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Conomor looked down at the bright little creature in his lap and smiled. "Yes, I expect she will like the attention. I don't think I've ever seen a tame flit that didn't love to be fussed over. Still though," he rolled his eyes, "I can always reject the silly girls that don't interest me. Blunt honesty is one of my strong suits; it doesn't take people long to get the message when I don't want anything to do with them. I suppose if I Impress I'll be rather too busy for girls for quite a while in any case." That was fine by him; dragons were better than girls any day. Dragons were better than anything any day.

"Yes, I agree you needn't worry about muscle," Conomor nodded having considered the issue for a moment. "If you need it, it'll build up over time as you heft around dishes of meat and buckets of water and oil. I see plenty of riders with no bulk to speak of in any case, and they seem to do just fine for themselves. I just happen to be naturally broad; the muscle came pretty easily, and it's easy to maintain."

Conomor smiled and shrugged. "Well, it could if I was blunt to the people above me when I think they're being stupid. I try to be a bit more... tactful to them. I might not think they deserve what they have, but when a bronze picks a deadglow, what can you do but try your hardest to avoid them? Well, that and tactfully point out to their superiors how dim they are." There was the draw of the metallic dragons; fewer people who were automatically classed as better than you were. Personally Conomor liked more of the brown, blue and green riders he knew than the those on bronzes.

"I suppose that's true," he went on after a moment with another lopsided smile, "but I'm a sucker like that. I do more than I need to, so I'm given more to do, and I pay more than I'm asked for a flit egg because I'm just too honest for my own good." Chuckling, he shook his head and stroked Gilden again. "I've no idea what it is dragons pick based on anyway," he shrugged, "nobody really know what makes a dragon choose so they're probably wasting their time. Look like idiots as well some of them; it's quite easy to take it too far and end up looking as if you've stuffed your sleeves with big round rocks."

Conomor looked down at the flit too and chuckled softly. "Yes, that would cause problems; big ones. I can imagine the shoving, sneakiness, violence. Probably end up with more than half the Candidates dead or injured. It's a good job dragons work the way they do." Such perfect creatures, fitting perfectly into their role as defenders against the Thread. He doubted there was a more perfect form of life on all of Pern.

"You know," Conomor said thoughtfully, "if we manage to Impress, the Thread will probably already be falling by the time we graduate to wings. I wonder what the stuff's like... I mean I've read historical accounts of it, of how it's fought and I've seen training drills from afar but... Well, nothing like seeing and fighting the real thing. Foul though Thread might be, I must admit to being excited. It'll be quite something to help defend Pern."

Passes were what dragons were made for. Majestic and powerful in the skies, inspiring hope, respect and adoration in those they protected. The Harpers would be asked to sing more ballads of the dragonriders, and most importantly of all he would feel useful. Needed. Yes. He would fly against the Thread one day, he had to, it was what he had been born to do. He couldn't contemplate any other life. Watching those who had tried and failed to Impress until they were too old and yet who had lingered at the Weyr made him shudder internally sometimes. What if that was him in a few turns? No. That would never happen. Sooner or later, a dragon would choose him. He hoped.

Conomor shrugged. "Who knows, nobody alive has ever seen it and I suppose only the cleverest words can only tell you so much. Silver strands and messy clumps are what to expect I gather but... well, it's still hard to image." Like a curtain of rain rushing towards you as you flew on formation with your wing an threw firestone to your dragon. The stuff burned, devoured, killed. He was afraid of the idea of it, anyone who said there weren't was a liar, but he he would face it as would all dragonriders. Perhaps he wouldn't Impress this time around, and by the time he was a graduated rider the Thread would have been around for some time. Perhaps he would be one of the first to battle against it. Either way was fine by him so long as his time came in the end.

"It would be incredible to Impress," Conomor murmured softly. "The first time you and your dragon know each other, fly together, go between and come back, the first time you flame, the day you're assigned to your wing... It could all start in a couple of sevendays." Stroking Gilden absently, he tried to imagine his dragon again. Colour was still a mystery, and frankly so was personality. Some riders were almost exactly alike to their beast in temper, and some complimented and contrasted one another. It was impossible to say which way around he and his dragon would be, but fun to speculate all the same.

Conomor grimaced and nodded. "Between is intimidating. I've gone with my parents, they're both riders, to far off gathers a few times. I think it might be different if it was your own dragon, but I couldn't say for sure. It's... well, it's like they describe. Colder than anything you've ever felt, and blacker than the deepest cave and you can't even really feel the dragon you're riding on." He had to admit to being as fascinated by between as he was frightened of it. Where was it? What was it? People had probably asked those questions since the beginning of time, and there never would be an answer. As with everything however, he loved to wonder.

Suddenly, Conomor found himself yawning massively. "Egh," he muttered once his jaw was under his control again, "I hadn't realized how tired I'm getting; curfew must be pretty soon and I still need to run down to the healers to get my hands looked at." He couldn't exactly take Gilden with him... "Would you mind watching her while I go?" he asked with a nod at the sleeping firelizard. "I doubt she'll wake up anytime soon." He didn't know Nathail well at all yet, but he felt he could trust the other Candidate to keep an eye on the sleeping hatchling for a few minutes.

Conomor shrugged and lifted the sleeping flit out of his lap to set her down beside the remaining meat chunks. "I don't suppose we'll ever know really; you can't stay there and study it or anything after all. Thanks," he added as he got to his feet and stretched again, "I expect even if she does wake up she'll be more interested in that meat than anything else."

Nodding to the other Candidate, Conomor sucked at one of his sore fingers again and smiled. "I'll be back up soon; thanks Nathail." So saying, he turned away and set off at an easy jog; last thing he needed to do was be late for curfew. With the Touching so close, he intended to keep himself out of trouble. He only hoped that Gilden wouldn't mess that up for him.