Sh'ane

Lasair Weyr
Back to the riderlists

Thud. Thud. Thud. Sharlimane allowed the momentum of each swing to bring the axe in and out of the gigantic skybroom trunk. After a while you got the rhythm of the work and it didn’t seem so hard. Sharlimane straightened and wiped the beads of perspiration off his forehead, surveying his day’s work.

The five-handspan nick in the tough wood seemed to mock the young Woodcrafter. “Sharding dense stuff.” He muttered, bringing his axe up over his shoulder again. The tree was like everything else in his miserable life—easy for other people to overcome, but not for him. Never for him.

As he chopped, Sharlimane imagined that the wood was every person who had slighted him, every obstacle in his eighteen Turns that had defied his best efforts. Like how he’d landed this job in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to be in the Woodcraft, but had his father cared? Oh no, it was always “just for your own good” and “you’ll appreciate it when you’re older”. So here he was, stuck with chopping down what was probably the biggest sharding tree on the whole sharding Northern continent....Ouch!

Jolted from his thoughts by a piece of splintered wood grazing past his leg, Sharlimane unexpectedly found that he had made a sizable dent in the trunk—almost half again as long as the one he’d cut before. Guess anger has its uses. the young man commented mentally, actually quite pleased with his progress. He stood up and leaned against the handle of his rather dulled axe, backing up several feet to contemplate the magnificent skybroom.

A flash of gold whizzed at his face, just as something screeched. Sharlimane ducked with the old reflexive instinct of an apprentice, letting out a surprised curse. As soon as he straightened again, the firelizard dove at him again, her jeweled eyes whirling red. Her nest must be nearby. the journeyman realized eagerly, crouching down as he spotted the mound of roundish objects not too far from where he was. He had always wanted one of the pretty creatures, and here was his chance.

Sharlimane got up and ran towards the clutch, followed speedily by the golden flit. He tripped and fell, sprawling and momentarily winded. The little queen attacked him ferociously, shrieking irately. Hot lines of fire made Sharlimane gasp from the pain as he rolled under the shelter of a low shrub. And you didn’t even manage to get an egg. he berated himself as he examined the deep wounds made by the firelizard’s raking claws. Nothing to do now but go back to the Crafthall and have the long cuts bandaged by the healer. An odd sort of numbness was spreading through his left arm.... the young man crawled gingerly out of the bush, watching for the return of the furious gold firelizard as he headed for the Woodcrafthall.

“Threads take that sharding menace of a firelizard!” Sharlimane cursed, banging his right fist against the wall. Thanks to the little beast, his left arm was now completely numb. The flit’s talons had penetrated deep enough to damage the tendon and render the limb useless, as the healer had told him. Useless! Sharlimane snarled mentally and glared at everyone who passed him in the busy hallways.

He stopped short. Busy? The Crafthall shouldn’t be busy at this time of the day. And everyone was heading in one direction. The journeyman grabbed at a passing apprentice. “What’s going on?” he demanded. The boy blanched but quickly answered, “Dragons, sir, there’s dragons in the court.” before slipping away. Sharlimane snorted. Dragons. Huh. He pressed himself against the cool stone wall and sat down against it, unnoticeable in the shadows.

A little while later, when the aisles had emptied of all the curious craftsfolk, Sharlimane heard a voice drawing nearer. “Are you sure he’s here, Hasiveth?” asked a masculine voice, apparently to thin air, just as someone rounded the corner and nearly stumbled over the young man sitting there. “Ah! So this is where you’re hiding!” the man exclaimed, looking down at the Woodcrafter.

Sharlimane glared at him. “I’m not hiding from anything or anybody! What d’you want?” he growled. The stranger chuckled and held out a hand. “I’m H’ron, rider of blue Hasiveth and Searchrider of Lasair Weyr. And Hasiveth told me there was a candidate skulking about in here.” He introduced himself. Sharlimane humphed and did not take the proffered hand. “So what’s your point?” he asked ungraciously.

H’ron seemed unfazed. “My point is, you’re acceptable to stand for the clutch on the sands of Lasair Weyr!” he declared in a ringing voice. Sharlimane laughed outright, bitterly and without mirth. “Yeah, and herdbeasts fly.” He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and practically daring the rider to contradict him.

Apparently the rider did dare. “I’m serious, young man. Now are you coming or not? I’m a very busy rider and I haven’t got all day...” H’ron trailed off impatiently, and started down the hallway.

Sharlimane threw up his hands. “Oh, to the Red Star with it! I’ll go. There’s not much else for me to do anyway.” He burst out, following the bluerider rapidly down the corridor.

Grumbling and growling to himself, Sharlimane pulled irritably at his stuffy white robe as the candidates gathered on the boiling sand. The humming echoing through the chamber was rising to an almost unbearable pitch. Which didn't help the young man's temper in any way.

The first to hatch was a bronze, causing cheers to resound around the Grounds. Next came a large dark brown, nearly the size of his bronze brother. The brown sat down rather comically and surveyed the boys with serene eyes, while his impatient green sister rushed past him and Impressed.

As the two boys in front of him shifted away uncomfortably under the brown's gaze, Sharlimane glared down at the frustratingly patient dragonet. And yet, there was something about that hatchling....

The brown gave a trill of recognization and got up, scampering full tilt for Sharlimane. The Candidate just stood there, unable to believe that the brown was really headed for him. The dragon, however, who had waited quite long enough to find his lifemate, ran right up to his choice and butted him impatiently on the knees, nearly making him fall over. "Do you really think I would hide from you, Tamyth?" he asked his brown as he knelt to scratch his eyeridges. Sh'ane's face broke into a wide, genuine smile for the first time in Turns as he led his lifemate away from the Sands forever.