Dry heat greets us as we negotiate the narrow path that zigzags up the sheer cliff.  A broad ledge, hollowed and hallowed by Turns of dragons passing and sunning.  Within, the heat grows more intense, and the lighting is provided only by heaping baskets of glows.  About half of them are dim, throwing the southern half of the weyr into shadow.  In the murk, wicker and linen rustle before a none-too-comely young woman steps out.  "Good morning--or is it afternoon?  I've been cleaning this place for an eternity.  I'm Anyghari, but you don't have to fuss that much.  I answer to An, Any, Anyga-ga-ga, or just Ghari.  I'm a Candidate at TalorCliffWeyr, Searched by blue Mitanth, of course, and this," she gestures expressively, causing the outflung tendrils of brown curls to waver, "is my penance for being so rash as to take the herdbeasts on parade around the Bowl.  I don't know why the riders object to their leathers getting an airing, and I'm sure the herdbeasts could use the exercise--poor, stupid things--but the Weyrlingmaster took offense.  Were you looking for someone?  No?  Then let me get back to these glows.  The eggs'll be hatching soon, and there will be some unfortunate weyrling that gets this oven of a weyr.  Not my problem, though!"  The tall girl flashes us--but mostly the visitor--a crook-toothed smile, and goes back to her duties with a melodramatic sigh.

Two blurs streak by the opening of the cave.  "Aeolius," she points to the bronze, "and Maenad.  Almost wild, silly things."

I ask politely if we could see  a bit more of Ghari, since we can't quite envision all the details.  She looks as though she's swallowing several smart remarks, but comes further into the light.  Anyghari is not exactly what I'd call pretty.  Streaky, sunbleached brown hair is cut disasterously short, curls lunging up and out from around her strong, square-jawed face.  The jaw, powerful as it may be, is nearly overwhelmed by the astonishing jut of her aquiline nose, where already freckled skin gets downright mottled, and thick, dark brows escarp above skeptical, green-flecked brown eyes.  She's big-boned, and at 5'11 appears altogether too awkward for her own good.

"Creirwy," Ghari sighs, as I peer at the small gold firelizard who seems to be begging shamelessly from the back of the dragon-couch.  "Pretty as a Smith Masterwork, but spoiled as all get-out."

Anyghari's History

Anyghari Impressed!  Presenting green Inyxith!  See her hatching story at www.oocities.org/talorcliffweyr/records/clutch_20.html Click on the hatchling Inyxith to see the next installment!

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