A lovely warm evening is settling over the weyr as you leisurely stroll outside. Remembering the new wherhide boots that Headwoman Lorin promised you would be ready today, you head toward the kitchen. The evening meal is already well underway and tempting odors assault your senses as you enter the room. Your stomach growls as if in reply. Your sudden chuckle draws the attention of the head cook who gives you a friendly wave. "Hello there!" she calls, beckoning you over. Joining her near a stack of freshly baked bread, you inquire whether or not she's seen the Headwoman anywhere. "As a matter of fact she just left. She went that way," the cook says motioning toward a doorway. As you turn to go, she slips a meatroll into your hand. "Now stay away until dinner!" she warns with a smile. Munching contentedly, you set off once again in search of the elusive Headwoman.

The corridor you're in leads to the storerooms and you figure that's where Lorin must be. As you turn the corner, you come upon a young man who appears terribly confused. Slowing your pace, you take a good look at him. He is about nine handspans tall and his medium-brown hair falls to his shoulders in soft waves. He is looking anxiously at two different branches of the corridor. At the sound of your approach, he turns clear blue-grey eyes on yours. Relief floods his face and he utters a small sigh. With a knowing grin you recognize the telltale signs of a newly-arrived candidate. He's carrying a stuffed carisak and a large roll of hides under one arm.

"Lost?" you inquire amiably. With a smile the young man nods. "I'm supposed to be looking for a storeroom?" he says hesitantly. "Well you're in luck!" you say, leading him down the left corridor. "That's just where I was heading too." The two of you walk in companionable silence to the end of the corridor. You peek your head into a room and call, "Lorin?!"
"In here!" comes her reply. With a smile to the young man, you walk into the room.
"I've got another new candidate!" you bellow. The Headwoman's petite figure emerges from behind a pile of dusty tapestries.
"Your boots are right over there," she says motioning to a chest near the wall. "Why don't you give them a try?" While you're putting on your new boots, you listen to Lorin's chatter. She has a certain knack at making new arrivals feel comfortable.

Within minutes the young man is talking freely and a pile of new clothes is growing in his arms. "So Daylen, where are you from?" Lorin asks eyeing the young man's feet. She deposits a new pair of boots in the young man's arms and pauses with a smile.
"Renlan Hold," Daylen replies, returning her smile. Lorin nods in recognition.
"Well don't you worry. You may be a long way from home, but one can never be lonely in a Weyr!" she says with a chuckle. Lorin turns her attention back to you and your boots. "Perfect fit!" she says with satisfaction. "Well, that does it then. Now you walk Daylen back up to his quarters and make sure he gets to dinner all right, okay?" She huddles the both of you into the corridor. "Shoo!" she says, waving her hands at you when the two of you don't immediately begin moving.

After she disappears back into the storeroom, you shrug at Daylen and grin. "We're off to your quarters, I guess!" Helping him carry his burden, you set off down the hall. While you walk, you take time to get to know Daylen a little more. Once prompted, his story just seems to flow out. "My mother and father are Holders and I'm.. well, I'm a candidate at Jerdan Weyr!" Daylen says in a rush. You can't help but laugh at the disbelief and excitement that tinge his tone.
"Well, what else?" you ask. "What did you do before you were Searched?"
Daylen takes a moment to think before answering. "You know, I'm not sure what you would call me! I can sing a little, carve a little, make a mean fish stew, weave, and train runners! I was never apprenticed anywhere because I could never choose just one area to study. I love it all," he admits with a wry grin.
"And now you get a taste of Weyr and candidate life!" you say cheerfully. Daylen laughs a ringing laugh as you turn down the candidate's wing.
"I'm over this way," he says, leading you into a small room.

The room is empty except for a bed roll and a small table. Daylen deposits his armful of stuff on the table and looks around. "Not too bad..." he remarks with a grin. He begins to unpack his carisak. Unrolling the bundle of hides reveals a pile of sketches. "My parents," he says while taking a sketch of a man and a woman and positioning it on the wall.
"Miss them?" you ask, noting the slightly wistful expression on his face. He nods and unrolls some more hides. These are covered in neat handwriting.
"May I?" you ask indicating the pile. Daylen nods his consent and continues to unpack.

A dragon came on Search today
and on blue wings I was carried away
to a new place far from my home
where dragons, riders, and weyrfolk roam.
To stand on the sands as a candidate
while gangling hatchlings decide my fate.
Will I be chosen as a bondmate for life?
Nobody knows, but I've got to try.

Glancing up from the hide, you study Daylen who's busy arranging his new clothes on a shelf. His tall body clashes pleasantly with his oval face and wavy hair. Is there nothing this young man can't do? Neither the sketches or the ballad are anything spectacular, but they have an honest and simple charm. However, you muse, being unable to settle down or commit to one specific thing can be a greater flaw than people often realize. Your mind wanders as you wonder how well Daylen would adjust to being a dragonrider. Would he be able to tolerate fighting Thread every Fall for the rest of his life? True, life for a dragonrider may be thrilling, but it can also get pretty redundant.

A small cough clears your daydream. Daylen is looking at you. "Ready to go to dinner?" he asks. Realizing that everything else has been unpacked, you quickly put down the hide and smile.
"Sure, I'm starving!" you reply. Your stomach rumbles as if in proof. Laughing the two of you follow the other candidates down the corridor and toward the awaiting meal.

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