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Zhac’s eyebrow twitched and he forced a frown to cover it. He crossed his arms over his chest with exaggerated care. “What is it you forgot?”

Zhac’ squinted and hesitated, but only for a minute. “You’re already up after-hours, and you tried to run. If I have to report you they’ll assume you were trying to sneak a look at the new clutch on the sands. Something like that could possibly hold you from Standing this clutch.” Probably not if he hadn’t done anything else very wrong, but as worried as the kid look he was pretty sure he could scare the truth out of him. “If you just tell me though-“

A screeching cry split through the hollow wind. Zhac broke off, throwing his head to the side and giving a high-pitched, blasting whistle. Another cry answered the whistle, and he glanced back and looked over Winderick appraisingly. “She’s coming in from a run, so she’ll be a little flighty. Just don’t scream or try running off again or anything foolish. She’s perfectly harmless.” Did he say the last to prove there was no need for screaming or to make his warning sound less like a threat? There was no telling, because Zhask’s heavy footfall preceded her even heavier body. From a dead run she rumbled to a stop only a few handspans from Zhac, her burnished, loose skin skaing with the force of the sudden halt. Tail lashing and wings trembling in excitement, the wher crooned and then started suddenly as a bright green eye landed on Winderick. She snorted disturbance as Zhac laid a calming hand on her neck and gave another series of chuffing noises as she eyed the boy.

“Thatagirl,” the handler murmered, humming as the gold settled.

Zhac turned back to Winderick as he started speaking. Zhask grumbled worriedly and rested nervously on her haunches, neck craned to eye the lad around her hander’s body.

“Firelizards?” He blinked, taken aback for a minute. He hasn’t expected the boy to cave in that easily, but more importantly… “You found a clutch up here in the mountains? How many?” He sounded vaguely curious rather than irritated anymore.

Zhac made a motion for silence. “Settle down for a moment, let me think.” Wherries, of course. Even with dragons around, they were thick as thieves. There were other predators that would have wiped out a clutch this far inland as well. There was a reason people hunted clutches on the beeches. If it hadn’t been for the wherries, maybe the gold that had laid whatever eggs Winderick had found would have left another clutch near the weyr. As it stood though, the three that they’d found would be all there was to show out of this incident. He looked down at Winderick critically and gave his sentence.

“I don’t think a few eggs are worth pushing back your candidacy. If I reported this I’d have to mention the eggs, and they’d take those too. You’ve been foolish tonight but that seems excessive punishment for firelizard fever. Now, you’re going to lead me to the eggs so I know that it’s really just three and not a whole clutch you’re hording. You do what you need to take care of them and then go back to the barracks.” His voice rose in volume a notch to indicate the worse was yet to come. “And, for the next three days you’re going to have a powerful urge to volunteer at the stables and clean out runner fumets. I’ll be checking assignments to make sure you’ve been enthusiastic about volunteering, so you’d best not ‘forget.’” He knew little about Candidacy personally, but he understood working the stables was one of the most loathed jobs there was. It was smelly, hard work, but not as ongoing as other duties, and he expected Winderick would have enough time to check the eggs more easily during the day with the shorter (if nauseating) job.

Zhac raised an eyebrow, a little surprised that the lad felt he could make any demands in this situation, but he decided not to admonish him further. Cocky kid though. “I didn’t plan to, but if you don’t trust me you can move the eggs sometime.” There was no trace of a smile on his lips, though inwardly he was rolling with laughter. He was a quiet, no-nonsense sort of man, accustomed to earning trust with his stalwart nature, or at least a grudging respect. Had Winderick been more than the pettiest of criminals just now, he might have been offended by his implications, but it was just too absurd.

Zhac turned and gave the order for Zhask to sit, which she did, then to stay, to which she gave a protesting hiss. Zhac hummed in a low tone until she gave in and settled down with an irritable snap of her heavy jaws. Then he turned to Winderick and asked him to lead the way.

“It’s Zhac,” he answered, glancing at Winderick, though even with the glow light his face was vague with darkness. “Are you one of the weyrbrats or they’d import you for the hatching?”

Zhac almost mentioned that he was from a minor hold not far from Benden, but didn’t want the camaraderie and decided against sharing. It wasn’t long before they reached the room anyway, and he followed Winderick at a greater distance once they were inside, glancing about uncertainly. Here of all places? It made sense, he supposed. The barracks didn’t afford much privacy. He peered over the hearth curiously, and smirked in spite of himself when he caught sight of the dirty shells in the corner. “That’s a cleverer setup than I would have thought. Which ones are you getting?” Three made an uneven split for two people, and he was wondering if Winderick were the sort to get the long or short stick of the prize.