It was midmorning before the drovers regrouped. In the meantime, Charel had foraged and found, much to her pleasure, both sweet cress and tart marsh berries growing in the quiet shallows of the river. With her prizes she and Keslo made a merry breakfast over the small cow chip fire. After breakfast she hopped back on Socks and rounded up the few herdbeasts that had wandered further down the trail. Upon returning to their impromptu camp she sighted her father riding on her runner, Star, and gave a cheery whistle, trills similar to a wherry, but at lower ranges than wherries usually used. Her father turned Star around so fast the little runner actually reared to complete the turn. Reelon's arms engulfed his daughter and he all but pulled her off the roan as he crushed her to him in his hug.
Charel, her face pinking, tried to speak. "Pa, tis okay I'm okay, really." She said, her voice slightly muffled by the embrace, embarrassed with all the eyes on them.
"Stars above lass, I thought I lost you." Reelon whispered, his voice rough.
Charel looked up and was astonished to see her father crying. "When you pitched to the side like that, I- I thought..." His voice trailed off. Charel turned a deeper shade of red, mortified for not having realized that she caused her father such worry.
"Pa, I'm so sorry." She whispered, and hugged him back. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know- I wasn't thinking- I won't- it won't-" she stammered.
"You have a very brave, very clever daughter." Keslo said, holding the roan's head, and looking up at Reelon. "She saved my life, and then she saved the herd."
Reelon looked from Keslo to Charel and back.
"You turned the herd?" He asked her.
"Keslo warned me, and Socks did the running." Charel said quietly, a slight catch in her voice. Reelon smiled then at her, a watery, proud fatherly smile and hugged her again, this time truly unseating her. "Charrie, you are the absolute end." He whispered, and Charel flushed for a third time, from pride. Then she paled a little and pulled away, worry furrowing her brow.
"Can we not tell Ma?" She asked, nervously. "She'll tan my hide for riding without stirrups."
Tress, the headwoman for the Lower Caverns, was sitting by the artificial lake with nine other women from the Caverns, spinning wool with their drop spindles and spinning wheels. Wheels were used to spin the wool into sturdy yarn, but the drop spindles were small and the thin gauge thread coming off of them was being prepared for embroidery.
Jurille envied Tress that skill. While she had plied the spinning wheel in her fosterling days, the use and success of using a drop spindle had eluded her, and once Graesth had chosen her for her rider there had been no time to learn. Watching the women as they conversed and laughed while working she wondered again if it was not to late too learn.
When the Pass is over... It was more a wistful wish than a reality, then Jurille stopped in her tracks and realized that it really wasn't. Her eyes widened momentarily the enormity of that thought, for when the Pass ended, all of Pern would change. Just as the Pass had changed everything, so would the Interval. And if the Weyrs wanted to lead that change, they had a very short window of opportunity to implement it.
"Weyrwoman? Is everything alright?" Tress's broke through the surface of her thoughts. Jurille looked up and smiled reassuringly at the young headwoman. When Padyr, the old Headwoman had announced her plans to retire to a granddaughter's hold in Ista it had come as a surprise, but not an unexpected one. Tress, originally the fifth child of the Lord Holder of Igen, had been Searched by High Reaches, and been passed between Weyrs, standing candidate at each Hatching until she had landed at Telgar. Under Padyr's careful tutelage the timid young woman had bloomed into an immensely competent Headwoman. Privately, Jurille still nurtured hopes that Tress would Impress, but this close to the end of a Pass golden eggs were few and far between. Still, even if she didn't Impress, Telgar Weyr benefited from her presence.
Still smiling, Jurille sat down on one of the flattish rocks that dotted that end of the lake, tucking her skirts out of the way of the spinners.
"Everything is quite alright," she said easily, and made the snap decision to include the Headwoman in her plans. "I was hoping you might have time to arrange for some after dinner refreshments, perhaps some of those curled cookies of yours? –for a meeting of the Queenriders these evening."
"Tonight?" Tress thought about it for a moment, the spindle never stopping, then nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'll send a couple girls to deliver them, say, when the harper starts to play?"
Jurille nodded agreeably. "Yes, that would be fine, but..." she leaned forward conspiratorially, her smile apologetic, "would you mind terribly doing the serving?" She pitched her voice lower, although every woman there heard it clearly. "You know how the youngsters like to chat."
There was a twitter of laughter from the assembled woman and Tress grinned at the Weyrwoman.
"You know you need only to ask, Jurille."
"That maybe, but I thank you all the same." Jurille demurred, and mentally asked Graesth to invite all the Queenriders to join her in the Council Room after dinner.
Saegth would like to know if Koru should bring her cribbage board. The golden dragon asked her a long moment later, as Jurille walked back across the bowl to the Hatching Ground.
Certainly, and ask her if she can find another pack of cards, my set is getting too dog-eared to shuffle easily. Jurille was never certain how much information Graesth felt important pass on but she always explained her reasoning to her Queen, a habit she picked up in her Weyrling days.
Willth says Reema can bring extra cards. I want you here. Graesth added suddenly turning her great head to face the Weyrwoman, swaying slightly back and forth over her eggs. Jurille picked up her pace, all but running the last few dragonlengths across the black sands.
"What's wrong?" Jurille asked, hugging the Queen's foreleg.
I do not know. I want you. Graesth hissed in the direction of the Lower Caverns and crouched down gathering all the eggs within her protective grasp, her tail curling around Jurille. They cannot have you nor my eggs. She rumbled ominously.
Major chapter rewrite, my apologies. Please feel free to critique or offer suggestions.