Dragons Can't be Harpers
Grahamth stirred from his sleep of utter exhaustion and opened his eyes to see darkness. A shape beside him stirred, revealing itself to be K'rry. The growing blue stretched sore and itching limbs over the hard stone of his couch. K'rry must have carried him back to the barracks. Grahamth sighed. That would hardly be possible much longer. It was almost time for the dragonets to begin their swimming lessons.
Grahamth nosed the soundly sleeping rider beside him. I itch.
S'rry, the sleepy form replied, half-aware.
Oh! I itch, Grahamth moaned. I feel as if my skin is flaking away! Please, please, K'rry; oil me!
Ungh... came the protest out loud and in Grahamth's mind. Okay! I'll oil you, Love. Just let me have some klah.
NO! My skin is splitting in two! I'll be useless between. What's the point of a dragon who can't go between?
"There is none," K'rry protested sorely. The young man rose from the couch and pulled on his filthy clothes from the day before. "L't's go."
The pair walked out of the barracks to the lake for the arduous but thoroughly enjoyable task of oiling. K'rry's competent hands worked and kneaded the scented oil into the blue dragons flanks. Grahamth could not suppress a groan of pleasure at the treatment, which in turn made K'rry smile.
The dragon and his rider looked up at the sound of feet passing them in the sand. It was Bella and Wraith, who had the same complaint as Grahamth.
Morning! Grahamth told the green, cheerfully as K'rry would have been with klah in his bloodstream.
Morning, Wraith replied, in an unexpectedly friendly tone. That was some story-dream you had yesterday.
Grahamth looked back to the day before, searching through a dragon's dim recollections for the one that stood out as sharply as blazing Thread against clouds. Oh! He exclaimed as he found it. You remember that?
Of course I do, Wraith scoffed. I remember lots more than any other dragon.
Now a brown and his big, muscular rider had joined them at the oil pot.
Morning, Wraith and Grahamth sent.
Morning, came the brown's surprised thought. How are you?
We're fine, Wraith told the bigger male, Grahamth nodding his approval of the comment. I am Wraith, and this is my friend Grahamth.
I am Risketh, the brown replied, genial in his massage. We are beginning our lessons in the lake this morning.
Oh? Wraith began to chat with Risketh as Grahamth listened idly, reveling in the strong touch of his rider's fingers on his skin.
Just as it was the duty of the new riders to become better riders, it was the duty of the new dragons to become better dragons. This involved forming friendships and learning about one's body. Risketh seemed like a very nice fellow, and his mind was certainly sharp enough for both Wraith and Grahamth to stay interested, but Grahamth was too busy scheming to listen.
Too soon, the oiling was over, the riders on their way to their classes with the Weyrling-master, and the old green dragon that was bonded to F'jar, the Weyrlingmaster, had trumpeted to catch the attention of her pupils.
Risketh bobbed his head to his new acquaintances, and headed over to the where the rest of the browns were gathering. Wraith was pounced on by Bath and Myth, and carried away to the green meeting place, squeaking with laughter.
Grahamth pillowed his head on his forelegs and waited to be told what the lesson was about. Just as Risketh had said, it was swimming. Their teacher, Mollitainth, waded into the water to show her pupils how to swim.
The greens and most of the blues kept to the very shallowest edges of the lake, the greens giggling madly and the blues looking slightly more dignified. The browns went to the edge of their allowed space and watched for fish. The seven bronzes and Grahamth actually tried to swim.
Tired, wet, and hungry, Grahamth returned to the shore and lay down to wait as K'rry cut him meat. Wraith, Bath, Myth and Risketh joined him as they directed their riders to cut from the same carcass as K'rry.
K'rry, Grahamth began, is it true that the holds beholden to the Weyr are not giving their best for tithe?
Where did you hear that, Love?
The bronzes told me. They heard it from Dsaierth, the queen from the next-oldest clutch. She is very important. Grahamth knew this, deep inside him.
Yes, she is, Love. But surely she cannot be more than a gossip.
She is a queen! Grahamth replied, shocked at the suggestion. Queens do not gossip.
Her weyrwoman, Ravenna, is a gossip, and dragons are unto their riders. K'rry pointed out solemnly.
Lithiuth, the smallest of Grahamth's bronze clutchmates, had wandered over with his rider, a tall, thin young blond called R'veem. The bronze smiled in Grahamth's mind, and began to talk, in a soft but confidant voice that betrayed a little grudging admiration for the smaller blue.
Will you tell another picture-story?
I don't know if I can, Grahamth replied honestly. They just kind of come.
Oh, the bronze replied. I was looking forward to more.
How did you hear-see it?
You kind of... broadcast it... all over. Ramoth even heard you. She said if you were not a dragon, rather a Pernese, you might have been a harper. That is very high praise from Ramoth.
Really? What is a harper? Grahamth went about answering his own question by searching K'rry memories for information. He found a picture of Master Robinton and found what he did.
I wouldn't mind being a harper.
Dragons cannot be harpers. We are dragons. Still, next time you tell a story, please include me. Then little Lithiuth left Grahamth and K'rry to their own devices. Grahamth would show Ramoth and Lithiuth that dragons could too be harpers.