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Galeia glanced at him, eyes roving as she guessed the intention of that question. “Our queen’s last clutch was the first time I Stood, last Turn. We should see another clutch laid fairly soon.” She smiled a little reassuringly. “This has been my ‘dragon,’” she said proudly, reaching back to touch the neck of her instrument. She seemed only proud of the plain hunk of wood. In truth she was proud of her independence, that her spirits lied in music and weren’t at the mercy of fickle eggs. “Be careful of who and how you ask that question though. There’s some rotten bullies that would take offence.”

“It’s alright,” Galeia supplied instantly, not wanting him to think her one of those insecure bullies. “Not that I’d object to Impressing by any means, but I’d be happy to be a Harper as well.” She shrugged once again, as if to underline her indifference to the idea. The motion looked awkward though, since she was swinging her arms while taking long strides up the slope. If rough around the edges, she was at least vigorous in movement and toned in muscle. “You shouldn’t worry too much though. You probably have a better chance than you realize. Almost all of us weyrbrats stand, and it’s not as if we’ve been Searched, so it’s an unfiltered, rough lot. And then, the ones we get from Holds usually are straight from the Lord Holder’s houses. More riders see them when their visiting, and after five or ten dragons consider a boy or girl, it’s not uncommon for some silly young dragon to take one. And then some Candidates I think are sent to just to placate Lords with too many children to foster. Politics.” She rolled her eyes at that. “Anyway, if you were Searched so soon after getting to Benden Hold by K’la of all riders-” more exasperation at that name “-and you’re from a craft instead of an over-combed house… well, don’t short yourself, Winderick.”

Galeia shook her head, exasperated with herself and the answer she had to give. “I see them a lot. I know how they hunt, about the oil used on their hides and some other things, but quite honestly, I hardly think I understand them. Living in a weyr makes you accustomed to their presence and pride, but… well, here’s a bit of a tale for you.” Her eyes grew vaguely distant with recollection and her tone changed slightly, putting more stage to her words. “At the last Hatching, the one I Stood at, there were two candidates in the boy’s line that I knew. One was a bully, freshly Searched, but it was his only chance to Impress before aging out of candidacy. The other was known as a twitching sort, and shy, as if he were afraid to be struck. Very kind though. They both Impressed browns that day. Our bully seems to be much more jovial since. He hasn’t started a fight since Impressing, and the shyer boy is less twitchy now, calm if not altogether confident yet.” She paused for a moment to let Winderick consider that and gather her own thoughts. “What I think is that what those dragonets see in men is their potential, which few humans have any eyes for. When it comes time for the next Hatching though, try not to think of that. We’re supposed to draw dragons with loving, warm thoughts.” Privately, she wasn’t sure that affected anything, but it was better to concentrate than fret through the whole hatching.

She noted all her talking had almost seen them to the weyr entrance again. "How much longer will you be working?" she asked, her tone half-regretful.

Galeia nodded and her wry expression showed that she mutely agreed with his opinion of warm, fluffy thoughts. She had seen many Candidates weep in joy at Impression, even before she stood on the sands herself, and she’d seen the fond way riders touched their dragons in the bowl. She had no doubt love was part of that bond, but as for what drew a dragonet? Harder to say.

She smiled, looking thoughtfully down at him, slight amusement in her gaze. “I’ll bet you missed dinner working. If you want, I’ll filch some meatrolls from the kitchen while you’re dealing with the sack and meet you on the bowl?” There was a mischievous twinkle in her look down, faintly brightening her dull, dark eyes with some crafty plan.

Galeia nodded, still grinning. “I’ll meet you in the bowl then,” she said once they were through the doors, and she struck a different. Maybe it was the harper in her, but she had half a notion to play while the boy ate, since his face would be too full for conversation anyway. Dinner and a show, and then she’d shove the burden of entertainment on his shoulders and question him about the smithy and his family, things she knew less about.

As she folded the meatrolls the talked out of an irritable kitchen worker into a thin cloth, she decided she wouldn’t see him the following day. Too much work and playing to do, and she had the feeling it would be better not to crowd Winderick with too much attention.