aeschahunt

Aderynth’s huge wings smacked against the air as she hit a sudden downdraft, and the proud dark teal dragon hissed in surprise. Aescha clung resolutely to the fighting straps, glad that dragon-tack did not include stirrups. Her twisted foot was aching with the cold even within leather boots and two pairs of thick socks.
<<Did I mention,>> Aderynth muttered, <<that I really hate this place? You hate it too, I can feel it. Why are we here?>>
Mountains swam underfoot, and the wind stole Aescha’s words when she tried to speak. Ducking her head against the cold, she replied mentally, <<It’s part good deed, part opportunism. I’m checking for Candidate material, as anyone we get out of Lady Aschiane’s grip is better off. And a candidate is a nice gift to give when you’re hoping to join a Weyr.>>
Aderynth rolled her eyes, but said nothing until they overflew the edges of Windwhip Hold’s territory. Then, abruptly, she swerved in midair, wheeling on a wingtip. <<Who is /that/?>>
Aescha peered at the man staggering below, swathed in a heavy poncho. <<I don’t know, but he’s not walking too well. Let’s go have a look.>>
<<These are Dicytra Weyrs’ lands,>> Aderynth warned as she dove. <<They might get prickly about my wings and coloration.>>
<<Dicytran riders can deal,>> Aescha replied flatly. The long-winged green backwinged to the earth, long neck snaking as she stared at the man. He now stood stock-still, head bowed beneath its hood.
The ex-drudge slid the short distance between Aderynth’s neck and the ground, wincing as she put weight on her crippled foot. “Are you all right, sir?” she asked, limping toward him. When he raised his head, she stifled a cry.
A heavy bandage, its edges thick with caked-on blood, was wound around his head, covering his eyes. The rest of his face was covered with long, swollen welts, a thin line of blood across each one. He smiled back at her, his full mouth twisting a little in pain. “As well as I can be, thank you, m’lady. Did I hear a dragon?” His voice was a rich, full tenor, musical even with his breath rasping in his throat.
“Yes,” Aescha replied, faintly. “My Aderynth. Can I take you anywhere, sir? A Healer?”
“Away?” the man suggested, wryly. “I’d appreciate being dropped off somewhere a bit warmer. Healer Iachau’s already bandaged me up, but I fear that I may be having a worse reaction than he anticipated.”
“Right this way…what’s your name, sir? I’m Aescha.”
He gave her a shallow bow. “Harper Master Cantrell, at your service.” Belatedly, Aescha realized that some of the bulk on his back was harp-shaped.
The Harper’s questing hand found Aderynth’s shoulder. “A dainty lady, I see,” Cantrell commented, surprised. Wordlessly, Aescha assisted him into the hollow between Aderynth’s ridges, settling herself awkwardly behind him.
The long-winged green sprang skyward, propelling herself in the air before she blinked -=Between=- to her rider’s chosen destination: Ryslen Weyr.