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“Overgrown firelizard,” he accused.
A grumble came out of the darkness.
“I don’t know where you get your energy. I’ve got things to do.”
The wher let out a ragged breath, the closest she usually got a growl.
“That’s what you think,” he replied, as if the wher understood his every word. “But when you drop your next clutch all your hissing doesn’t sort out that stack of papers. I have to help pick likely handlers.”
They were at the wher’s entrance to the bowl now. The stars and moons, clogged and diffused through the misty clouds weaving overhead, made a poor show of lighting the open ground. Zhask turned and crooned at her handler, her lustrous hide gleaming in the dimness.
Zhac gave the queen wher a humm to show he was not really irritated and pulled her heavy head against him in for a quick scratch. It was not something handlers with flightier whers would do, grabbing at the beasts like that, but Zhask had an exceptionally even temper when she wasn’t broody with eggs.
“Alright, go,” he said, pushing her head away suddenly. With a short, thin whistle of excitement, the wher disappeared into the gloom. Even accustomed to living in the nights of Pern, Zhac lost sight of her huge body in only a breath or two. He slumped against the wall, arms crossing leisurely. Exuberant as she was tonight, her run wouldn’t take long and then, well exercised, she would settle and let him work for the rest of the night.

Zhac shifted for several minutes. The stone he leaned on suddenly seemed quite cold and he stood straight. The shifting wind cut across his back and he drew his arms in tighter around his chest. Eventually he grunted “Shards,” and turned to stand in the hallway. It wasn’t much better, and he started to wonder if could go back for a coat without Zhask missing him when the barest mote of light moved across a joint at the end of the hall. If he’d brought glows with him rather than trusting Zhask’s guidance, he wouldn’t have seen it over the excess light, but the faint glow between youthful fingers was evident in the pitch blackness. The light winked out of sight quickly, but he slipped down the hall quickly, trusting his hand on the wall and even floors to keep him from careening head over heel. Wher handling and mining had a knack for robbing the dark of mystery and threat.

His shoes were thin and he was able to gain a good deal of distance on the wobbling figure before he thought it might be able to hear him. “You’d best hold there,” he barked in the sharp, loud voice of one accustomed to making commands.

Having half expected this, Zhac sprung after the shape (from the height the glows had been held at, he was almost sure it was a boy, likely one of the Candidates since they were near the barracks) quickly. Benden didn’t call for this spontaneous sort of action as often as the mines did, but his time here hadn’t dulled his senses so much as to let some boy get away. Without bothering to shout more orders he threw himself into as quick a sprint as he dared past the glow basket and after the shape. Adult legs being longer, it was only a few moments before he started gaining, and he hoped to end the show before it could really begin.

There was no such luck, however. A dozen strides after the corner and within sight of the dining hall entrance, a hard hand grasped the back of Winderk’s collar and jerked him back and upwards. Zhac didn’t want to have the boy fall and grabbed at his arm as well to avoid the chances of a cracked head, but he wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving a bruise. The boy shouldn’t have had the audacity to run. "Hold now!" he snapped, his voice harsh in the sudden close proximity.

The elbow scraped over Zhac’s ribs. The noise he made implied that the jab surprised or maybe hurt him, but the noise was followed with a hard shoved that pushed the younger, smaller man against the wall. “Attacking a night guard,” he answered, voice clipped as he pinned the lad. “And out after curfew.”

Zhac might have laughed if he weren’t so annoyed. “If you had good reason,” he said with quiet, “you wouldn’t have run. I’ll have your name.” He’d already shifted to holding the lad’s wrists behind his back, and his grip tightened threateningly as he prompted, “I’ll have your name.”

Winderick. He was silent for a moment as he impressed the name to memory. If it were a fake name he didn’t think he’d have any trouble getting the kid’s mates to rat him out later on. “Walk first,” he said as he pulled Winderick off the wall and gave him a push down the hall. “To the bowl. I need to see to my wher. And you pick up those glows you dropped on the way.”

Zhac gave a short laugh. “And I have every reason to believe you. Now step to it.” He was starting to worry that Zhask might come searching the halls for him. He wanted to get the lad into the moon and glow light before questioning him as well. Easier to read his face that way, and having a hulking wher nearby might not hurt.

Zhask wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but after looking out into the bowl for several moments the handler felt assured of her presence and turned to face Winderick for the first time. His person wasn’t as impressive as the voice he’d used earlier. His clothes were unassuming, his height average, and except the way he regarded Winderick, there was little about his appearance to suggest real authority. “You’re a candidate, aren’t you? What are you doing out so late?”