Welcome to Gaia! ::

There was a tiny girl growling at him. S'raid watched in absent fascination as she snapped out her words, and presented him with a remarkably good impression of a (tiny) firelizard in a snit. He knew very well what had crawled up her rear end and died, and as such he was not going to be too harsh with the girl. Not yet. She had not earned much more than a raised eyebrow from the Bronzerider, who regarded her in silence for a long moment. "Little girl," he said, reasonably enough. "There is no reason to be throwing such venom around."

He gave her a second look. No, still tiny and as flatchested as any prepubescent youngling. But this was not so little a girl that he would likely get away with calling her such. He feigned surprise, and made an apologetic sound... the b*****d. "Ahem. Young woman. You are a Candidate, I presume?" S'raid fixed her with a firm regard. "Then learn this now: one does not speak to a ranking rider in such a fashion. If one is a Candidate, one does not speak to a rider at all, if one can't keep one's tongue curbed as it should be. But... forgive me. It was rude of me to, as you say, not look where I was going."

He was being totally insincere in giving his apology, but like any tunnel snake, he didn't intend to give away his position until after he had eaten his fill of the juicy firelizard eggs. Let her assume that he was simply another pompous Bronzerider. He would enjoy watching her react to it. I do not care for her tone, S'raid, Galvanth informed his rider, ever aware of the differing degrees of respect owed to them. This chit of a girl owed quite a bit more than the vitriol she'd spewed at him. "In Benden, we consider it to be important to properly educate our Candidates in the traditional courtesies. But surely you know those. I would not presume to think that Trine was so far behind its... predecessors." Its betters.

What a rude little wench-- but an amusing one. So, she too was enraged on behalf of the lost pair? He could not deny that it was warranted but he, S'raid, was not such a fool as his predecessor. He would not allow a disagreement to take the lives of a viable pair, be that Atypical or otherwise. They were all of them useful in their own way, and he had every intention of seeing to it that they were put to their proper use. Even this angry little urchin.

S'raid took a moment to consider his priorities, here. There was an angry young woman, currently venting her frustrations at him. "And there, see? Now you've gotten some of that rage out." He stared down into her angry eyes, seemingly sincere. "What he did was very wrong. I would have happily slid a knife through his ribs if I had known what he meant to do, and what would result. That is not the Benden way," he clarified, holding her furious gaze. She was angry. He could use that.

He didn't often understand the point of being reasonable. Not for its own sake. But to influence people, now that he could understand. What he could respect about this girl was her spirit... but she was misdirecting it. "We are not here to rub salt into your wounds. We are here to transport the healers, and that is all." That was not all. It was never all. No motive was ever so simple as that, not when it came to S'raid, but it would do for an explanation. It was all the young woman was due, really.

"Let me make one thing clear: I am not like him. If you lump me in with him, you are making a mistake." But she, along with the rest of Trine, was absolutely beside herself with grief and anger. No more, though. He would make not further gestures. Too much too soon would seem disingenuous. "I'm not going anywhere. I know my duty." Did she know hers? ... Oh yes, a touch of his tempestuousness remained. Even the Benden riders were affected by the situation.

Little spitfire. Heh. Truly, she amused him. It was a distant sort of amusement, something to pass the time with. All right. He'd bite. He was a little bored. Why not? Invaders. She wasn't wrong. Not really. Not wrong, but definitely foolish for being so open with her words. If he had been another Bronzerider, well... well.

"It seems to me..." S'raid said, looking over her with cold contemplation. "That you are so venom on me because there is another Bronzerider you would like to be sinking your claws into. Well, he's not here. I can't promise you that you will get any sort of vengeance out of this. I can't promise anything but that I, and my fellow riders, wanted nothing of that death. Do you think I relish the dragons' keening, that I will happily listen to a dragon, even one so foreign to me as she, dying? No. Now you listen here. Listen well. No dragonrider who knows his duty would attack another. To do so is to be crazed, to be out of one's mind. What brought this on was misunderstanding, and the fear of the unknown. Little girl, I am not afraid." He had never been afraid a day in his life, except when he had thought he would not Impress. And now he was being sincere. But it little mattered. One emotion was much the same as another, where S'raid was concerned.

"So you take that rage, that grief... and you go out onto those Sands, and you make sure another dragon isn't lost. Do you understand?" He watched her with a measuring gaze. "You wouldn't be here if they didn't think you worthy of it. What this Weyr needs is life. There's been too much death, too much destruction. It's not mine, but while I am here, it is my duty to make sure that nothing further comes of this awful mess." He was the defacto leader among the Benden dragons, now. He knew it. They knew it. "Channel that anger. Make it something useful. Don't waste it on me."

Because he was a rock, and she was not going to move him, no matter how hard she beat herself against him. She stood the risk of dashing herself to death, if she kept trying. "I have nothing to say to that. No dragon should die at the claws of another. Not all of us stayed, Candidate. Our numbers have dwindled, and it's no surprise. Given the welcome we've received-- rightly enough, from your side of things-- I can't blame anyone who chose to leave this duty. But I won't." He hadn't decided to send the healers, but by Faranth he was going to stay to let them finish their duties.

A younger, more reckless S'raid would have balked at the notion of reasoning with a girl as young as this one. But not now. He had grown to realize that every opinion counted, when it came to the public's approval. Currently, that public was made up of Trine folk, like Moira. She was a good practice target. Her opinions were obviously representative of the group as a whole.

"Do you know what it does to a dragon when another dragon kills one of his kind? Trust me when I say that this would be the last thing any of us wanted." And they were going to be ostracized-- had been ostracized-- for it. It would have troubled him far more if he had not known how very dangerous the flaring tempers could be. His riders did not need to be exposed to that. This was an exercise, and no matter how much of his time he felt he wasted on her, it would give him insight. Clarity was needed here.

I don't like it. She should not speak to you as though you are a clutchmate, Galvanth hissed, and S'raid could all but see his whirling red-orange eyes. The Bronze was angry, distressed. But then he had been that way since the Crimson's untimely demise. Or a tunnelsnake, either, the big Bronze added, 'observing' the conversation from his distant perch. She's a smart girl, I think, the Bronzerider returned, his tone absent, his focus not at all on his words. Too smart to be won over by a show of fellow spirit. Every female Candidate was a potential queenrider when a golden egg lay on the sands. Every girl. Even ones with chunky, poorly cut hair who hissed and spat like kettles.

Oh he'd leave her alone all right. Unfortunately for Moira, she was stepping right into Bronze Galvanth's territory, and he had already taken it into his head to come a calling. So, when she stepped out of the shelter of the kitchen area, she was all but nose to nose with a great, draconic head. Eyes whirling orangely, with hints of rapid red, the Bronze glared at the tiny human. The female did not deserve to die, he informed her, his tone formal, and grave, true sadness held within it. There was no mistaking it for anything else. Galvanth did grieve. The hatchlings will not know their mother. This is a great tragedy. I have no eggs, no clutch, but I have known my mother.

The reddish orange faded out to grey, displaying the dragon's pain for both Moira and his rider to see. It was for me to mourn her passing. He mourned the deaths of every dragon and rider. How could he not? Even these strange Atypical dragons that had no place in the skies of Pern. Their place was beneath him, yes... but to kill a clutching female? This was intolerable, inexcusable. Galvanth did not understand such a mentality.

"Galvanth," S'raid said, going to his mournful beast, a hand outstretched in an attempt to offer comfort. The great Bronze allowed his rider to place it on him, and lean against him. They shared comfort in this way-- the comforting primarily going to the dragon. "You may say what you like of me, and even of my Weyr," he told Moira in a quiet, level voice. "But if you put your mouth on my Bronze, then... well, you're misplacing it. You have no idea what he considers his kind. He is a dragon, and she was a dragon. To his instincts, she was his kind. Not a Bronze, no... but she was a dragon."

A lesser dragon. He did not speak the words. He did not need to. He was angry, because the little wench had turned her tongue onto Galvanth. It was clear to him that his dragon was still stricken by the turn of events, and what Galvanth needed was not this. He had taken her angry words, and the towel she had thrown, but this he would not take. He would not tolerate this. She could insult him, insult his Weyr, but by Faranth, if she so much as said one wrong word about his dragon? Well. He just might need to be locked up after all. But it would not come to that, surely.

To have dragon fight dragon, and not because of a Flight... Yes, Galvanth was shaken. It was all too new, too raw. S'raid squared his jaw, determined that he would find some way to soothe the Bronze. Soon enough he would forget what had happened, if he was not reminded by S'raid's thoughts or words. His draconic memory would serve him well... but until then, there would have to be something else.

For the second time in their entire conversation (S'raid refused to call it an argument, because Moira had primarily been venting), the Bronzerider was truly serious. He wondered, for a moment, if he was perhaps taking this slip of a girl too seriously. Why a Bronzerider chose to pay attention to the words of a Candidate was beyond him. But maybe there was something to what she said to Galvanth. Maybe. In any case, it would be foolish of him to disregard them on the grounds that she was a Candidate, and knew nothing about the Weyr that she had spent so much of her time in. She knew something, and what she said was probably a reflection of what others were thinking.

Among these others might very well be the Weyrwoman. This concerned him. As Galvanth gravely observed the girl, eyes still a pale and saddened grey, S'raid observed her too. They are not equals. They are different. You wish me to think of them as special. Are they? The dragon watched the girl, his tone very serious, as though he considered her opinion to be important. There was no reason why a Bronze should do so, but perhaps he knew something that S'raid did not. Perhaps he knew that she was destined to become a rider herself. Was she? Only time would tell. Certainly, the great beast considered her to be worthy of such a thing, his own thoughts darkened and shadowed so that his rider was taken aback.

"Thousands of Turns of history won't vanish overnight, girl. These things take time. Time which we do not have. Clearly, the situation is more dire than anyone imagined when we arrived." He knew very well that one could not change mindsets so readily. "The Crimson female was able to clutch, and that is something that our Gold dragons have not managed with the same reliability. I can concede that. But there is so much more to consider than whether a handful of misfits are truly what nature intended." Did she think that it was so simple as changing his mind?

"I almost think..." he said, carefully. "That this sort of occurrence demands a Harper's touch." Someone to spread about the tragedy, to bring shame to those riders who believed as Galvanth did (and S'raid could not claim to entirely agree with his Bronze, for he found use in almost everything), and remind them of the importance of solidarity. I do not understand, the Bronze said sadly as Moira sidestepped around him.

"And that is where you would be wrong," S'raid said, watching Moira with the eyes of a hawk, if only he had known that there was such a bird. "There is only one rider for every dragon. There is only one dragon for every rider." No matter how she might feel about him, such a frivolous and openly flawed statement needed to be refuted. "Steps can be taken, girl... but not in leaps and bounds. Such an action would be ruinous. Can you not see that? Are you so caught up in your righteous fury that you cannot see that for the paradigm to shift, more than the actions of a single ranking rider would need to change?" He wanted to grab her and shake her, a true sign that she had managed to stir emotion in that steely chest. Not good emotion, but emotion.

He had not stood on those Sands for Turns upon Turns only to be told by some undersized woman child that he was unworthy of it. "Alumanth's children will be none of them a Queen, or Bronzes. None of them will be able to produce either, unless by some miracle a Brown is hatched from that clutch, and that Brown Flies a Queen. They may serve Pern very well, but they will never be what Galvanth is. Nor will he ever be what they are." Nor should he. No dragon need be any other color, and to try to force the kind of shift in personality it would take for them to take up the roles and responsibilities of another would be disastrous.

A Queen does not flame, nor does a Bronze clutch, and yet a Crimson may do either. Why is this? I do not understand... why they are different. Poor Galvanth's mind could not truly wrap itself around the notion of how different the Atypicals were, though he did see them as having no place in the Weyr. They did not fit into any place, they did not have any traditional role. Perhaps this was why Moira liked them? I know this. I have seen them fly, the Bronze said, as though that explained everything.

Leaning down, he grazed his great head against her, so gently that it did not so much as knock her over. Perhaps you will Impress to one such, and then you may show me that they will do all that I will do? His tone was oddly gentle, and S'raid examined him sharply. That the dragon would take such a fondness to a Candidate after so short a meeting disturbed him on some level. But then, Galvanth could be very fickle, and he made friends where he chose. Perhaps it is you who will show Pern what it is that you feel must be shown, and we who will do the watching of it.

"I am not afraid. I am cautious. You may not see the distinction between those, but that does not mean that it does not exist. We will see how things progress." Maybe there was something to what Moira said. Maybe there was nothing at all. That he would have to determine for himself, with or without her grand notions and perceived superiority. He did not need to explain himself to a girl child. But he did need to understand the situation fully. It was a desire stronger than nearly any he felt in life, the need to know. To remain in the dark meant that he was not prepared to fully utilize what was presented to him, and he would not miss even a single opportunity if he had his way.

Goodbye, the Bronze said fondly, watching the girl retreat back to the main Weyr. You will go far. The words were whispered after her, the arrogant Bronze insisting to his rider that he could bespeak whomever he wished. S'raid frowned, not at all liking the note of smugness in Galvanth's tone. He was very much acting as though he knew something that S'raid did not. It is only a hunch, S'raid. You need not stress yourself over it, he said airily, and that did not at all satisfy his rider.

Of one thing he was certain, and that was that if there was a dragon for Moira, she would find it. The girl was determined, and in his experience, those who approached Hatchings with confidence tended to walk away with the prize, so to speak. That prize being their dragon, who had been able to easily find them. He didn't know what the future would hold for them, but whatever it was, it would be something else. ... He almost wished that he would be able to see it.

Not because he liked the girl, no. But because she seemed to meet the world with a challenge. Surely her life would be an interesting one. If she did Impress, he did not envy Trine the Turn or more that it would take her dragon to reach adulthood. A wicked grin tugged at his lips, and he smoothed his hand over Galvanth's snout. "So, you've made a new friend, have you? I could wish that she were a jot less... mouthy."

He headed off back to his temporary residence to ponder the conversation, Galvanth following him in the air above. For such a short flight, the Bronze needed no direction from his rider. There was much to think on, many questions that had been raised. He wondered how much of the Weyr's populace thought as the girl did. ... Probably a good portion. Before he settled in to check his riding straps, he decided that he would have to find out who she was, find out if she had any connections.

Don't make trouble for her, Galvanth warned. S'raid merely... smiled, and that said quite enough.