Seressa hung back behind the other candidates waiting to enter the hatching ground, where the dragon eggs had started to rock in place. The tip of her tongue slid nervously over her lips. Some of the others were chatting among themselves, voices shrill with anxiety and excitement. She had used up all her words debating with herself whether she should be there at all. Besides, as the daughter of the Weyrwoman whose incompetence had almost driven dragonkind into extinction, she was not exactly anyone's first choice for socializing.
Thank goodness she was not there to Impress – to form a lifelong telepathic/empathic bond with – the new golden queen dragon who was about to emerge from the uniquely-hued egg that had just shown its first crack! Until a few short years ago, that would have been her only option as a female candidate, and ambition in that direction would have gotten her shunned for sure. But pressure from her generation, and from Weyrwoman Lessa herself, had resulted in the policy change that allowed young women and girls to try to bond with green dragons, who were also female.
A smug smile curved Seressa's lips. Not many people knew how much of that pressure had come indirectly from her. As the child of a Weyrwoman, even an incompetent one, the encouragement and approval she had given those of her peers who had formed the leading edge of the "greens for girls" movement had carried more weight than it would have coming from just another young woman. And as junior archivist, she was the one Lessa had drafted to pore through old volumes of the history of Pern for precedents to help make the case for the expansion of female ridership. The senior archivist was a good man, but, as the Weyrwoman put it, too hidebound.
Seressa caught herself fidgeting with a strand of hair that had escaped the tie holding it back. Keeping the unruly mass out of the way was something she had considered a requirement when dressing for the day. As messy as the eating habits of hatchlings were, the traditional white robe was bound to become a lost cause whether she Impressed her own dragon or helped with another's, but at least she could keep the blood from the fresh meat out of her hair. She looked around and snickered at all the loose, flowing locks around her.
On the far side of the hatching ground, a shell broke with a resounding crack. Peering through a gap in the mass of eggs and people, she saw that the first hatchling was a brown. It was so tiny compared to the adult it would become! She did not recognize the boy who Impressed it – probably a candidate brought in from one of the holds or farms – but still she sighed when his face lit up at his first communication with his new closest companion.
All around her young men and women were moving into place among the remaining eggs. Seressa alone remained where she was, as if rooted in place. What was holding her back? Fear of failure? That was definitely part of the problem, but not the whole explanation. In that moment she realized that she liked her life in the archives, and she was genuinely not certain that she wanted to give it up. It was rewarding, knowing where to find each piece of the puzzle that was the history of her world, and being able to guide other people to the information they needed. And it was safe.
Safe. That, she realized, was the ticket. Riding a dragon across the sky, and knowing the incomparable bond with another intelligent being, had an appeal that could not be matched by any other path in life. Like every child in the Weyr, she had stood on the cliff overlooking the lake where dragons bathed, arms extended and wind blowing her sleeves, imagining what it would be like to launch a-dragonback into the empty air to defend her home. But it was dangerous, too. The parasitic Thread that fell from the sky and stripped land bare of vegetation could also strip skin and flesh from bone. She had stood her shifts with the other women, welcoming dragons and riders back from burning Thread to ash and helping to treat their wounds. She had an uncle who'd lost an eye to Thread, and a cousin whose arm would never work properly again thanks to its ravages. Dragonrider was not a career to be taken on lightly.
But it was riding a dragon! Seressa clenched her fists, bit her lower lip hard, and forced herself to move forward. She did not feel up to joining the main cluster of candidates, so she moved off to one side, away from where the spectators could see her without actively trying. Behind one broken shell, and between two others, a small egg rocked as if the ground beneath it was quaking. As the young woman got within arm's length, the shell split open along its full length. A green body, small even compared to her and covered with birth-slime, fell out at her feet.
"Oh, you poor baby," she crooned. She crouched and untangled its – her – limbs, setting her upright and smoothing kinks out of her wings.
Vivid, opalescent eyes looked up into hers. "My name is Yarth. Are you going to feed me?" The small voice inside her head was not nearly as disconcerting as she'd feared it might be.
Seressa wiped slimy hands on her white robe. "Of course!" she replied. "Let's go find you some food." Walking at a speed that was comfortable for the dragonet's shorter legs, she moved toward where she knew the meat for the hatchlings would be set out.
So this was what it was like to be complete, she mused as they made their way off the hatching ground. Intellectually she had always known that the dragon/rider bond was special. Intellectually. No amount of intellectual knowledge had prepared her for this overwhelming, humbling sense that she would never again be alone. No longer was she simply Seressa. Now she was part of Yarth-and-Seressa, and their whole already felt like more than the sum of their parts could ever have been.