Mayte
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[ Ryslen Weyr ]

Six Turns later...

Thank Faranth for small mercies, Meria thought. She had been given little respite from the labor of a drudge, time which many would have needed to care for a newborn infant. However, even as a babe-in-arms, Mayte had been an obedient and quiet child. Although not even Lady Heraina could have in conscience put the child to work, Mayte was well able to care for herself.

She sat outside the kitchens, knowing that her mother would soon emerge from them to server the Holders their evening meal. Over in the opposite end of the hall, a journeyman Harper instructed several of the more highly bred children in the Teaching sagas. Once, he had invited Mayte to join his pupils. But Heraina frowned upon the drudges being educated. Nevertheless, Mayte, always an outsider hanging on the edge, had learned many of the ballads.

Today, they practiced 'Moreta's Ride', childish voices endeavoring to sing the haunting, anguished melody yet obviously uncomprehending of the story that the words told. Mayte, alone in her dusty corner, caught a glimpse of the emotion that the composer had attempted to capture. Moved by the legend, the child removed a soft, white rock from her faded smock. She did not know its name, only that, using it, she could draw dusty-white pictures on the cool dark stones that paved the Hold. Now, entranced and inspired by the music, she began to sketch the first thing that came to mind - Moreta's great queen.

But, never having seen a dragon, she found it difficult to capture the great Orlith. Slightly annoyed, she brushed her sketch away, and, glancing occasionally up, began to draw one of the many firelizards that populated Lyndol.

So absorbed in her work was Mayte that she hardly noticed when the Harper let the children out for the afternoon. Her peaceful time was rudely interrupted as one of the children ran right through her work.

Angry, Mayte looked up. Her persecutor was tall for her six Turns, hair falling almost to her waist. Her eyes were contemptuous. "Playing in the dust, drudge? Too good for you. You should be working."

Amrihalla. Mayte bit back her angry retort; if she insulted the Holder's daughter, she and her mother might be exiled from Lyndol. With Heraina as Lady, things had changed greatly. But from a child no older than herself...

"You can't order me around, Amri! My mother said you won't be Lady Holder for a long time, if ever."

Amrihalla spit angrily onto the dusty remains of the chalk flit, eradicating the last lines. "So what! I'll always be better than you! And your mother, too! I'm better than all of you, stupid drudges!" She stamped off, and Mayte got sadly up.
 

"Oh, Mayte, sweet, I'm sorry." Meria held her daughter tightly. "I'm sorry any of this ever had to happen to you. But don't listen to her, My."

Returning to her mother's comforts had helped Mayte; now, at nighttime, she was not angry any longer. But she was still puzzled. "Why, Mother? Isn't Amri right? We're drudges. The lowest of the low."

Meria shook her head fiercely. "Of course not. We're better than Amrihalla and her mother. The Holder... he was a just man, before he met Heraina. But we know how to respect others, and that makes us much richer than they." She looked seriously at her daughter. "Besides, My, you aren't really a drudge."

Mayte stared at her mother, eyes wide. "I'm not? Why not?"

Meria sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you. You might be too young. But you need to know. You were born as Heraina and Jendantian's daughter, but your mother could not accept you because of your looks." She tipped the child's head to look at her. Her eyes were the same silver-grey they had been at birth, and Meria suspected that there was something odd about them. Maybe in the way that her child could not seem to distinguish colors. Her skin was still fair; in all her years, it had not tanned. Her hair, falling in a rumpled mass a little past her shoulders, was, if anything, darker. Not a pretty child, but special.

She continued, "I had had a child only days before your birth. A little girl, with golden hair. Envious of my daughter and ashamed of you, the Lady Holder ordered that I give up my Maytere and take you. So, Mayte, you shouldn't be ashamed. You're the daughter of the Holders, and Amrihalla is really only my child."

A look of disbelief written on her face, Mayte watched her mother - no, Meria - silently. Finally, she asked, "So it is your daughter who is so cruel?"

Pained by this truth, Meria answered, "No, my Mayte. Ever since I got you, you and you only have been my child. Amrihalla matters no longer."

Another six Turns elapse...

"Meria!" Mayte ran in from the Hold grounds, where she had been gathering tubers. She found her foster mother in her usual place: Lyndol's kitchens.

Meria, surprised at her sedate child's excitement, looked up from the bubbly pies she was baking for dessert that night. "What is it, Mayte?"

"A dragonrider!" the girl gasped. "A dragon on the fireheights!"

"It isn't Maretadeth, is it?" Meria spoke of Lyndol's watchdragon, who had recently retired and come to stay at the MineHold with his rider.

"No, I'd recognize him anywhere. This dragon is a lot younger, and so is his rider. No more than weyrlings, I'd say."

Meria smiled. "Maybe he'll let you sketch his dragon." She was gratified to see her fosterling's eyes light up like glows suddenly turned on. Mayte had never lost her passion for artistry; in fact, although frowned on by the Lady Holder, her talent had increased. Now, she was excited by the prospect of a new subject.

"Do you really think so?"

Meria jerked her head towards the staircase. "Why don't you go check?"

Mayte needed no insistence. Beaming with excitement, she raced up the steps to greet the dragon.
 

When Mayte burst out onto the fireheights, she encountered not one man, but two standing by the weyrling. She paused for a moment, confused, then ran to meet them. "Hello, dragonrider. Who is with you?"

The rider smiled, but deferred to his passenger to answer. The older man also beamed down at Mayte. "I'm Mendarin, Journeyman at the Artist Hall. A'tyr and Juyath kindly brought me here to drop off the painting that the Lord Holder commissioned."

Mayte's eyes widened. "Really! Why, I'm an artist, too! Or... I try to be." She looked hopefully up at the Journeyman.

Mendarin smiled. "Since you're a fellow artist, then, would you like to see the painting?"

"Oh, yes!"

Smiling at the child's delighted response, he took a large package from the little dragon's back, unwrapped it, and handed it to Mayte, who gasped in delight.

Well she might, too, for the dragon queen had been meticulously depicts, and the waves almost appears to splash against the rocks. Reverently, she handed it back to Mendarin. "Xhorieth is beautiful."

Mendarin cocked an eyebrow. "You know her?"

Mayte smiled. "We're beholden to Abri Weyr, and Xhorieth is the senior queen there. I've seen Xhorieth and Weyrwoman Angeoria flying over the Hold after Threadfall. Angeoria is the Holder's cousin, you know."

The journeyman nodded. "Yes, that's why he commissioned a portrait of Xhorieth." He glanced toward A'tyr, who was tapping a foot somewhat impatiently. "I'll be ready to go in just a minute, A'tyr." Turning back to Mayte, he added, "Could I see what you can do?"

Nodding, Mayte produced a piece of chalky stone and began to sketch on a large flat floorstone. A minute or so later, she stepped back to let the artist observe her work. Mendarin, after taking in the sketch of the dragon who had brought him, whistled appreciatively. "I'd like to see what you could do with color." He paused, realizing to some embarrassment that he did not know the girl's name. "Would your parents object to you being apprenticed at the Artist Hall?"

Mayte watched him for a moment, a searching look on her face. Seconds later, the expression passed and a smile of childish delight replaced it, odd when coupled with the keen perception, usual for her age, that accompanied it. "No. My... mother is a drudge. She'd be glad for me to get out of here." If not so much as Heraina, she added silently. "Oh, and by the way, I'm Mayte."

Mendarin grinned. "Great, Mayte." They waited as A'tyr easily leapt onto his tiny bond's back, then Mayte, a little shaky, stepped onto the dragon's extended foreleg.

Another three Turns later...

Mayte looked up from her meal, at the dark dragon who flew overhead. It was a rest day, and, as usual, she had spent her morning up on the fireheights, painting. The view from this height was amazing; she could see far out across the broad fields, the ocean in the distance. And far away, Abri Weyr. Situated on a peninsula, but right now, at high tide, it appeared to be an island.

Speak of the Weyr... the dragon above her had circled, to land in the courtyard of the Artist Hall. Smiling with almost a childish pleasure, Mayte quickly stroked paint onto her canvas.  Dragonhide was soft... so perhaps a rich brown would do. Pale blue for the way light reflected from its opalescent eyes. Brown mixed with white and a small amount of blue for the fragile, translucent wings.

Upon her arrival at the Hall, Mayte had at first been confused by the need for paints. Why use 'colors' when charcoal could be used so expressively? But as she learned, she discovered why the Masters valued the colored dyes so much. If you knew the right color, you could give any object its normal texture.

At first, Mayte had not understood how to match the colors with real objects, and her work had attracted many odd glances, as well as admonitions for people with 'green' hair or scenes with 'orange' water. But gradually, she had learned to match each texture with its name. 'Blue' was a soft feeling, almost wet. It seemed natural to her now that the ocean should feel like its color. 'Green' was a flexible color, and could be rough or soothing to the touch depending on how it was used.  The dark colors were smooth, sometimes lightly textured, and she though she recalled Juyath's hide as being smooth and cool. The dragon's hide was also a deep grey; she knew that this meant that it would be a dark color to those who saw things in color. Sometimes she had still had difficulties; it was hard, trying to match an object with its proper feeling when all the darker greys looked so similar to her. She added a few more brush strokes, then, finally satisfied, sat back against the wall to watch the draconic newcomer.

D'ari of Abri nodded politely as the journeyman who was his escort at the Hall rambled on about its history. He'd been a rider too long to be anything but courteous with out-Weyr folk; his dragon was another story. So, Myth-mine. Tell me again, why do I have to go through this?

The blue's reply was completely serious, for once. You know why. I want us to have a painting of my children at their hatching. Zyth said that having pictures of important times was an ancient custom.

Yeah, well, what would you expect of Zekaela's bond? Anyway, I'm sure the ancients also had a much easier way of doing this.

This is easy. All you have to do is commission an artist to come back to Ryslen with us. That shouldn't be too hard - most people would love to see a hatching. And Aderynth's and my children deserve every honor. Besides, I think Aescha would like it.

The blue had won, and both knew it. Ever since the mating, rider and dragon had been doing everything in their power to win the affections of the long-winged teal-green and her bond. D'ari wasn't sure if Aderynth admired or was annoyed by his blue; he suspected a combination of the two. And Aescha was so similar. Perhaps a gift like this would bring favor.

Mind made up, D'ari placed a leather-gloved hand on his escort's arm. "Excuse me, Master. I'm sure the history of such an esteemed Crafthall must be fascinating, but my blue dislikes straying long from his clutch at the Weyr. Could you tell me where I could meet a good painter?"

The balding, proper artist hemmed and humphed at such a faintly veiled dismissal, but reluctantly told him. "Mayte, the girl on the fireheights, shows talent in sketching, but"

D'ari flashed the man a grin - "Thanks, see you later!" - and took off, mentally adding a comment to his dragon. Much later, if at all possible.

Myth, now satisfied, did not protest.

Mayte distinguished footsteps on the fireheights just moments before the man himself appeared. Golden hair rumpled from his hurried ascent, he still looked every inch the rider. Mayte's youthful respect for Pern's protectors had never vanished; now, she jumped to her feet, knocking over the paint jars in her excitement. Embarrassed to have made a fool of herself before the rider, she bent to clean up the spilled dyes.

And almost knocked heads with the rider, who had begun to quickly mop up the mess of mixing colors. He grinned up at her, a little amused at her consternation. "Thank you for the honor of your acquaintance, Mayte."

Mayte gaped, before recalling the manners that Meria had taught her. "The same to you, dragonrider."

He laughed, but with her, not at her. "Please, D'ari. And your master told me your name. He also told me that you're quite the artist... And you've obviously well brought up. Tell me, would you like to have a commission at the Weyr?"

"The Weyr?"

"Yes. I'd like to have a painting of the hatching of the clutch that my dragon sired. You'd be paid at least two marks."

Two marks, just for the work of an apprentice? More than she'd ever had in her lifetime... but then, children of drudges weren't likely to be paid. And now, she was being offered so much, to do what she loved best in the Weyr, near the dragons she so admired? She felt a pang of conscience - this was most unfair... to the rider.

"But... You'd take me to your Weyr, just like that? You haven't ever seen my work, and I'm only an apprentice..."

"Your honesty does you credit, Mayte." He carefully lifted the still-damp canvas, which, much to Mayte's relief, had not been damaged by the spilled paints. "And might I be correct in assuming that this is your work?"

Mayte nodded, hoping fervently that he approved. "Yes, but please be careful - it's still wet. I just painted it, when I first saw your dragon land."

A slight frown crossed his face. "But... Mayte, I don't ride brown."

No? But then... what else was so dark? And if he knew that she was color-blind, would he still take her to the Weyr? And yet, he had praised her for honesty... She had to tell him. "I'm sorry, D'ari. But I can't see colors. Usually, I can tell by the way things feel, but the dark greys are so much alike... I guess I can't go with you, now."

He was watching her with incredulity, and she wondered if she'd said something wrong. But, his reply sounded awed, instead of angry. "The way things feel... Mayte... are you telling me that you could identify the color of any object just by touching it?"

She shrugged, unwilling to see over-confident. "Usually. Sometimes I can't give quite the right name for a texture - the name that you associate with that shade of grey, whatever other way it looks to you. But I've been practicing for almost three Turns. I think I'm fairly accurate."

D'ari stared at her, elated. "Of course you're coming to Ryslen, Mayte. And if what you say is true, I may have a much more unusual use for your talents."

D'ari more than kept his promise. Mayte was welcomed warmly at the Weyr, especially when people learned of her odd ability. Everyone also seemed to want to test her incessantly, and while D'ari's complete faith in her was gratifying, she worried that she would make a mistake, in front of such a large audience.

So far, however, she had not. During her ride to Ryslen, Mayte had finally identified Myth's color - blue-black - to D'ari's glee. And now, it seemed, she was ready to face the final test...
 

"Angeoria wants me to find out if you can determine the color that an dragon's egg will hatch to be," D'ari told her one evening, as they walked down a glowlit hall. "If you can 'feel' such hidden colors as well, you would be a great asset to any Weyr you choose."

Mayte arched a speculative eyebrow, wondering if this was a veiled invitation to remain past the Hatching. "How would you know if I was right? Don't tell me your Myth could convince Aderynth not to touch her clutch again until the hatching..."

D'ari grinned. "Yes, I think such a feat is even beyond him. But there's a simpler way." He pushed open a small door, and both ducked into a warm, firelit room. On the hearth, several pans of sand lay, heated by the blaze. The bluerider chose one, and dusted away the top layer of sand to reveal some two dozen orbs.

All at once, Mayte understood. "You want me to tell you what color these eggs will hatch into?"

He nodded excitedly, eyes sparkling. "Exactly. Tiyanni told me that this clutch is expected to hatch within a candlemark. We shouldn't have long to wait. In the mean time... could you tell me which if any of these eggs holds a gold?"

She assented, gently running her hands over the shells. One, particularly large, made D'ari hold his breath, but it felt too sturdy, too rough to contain a golden captive. Finally, she stopped, cradling a medium sized egg in her palms. "This one."

He was obviously disappointed. "I don't know, Mayte. That can't be much larger than a brown's egg."

Mayte shrugged, still certain she was right. After all, anyone could guess at the color of an egg's inhabitant, if size was always reliable. Yet the egg she had chosen felt smooth, silky, almost regal.

"Golden!" D'ari breathed suddenly, gesturing down at the egg. A tiny nose had punched through the shell; while Mayte could not have visually distinguished it, it now felt so strongly gold that she had no further doubts. Smiling her victory, she removed the final shards the clung to the flit's body, and held it triumphantly out for D'ari's perusal.

Her action was done in good faith; therefore, Mayte was shocked when the little flit let out a piercing screech as D'ari tried to stroke her. Indeed, the gold hissed in protest and even snapped at the rider before clawing her way up Mayte's arm to nestle in the girl's dark hair. Shrugging ruefully, Mayte gave up.

"It looks as if you've found yourself a flit, Mayte," a quiet voice commented from the doorway. Mayte turned quickly, wincing as the alarmed hatchling's claws dug into her skin. D'ari also glanced at the woman who had appeared, but showed no signs of surprisement. "So, Min, was I right?"

Min... Minaeya! One of Ryslen's Searchriders, but... why? Mayte glanced between the two riders, wondering if everyone was in conspiracy against her. "Would someone tell me what's going on?"

Minaeya smiled, and placed a reassuring hand on Mayte's arm. "Did you know that I can see auras?"

"Auras?" What bearing did this have on her?

"Yes, ever since I was searched, I've been able to see a colored shadow around riders, or those who have potential to ride," the greenrider explained. "It's quite a useful gift, since I can tell which color any Candidate would do best on." She frowned slightly. "Not that all of them are happy with what I can tell them..."

"Anyway, D'ari told me that you have a similar talent, in reverse. As you just demonstrated, you can accurately determine what color flit an egg will hatch. I'm assuming you can also tell the color of the dragon's eggs?"

Mayte nodded assent, light suddenly dawning. "I don't see why not. So... you want me to stay even after I've finished my commission?"

"Of course, my dear Mayte. You could scarcely return to the Hall if you Impressed!" D'ari joked.

"Impressed?" She knew that she sounded slow, but she'd never dared to dream so high as Impression. If Meria, if Amrihalla knew...

"I can't think of a better way in which you could use your gift, My," Minaeya told her gently. "You do have an aura, quite a strong one. Would you like to know the color?"

Mayte glanced seriously up at the older rider. "Thanks, but no thanks, Minaeya. I don't want to be biased; I really can't ask for more than Impression, anyway. What would color matter to a color-blind rider?"

Mood lightening, she grinned, exultant in her new position. "Besides, I don't want to spend all my time worrying about colors. I still have your commission for Aderynth's Hatching to sketch and color, D'ari!"

"But if I stand, D'ari, how can I complete your painting?" This puzzling problem had only just occurred to Mayte. It had seemed so simple, before, but now that so many people were interested in her talent, now that the Weyr had changed her life...

D'ari placed a firm hand on her chin, forcing her silvery eyes to meet his green. "My, I know you're an artist - but you can be so much more! Don't worry about my request. You can do it afterwards, if you do not Impress. But if I never get it, I don't mind. The Weyr wants you - not your art. And if you Impress, I think you will go far."

Mayte smiled slowly. "Thanks, D'ari. Thanks for everything."

But when she looked up again, his gaze seemed vacant. Only for a moment, for he looked back at her, grinning broadly. "Go on, Mayte. Myth says that the clutch is hatching!"

Her eyes widened with surprise, and she dashed towards the Sands, closely followed by the other Candidates. The bluerider smiled, watching her, and finally went to join his bond and his weyrmate in the spectator stands.

Mayte followed the other hopefuls as they clustered around the eggs - or tried to. But there were so many people! Twenty other Candidates, and a green dragoness who lurked near the entrance to the hatching grounds. And more than two thirds of them would go to the feast unbonded...

She curiously brushed up against one of the eggs, and nodded slowly. The brief contact had confirmed her guess; at least one of the hatchlings, perhaps more, would have the distinctive coloring of Ryslen's Nights.

One of the larger eggs began to shake violently; moments later, a strong dragon pushed his way free. Blue? Brown? Mayte couldn't tell - the colors looked so similar. Maybe brown - the dark hatchling was large, revealing strong parentage. He strode determinedly towards Ryff, and must have greeted the young man, for he exclaimed aloud, "Wings and Flame, Redaelth! What we can do! Together with Lena and..."

Mayte followed his glance to Lena, but the girl simply shrugged. Perhaps she would bond later...

But Lena did not hold Mayte's attention for long, as another dragonet emerged. He surveyed the Candidates solemnly, then walkd majestically to Eric. His little red flit chattered excitedly - and aloud - as the two left the sands.

The third egg, of medium size, shuddered, but stopped abruptly only moments later. As the Candidates and spectators began to murmur - should someone help the hatchling? - the performance was repeated.

But this time, Mayte stepped impulsively forward. She held her palms above the creamy orb for a moment, wondering if it was presumptuous to touch the egg. But as it shook again, she gently stroked its surface.

And drew back abruptly, surprised. What color was so rich, so smooth? It was dark, but... how could she describe it? It reminded her of the flitter eggs, when she had chosen the gold out of all the others. But this was a deeper feeling, stronger. More perfect.

She dug short nails into the marble surface, pulling at almost invisible cracks. Her touch, although light and almost reverant, was enough; the shell shattered, and a black paw shoved the shards away. To My's surprise, she held not an egg, but a dragon hatchling.

Don't gape, Mayte, the dragoness reprimanded gently.

Obediantly, the artist closed her mouth, but continued to stroke the finely arched neck. Could she be wrong? Night purple?

As the hatchling revealed herself to the tense spectators, the awed murmurs confirmed Mayte's guess. "Purple?" "There hasn't been a purple since the Flurry hatching!" "Yes, but her parents hatched at the Healing Den..."

So she had been right! Purple had felt right... but she'd never imagined such a beauty, never thought that such a gorgeous dragon would hatch. She glanced around the stands, searching for D'ari and Minaeya. They would be so pleased that they had been right, that she could really determine the color of an unborn dragon...

Minaeya is grinning, the dragoness added helpfully. And you should be, too.

"Of course, Helindivioth," Mayte whispered. "You're the first purple Night, you know."

You said my color wouldn't matter.

"It doesn't, Helin', it doesn't," Mayte assured her, holding the little hatchling close. She could not see her bond, but could feel the essence of the color rushing through her. "You're beautiful, Helindivioth, but you could never be otherwise." She stared into the rapidly-changing eyes, and smiled. "But I know you're like the others, no matter what color you are. And normal hatchlings are - "

Hungry, Helindivioth laughed, amused yet serious in her statement. And even you need to eat - or they will never let you rest. They want us because of what you can do.

Mayte smiled but got to her feet. They're my friends, Helin'. They wouldn't do anything to hurt us. It felt so... right, a meeting of their minds as she spoke mentally for the first time.

She spotted Min and D'ari waiting at the entrance, and hurried after the Night purple, who had already started toward the kitchens. Actually... I guess I have to agree with your suggestion, if not with your reasoning.

Helindivioth chuckled softly. As long as you listen to me, I guess the reasons don't really matter.

Why must you do this, Mayte? I am hungry, and I would like to be oiled. D'ari said that you do not need to paint the Hatching for him.

Mayte laughed softly, and leaned up against the purple hatchling. You're always, hungry, dearheart. I think you've eaten more today than the adult dragons eat in a sevenday.

But they are not growing! And D'lrik said that it's important that we eat enough, so that we may become strong and healthy...

I know. I'll get some more meat for you - as soon as I'm done. Patience, Helin' - it won't take long. And do you know how long I had to wait for you?

You Impressed at your first Hatching. My Hatching, Helindivioth reminded her bond.

Yes. But I was an apprentice for several Turns, and a drudge before that.

You were the daughter of the Holder! the Night-shaded hatchling protested.

In blood alone. I never really met my parents. Mayte ran a pale hand along her bond's dark head, and held up her scene. I'm done, I think.

Helindivioth laid her head on her bond's shoulder, eager to see the painting. Why... we're in it!

Mayte laughed. Of course, Helin'. How could I leave you out?

I like it. The purple hatchling flared her wings, trying to look at herself. It looks just like me!

Beside the young artist, the golden flit stirred, awakened by the air from Helindivioth's wingsails. The dark dragoness turned her attention to the firelizard, for perhaps the first time. My, you never told me her name.

Mayte stared at her bond in surprise, before grinning embarrassedly. Oops. I never named her. Just after I chose her egg, Minaeya searched me, and then I found you...

She needs a name, Helin' announced decidedly. May I?

Certainly.

Then she is Spectrum.

Spectrum. Mayte smiled. I like it. She glanced towards her bonded, and suddenly began to grin. You know, Helindivioth, you can't have been very hungry. You've all but forgotten!

Helin's tone was agitated, but Mayte caught her eyes, whirling slowly with amusement. Forgotten? As if I was not really hungry? Why, Mayte, I should be offended.

Mayte laughed. But you won't be. Not my sweet Helin'. I know you too well - and so do you!

My-mine, I'd like to see your Hold. We've never been there. Sweet-tempered Helindivioth rarely argued, but she had never given up her conviction that her rider was rightfully the next Lady Holder. Even Mayte's assurance that she could not and indeed did not want to be dragonrider and Holder did little to diminuish the purple's sense of injustice.

But the night dragoness didn't ask for much, and Mayte didn't like to refuse her this. I... don't know, Helin'. Are we allowed to?

I don't see why not. I know you could give me coordinates; I can see it in your mind right now.

Well, yes... but we'd better ask first.

Helindivioth gave her bond a speculative look, before deciding that she could not get Mayte to agree to more. Ask D'ari, then. He and Myth are experts at betweening.

The young rider frowned slightly. Helin', you've heard about their escapades as much as anyone. They'd never refuse!

Perhaps. But they're also very interested in us, and in what we can do. D'ari wants us to fly with Abri, after I grow up. There's a lot of demand on what you can do, My, and they'd never risk us.

Smiling despite herself, Mayte nodded assent. Fine, Helin'. You win. Ask Myth.

I already have. D'ari will help us, but we cannot go just now.

You don't mind?

Of course not. I trust them.

Mayte found this piece of draconic logic somewhat questionable, but Helindivioth was happy. How could she herself be otherwise?

Moreta and Orlith are © to Anne McCaffery
Mayte (MI-tie) 's flit sketch was drawn by me, and is a greyscale version of Abri's dragons.
Xhorieth's picture came from Ryslen Weyr, but the background scene was made by me.
Mayte's golden flit is also from Ryslen.
Myth's portrait was drawn by Kim of Cathair Fionabhainn, and colored by me. This type of dragon may be adopted at Morning Star Weyr, and possibly Abri Weyr.