B'ton blinked awake, momentarily disoriented as the light was coming from the wrong side of the room. Next to him Jurille sleepily murmured something about bogberries as she nestled deeper in her sleeping furs. B'ton smiled softly over at her, tenderly smoothing a stray silver shot lock from her face.
Did you sleep well? Wubath, inquired, sunning himself just below the watchheights.
Better than well, my thanks. How is the Weyr?
Quiet, but the Lower Caverns are rousing. Wubath took pride in being an early riser, although B'ton suspected it was mostly to get prime sunning spots.
Good. B'ton was about to sink back into sweet slumber when Wubath showed him the image of the Weyrhealer heading for the Weyrwoman's weyr. Does he wish to speak to me or Jurille?
I shall ask. Wubath, like other dragons, found talking to the Weyrhealer far easier than talking to other non-riders.
He wishes to speak to the both of you.
With a sigh B'ton sat up and tickled Jurille awake.
"Mmmm...? Morning already?" She asked, then yawned.
"Zandur wants to talk with us." B'ton explained, locating his pants on the floor.
"Of course he does." Jurille grimaced good naturedly, and sat up to collect her shift from the end of the bed. "Call down for some klah, please."
B'ton nodded as Jurille pulled on her shift and twisted her hair up into a bun, when there was a cough at the entrance of the weyr.
"Come in, Zandur." Jurille said, slipping on her sandals and padding out to meet him in the sitting room, as B'ton called down the service shaft.
The service shaft rumbled causing B'ton to miss the Healer's greeting in so much as he offered one. Pulling his tunic over his head he listened as Jurille made soothing noises, then picked up the tray and joined them. The Weyrwoman sat on one couch as the Weyrhealer sat on the opposite one. B'ton placed the tray on the low table in the middle. Jurille poured the klah and offered the first one to Zandur, who accepted with a sour expression.
"What can we do for you?" Jurille asked, her tone still soothing.
"I want your leave to attend the three holds we discussed before Fall." The Healer said without preamble.
"That's doable. I can assign a Weyrling-" B'ton began.
"I want C'bay and Mirrth permanently assigned to me." Zandur interrupted.
"Why?" Jurille beat B'ton to the question.
"Because you're not using them, and you know full well that they aren't going to grow anymore." He glared so hard at them that both Wubath and Graesth woke up, and asked their riders what was wrong.
"Well, Master Cici, did deem her a throwback-" B'ton said defensively, then flinched as the Weyrhealer slammed down his mug.
"That is precisely the problem! That word! You've destroyed a perfectly good dragonpair with one word!" Zandur's grey eyes flashed with fury. "So what, she can't last out a Fall, no green can! So what that she's small? She's also the fastest dragon in the Weyr, just ask any of the other dragons! Your refusal to let them participate in their primary function is destroying them! What is their purpose for existence, now that you deem them unworthy to fight Thread? Give them to me, let every holder associate them with me, so that at every Gather and among every ground crew Mirrth is instantly identified with Healercraft. Let C'bay become the face of help, even if I'm not immediately accessible- Mirrth can speak to me as easily as he does C'bay and the lad far more affable than myself. I may not be as exciting as Threadfall, but I can be the purpose you have stolen from them." Finished with his little tirade, Zandur refilled his mug and drank it while Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman collected their shattered thoughts in stunned silence. Jurille turned and met B'ton's glance.
"You- that is, we can do that." She said when B'ton didn't offer any objections.
"Good," with a curt nod Zandur strode out of the weyr.
"How long has C'bay been out of the Weyrling Barracks?" Jurille asked B'ton, still unnerved by the Healer's outburst.
"At least a Turn..." B'ton rubbed the back of his neck. "Gl'tek hasn't released their names to the Lists yet." Privately B'ton wondered why he had failed to notice the inclusion of the smallest green in the Wings. A speedy green was an invaluable asset in the upper flight.
"Please speak with him today." Jurille urged and handed him a warm mug.
"I will." B'ton promised, drinking deeply of that draught.
Reelon collected his bowl of cereal from one the kitchen, and turned, scanning the 'Small Hall', as the Holders dubbed the utility hall, for his daughter. Charel was chatting animatedly with the wherhandlers, doubtlessly peppering them with the same questions she had asked him the previous night.
"Journeyman." Reelon glanced to his left, curious as to who was addressing him by his title. Fulmar strode up to him purposely.
"Good morning, Captain." He replied politely.
Fulmar smiled at the courtesy and directed Reelon a little to one side.
"A moment of your time," he said reassuringly, "I'd like to talk to you about your daughter."
"Charrie? What happened?" Reelon glanced back over to where Namul was demonstrating hand signals.
"Nothing happened. I spoke with Old Larst, and he thinks your girl has a good head on her shoulders. Namul and Fulsa both spoke favorably about she handled herself with the watchwhers."
"Yes?" Reelon queried, curious as to where this was leading.
"I am also given to understand that you will be sending her to the Beastcrafthall in the summer." Fulmar studied the younger man,
"Yes, she's old enough to be apprenticed."
"Well, it would be a short fosterling, but if you wish, Fulsa and I would be happy to foster Charrie between then and now. She'd learn whercraft from Fulsa and Namul, and swordplay from me."
Reelon opened his mouth then shut it for a moment, considering. "I will need her in the spring for the lambing and shearing. And I'd need to discuss this with my mate." He replied hesitantly.
"Not a problem." Fulmar clapped Reelon on the back. "Enjoy your breakfast."
Charel flashed a smile at her father as he approached the table, and with fatherly affection he listened as she relayed the answers to the questions to her questions from the night before. Namul nudged Fulsa when Charel repeated signal perfect the command signals. Charel paused, and gave him a perplexed look.
"Those hand signals are a lot like hand dancing. Is that because watchwhers see heat patterns?"
"You know, I never thought about it," Fulsa said, toying with her spoon. "But that makes a lot of sense, when you consider that many of the hand signals the deaf use they don't seem to see."
"The deaf have their own hand signals?" Charel asked, her breakfast cold and forgotten.
"Oh yes, there's even Harpers who specialize in their language of signals, so they can teach the children's' mothers how to 'talk' to their babies. We had one here three turns ago, when the cook realized her babe couldn't hear. Harper Pijac came here for here for oh, eighteen months? –until the cook was fluent in both spoken and signal." Namul said, as Fulsa stole some of his cereal.
"Mmm," Fulsa agreed, "she left a dragonback, to go to Nerat right before Turnover – apparently the Seaholder's firstborn was suspected of being deaf."
"What happens when they get older?" Charel asked faintly frowning.
"Depends on the person, really," Fulsa replied, "but I've heard that Smithhall likes them for smithy work, and the Farmhall likes then for plant work."
"I met one who had impressed a firelizard," Namul added. "Quietest dragonkin I've ever met. But trained up like a treat."
"What did he do for a living?" Charel asked as Reelon finished his breakfast and refilled his mug with klah.
"He was an apprentice Healer, worked in the Hold nursery." Namul's description elicited a chuckle from Reelon, who remembered the lungs on his own baby daughters.
"But he was on his way to try for a watchwher egg, said he wanted to help found a hold for other deaf folk. I wonder what happened to him."
Mirrth and C'bay were nowhere to be seen, Jurille noticed as she helped set up the healers' station. Usually organizing it fell to Tress, but Jurille decreed all land bound queenriders had to take their turn in doing so, which inevitably freed up Tress to organize the start of the numbweed rendering process. With Fall slated to occur directly over Telgar Hold and stretch out to the Weyr, there was a distinct air of professionalism in the preparation of this Fall, as if the dragons and riders took this direct strike as a personal insult. A small knot of weyrlings were teaching the newest additions the fine art of rope skipping when all the dragons turned their heads skyward.
What's wrong? Jurille asked Graesth, who hissed.
There's been a murder. The Weyrhealer is furious. She replied, curling possessively around her eggs.
You're listening in on Zandur? While it was not unheard of, it was certainly unusual.
He thinks loudly. Graesth retorted, then relaxed. Mirrth comes. Eight heartbeats later the smallest green appeared above them and gently glided in for the softest landing imaginable. C'bay was white under his rider's tan, and wordlessly passed two youngsters, twins with a persistent cough, if Jurille remembered correctly, off to women from the Lower Caverns before Mirrth leapt back into the air.
Where are they going? Where's Zandur? Jurille asked, directing the woman to give the toddlers baths. The two were rank from their own soiled clothes.
To get the Weyrhealer. He's trying to keep the children's grandfather alive from an overdose of fellis. Graesth reported, and watched the going ons from her vantage point on the Sands.
Did he murder their mother? Jurille asked miserably. There was a short pause as Graesth asked.
No, the woman's mate did. The grandfather blames himself, however. Graesth paused again, then, Mirrth is taking them to Healerhall, and then to Telgar, to claim the Murdered's right from the Lord Holder.
"Ballsy and ill-timed." She muttered.
"Sounds just like Zandur." B'ton said, carrying his flight helmet. "I told Wubath to tell him to get Master Cici before going to Lord Kestle. Our healer might be turned away because of his bedside manner, but Kestle would never refuse Cici."
"Wise choice." Jurille glanced at him again. "Red flying jacket?" She asked, noting the new flight gear.
"And brown pants." B'ton quipped, smiling at her and easing the tension.
"Fly safe, youngster, " she said, surprising him with a hug.
Sorry for the slight delay.
Again, if you find grammatical or spelling errors, please don't hesitate to let me know.