“And you will stay there until you decide not to cause any more trouble!” The Headwoman finished, closing the door firmly. Sheilin winced and looked around, picking up the shovel and bucket he’d been handed. Phew! He wrinkled his freckled nose at the punishment—mucking out and cleaning the Weyrling Barracks.

With a disgruntled sigh, the weyrbrat started shoveling dragon droppings into the container, trying not to breathe while doing it. How did those weyrlings live with it? Positively horrendous smell. Sheilin huffed and dumped his smelly bucketful outside, along with the shovel. The loud clang was satisfying. That ought to show that stuffy ol’ Headwoman just what Sheilin thought of her! Honestly. By Faranth, all he’d done was snitch a bubbly or two from the kitchens! No need for such a sharding fuss.

Well, he wasn’t going to stay in the Barracks all day. The Gather at Two River Hold was starting at noon, and Sheilin planned to be there. No one was going to stop him on his birthingday, the day he Turned thirteen and was officially eligible to be a Candidate! And he was sure to be Searched. He was the best weyrboy of the lot (though the Headwoman probably wouldn’t have agreed with this particular statement)!

Sheilin snuck out a few moments later, darting across the Weyrbowl to where one of the brownriders was decorating his dragon with gaily colored ribbons. “Excuse me, but could you give me a ride to Two River for the Gather?” the weyrbrat asked with the correct courtesy due to a brownrider. The man nodded affably and grinned, offering a hand to the dark-haired boy. Sheilin ignored the hand and climbed up nimbly. Fortunately the rider was very easy-going and didn’t mind the rudeness. The dragon launched into the air and they were between a heartbeat later.

The air over Two River was breezy and warm, the wind sweet with the smell of fruit and various baked goods being sold below at the Gather. Sheilin jumped onto the ground, thanking both rider and dragon politely before melting into the crowd. Now, where were those bubblies...

It wasn’t long before Sheilin found what he was looking for. A stand operated by a tall, auburn-haired woman (a woman! What was the world coming to?) was selling deliciously steaming pastries. Sheilin reached for his belt pouch—and swore eloquently under his breath when he remembered. His marks had been confiscated by the Headwoman. Shard it!

Still, since it was a woman behind the counter, it would be easy to get away with a few pies. Everyone knew women were easily tricked. He’d done it before, and he could do it again. And this time there wasn’t a Headwoman watching him! Sheilin smirked and silently grabbed three of the hot bubblies, turning to make his way back into the throng.

A hand on his collar stopped the boy cold. “And just what were you planning to use as payment for those?” asked the young woman who’d been selling the pastries. Her tone was cold enough to freeze dragonfire. Sheilin gulped quietly and squirmed a bit. “How dare you accuse me of stealing them!” He retorted, adding quickly, “I was about to pay for them. I simply had to go get the money--”

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

She was interrupted by the arrival of D’run, one of Ryslen’s Searchriders, 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 bespoke his dragon. Sheilin heaved a sigh of relief in his mind. “This boy has just stolen three bubbly pies from me.” The cotholder informed the rider coolly, deflating the weyrbrat’s hope of a clean getaway. D’run 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?” he asked caustically, then turned to the green-eyed woman and nodded politely. “Searchrider D’run, of blue Okserth. Sorry about the pies. I'm sure he wouldn't do anything of the sort 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.”

Sheilin gave D’run a look. This cotholder was going to be a Candidate at the same clutch he was standing at?! What?!

His attention was diverted when the woman started giggling. The giggling soon turned into hysterical laughter. Sheilin returned D’run’s surprised look, then both shrugged. The new Candidate was still consumed with mirth when they wentbetween to Ryslen (after stopping by at her cothold to notify the family, of course). They never did figure out what was so funny, since she immediately stopped laughing when they arrived at the Weyr. Sheilin didn’t really care, however. He was thinking about how it would be like to be a dragonrider—he’d be the best Threadfighter in all the Weyrs, of course, and....

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.