“Berries here, berries there, berries everywhere...gah!” Farani muttered to herself, staring around at the fruit-laden branches of her own orchard. If one could call five trees an orchard. The sweet, slightly rancid smell of ripe (and overripe) berries drifted on the wind, as all the holds of Two River rushed to harvest their bounty. Every year, Farani would pick her trees bare to bake her special cherry bubblies, and sell them at the annual Gather. Bubbly pies always went, well, like hotcakes, at a Gather.

That thought recalled her to her task. She picked up the stack of baskets by her side and began placing them in tight circles around the base of the nearest cherry tree. There were just enough of them to make five rings, which reached the border of the overhanging branches. Farani grinned, stepping over the hand-woven containers carefully and bracing herself against the rough tree-trunk. This was her favorite part of berry season.

She grasped the limbs firmly with both dark-tanned hands and shook them. A veritable shower of dark red berries came raining down, the majority of them landing in the carefully padded baskets. A few dropped on the ground on the fringes, which Farani carefully picked up after she’d shaken all the ripe fruit out. The young cotholder then poured all of the cherries into five full baskets.

This was enough to keep her busy for today; if she had judged the sun correctly, there would be just enough time to collect another round of berries for tomorrow—after she had finished baking the first batch of pastries, of course. She would have a small kitchen all to herself, as her father had built his Bakercraft daughter a little extension room that included an oven and everything she could need for making bubbly pies.

Farani heaved up two of the baskets and managed to make her way through the main kitchen without spilling a single cherry, depositing them on the wide stone table before striding briskly out for the other three. She refused all offers of help, as usual. Farani was a ‘you want it done right, you gotta do it yourself’ kind of person; always being very impatient to get something done correctly and slightly contemptuous of people who made mistakes. She wasn’t someone you would want for a teacher.

Once all the fruit was inside, Farani set herself to the tedious task of washing and pitting every single berry. Oddly enough, the young woman had the patience to do this for candlemarks on end. She sliced each one neatly in half and soaked them in tubs of sticky cane syrup while she was preparing the dough, to insure that her bubblies would be as good as possible. Farani figured that if the customer liked the product, they’d come back and most likely spread the word; therefore one would generate more profit without shouting oneself hoarse over the Gather crowds.

She popped one of the cherries into her mouth experimentally, licking the glaze off her fingers like a child. The tangy flavor flooded her tongue, leaving a sweet aftertaste. Just the way she wanted it. Farani smiled, brushing back the curly lock of reddish-brown hair that always seemed to escape from her plait. She spread a spoonful of the leftover syrup on top of the flat, round pieces of dough before placing one in each of the numerous little pie-pans she’d set out. Most everything the young woman did was orderly and systematic, as you have probably noticed.

With one hand held to catch any dripping, Farani dropped handfuls of the berries into each pan, arranging them so as to hold as much fruit as possible. When that was done, she placed the second crust on all the pies and pressed the edges together firmly, sprinkling cherry-flavored cane sugar (no artificial flavoring or preservatives!) over the tops.

All this took about half a day, not counting the meal breaks. By the time Farani had finished baking all the hand-sized pastries (eighteen at a time in the oven, and ten batches), the sun was just beginning to slip behind the mountains. Just enough time to go out and pick the fruit from another tree. Time management done to perfection.

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. Farani had gleaned every last berry from her trees, setting aside a basketful on the day of the Gather to sell fresh. She had made a total of eight hundred and seventy bubbly pies. Not a bad amount at all. They ought to bring in a good bit of profit. Farani mused as she set up her Gather stall. She had a small stove behind the counter to heat up the pastries before they were displayed—after all, everyone knew that hot bubblies were the best kind!

It was about halfway through the Gather when the cotholder noticed that the last three pies she had just put out on the table were missing. She couldn’t recall selling them—wait! Farani’s hand shot out and grabbed the collar of the one who’d been making off with the stolen treats. She raised one eyebrow at the boy (he looked like a weyrbrat) and spoke in icy tones. “And just what were you planning to use as payment for those?” The weyrboy squirmed a bit, and glared at her. “How dare you accuse me of stealing them!” He retorted, adding quickly, “I was about to pay for them. I simply had to get the money from--”

“Indeed?” Farani cut him off, unconvinced. “And what might your name be, o one who lets someone else keep his money?” She asked dryly, making the boy flush a bit. “I-uh, my name’s Sheilin. From Ryslen Weyr.” He said with an attempt at dignity, his eyes expressing the hope of being let go. Farani had no such thought. “Well, Sheilin, we’ll see what your Headwoman has to say--”

She was interrupted by the arrival of a weathered-looking bluerider, who clapped Sheilin on the shoulder. “Sheilin! There you are! You’ve just Turned thirteen, haven’t you? Well then! Okserth--” The man had apparently just noticed the young woman still holding the weyrbrat by the shoulder. He looked at her, blinked, then seemed to be bespeaking his dragon. Farani crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “This boy has just stolen three bubbly pies from me.” She informed the rider coolly. He didn’t seem surprised, and shook his head at Sheilin. “Shells, can’t you keep your nose out of trouble for just one day, Sheilin?” the bluerider then turned to Farani and nodded politely. “Searchrider D’run, of blue Okserth. Sorry about the pies. I'm sure he won't do anything like it again. But this young ‘un won’t be stealing anymore—he’s now officially a Candidate.” D’run ruffled the weyrboy’s hair and added almost absently, “And so are you.”

Farani started giggling uncharacteristically. The giggling soon turned into hysterical laughter. The Searchrider exchanged surprised looks with Sheilin, then both shrugged. Farani was still consumed with mirth when they between to Ryslen (after stopping by at Farani’s cothold to notify the family, of course). They never did figure out what was so funny, since Farani immediately stopped laughing when they arrived at the Weyr. She’d slid wordlessly off of Okserth’s neck with a pat on the dragons nose, then disappeared while D’run was helping the other new Candidates.

As a matter of fact, Farani wasn’t laughing because of amusement. She had always wanted to be a dragonrider as a girl (what child didn’t?) but none of the Searchdragons had ever so much as glanced at her. And now, just as she was settled and content with her lot...well, it was rather ironic. Why was she eligible now, anyway? Quite odd.

The soft sound of scuffling coming from one of the storerooms drew Farani's curiosity while she was passing by. After debating about it for a few seconds, she opened the door a crack and peeked in.

"Canine pups!" she exclaimed, then slipped into the dark room. The young woman crouched down, sitting back on her heels and holding out one hand. Farani smiled as a wet pink tongue immediately began licking her fingers, and cautiously scratched behind the dog's ears.

That was when she noticed the padded basket from which the puppy had apparently tumbled out. There was a slip of hide attached, which simply read, "If you want a canine, take one and be good to it." Farani looked down thoughtfully at the black-and-tan ball of fur sitting on her hand, and grinned. "Well then, I guess I'll adopt you." she remarked.

The pup whoofed shrilly and wagged his tail. Farani chuckled and stood up, cradling the squirming bundle in her arms and heading back to the Candidate Barracks. She named the canine Konga.

"Konga, sit." Farani commanded, pressing gently on the dog's dark hindquarters. Konga sat, as he had been trained, and looked up at his human curiously. "Stay. You'll burn your feet." the young woman said, ruffling the furry ears affectionately before stepping back onto the scorching sand.

Weyrlingmaster D'lrik was giving his traditional Candidate speech. "Some of you may not Impress. That's perfectly normal; a lot of riders don't Impress until their third or fourth time on the Sands. Meanwhile, during egg-touching sessions, you have to be very careful of what you do. Don't upset Yainolith, and don't move the eggs. Today we won't be touching them, as they're still not hard enough." he informed them crisply, occasionally eyeing the puzzled canine sitting a few feet away.

Farani followed the rider's gaze and looked at Konga, who took this to mean he could stand up. He leaped to his feet and trotted over to playfully nip at everyone's knees. A couple of the girls shrieked and began running away from the canine, who thought it was some kind of new game and bounded after them with a doggy grin.

Farani managed to stop laughing long enough to choke out the words, "Konga! Sit!"

Disclaimer: Credit is given to the creators on all pages for images and text. Pern and all its aspects are  © to Anne McCaffrey. All terms, people, places and dragons are  © Ms. McCaffrey. All of my own characters are set in the Third Pass, which has never been written about in any of the Pern books; therefore none of Ms. McCaffrey's characters are known of (excluding Landing characters) and so none will never be mentioned, nor will any personas on this site be connected with them. No copyright infringement is intended. The story displayed on this page is mine and mine alone.