The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit
of members unable to attend.
=======================================================================

November 13-14, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: late on day 26, month 1, Turn 25, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a winter night.
Cast:  E'vrin, Kassima.

After watching Lyahna and Lyndra in Igen's living cavern, E'vrin seeks
quiet far from the Weyr.  Kassima had a similar idea, and the pair
have another long, late-night talk.  So do the dragons, and epiphanies
abound.  Annotated 'cause it's a heavy, layered log.
=======================================================================
Sky Above Shipfish Island
Below you lies a small, yet extremely distinctive island that rises
steeply in altitude from north to south. The terrain varies from
rocks, to grassy meadow, to sand dunes, to thick forest and then to
beach, and soaring high overhead you can already make out a few places
that might be open enough for a landing. The ocean glitters to all
sides around the island, disrupted only by the foam of a waterfall
that falls from the southern cliff. From this vantage point the
ancient volcano seems almost enchanting. A beach covered in white
sands faces the ocean to the east. Bordering the beach is a lush
growth of trees, with yellow flowers blooming on the tops, resembling
the stars in the early morning sky. The deepening winter evening falls
as a soft breeze ruffles your hair beneath the clear skies. From here
you can see how the volcano's bowl protects the island on the
northern, southern and western sides.
The rocky, steep and forested nature of most of the island leaves only
a few places where a dragon could easily land.
--

--> Sharath emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

--> On the fine sand beach below, Kassima slides down from Lysseth's
neckridges to land beside her with ease. Lysseth cocks her head at her
rider, rumbling quietly as Kassi gives her eyeridges a grateful
scratching.

--> Sharath circles long and slow, the pale sweep of his body clocking
a regular path against the hard, bright stars above. Then he stoops,
and lands.

You circle down towards the strip of sand facing the bay.
--
Shipfish Island - Fine Sand Beach
Tall, slim-trunked trees creep through the sandy soil almost down to
the beachfront, where slender sea grasses and bright green withies
populate the narrow stretch of sand. The warm breeze carries a whisper
of southern clime to your senses as you stroll along the
oceanside. The sand here is perfectly fine and smooth, unmarred by
brush or rocks. Driftwood lies scattered randomly across the shore,
worn smooth and bleached by the sun, and every so often a small
seabird will dodge the wavelets in its pursuit of prey. Sleepy winter
sunset hangs in the sky neath a sky unencumbered by cloud.
A small, winding, and almost grown-over path leads away to the west
into the dense forest, while to the south the beach grows rocky,
hiding all manners of almost inaccesible nooks and crevices within its
stony, sea-worn grasp.
Contents:
Kassima
Lysseth
--

--> Sharath flutters his wings, neck cranes with surprise, but he
settles enough to let his rider down before nosing curiously at the
green.

You slide down Sharath's shoulder and foreleg to the ground.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath asks warily, his walled flame
flickering low, << What are you doing here? We thought we would be
alone. >>

"...And there does sit my false sister Anne, a hey-hey ho and me
bonny-o, who drowned me for the sake of a man...." A rather melodic
alto voice is singing; the source, the woman nestled between Lysseth's
forelegs on the sand. The sound of wingbeats causes her to break off
the tune. "Wasn't expecting company," she calls up, with a wry
grin. "Duties to Igen and her queens, bronzerider."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth replies in a burgundy resonance
rimmed by color-muted crystal, << My rider wished to get away from the
hides and the cold, and think for awhile. Are we disturbing, then? >>

E'vrin's baritone chimes in the refrain, mellow and light: "'Drowned
me for the sake of a man.' Good evening -- well, night, Wingleader,
Lysseth." He paces his way across the beach; his feet shuffle-drag
through the sand. "All our regards to all of yours. One of yours
visited us tonight, though, so I've already said all that."

Sharath huffs, snorts, shakes out his wings again. Then he curls up
into a compact little crouch and lets his eyes glower half-lidded
violet at the water.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's mind scrapes restlessly against
the touch, like a goblet resisting the wine. << No. Perhaps. I don't
know. >>

Lysseth rumbles a mellow greeting, flicking a wing in what might be
the draconic equivalent of a lackadaisical wave. Kassi inquires with
some interest, "You know the song? I suppose I should've expected
that. Regards, of course... which one of ours?" A nod is given to a
sandy hillock nearby--invitation, perhaps. "Sit, if'n 'twill, and if'n
you're sure we're nay disturbing you. Did you come here t'think also,
or for another reason?"

E'vrin starts. "Is Sharath -- He is." A headshake twists him down onto
the proffered mount, and he tucks his legs up neatly against his
chest, for arms to embrace and chin to find a home upon. "Don't mind
him, please, either of you? He's restless. Something. I don't
know. /I/ don't mind you, after all your hospitality, which reminds me
-- it was D'ton, Kyoteth's rider. Come looking for herbs for your
dinner tomorrow."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth, perhaps picking up on the image,
transmutes the resonance to wine indeed: Benden Red, calm, cool, and
dark. << It was not our intent. >> There is a quiet moment from her;
the notes of the song trickle through the background, sung by the
rippling of the wine. << If it is silence you wish, I can comply. Or
not. As you would have it. >> An amiable shrug; a tail-flick, in
words.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath stills himself in thought to echo
body. Then a projection ripples shade-light-shade: his shrug. << It
matters little. You're here. I cannot move you. So, we stay. >> Sullen
jags prick through the winey flow, broken glass and attitude. <<
E'vrin bids me to be polite, anyway. I believe I am supposed to obey
him. >>

Kassima's own posture is similar, her chin resting on up-drawn
knees. "Lysseth doesn't mind--little fazes her when she doesn't wish
t'be fazed--so I, a'course, do nay. Restless...." She frowns, though
not at the bronzerider; more in thought. "Lyss has been restless, too,
but I think 'tis just the weather. 'Tis why I thought here might be
better. Calmer, y'know." With a tilt of her head, she questions,
"Dinner? The Bakers must be toying with something I've heard naught
of. Were they good herbs, or bad herbs, or did he nay say?"

"Didn't say," answers E'vrin. "He didn't know, so we couldn't help
him. He didn't seem to mind, though; ended up taking a Lower Caverns
girl for a ride on his bronze." His tone is carefully scrubbed free of
nuance.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth's answer is cryptic: << Politeness
is as politeness does. >> A touch of frost chills the wine... just a
touch. << Stay, then, as you like. We have no objection to company. >>

Sharath> I bespoke Lysseth with << I'll not leave without /him,/ and
he stays. I would rather -- fly. >> Dubious shadow clogs his
thoughts. << I think. >>

Kassima rolls her eyes skyward, leaning back against her
dragon. "Faranth preserve us. Must've been an apprentice who sent him
out, if'n he didn't have him knowing the herbs backwards and
forwards... D'ton?" Surprise registers, perhaps even amusement. "Well,
'twas probably innocent enough, with D'ton. He's nay the sort
'twouldn't be trusting with Cavern lasses." Skilled, she is, in
reading the implication of blandness.

E'vrin endeavors to be still more bland. "Actually, I was more
concerned for what she might do to him. A ... spirited young
woman. Spitfire, you know? He seemed a decent man; I hope he gets home
all right."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth questions, << Fly? Fly where? Fly
how? The night is fine for flying, but.... >> Wine twists, changes;
the crystal now surrounds rubies, glowing, smooth, but sharp-edged if
touched wrongly. << There is no point to fly without purpose. There
must always be a reason. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath swirls the dregs of mirth, bitter
and sardonic, then lets them drain away under the rosy glow of his
young mind. << Fly until I am tired enough to sleep. Does that purpose
suit? >>

Kassima's eyes twinkle; oh, yes, she's amused. "D'ton will be
fine. He's survived the endeavors of Master Lily t'make a match with
him and one of hers; methinks he can survive a spitfire or two." A
thought occurs to her: "He didn't offend you or the like, did he?"

You say "Oh, no! Gracious, even after she made him spill juice all
over himself... He handled himself well." He scants a wry gaze
sidelong. "I asked if Telgar is like that much. He said it's too cold
to misbehave."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth has little of bitterness to her,
not yet--she is mellow, mellow, though there are still those
edges. Always edges, with this one. << It is *a* purpose, >> she
allows. << But why fly for that alone? There can be joy in flying. >>
Impressions trickle through of a cool breeze, the crisp night sky,
stars winking at you from the heavens and clouds reaching out to
caress wingspars. << Better to at least enjoy yourself, if you would
fly. >>

Kassima lifts one dark eyebrow and responds, drolly, "Tell that to
some of m'riders. But he does have some point; it just depends by your
definition of misbehave." Tucking her knees up closer to herself, she
observes, "At least she didn't ask him about his ceiling."

E'vrin, well-trained in the art of conversation and cues, prompts
politely, "What about his ceiling?"

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath allows, << I enjoy myself, but it
is only flying. There are better pursuits. >> His thoughts' light
fingers the rubies pensively, flashing flat on a facet here, diving
deep into a flaw there. << Only flying, >> he repeats. << I take
little pleasure in breathing, and I do both as easily. >>

"Oh, naught about *his* ceiling," Kassi replies, turning her head to
face the bronzerider. "I'd nay know aught about his ceiling
anyway. 'Tis only that I once knew a woman who was a bit of a
spitfire, who went asking t'see men's ceilings. Especially G'har's. He
made the mistake of informing her that his was blue."

E'vrin might be flushing; his voice, in the night, betrays a muffled
quality no doubt due to his chin being pressed into his
knees. "Oh. Well, this girl /is/ a girl. Thirteen, maybe fourteen
Turns. I don't think she's like that at all."

[Dear, sheltered E'vrin.  Repressed in a shell.  More on that later.]

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth floods the flaws with crimson
light as soon as they're discovered, mending the break... or perhaps
disguising it with illusion; who can say? << Joy can be found in
anything, my rider says. Even in simply *living*. She tries to make me
understand. >> A jewel or two spills from the chalice as she gives
another impression of shrugging. << Perhaps she has a point. If there
is nothing more important to do, is there some reason not to try and
take pleasure in what you *are* doing? >>

Kassima coughs lightly, tipping her own chin up to glance at the
stars. "Aye, you've probably the right of it. Julasha is... an
interesting sort. Unfortunately, I promised G'har t'forget about how I
saved him from her." A tsking sound escapes her. "A shame, too. I
always rather liked that story. Who was this spitfire of a lass?"

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath counters in another flash-flat
burst of cold light, << There is no /need/ to have pleasure,
though. We live in the present, in the now. Do we even know pleasure
or joy, without a past or a future? So says /my/ rider. >>

"I think her name is Lyah -- Lyahna, something like that." E'vrin
pushes his frown into his knees. "Younger sister of one of our
assistant headwomen, and nothing like her, a difference she seems to
have the dismaying talent for flaunting in public. Poor Lyndra..."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth answers with her own flare of
light, green-white and cool, << Of course! There is past, and there
will be future. Our riders provide us with what we lack in both; with
them, there is pleasure. For both. Without.... >> The light ceases,
leaving, for a moment, a black void before the rubies light again. <<
There is no need for pleasure. Unless you wish to thrive, at least. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath deepens his tenor with layers and
layers of light, gauzy veils of rose and gold and amber and ivory
draped atop each other, mingling weariness and a bleak sort of
amusement. << I live. To thrive -- I leave that to E'vrin to worry
about. I live; I am. I was; I will be. That is enough for me. >>

[No idea why Sharath was so depressing, unless it comes from E'vrin's
 subconscious.  They're still deeply linked, although walls bar most
 of their automatic interface.  More on that later, too.]

"Remind me," Kassi requests dryly, threading her fingers together,
"t'be glad I have nay siblings. She's of an age to enjoy embarrassing
her sister, I'd suspect. I wonder whether there ever was a pair of
sibs who didn't feel as rivals soon or late?"

E'vrin answers promptly, "I never felt it from my siblings --
half-siblings, that is." His voice veers into diffidence. "I still
haven't tracked down my full sister, although Father promised he'd
look into it. My mother's other children, at any rate, never bothered
me. I never bothered them."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth is silent for a moment, then sends
a questing tendril of jeweled hues to explore the layered
phenomenon. No pale colors here; simply vibrance, but shadowed. << If
you have your lifemate, and you serve your purpose, >> she questions
in an echoing voice that is perhaps a shade deeper than her rider's
tone, << how can you not have pleasure? >>

"A good thing, perhaps." Kassi shifts on her sandy perch, sitting
cross-legged and resting her hands before her ankles. "Perhaps
nay. 'Twouldn't know. I'd the dubious fortune of growing up surrounded
by cousins, but nay sibs." Twisting her head about, she inquires, eyes
squinted--and at this angle, it's possible to notice that one of those
eyes sports an impressive shiner--"Was there nay anyone amongst your
relatives you could relate to? Pun unintended, a'course."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath replies from beneath the layers,
although his mind shines still aloof, still cold: << How do I know if
I have pleasure, if everything in my life is the same, day after day,
because I do not /know/ if a day is different from another? Can I
identify difference in endless, repetitive similarity? >>

[And that's when I realized it:  Sharath is a dragon who doesn't want
 to be a dragon.  He recognizes the species's shortcomings and wants
 to transcend them.  The dragon who would be man.]

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth suggests pragmatically, << Borrow
your rider's memories. Share them. And remember what you can; that is
better than nothing. >> She has settled back onto steady ground
here. << My mindmate tells me what has occured before. Sometimes I can
remember it. If not... she does, and the reassurance is enough. >>
Another query: << Should it not be? >>

"Of course," E'vrin answers automatically. "My mother's husband, my
stepfather: him, I felt comfortable around. He's a mastertanner; I
helped in his little workshop at the hold. He never held my existence
against me." His lashes sweep low over his cheeks, and memory informs
his next words, drifting with the echo of conversation amid
Records. "A mastertanner, but he knew how to handle raw metal, you
could say."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath shifts, wary. << We share. I know
him better than anyone, including himself. I have found things in his
mind that he lost Turns and Turns ago. But those are his memories. I
have none of my own. I need it for myself, Lysseth. I need it for
myself. >>

Kassima smiles in the dark; if the expression can't be seen, then it
can at least be heard in her voice. "A good man, then. And a good
Crafter; they say a good Crafter respects his materials for being what
they are. A'course, I'm nay Crafter, so I can't really give an
opinion." Musingly, she theorizes, "Better for the metal t'be worked
by one than many. Especially if'n that one knows what he's doing."

E'vrin reminds her, "We've had this conversation, haven't we? No need
to darken the night with it again." But he pauses. And has to start,
tentative, "Your eye..."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth asks, with a touch of wonder, <<
Can you remember nothing? Even when reminded? I know that some are
thus, but... they seem to find comfort in it. If you can't remember
joy, at least you can't remember pain. >>

Kassima chuckles, low and quiet. "Aye, so we have. Forgive me." At the
mention of her eye, one hand creeps up to touch the edge of the
bruised skin automatically. "Oh. That. I tried t'keep a pair of riders
from throttling each other and wasting wine t'boot, is all. One of 'em
had a respectable left hook."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath lets his reply ripple again, but
now in the gauzy breeze of humor. << And that is no bad thing. We do
fight Thread, and Thread kills us. E'vrin is quite convinced that we
would not if we remembered what it does; I can touch on memory, and
that is quite enough for me. >> The gauze thickens, and his
crystalline walls rebuild around low, chill flame. << I ... can
remember, but it all slips away. I know there was more -- there /is/
more -- than I can hold, and that knowledge saddens me. Frustrates
me. >>

E'vrin leans over the sand to get a better look, unabashed in the
light of her reaction. "What were they fighting over?"

[The crux of the dragon annotation is best included as our pages:]
--
From afar, Kassima notes that she's always supported the idea that
dragons *do* remember important things; it's just day-to-day they lose
if they're not reminded. And since Kassi has almost perfect recall,
and Lyss is almost always scanning her memories to remind herself,
Lyss has better recollection than a number of dragons. Just as
background. :)

You paged Kassima with 'Oh, of course. No argument from this quarter!
The reason Sharath doesn't remember these things, and why he's
frustrated without really knowing why, is that Ev has shut him out,
slowly but surely, since weyrlinghood, when they were /too/ deeply
linked. Because Sharath can't remember that, because he /is/ shut out,
he just knows things are wrong, not why or how. He's trapped in a loop
of ignorance because of his rider. Another byproduct of that
repression, that shell.'.

From afar, Kassima oohs, ouch. Bad thing for a dragon. Kassi threw
herself wholeheartedly into it, you see--Lyss is everything she isn't,
and vice-versa, so while they're very dissonant, they're also just
what the other needs. Foil, as 'twere. Will Sharath want so much to be
a man when the shell breaks down, d'you think?

[I said I didn't know; I was making it up as I went along.  Then:]

You paged Kassima with 'They were so deep in each other, though, and
then a WLM pointed out that that wasn't a good thing, really, and then
Ev shrivelled up into himself for various reasons, and Sharath's out
in the cold. But he's such a smart dragon, a real intellectual (and
snob). He's really very human, manlike. My first bronze was dark,
abysmally dark; I asked for a light dragon here. The other bronze was a
fallen angel, damned and lost with his pride; Sharath is Lucifer
/before/ the fall. :)'.
--
[Ain't we got fun?  Back to the rp.]

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth remarks, with flickering,
whimsical windsong, << It is not a bad way to go, fighting and
protecting. Not a bad way at all. >> There's a flicker of pride there,
however--perhaps for her own 'score-free hide after all of these
Turns. << If it can't be changed, then it must be accepted. Humans say
that. I would think it would be better to always attempt to change,
regardless. >> Rage, rage against the dying of the light....

Kassima grimaces, though whether in ruefulness or disgust is hard to
say. "A greenflight." Ah. Ruefulness. "Yasinth's first. Both lost, and
there'd been some kind of conflict during, apparently... so they set
on each other. Never get between two riders when one's intent on
tackling the other, by the by. I got off lucky; Aurian wound up with
cracked ribs."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's light rallies sluggishly to the
call, however half-hearted or instinctual. << We all die, >> he
agrees. << It's the manner of death that matters to those left behind,
I suppose. Given a choice, I would rather continue ever on ... but
then Pern would be full of dragons and their riders, would it not?
Where would we all live? >>

E'vrin's eyes round visibly, and he pulls back into his fetus
cradle. "I've seen some violence around flights, but not like
that. They aren't /all/ -- are they?"

Kassima shakes her head at once, vehemently. "Oh, nay. Never been more
than minor scuffles in any of Lysseth's. Most end without violence,
but now and then... well, 'twill put it this way: in thirteen Turns,
'tis the only flight-fight I've ever been in. Nay all by a long shot."
One brow lifts. "You've seen your share of post-flight riders, I
imagine?"

E'vrin isn't flushed, at least. He nods soberly. "I have. I ... do
feel sorry for them. The dragons bring us so much, but they take away,
too, and that's an instance of taking, I think. If one had a choice
about whether or not to go through another creature's overwhelming,
animal frustration -- well, would you?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth shares the thought, solemn and
dark, << My rider does not wish to die, but we both will if we
must. To protect is more important. >> Flame flashes against the dark,
though--a silent promise that Lyss intends to see that a time when
they must never comes. << Everyone does what they must. It's what
we're born to. Peace, quiet, tranquility--these are not things that we
are meant to know as the entirety of life. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's mind folds softly into the
dark, flame weaving into shadow with a quiet quiver and then
nothing. << Yes, >> he answers simply. << It is not what we were born
for, is it? And we pull our riders along with us, no matter what they
were born for. Born for us, some say, but ... I wonder. >>

"Most assuredly *nay*." No hesitation there; Kassi answers quite
promptly. "Flights are entirely for the dragons. 'Tis worth it,
a'course--easy for me t'say when I only have t'deal with it mayhaps
twice a Turn, but maleriders say the same. 'Tis still a sacrifice for
most. Some," she adds, with amusement again, "would say 'tis naught of
the sort."

E'vrin's heel digs into the sand, and he frowns down, around, at
it. "Well, I wouldn't know. I really shouldn't comment about something
I know little about. My harper teachers would be screeching at that
presumption against objectivity and fairness."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth admits readily enough, silver
stars streaking through the blackness, << We are born for them. They
for us... I do not know. My rider would not be whom she is without me,
but that is not the same as not being. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath supposes prosaically, << They
lived before us, and they can live after us. That is a fair argument
for their autonomy. It is we who have fewer choices in life. >>

"Fair's fair, and life's nay, as a cousin of mine would say." Kassima
draws patterns in the sand with a fingertip, swirls and twists that
don't really form anything. "Sometimes you have t'theorize and guess
without experience; what's totally unfamiliar is frightening. 'Tis why
they try their best--the Weyrlingmasters--t'prepare us, methinks. Nay
that it ever works."

You say "Does sometimes. None of our weyrling class has been lost to
/between/ or Thread."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth points out, once again pragmatic,
<< It is a blessing, somewhat. We can't choose, but we don't have to
choose. We don't have the responsibility of choosing. And 'can' is not
'will'. >> Certainty there. The bond between her and her rider, at
least, is too deep to be broken and leave either alive.

Kassima gives the bronzerider a sidelong look. "Depends what they're
trying t'prepare us for, though. Even Fall, you get a taste of in
flying resupply. None of ours were lost until later, either, though."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath muses with the blurs of
uncertainty casting shadows against her solidity, << Without
responsibility, we are nothing more than children. We /should/ be able
to, and we /should,/ choose, to be full partners with them. Otherwise
... overgrown fire-lizards, in truth. >>

E'vrin hugs his knees. "Well, the future hasn't happened yet; I'd
rather dwell on the positive past, at least for now. None of us has
died, although some of us will. I know the law of averages. It might
even be me. Who knows?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth considers, and corrects herself,
another flaw in the jewel mended. << We have responsibility. It is
just not the same as theirs. And our choices are not the same. When we
fight Thread, we are responsible for flaming the Thread, for keeping
our riders safe. They cannot do so much, then. They make choices; we
make choices, as we are able. Each half of the whole. >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath observes, << You have an
optimistic view of life. >>

Kassima agrees, with a hint of sadness, "Might be. And I might wind up
toast m'self on the morrow. That's life." A considering glance is
given up to Lysseth's scarless form. "A'course, thirteen Turns is
longer than many survive. Perhaps I'm being selfish in wanting
more. Better to dwell on the fact that we're alive now, though, isn't
it?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth agrees with something of a sigh,
<< When it suits, I do. The warmth is good for that. >>

Sharath> I bespoke Lysseth with << Better than a negative view. >>
Fire strobes, scattering light like little vermin through the walls of
his mind. << I should still like to fly, though. >>

E'vrin crimps a little smile. "Yes, it is. No sense in borrowing
sorrow against the future. It must be the night; all the darkness
presses down on me."

[Or it's Sharath.  They're feeding into each other.  Vicious cycle.]

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth suggests, << Then fly. Circle the
island, if you like. Would your rider mind? >>

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath answers, sirocco-dry, << It would
startle him. He would worry. He's being quiet now; no need to disturb
him. We'll fly later. >>

Kassima laughs again, and abandons her drawing to lean back again with
her hands folded behind her head. "The night's nay so bad. Dark,
aye--but dark can be soothing, and quiet, and there are
stars. Sometimes I think that the day's so full of hustle and bustle
that 'tis hard t'just sit and think, while at night... well, d'you
ever look up at the stars and try t'see the constellations?"

You say "I suppose. They're only stars, though." His head cocks up,
then back down. "I'm not very romantic or fantastical, I'm
afraid. Sorry."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth agrees, quiet herself, << Of
course. There are always times for flying, later. >>

[We left the dragons there.  I for one was too tired to do both.]

"Why apologize?" Kassi wants to know, tilting her head to peer up at
the stars again. "They're only stars, but there's something comforting
in the thought that those people they're named after--y'know, F'nor's
Ride, the Four Queens, the constellations--have such a way t'be
remembered. Is it foolish t'want t'be remembered after you die?"

E'vrin rests his chin on his knees; his spine is a bow drawn taut with
hunched tension. "No, but I always thought I'd do it, if I did it at
all, through some performance I did as a harper or through my
children. The harper part is gone, but I could still have children,
and they would remember me."

"But that's the trick, isn't it?" Kassi asks quietly. "Living long
enough for your children t'remember you. There's something in that,
but I always thought I'd like t'be remembered for doing
something... ach, I might as well admit it, though 'tis
foolish. Something special. Being different. I'd nay be another Lessa,
and I don't ever expect t'have stars named for me, but adding to the
Weyr's history and legend--that's something I'd like t'do." Her shrug
is a touch uncomfortable. "Nay that it matters so much anymore. But
that's getting dark again."

E'vrin tries for brightness. "Well, I'm young, and riders live a long
time if nothing happens to them. My children will know me. Yours know
you. Kaylira certainly does, believe me."

Kassima has to grin at that. "Aye, she'll probably grump until her
dying day about how her evil Mum wouldn't let her paint on Pierron's
head. Silly minx. And Khari's old enough t'start remembering,
methinks. If'n I don't have any more, I'm all set." She shakes her
head, though, and draws her knees up to rest her chin on them
again. "Life's odd... but aye, you're right; yours probably will know
you. Just how many are you hoping t'have, anyway?"

E'vrin shrugs, and leather creaks the length of that bowed back. "I
think that depends on the woman, or women," he answers shyly. "I mean,
it isn't up to me if they decide to carry to term, right? Women have
that right, so my mother taught me."

Kassima nods, looking thoughtful--though>
Transfer interrupted!
lly. "Women have the right. Some exercise it. It seems,
though, that most don't." A slightly sardonic snort
escapes. "Especially from the vantage point of a Wingleader who's had
t'make yet *another* Wing-adjustment because one more of her riders is
spawning."

You say "Not that L'cher's doing, is it?"

"Oh, nay," Kassima replies. "Just one of those flight things, this
time. But between them taking Maylia away t'be Weyrlingmaster, and her
apt t'steal another of mine as an Assistant... don't ever become a
Wingleader unless you want t'grind your teeth t'dust, I'm warning
you."

E'vrin laughs softly, shortly, into his knees. "Oh, believe me,
Kassima, I'm so far down in seniority that half the Weyr would have to
be indisposed before that happened. Still, I'll remember. You can
adjust, right?"

Kassima points out whimsically, "Doesn't always work that way,
though. Look at A'lex. He leads riders who've been riding since he was
in swaddling, simply because he's the man for the job. Seniority's
more along the lines of how Telgar *used* t'do things. But if'n you
don't want it, they can't make you take it... and, truly, 'twould take
a fool t'want it. There's a song I know that sums it up well." Her
head dips in affirmation of the last. "Aye, certes. Adjust the
patterns, borrow riders if'n the other Wings are amiable... there's
naught I couldn't really do, though there's plenty I *wouldn't* do."

E'vrin hums a brief snatch of song; his voice still carries well, full
in the notes and easy in the pauses. "...No, I can't say that I'd care
for the responsibility. I have enough on my hands with my own lives,
let alone others'. I won't borrow that sorrow, either."

Kassima nods, simply and without approval or condemnation. "'Tisn't a
pleasant burden. But once you take it up, 'tis nigh impossible t'put
it back down. You've a fine voice; was that your primary focus, at
Harper?"

E'vrin's laugh shades to embarrassment. "Oh, no, no. I was in
Archives; it took me a half-Turn just to learn how to sing in
key. Music was never my ambition."

Kassima grins, teeth flashing white. "More t'being a Harper than
music, though 'tis what I suspect most seek. History is important,
too. I've a bit of a weakness for it... though more for genealogy."
Shifting yet again--she really is bad at this sitting still
business--she admits, "I like t'sing, and songwrite sometimes, but
I've little training. And I've never really missed it. Music's out
there for anyone, and I'd rather be a rider than a Harper."

"Maybe--" E'vrin ponders carefully "--maybe, if you'd ever like to, I
wouldn't mind listening to your writing. I did only a few songs, and
you heard one of them. --If you want. Just, if you want."

Kassima lifts both brows a fraction, but she's not dismayed. Oh,
no. "'Tis rare that anyone offers t'listen to m'songs," she murmurs,
almost to herself. "Well. 'Twould certes nay mind--far from--though
'twill warn you, they're hardly masterpieces. Just twiddlings and the
like."

E'vrin huffs a snort. "Sounds like my harper career," he says
lightly. "At any rate -- I should go back. Sharath's ready to sleep, I
think, and I know I am."

At the very mention of sleep, Kassi stifles a yawn. "Gah. I could
probably use a rest m'self, though 'twill wait awhile longer. When
there's cold t'go back to, 'tis hard to abandon warmth. Clear skies,
fair winds, dream well, safe flying... let's see. Have I forgotten
aught yet? Besides duties, a'course."

E'vrin pushes himself up to his feet and offers a hand with a gleeful,
"'Good night.' You forgot 'good night' again."

Kassima wrinkles her nose good-naturedly as she takes the proffered
hand, getting to her feet also. "I did, didn't I? Aren't I awful?
G'night then--for what's left of it, anyway."

E'vrin grins. "Good night." Ha!

You scramble up Sharath's foreleg and shoulder to rest between two
fire-bright neckridges.

--> Kassima, ever mature, sticks her tongue out at the
bronzerider. "Pthbbt!" serves as her own parting line.

[Neither of us could think up good exit lines.  We went to bed.
 Finally.  Log ends.]