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Information Exchange


Date:  December 5, 2004
Place:  High Reaches Weyr's Hatching Galleries
Game:  PernMUSH
Copyright Info:  The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey 
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.

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Kassi's Note:  Some time after the clutching has concluded, Kassi's 
still lurking in the galleries, probably with the intent to meet up
with Vel for dinner later.  But before that hour, she has the chance
to make the acquaintance of a Southern traveler.

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The Log:

Dharien meanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.

Sitting off to one side of the Galleries, Kassima is in a huddle of sorts
with several dark-haired figures, all of them children. Their voices aren't
particularly pitched to carry, but the occasional overheard snippet might
suggest marks and wagers are being discussed.

The sound of heavy boots precede the entrance of a young man, knotless,
with a pack on his back, he pauses, looks around the galleries and, eyeing
the children and the greenrider, ventures further in, crossing his arms,
and looking out to the sands.

"If he thinks that egg has a *bronze* in it--" The conversation of the
group is more audible, further in; it's currently the fifteen-Turn-old girl
talking, and her tone is gleeful. "There's no way! It isn't big enough!
Maybe I'll even out-win you this time, Mum." Kassima gives an amused snort
and reaches to tug on a lock of the girl's wavy hair. "All things are
possible. Look after the lads for me for a minute, aye? I want t'stretch
m'legs. Been sitting for *hours*." With Kisai's assent, she stands,
stretches, and ambles closer to the edge of the Galleries herself; she too
surveys the eggs, her expression satisfied, and seems not yet to notice
they have company.

Dharien ventures a little closer, himself. His arms remain folded, and his
eyes fix on the eggs, but when he's close enough to Kassima, he inclines
his head to the greenrider and says, "This is High Reaches Weyr, is it not?
But that is a Telgar Weyr knot you wear."

Kassima's head turns towards the newcomer quickly enough to suggest some
surprise, but it passes quickly; after a quick once-over, she nods to him
in amiable return. "'Tis the 'Reaches, aye, but these eggs--" She nods now
towards the Grounds. "Have just been clutched. Finished up mayhaps half an
hour ago. 'Twas here t'watch the spectacle and tease V'lano mercilessly...
'tis his bronze out there, who sired them. I gather from your question
you're nay from around here?"

Dharien's glance returns to the eggs. "Indeed," he says. His eyebrow
quirks, but he does not follow up the egg conversation, just watches them
closely as though he were examining them for some post-clutched
characteristic. "I am from the Southern continent, and you bear a
wingleader's knot. Greetings then, Telgar Wingleader."

Kassima's brows both lift at this. She inclines her head again, however, in
acknowledgment: "I do. Kassima, green Lysseth's rider and Thunderbolt
Wingleader at Telgar," with a gesture to indicate herself, as if she might
have been speaking of someone else. "Duties t'the South, then; and
specifically t'whichever part of it you're from, and her people."

Dharien turns to bow his head, "And Southern Dale's duties to Telgar and
her queens, wingleader," he responds. "It is an honour to make our
acquaintance, Kassima, Lysseth's rider."

"You're a fairly formal sort." This isn't a complaint on Kassi's part; its
tone is merely that of observation, with perhaps a faint note of curiosity.
"Indeed, though, an honor 'tis. Would it be nosy of me t'ask what brings
you from the South to the Frozen Wastes of High Reaches? If'n you didn't,"
and here another nod is tendered those eggs, "come for the clutching."

"I heard that Lhiannonth, lifemate to Josilina of High Reaches was due to
clutch," Dharien agrees, looking out to the eggs, his face expressionless.
"I have been working in Nerat for some time, but my duties there were done
with, and I have not seen a clutching before. It appears I was too slow
after all." He turns and offers Kassima a slight smile, "I hardly think it
is possible for a rider to be nosy," he says. "A wingleader such as
yourself must be aware of much that we holders may remain ignorant of."

Kassima's sigh holds a touch of regret, a moment before she confirms,
"Truth. Josilina's said she's done--at sixteen eggs, it went by fast. A
good clutch, 'tis, for the Interval. You're free t'sit if'n you want to."
That comes as afterthought. "Nay that I can play host at a Weyr nay mine,
but 'tis the way of Galleries that anyone is generally welcome." She's
evidently stretched her legs sufficiently since she suits deed to words,
sinking onto a bench and crossing her legs at the knee. "You might be
surprised. We're as guilty of that trait as anyone. And while there's truth
in what you say, 'tis also true in reverse; you know many things, 'twould
warrant, that I don't know... although I, too, am originally from a Hold."

Dharien inclines his head towards Kassima again, "And yet," he responds,
"It would be presumptuous of me to take offence at your curiousity. Perhaps
you would consent to speak of your home?" As instructed, he seats himself
near Kassima, and directs his full attention to the greenrider. "I would
very much like to hear it."

"Nay really. You've a right t'privacy too," Kassima points out, "as far as
I'm concerned; you needn't answer any question you don't wish. Which home?
I've had several." Her mouth curves in a wry grin. "Greystones Hold, Benden
Weyr, and now I live and work at Telgar. One could make an argument of
sorts for Ruatha, though I never officially resided there. 'Twill tell you
whatever you want t'know about any of them, as best I'm able."

"I would be pleased to hear anything you wish to tell me," Dharien says.
"Since journeying from Southern, I have only spent time in Nerat, and am
unfamiliar with all but the most basic information about all of those
places. I am not so well travelled as you."

Kassima makes a face that commingles amusement with self-depreciation.
"Easy enough t'be traveling when one always has the means at ready,
assuming said means feels up to it and isn't wanting t'stay put just t'be
contrary. Well, then. Greystones isn't so far from Nerat--a ways north, so
that we don't have the same tropical climate, but the warmth is certes
naught t'sneeze at. I barely knew snow a'fore I came t'Benden. We
specialize in the granite, a'course; the finest kind, found only
there--m'grandsire was a stonemason in the quarries. M'uncle still is. Da
has a small Holding, which is where most of m'family is... stop me whenever
I bore you. Are you looking t'stay up North a time; is that why you're
interested?"

Dharien gives his full attention to the greenrider. His expression hardly
changes, but he nods and smiles from time to time, particularly when she
speaks of her lifemate. "I may spend some time here," he says. "It will
depend on if anyone wishes to avail themselves of my services. I am here
simply because I have not been here before; my duties in Nerat were
completed, and it seemed a logical decision. Your family are miners then?"

"Can't speak for High Reaches," says Kassima, nodding, "but if'n they're
like Telgar, they'll welcome you so long as you're willing t'work. What's
the nature of your services? Weyrs can use almost every sort of hand, truth
be known--oh, nay." Her demurring headshake causes her forelock to tumble
into her eyes. She rakes it back, mutters, "I really should trim that--nay;
say rather that m'family has Miners in it. We're Holders foremost, but
we've at least one member in almost every Craft. May *be* every Craft at
this point; 'twould nay be surprised. We're a prolific lot." Green eyes
flick towards that cluster of dark-haired younglings who still chatter
among themselves. "As I can be attesting. So, Holders and Crafters of all
kinds, with the rare Weyr exception."

Dharien now glances up, and runs that dispassionate gaze over the children.
"Those are yours?" he asks, his eyebrow quirking once again.
"Congratulations. I had heard riders bore many children. Yours do you
honour." His stillness is almost unnatural, as if he were capable of
holding such a position for long periods of time. "I break runners," he
says. "I have yet to ascertain if High Reaches keeps a stable, but if they
do not, I will avail myself of those tasks which they are pleased to
provide me. I will not avail myself of their hospitality without adequate
recompense. You have very long hair."

Kassima's chin dips in acknowledgment, confirmation. "My three youngest.
Kisai, Kaswyn, Kaisan. As yet they do me more *trouble* than honor," and
there's a note of humor there, "but their elder siblings sometimes manage
t'make up for it. Thankee, regardless." Her expression has never lost its
general amiability, and doesn't now, but her eyes flick towards him
regardless of how her face is turned--curious; studying. "I must confess
ignorance as t'that matter m'self. It may be they do. Telgar does, though
'tis a smaller stable than a Hold might keep--we haven't as much use, and
Weyrs a'course don't breed racers. Certes though there are plenty of jobs
available, and the moreso with Candidates coming." Her long, slim fingers
automatically touch her braid, which hangs over one shoulder. "Impractical,
I know. But I've worn it long since there was enough of it t'be called
long. 'Twouldn't feel quite m'self without it."

With a small smile, Dharien acknowledges, "Identity arises from many
sources. How many children do you have, Kassima, rider of Lysseth?" He
pauses as if pondering her answer, and then says, "It matters little if the
runners are bred for work, for leisure, or for racing. I am honoured to
work with them all."

Kassima laughs under her breath. "Indeed. Some of which we choose, and some
of which we might nay have chosen if'n choice had been given. I have as
m'greatest wealth, save Lysseth, eight children--" She pauses. "I'm sorry;
I don't believe I've gotten your name? Understood. Those who work with
runners do often seem devoted to them. The places that breed racers often
seem t'have vaster stables; 'tis all I meant."

"I am called Dharien," the young man says. "Dharien from Southern Dale,"
although he said that too. "You are correct, and if it were my aim to find
a large stable, I would journey to Ruatha, however," he smiles and says, "I
have yet to experience a Weyr, so if High Reaches provides me a position, I
shall be pleased to accept it."

"Well met t'you, then, Dharien of Southern Dale." Kassima inclines her head
to him, a gesture of further and cordial acknowledgment. "Point made and
taken. Ruatha or Bitra might offer you the stable, but Weyrlife is...
different, I can safely say, from the experience either could provide. I
rather like it--but nay surprise there. Are you very familiar with dragons?"

"A fortunate occurrence," Dharien says, "As one is your home. I have yet to
truly make the acquaintance of a dragon - Fendarth, lifemate of D'trim was
kind enough to bear me from Southern to Nerat, however, he did not choose
to remain long. Perhaps you would consent to tell me of your lifemate?"

Kassima agrees, "True, though likely nay coincidence. If'n 'tweren't of a
nature t'enjoy Weyrlife--which doesn't quite mean, I should note, what some
outside of Weyrs believe it does--I doubt a dragon would have chosen me.
I'm afraid I'm nay familiar with D'trim; if'n he's like the one Southern
rider I do know...." She laughs, and makes an amused face. "His blood
probably froze in his veins here for all that 'tis the summer. 'Twill
always speak gladly of Lysseth. What would you know?"

Some amusement touches Dharien's expression. "I would not repeat his words,
but he did refer to parts of his body being frozen." He pauses once again,
he seems the type to choose his words carefully. "I had not considered that
possibility," he admits. "The ways of dragons are unknown to me. It is hard
to say exactly what I wish you to tell me, as my knowledge of dragons is
not extensive enough to permit intelligent questioning, but perhaps you
would honour me by explaining how you came to meet your lifemate, and what
sort of experience it was for you?"

"I can guess," Kassima drawls, dry amusement threading through her voice,
"the nature and approximate position of those parts." She's seated on a
bench in the galleries not far from Dharien, with whom she would appear to
be conversing. "Every now and again there's a rider who seems fundamentally
unhappy with Weyrlife, but... 'tis the rare anomaly, and those I've seen
have generally left other riders bemused. 'Twill certes grant that the
subject is broad." Broad enough that it takes her a moment of thought
before she chooses a place to begin her answer: "'Twas Searched from Ruatha
by Jazmin's brown Chaeth while 'twas staying there, which was an experience
in and of itself--Chaeth bespoke me, which a'course nay other dragon had
done. 'Twas leaving the Hold within minutes t'go t'Benden Weyr. Methinks
what Candidacy's like differs a bit depending on your age; 'twas very
young, m'self, so I mostly enjoyed it, and made nay end of a fool out of
m'self mooning over all the dragons. 'Twas a Candidate for some months. We
got set t'every sort of Weyr chore, y'ken, and a few oddball tasks here and
there; m'group ended up sent t'Minecraft t'help clear a blocked mine at one
point, though that was an anomaly."

Dharien is a good listener, he makes no move to interrupt Kassima as she
speaks, and if he can be faulted, it's mainly in his lack of physical
reaction. He simply nods and smiles his small smile at appropriate times.
"That does indeed sound like an interesting experience," he says. "One that
will be repeated here, if my harper lessons are accurate."

Kassima may find that curious; she pays as much attention to him, as she
speaks, as he to her, but to judge by the lack of question thus far, it's
the sort of curiosity she's not inclined to voice. "Exactly so. With the
eggs on the Sands, the Search dragons will begin bringing the people in, or
tapping them for the honor if'n they live here already. The stars know whom
they'll choose. One can guess, but never be certain in advance... but
t'complete the telling of the experience: we'd egg-touchings, too, which
were likely m'favorite part of it. 'Twill be a long 'time a'fore these eggs
were ready for that. I'd made several friends by the time they
Hatched--that tends t'be the case, with Candidate groups--but t'be honest,
the ones I kept most in touch with were a'course those who Impressed as
well. What 'twas like t'be found by Lysseth...." A long pause, followed at
last by a sigh. "Words can't really describe. Startling. Unexpected.
Life-altering. One is reborn when one Impresses, really."

"Reborn?" Dharien leaves that hanging, as though the greenrider might fill
the gaps in for him. "Has finding a lifemate in Lysseth changed you then?"
his attention doesn't waver, but the intensity of his gaze falls short of
intrusive.

Kassima picks her words carefully, less with the air of one trying to hide
something than with that of one who's truly at a loss for how to express
it. "All the world is made new again. Your life a'fore your dragon becomes
a half-life, a shadow. I *remember* being a Holder, but m'memories of that,
compared t'my memories of everything since Impression, are... I don't know.
Dusty. Incomplete. Which is strange, because a'course I never thought of
m'self as only half of what I should be until I met the other half." Her
shoulders hitch in a helpless shrug, and her hands spread, palm up, to
indicate a lack of words. "Aye, it changed me considerably. Some of that's
her doing, intentionally or unintentionally; some of it's just a
side-effect of being a rider, period. Has learning and coming t'work with
the runners changed you at all?"

"Indeed," Dharien looks thoughtful. "I do not imagine myself incomplete
either. Does such a thing happen to all riders?" As for her question, he
offers Kassima a small smile, "Breaking runners is as much of what I am, as
your hair is part of you. I do not believe my life was insufficient before
I learnt that trade, however."

"I don't know. Methinks everyone might describe it a bit differently. And
'twas young," Kassima readily admits, "and how much of m'personal change
was due as much t'maturity as t'Impression, I couldn't hazard a guess. I
doubt I'd have grown up t'be quite the same person in a Hold,
though--everything else aside." She flicks him a smile then. "'Tis
fortunate you are t'have a calling that speaks t'you so clearly. Aye, aye,
that's nay quite what I meant--more that having a vocation, becoming
skilled at something, can give one greater confidence; alter how they think
of and carry themselves. 'Tis nay so?"

"Perhaps who I am shaped what I do rather than the other way around,"
Dharien suggests. "And necessity of course. My family had need of someone
who could tame runners, and I was the natural choice. I was perhaps
fortunate that the runners chose to trust me, just as I felt an affinity
with them."

Kassima agrees at once, "That'd make as much sense, aye. And is likely true
for some riders as well, come t'think on it. Are runners your family's
stock-in-trade?" She tilts her head to one side, inquisitive. "Have you
been breaking them very long? I know nay so very much about runners, all
things considered; one of the few runners I've ridden was unbroken, and he
was... mmm... rather difficult. Do all runners favor you?"

"My family breeds runners in a small way," Dharien acknowledges. "Mostly
for work and transportation, but it was necessary one of us could handle
them. The breaking also provided us with extra income. I've been doing it
ever since I was strong enough to hold a lead-rope. I've never met a runner
which I was unable to tame."

"Extra income always being much t'be desired," Kassima agrees, slightly
amused. "One of m'Crafter cousins, a cousin-by-marriage, is a Herder who
specializes in the breeding of runners. She'd probably understand the
allure of 'em more than I do. Had you ever considered going into the
Beastcraft yourself?"

Dharien smiles in that detatched way he has. "I was needed at the hold,
there was no time to apprentice. If I apprenticed now, I would not be given
the responsibilities I enjoy. Your cousin-by-marriage must count herself
lucky, Kassima, Lysseth's rider."

"But are needed at the Hold nay longer?" Kassima lifts a brow in further,
wordless invitation for clarification, should he choose. "There's a truth
in that. Some might argue that the extra learning could be worth it... but
I don't know that I'm the one t'do it. I never made it to a Crafthall,
m'self, and what 'tis truly like t'Apprentice is one of the things of which
I am nay aware. Methinks though that she does. She might sooner be in a
Hold that focused rather more on runners than Greystones does; but her
husband is there, and her children, and I believe she would nay trade."

Dharien doesn't answer Kassima's question, unless a smaller smile than the
others, and a glance over to the newly laid eggs might be considered a real
answer. "Which craft would you have chosen, Kassima of Telgar?"

If Kassima finds enlightenment in it, such is not readily apparent; yet she
nods, a pleasant enough acknowledgment, and moves on to the other subject.
"I do nay know. There were three paths I had in mind at the time of
m'Search. One, t'be a Guard; two, t'be a Baker; three, t'be a Harper, and
which I might have taken if'n Chaeth and Lysseth hadn't rendered the matter
moot.... I do think in retrospect I might have liked t'be a Harper. But
each choice had its own call."

"They are diverse paths," Dharien says. "You are fortunate to have such
widespread talents. Every calling has its place." He glances over to the
children again, as if weighing them up.

Kassima's nod this time is one of gratitude. "Thankee. I suspect many
people have more talents than they realize, really. One of the fortunes in
m'life has been having the opportunity t'explore several paths, and find
where some of m'strengths lie. As well as where they don't." Her eyes
follow his; sudden amusement lightens their dark green shade. "I've
discussed enrolling Kisai as a student with Masterharper Rodric," she
murmurs, "but the lads are only six and four; too young. Of the others, one
is a rider, one is an artist, one m'secretary of sorts, and two yet
undecided. Diverse indeed."

"Indeed," Dharien says. "I hope they all are as fortunate as you, and have
as many opportunities." He stands and bows his head to her again. "As
fortunate as I was to make your acquaintance, Lysseth's rider. I shall look
forward to our next encounter." He gives no more explanation than that for
his departure, although his last glance is to the eggs that sit on the sand.

Dharien walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the
entrance to the bowl.