At the Hatching at last, Jhetarya didn’t know what to think. She watched the Impressions around her occurring with feverish speed, and turned her face to the overcast sky more than once, anxiously. Aljheran was a comfortable bulwhark beside her. A largish egg drew her attention as it rocked into another, smashing to pieces. A golden dragonet stood from among the fragments, and drew a gasp from the crowd. Yainolith hadn’t treated any of the eggs like potential queens, yet here one stood. The remaining girls stepped forward just a tiny bit, and waited for the queen to make her move. The beautiful gold stepped forward, fanning her wings gracefully. She looked to all the girls, but looked perplexed. She lay down in the Sands, and closed her eyes. Was there no girl here worthy of her bond? I know you’re here! I can feel you, but... The golden dragonet cried out, then was quiet, as though she was listening for something. The crowd waited with bated breath until the gold again stood. She stepped toward a tall woman, who was far from beautiful, and was well aware of the fact. Beauty within, or beauty without, the queen began, You, Jhetarya, I cannot do without! Jhetarya started, staring, but a true, glowing smile creased her face. "You’re a poet, Arosambyth," she told her gorgeous young gold, and Arosambyth crooned back. Behind her, Aljheran began to clap, and set off the crowd.
This was definitely an unexpected surprise.
Aljheran was grinning fit to split his face—or his skull. The pressure change of the storm made his still-tender scalp throb, and he strove to keep that expression. But through his headache pounded the fact that Jhetarya had Impressed. Jhetarya would be safe! He did not even mind the spattering rain that began shortly after her Impression, as long as he continued to think of that.
The rain lessened for a moment, and with the silence came the loud-seeming crack of a largish egg. A deep brown came from within, and began to walk towards the remaining candidates. He stopped suddenly, and scratched at the sand. "What do you think you’re doing?" the Telgaran inquired, taking a step forward. "You’re a dragon, not a farmer. It’s beneath you." The last he said in a whisper.
The brown looked up at him. <<There’s a rock...>> "So leave it, Fivrith. It’s not harming anyone. It’s too sandy there to grow anything." The brown shrugged, but continued to dig for the rock. When he found it, Al’jan took it and threw it towards the wall of the Weyr.
Only then did it strike him—Fivrith. Brown Fivrith. The half-laughed tenor insinuating itself into his soul.
Aljheran of Telgar was no more. Now, there was only Fivrith's Al'jan. |
