Zeharin
This room is brightly lit - not by glowbaskets, but from sunlight. The water-proofed hangings that cover the entrances of all surf-side weyrs are pulled back, and sun, as well as sounds of the sea stream in. The natural dark stone of the cliffside has been painted a light brown, brightening the room even further. It's almost like standing inside a sand castle. On one side of the room, a small table sits, covered with a few large seashells. A thin hide is anchored by the largest of these. Ink and stylus lay ready beside it. On the top of the sheet is written 'Zeharin.' A tall lad, about 6'2", walks in with a towel draped around his neck. He's of average build, and is wearing lightweight shorts that reach to his knees, and a short-sleeved shirt, worn open, that is splattered with bright colors all over. It almost looks like firelizards had been playing in the dye room while this cloth was laying out. A string of tiny shell-like beads encircles the base of his neck, and his sandals dangle from one hand. He grins, his white teeth a stark contrast to his dark tan. His grey eyes flash with an inner fire of joy, as he walks across the floor to drop his sandals near the foot of the bed. He runs a hand through his damp, mid-length hair (which oddly is blond on top, and an unnatural red at the bottom) then tosses his towel over the windowsill to dry. Zeharin pulls out the chair by the table, and he sits down, and gets comfortable before he begins. He picks up the stylus, and taps it on the table a few times. He finally begins to write: He shakes his head, laughing to himself. If that didn't sound self-centered, what does? He laughs again, remembering. He draws a smile on the hide, and continues. As soon as I could walk, I started swimming. I was a natural. My mother always said she was sure I was a fish, because I swam like one. One day, one of the older kids misjudged a dive, and ended up with a lungfull of water. Accidents happen, even to lifelong swimmers, you know. I swam out, and brought him in to shore. That was my first rescue -- I was merely seven turns. I saved his life. I was a hero. The very next day, the Sea Rescue team started teaching me diving and rescue techniques. After a while, I was the best Rescuer Sennet had. I often was sent out with novice ships to rescue the crew when they infalliably went overboard. Zeharin grinned some more, and tapped the stylus on the table. I like it here -- the sea is right out my front door, and there are no bugs. I hate bugs. Zeharin stops writing and shudders, obviously his dislike for crawlers was more than skin-deep. Soon he continued writing. Zeharin sighs. Zeharin signs the bottom of the page, and rolls up the hide. He walks out of the room, and down the hall, and leaves his writing in the basket with the others outside the harper's door.
Harper Saizi reads Zeharin's story as she collects all the hides together for Lord Leid's records, and her heart cries out, 'Oh Zeharin! There is a way! Non-traditional candidates often Impress at Baeris Kshau's Healing Den.' She finishes her work, then rushes off to find him. 'I just know he'll want to go,' she thinks, as she knocks at his door. And he did. Zeharin is a candiate at 
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