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 18, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 22:32 on day 16, month 2, Turn 25, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a winter evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, Kassima.

While Lysseth and Sharath ease into mated comfort and sleep, their
riders have to poke and prod through a more uneasy bramble.
=======================================================================
Guest (Ground-floor) Weyr
This is a large, ground level weyr not far from the junior queen's
weyrs. The stone couch is covered by several thick blankets, and is
very comfortable while providing a soft place to rest. Several
glowbaskets give off light, and the floor has been worn very smooth.
A passages leads out into the bowl.
Contents:
Kassima
--

Darkness, and warmth. And the slow, careful shift of flesh on flesh,
flesh on cloth. Once twitched awake, E'vrin spends a moment in frozen
-- something -- and then begins to pry himself out into the cold, and
freedom.

Kassima stirs beside him, not yet asleep, though it may not be far off
to judge from the drowsiness of her voice. Quietly, perhaps somewhat
wistfully spoken is a simple query: "Going somewhere?"

E'vrin freezes again. "I..."

Kassima rolls onto her side, using an elbow to prop herself
up. Darkness and light, even now... black hair, frightfully disarrayed
and wild, frames a pale face in what scant light exists. "You don't
have to, y'know," she points out. "Unless you really want to?"

"I..." E'vrin has mastered one word, one sound, after the madness just
past; dare he try to relearn more, as he edges away from her, skittish
and shy? "It ... seemed the proper thing to do."

It's hard to read Kassi's expression, would be even if there were much
light to see by. "'Tis cold... or 'twill be, soon. And I doubt they'll
be willing t'separate just yet." No need to elucidate which 'they' she
means. "'Twouldn't try t'hold you here or aught--you've m'thanks for
nay screaming and fleeing, in fact--but you don't *have* t'go."

E'vrin pokes his way carefully through the words. The blankets
transmit his faint, wiry quivering readily enough, but his voice stays
admirably, even eerily, level and calm. "If I may ask without causing
offense -- what should I do if I stay? I've done enough."

Kassima doesn't shiver, and indeed *is* fairly calm as yet. She's a
veteran of this game, if not completely comfortable with it... and it
shows. "What you wish," she replies, extending a hand to try and touch
his shoulder in an attempt to comfort. "Rest, or sleep, or... whatever
you wish. There's little that 'should' applies to, in flights. This is
the first time Sharath's caught?"

"First time he's chased." E'vrin's muffled; the silhouette of him
shows a head turned away, chin tucked hard into shoulder's curve. The
other flinches helplessly under her touch. "...Sorry."

Kassima draws back, and stays silent for several moments. "Nay, I'm
sorry," she finally says, still quiet, but with a faint note of regret
under sleepiness and rasp. "I can't control... her. Or what happens. I
know you'd nay have wanted this." A wry chuckle sounds in the
darkness. "Welcome to the wonderful world of flights."

E'vrin struggles silently a moment. "It isn't her," he says at length,
and there's rasp in his voice, too, for all that panic has the upper
hand on regret. "It isn't you, either, I don't mean to imply that. I
just -- Are all flights like this?"

There's a faint hiss of cloth against flesh as Kassima raises one
shoulder in a helpless shrug. "Depends on what you mean. There's a
marked difference in flights won and flights lost, but if'n y'mean won
ones... Lysseth's at least tend t'be, aye."

"It's me," E'vrin finishes as if she hadn't spoken. The answer wasn't
important, nor the question. He's looping through his own vicious
circle. "I wasn't ready. Shards -- not like this. It's a mistake,
Wingleader. I /am/ sorry. That's why I ... want to go." --Flee.

Kassima sits up more fully, most of the sleep drained from her
voice. "*You* were fine," she replies firmly, and an awkward pause
follows; one can imagine, if not see, her blush. "But E'vrin--Sharath
will do this again. Probably many times. I...." Now she's the one
who's groping for words in the dark. "I just wouldn't... want t'have
made you uncomfortable with flights. They're too much a part of
dragonriding. Are you certain I can't aid you somehow?"

E'vrin is too busy hiding his face from her to notice what /hers/ is
doing; no worry there. "Thank you, but it isn't flights," he finally
muffles out. "It isn't Sharath, either, since he can't help it and
certainly enjoyed it." Some flush leaks into his voice through the
dark. "It's this. You and me." More flush. "Sex."

[Which reminded me:]

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath coasts. Just ... coasts, body and
mind, both tuned to a fine, happy harmony. Solicitude touches the lazy
flicker of hoarfire: << Are you tired? We could find a ledge and watch
the sky. >>

"And you didn't?" Kassi asks softly, and it's not a
rhetoric. "I--well, i'truth, mayhaps 'twould have
been... better... for you with a greenrider of more, um, experience."
There's no way she could be anything less than burning red, but she
fumbles her way through regardless. "I'm sorry. Though, for what it's
worth," and there's a vague attempt at humor there, "'tis even more
awkward when the first is... unconventional."

E'vrin could be cooking dinner off /his/ skin. "I -- oh, /shells,/
Kassima. It was my first. What do I know from enjoyment? 'Awkward,'
yes. I know about awkward. But pleasure?"

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth glows with warmth rather than ice
now, glaciers melted utterly and the molten lava tamed. << I would not
mind it, >> she replies. << Mine is not far off. >> Though rather
high. A thing for heights, this dragon has... yes, indeed.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath glows appreciation: heights,
indeed. Memory's stars scrape an orbit through his underthoughts, and
he agrees, << Your ledge will be good. Lead on, O luscious one. >>

Kassima replies simply, "I understand." And perhaps she does. For
greenriders, too, there's always a first. "As t'pleasure...." Silence,
pensive and thoughtful. "Would there be more enjoyment, d'you think,
without dragon-urging?" A strange question, and tentative at that.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth replies with a flicker of
laughter, faint, but real. << Luscious, I? Ah, no. But I will lead you
there. Follow-- >>

[They glide down to her ledge.  Meanwhile:]

"I..." Back to monosyllabic stumbles. E'vrin clears his throat. He
tenses and then deliberately turns back to face her. His breath puffs
warm in the weyr's night. "I don't know. I have no experience. I asked
a girl, a fellow weyrling, to kiss me, and she did. There would have
been more--" Stop. Retreat. "I don't know. I don't remember what just
happened, you know. It was all /him./"

Sharath> Sharath lands lightly in a puff and flash of tawny-fire
slenderness. He balances, stretching; then he curls up into a
comfortably compact ball, head flopped over folded wing to peer at his
night's mate. Well?

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's touch is coy, flashing through
prisms of unadulerated delight and ease. << Luscious you are; also,
warm, and the night is cold. >> Invitation rings a faint song.

Kassima's eyes are somber, almost, or as close as they ever
come... bloodshot, too, and hollowed. But glare and defiance are gone
completely. "Lysseth's first flight," she begins--and oh, how awkward
this is--"was won by Ciruth. Whose rider was Aislinn. And I didn't
have any experience either. So I know... something, of what you
mean. 'Twas awkward. And I inhibited *her*, in awkwardness." She
clears her throat. If one could read thoughts, they would be quite
clearly: 'Faranth, what am I doing?' But nevertheless: "So, if'n you
wish... experience... the night is young, yet. That's all." An offer
she is not used to making, but sincere enough.

Sharath> Lysseth skims to a light landing on the old, familiar ledge,
a glide all she has the energy left for. Eyes gleaming with hints of
amethystine fire, she sidles close, offering a wing.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth's facets gleam with lazy,
lascivious admiration. No ice-princess here. Not tonight. << I will
warm you; you will warm me--fair deal? >>

Well, E'vrin isn't physically retreating, at least, only pensively;
and he skirts that offer with nervous care. For now. "You," he says
slowly instead, "and a woman. That must have been ... hard? I missed
the first flight of a friend's dragon; he told me that she missed him,
but if /he/ missed /me/... Stars above. Can't flights be simple?"

Sharath> Sharath curls close and closer yet; wings overlap to share
warmth. He nibbles at her upper neckridges with patient, loving
attention to detail, and his tail tip-taps rhythms against hers.

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath drowses within the light and the
warmth. It's all good. << Fair deal, >> he confirms. << Will we fly
again? I want to fly you again. >>

"Me and a woman," Kassi confirms. "For the first three of Lysseth's
flights, all. Sadistic beast that she was. 'Twas... nay easy t'deal
with. That's nay the sort of pairing I prefer." A shake of her head
and a rueful smile answer the next query, though she vocalizes,
too. "Never that I've seen. Though I suppose there are exceptions."

Sharath> Lysseth's contented rumble is very near to a purr, and she
twists her head as much as she can to nuzzle him with affection. A
fine night, a fine flight, and a fine male to share it all with. Life
is good.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth answers in an amused, dreamy haze
of purples and golds, << We may. I do not know. I believe my rider
would do something drastic to me if I flew again before the time, so
it will not be soon. >>

E'vrin bites his lip on silence for the space of a few
heartbeats. "...I'll have to get used to it. They lecture and warn
during weyrling training, but it's like Fall: you have to /do/
it. --Flights, I mean," he adds, blushing anew, "not ... /that./
This. But it's a part of my life now, so I have to accept it. Right?
The way you did."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's tenor stretches down recently
slackened but still fiery channels of desire. Flame shivers as if in
the wake of slow-exhaled breath that spreads shadow through the purple
and gold. << I can wait. I'll have you again. Other greens, too. >>

Sharath> Sharath exhales a long sigh through the green neckridges, and
he drifts towards sleep, slack in the loosely winged embrace.

Kassima reminds with rueful humor, "I did warn you. Nay matter how
they try, *this* is what they can't prepare you for." A low sigh
escapes her. "I think... well, 'twould be best. Regardless of how
riders feel, is it right t'want t'take away that--flying--from the
dragons? They enjoy it, and... there are so few compensations for
them, for Fall. Or so I sometimes think."

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth allows the colors to mingle into a
warm, heartbeat-pulsing glow that is all colors and none at once. <<
We shall see, >> is her response, faint and breathy; she is near to
sleep. << I am never easy to catch. >>

"They don't remember, though," E'vrin rejoins softly. "We remember. If
our memories are not good, then we should not strap them down with
them, whether the memories be of Fall or flight."

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath manages a spark against the dying
of the light. << I learn fast, and I /am/ fast. As you know. >> Then
humor, affection, and lust all fade into night.

Kassima asks with a touch of surprise, "Don't they? Lyss
remembers. Sometimes. Nay always, but... some." Another pause. "But
if'n the memories are negative, then 'tis best t'never remind them,
and hope that they fade. Most do, for them."

E'vrin's voice sinks even lower, as does his propped torso, towards
supine and towards sadness. "Sharath doesn't remember. He tells me so,
and asks why he doesn't. I don't have anything to tell him except what
you say: that it's good not to remember negative memories. And he says
-- he says that our lives are not all negativity and he wants to
remember the light, even if it means remembering the dark." His tone
trembles. "What I have done to him..."

Kassima lowers herself also, easing back onto that elbow. "You haven't
done aught t'him that he'll nay forgive you for," she replies at once,
"and love you still, nay less than ever. Dragons always love, even
when you're hopelessly unloveable." A self-directed jest, by the
sound. "Still. He does nay remember. D'you... d'you share memories
with him? Thoughts? Mindspace? Apart from in conversation?"

E'vrin falls the rest of the way back in an ecstasy of dumb
despair. "I don't /know./ How would I know? They didn't teach us
that." His breath runs ragged, stills. "I don't think I ever wanted to
Impress. I just wanted out of the Hall and my past, and Sharath, in
the abstract, meant that. I'm not very good at dealing with the
concrete, it seems."

Kassima lays her head on a pillow, still watching... but not
touching. "Probably felt they didn't have to. 'Tis usually
standard. But sometimes, 'tis nay--with Impressions later in life,
especially. Easy to adjust when you're fifteen, though there are down
sides; beyond childhood, though...." Another shrug. "Can you deny that
you love Sharath? Or he, you?"

"I had twenty-one, almost twenty-two Turns when I Impressed," E'vrin
helpfully volunteers. His head rolls to her, and there's enough
ambient light, perhaps, to catch on the moistness of his eyes. "As for
the rest -- I love him, but I resent it. Very much. I had no choice. I
don't hold his love for me against him, though, /because/ he has no
choice. He's a dragon; it's who they are."

Kassima reaches almost involuntarioy to brush away the tears, but
pauses, not quite touching. Not wanting him to flinch away again,
perhaps. "We have nay choice," she agrees simply. "Nay in what form
our lifemate will take--color, gender; nay in what they'll be like,
mirror or foil... but then, y'know, think of it from the dragon's
perspective. They don't have any choice in whom we are, either. And
if'n the right person's nay there for *them*... they die. Mayhaps 'tis
that 'twas very young, but I still can't resent aught that lets
Lysseth live."

E'vrin sighs. "You're right," he says in a little voice. "I can live
without Sharath, but he can't decide to leave me for someone
else. That's the price of having no choice, isn't it?"

"Precisely," is Kassi's somber reply. "They have even less choice than
we do. Personally, I haven't the faintest idea why Lysseth chose *me*
rather than any of the others, but I don't regret it. Can't, when I
think of what might've happened if'n I'd refused Chaeth's Search." A
helpless chuckle escapes her. "Besides, I have a feeling I wouldn't be
suited to a life without fighting. We mightn't have a choice in the
pairing, but what we make of it, how we treat it... that's where
choices come in."

E'vrin curls on his side. Towards her. "Do you like fighting?"

Kassima seems to take this as a cue to gently brush at the wetness
near his eyes, a light feather-touch, and hesitant. "I love it," she
confesses, quite frankly. "I'm Guard-stock
anyway. Weapons-trained. There's something exhilerating about flying
Fall--about *any* kind of challenge, really. Ask me again after Lyss
or I finally get 'scored someday; I may have a different answer for
you." Tilting her head, she wonders, "And you?"

E'vrin's eyes close; lashes brush her fingers. "Hate it. But, again,
Sharath loves it, it's what he's born to do, so I swallow my
resentment there, too. I should /not/ have Impressed, Kassi, don't you
think?"

Kassima replies, leaving her hand be for the nonce, "I don't
think. Dragons don't err... nay in that. I wasn't the only one who
thought Lysseth and I were a nonsensical match, but--sometimes,
y'know, even most of the time, they're nay supposed t'be just like
us. They're supposed t'be what we're nay, and need t'be... and we
them, d'you see? You may nay love fighting, but when you have those
children of yours, can't you imagine wanting t'protect them?"

E'vrin's eyes fly open. "Children. You aren't--"

Kassima asks with mild surprise, but reasonably enough, "How would I
know? A bit early t'be telling such, wouldn't you say?"

You say "I thought there was some herb you took to prevent it." He
hitches up on an elbow, and his intent peering is nearly tangible. "I
don't mean to dissuade -- it isn't a bad thing -- but it's your
choice. I just didn't think of it, before..."

Kassima shakes her head, pointing out with a wry smile, "Most of the
time, there's nay need. I don't tend t'dally outside of flights." Not
your average greenrider, indeed. "And when Lyss is glowing, I'm lucky
if'n I can recall m'own *name*. But you shouldn't worry too
much. 'Tisn't that probable."

E'vrin presses anxiously, "You're sure? Well, you can always -- mm --
abort, I suppose. Yet another thing to worry about with
flights. Sorry."

Kassima admits, not one to lie, "I'm nay *sure*. Never that. But I've
had plenty of flights without conceiving. Nay need to apologize in any
event." Turning her head to face him squarely, she further admits,
"If'n 'twere, though, 'twould nay want to abort. It's hard t'be a
mother and seriously consider such things."

E'vrin ventures, "I didn't mean to offend you. I thought that's what
women did with unwanted pregnancies. A green rider in my wing, Yllane,
has done it once already; she doesn't treat it very seriously, I
think."

Kassima snorts faintly. "You didn't offend. And aye, 'tis what many
women do. I believe in fate, though; if'n it happens, then 'twould
have it, and if'n nay, 'twould nay grieve or aught." Another snort,
this one amused. "'Twould be fit repayment for all of m'Wingriders
who're obsessed with proving we're the most prolific Wing on the
planet. But really, we're discussing something that'll probably never
be an issue."

"Then we'll stop discussing it." E'vrin peers at her again; there's a
vulnerable gap underneath his level tone. "What /should/ we discuss?"

Kassima asks, curious, "Well, what d'you *want* t'discuss?"

E'vrin shrugs and sinks back into the warm nest of blankets, snug on
his back to stare at the ceiling. "I don't know. What is there? Pick
something. Or nothing," he adds shyly. "You said ... didn't have to
talk?"

Kassima agrees, softly, "Don't have t'talk. Can talk, or sleep,
or... whatever. Your choice."

E'vrin turns his head, and slowly, carefully, his hand finds hers
under the blanket, all tensile muscle and calloused fingerpads. "You
mentioned something earlier.... Oh, this is /so/ embarrassing. Why is
it embarrassing?"

Kassima just smiles and laces her fingers through his. "Because you've
never asked a'fore? But aye, I did mention something. And I'd be
amiable to that something if'n 'twould be."

E'vrin frets, "I /shouldn't/ be embarrassed. It's the hold childhood,
isn't it? I /was/ born in a sharding Weyr, after all. The blood just
can't mask the rearing."

"Well, I'm Holdborn, but I've been in a Weyr for almost half m'life,"
Kassima replies thoughtfully. "Yet I'd still find it difficult to
ask." And not that easy to offer, though she doesn't say
so. "Environment conquers heredity, in this case."

E'vrin's breaths sough quietly. "If you say so. And--" his head turns
to her again; voice rises "--and if you could just show me /how,/
without the dragons doing it all for us..."

Kassima's smile widens, and she nods, slipping her free hand around
his neck. "Always pleased t'be of service," she replies with a touch
of impishness, before drawing close enough to plant a kiss on him.

E'vrin does not freeze up this time; instead, he pulls closer yet, as
if to ward off a terrible chill, and body to body, mouth to mouth, he
shyly lets that planted seed grow between them in the warm and
friendly dark.

[Fade to black (again).  Log ends.]