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Boring. That is what Ista weyr had become since Favan's glorious departure. Ding, dong, the wicked witch of the weyr was dead... and in her wake she had left a peaceful, if still overcrowded, Ista. A peaceful, boring Ista.

The last few moments of her candidate class seemed to drag on forever, the ancient blue rider at the front of the room droning on and on about things that Moira had known for years. Were most candidates so utterly uneducated in dragon physiology than they needed to explain the very basic mechanics of firestone over and over again? Or the delicacy of the wing membrane and how any cuts to it must be properly managed? Perhaps not all candidates had grown up with a militant ex-dragonrider of a mother to pound such information into their heads, but Moira still found the material to be far below the comprehension level of the average candidate.

Whatever the assignment was, Moira missed it as she stared longingly out of the small hole in the cavern wall that served as a window. Outside, dragons launched themselves from their weyr cliffs in great, elegant leaps, some winking in and out of between. Her wistful sigh drew a few stares, but that was nothing unusual. Most had learned long ago to dismiss her odd behavior. Moira vaguely recalled the only dragon rider she'd ever experienced, that brief moment upon the back of her searchrider's dragon. The wind in her hair and the sun at her back, it had been only then that Moira had realized the opportunity that truly lay ahead of her. Since then, she'd been so busy throwing herself headfirst into chores and lessons that she hadn't more than a few moments at a time to really enjoy the biggest perk of weyr life; dragons.

Perhaps today would be a good day to change that.

As the rider dismissed the candidates, Moira did not linger to ask questions as she usually might. Instead, she hurried past those who blocked the door, not hesitant to throw an elbow here or there when needed. “Sharding move,” she muttered, her slight height burdening her as she made her way through Ista's overcrowded halls, eager to find her way out of the humid, dim labyrinth and into the brilliant sun. It took significantly longer than expected, but Moira savored the moment when she crossed the threshold of one of the many entrances that lead out into the weyr bowl. Dragons, mostly greens and blues with the occasional bronze, sunned themselves upon the rocks.

The question now... which ones didn't have their riders present, and which of those should she engage?