jump off, pretend you can fly?"
The boy had steadied himself with a hand on the rock wall, cocked his head to one side, and B'lan realised he was blind in one eye. That made him a weyrbrat not a weyrling, therefore none of his concern. He sank down again and closed his own eyes.
"Nothing to do with me," he muttered.
"No, it isn't, dragonrider, but I'm not going to jump. There's some red ochre up there, I want it for scribing."
"Scribing. Writing, you mean? What d'you write?"
"I'm doing some copying work for ma. When pa died, he left a lot of old hide records, and I want to copy them."
"Where did he die? Was he a rider?"
"No, he had a wagon, and we travelled, traded, bought and sold."
"At Igen? In this desert?"
"There's always thing to trade, even if it's only to other wagons. He died two years ago and ma and me ended up in the Weyr - they gave us a place to live and work."
B'lan leaned up on one elbow again and studied the boy. About 15 Turns, he thought, his voice just beginning to hint at breaking. Too little food and too much work, he thought accurately, and the boy was outgrowing his strength by the look of it.
"Red ochre. Up there? Come on, I'll come with you. There's a couple of treacherous bits of this path - but you know that, I expect? What's your name?"
"Andeen, I'm called. You're B'lan, aren't you? You ride blue Derenth?"
"Yes, that's who I am. How did you know?"
Andeen cocked his head to see him properly.
"I know all the dragonriders and their dragons," he replied.
"Big boast!"
B'lan punched his hat into shape and crammed it on his head, brushed dust from his clothing, and followed the boy. Having had time for a breather, he was moving along the path with agility, but picking his footfalls with care to avoid the crumble of freshly fallen stones and dust. In the dark drear hours before dawn B'lan had often heard the crack and crump of stone falling after being heated and cooled repeatedly by the harsh unforgiving heat of the sun in this hot spine of land holding Igen Weyr.
The came to the top of the rimwall and Andeen picked up a bone tool and began picking at the rockface.
"That's more than you've dug out," B'lan observed.
"I think people've been digging at this since Igen was founded," Andeen replied. "I've found old broken picks, and some greasy marks as if they used candles for light."
"I wouldn't fancy coming up here in the dark!"
Andeen looked over his right shoulder, his left blind eye hidden.
"No, nor would I. But in times past, Turns ago, the path mightn't have been so treacherous."
B'lan stared at the rimwall, around at the bowl of the Weyr, across at the Star Stones.
"No," he said slowly. "No, in times past it wasn't so - eroded. So - denuded. There used to be a tree over there, but I suppose the cleft it was in, that must have trapped a bit of good soil, slid down into the valley."
Andeen sat back on his heels and looked up at the man. B'lan was a big man, strongly muscled, with a darkly tanned face, unruly dark hair, hair on his bare arms. But his clothing was a hotchpotch of roughly washed unironed garments. The best thing he wore was a leather belt, but even that was rubbed with age and use, with a metal buckle that was bent in one corner as if he had used it as a hammer for something.
"Sorry," Andeen said. "I didn't think, when I said that. You knew it back then - 400 Turns ago - didn't you?"
"Yes. Only three years in the past for me."
Andeen turned back to the rockface and dug out several large lumps of rock, putting them into a bag he hauled from his pocket, pulling the laces closed. He hid the pick in the hole he had made, and stood up.
Both of them stood looking into the west as the sun sank in fiery splendour, reflecting off the colours of the desert before it faded into darkness.
"I never saw it like that before I started coming up here," Andeen said softly. "Out in the desert you just get nightfall as sudden as snapping your fingers. They say that further north - Benden say - you get long hours of evening light."
"So they say. I've never been that far north."
The sun had sunk below the horizon now, and shadows fell across the path down to the bowl of the Weyr. B'lan put a hand on Andeen's shoulder as he turned to go down.
"No need for that, youngster. You could break an ankle or fall off the path."
"I can't stay up here all night!"
B'lan laughed, and looked surprised he had done so.
"No need at all. Here he comes."
With a rush and whisper of displaced air, a blue dragon materialised on the rim wall, balancing itself by clasping the rock with its huge claws. Multi-facetted eyes examined the two humans who were tiny by comparison.
"He's - huge - " Andeen whispered. "Must be nearly as big as a Brown!"
"So they say," B'lan admitted. "Here, Derenth, are you strong enough to take both of us back to the weyr?"
- you weigh nothing, compared to firestone
B'lan grinned at his life's companion, heartened in a way by his response, and led Andeen over to Derenth's shoulder, boosting him up to sit where a harness would normally be tied and looped.
"Hang onto me, youngster," he said.
"Isn't it dangerous to fly without harness?"
B'lan hesitated, staring out over the desert.
"Yes," he said slowly at last. "Yes, and I shouldn't ride without one. But Derenth will be careful enough for both of us, as usual."
- I am always careful. You must not forget the harness next time
Andeen, greatly daring, patted Derenth's smooth warm skin.
"I bet he told you off! You look just like pa did, when ma told him off!"
His voice wobbled on the last words, and he clamped his jaw shut, and B'lan patted his shoulder awkwardly, as Derenth launched, not upwards, but out into the open space above the bowl of Igen Weyr, to angle down to the dark opening of his home space.