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Lerath, unfortunately, was asleep. V’al’s large companion no longer could fit in the weyr’s halls at all, and V’al was beginning to miss constantly pulling the dragon’s curious head out of every doorway. He had come out to an empty bit of the weyrbowl to stretch in the sun, rest his shoulders that ached from constantly oiling Lerath’s expanding hide…. But his spot was no longer sacred.

Another young man, a bit older than himself and a Candidate by the looks of it, was sizing up a likely spot of dirt. V’al’s steps slowed a bit, but he wasn’t going to pick another spot to rest without trying to shoo the other young man off. “What are you up to over here?” he asked, coming to a stop some feet away.

“Mystweed,” V’al drawled thoughtfully. At fifteen, there was nothing terribly imposing about his appearance. Long years of leatherworking had only left him lean, and his Candidacy had been a short one, so his duties at the weyr had yet to put much weight on his build. Further, he was beginning to grow into his feet at long last, and on his way to height, he was lanky. His face might have been a pleasing to look at, were it not for the look of intense scrutiny that marked his expression, such as now as he ruminated over what he remembered about the plant.

He imagined they were more thrilled about the discovery at Benden where fertility was a problem. It was valuable knowledge, he agreed, but his favorite bit about the discovery was that the older weyrs would no longer have an excuse to come snooping. He’d doubted their intentions and still thought the Benden party had been too suspicious for mere research, but the weed was to some avail.

With a blink his focus narrowed in on Jalarant. “Do you want a hand?” Though the other young man clearly out-aged him, his question sounded more like a command than an offer, and he came a bit closer to eye the area the Candidate had been surveying.

“I’m not busy.” V’al eyed the dirt. He sidestepped into the vacated space Jalarant had moved from, as if seeking a better vantage point to judge the spot’s worth. He would have been comfortable giving critique had he known a single thing about planting, but he’d been raised as a leatherworker before being Searched, and lived in a Hold without ever visiting a field. “Do you have any experience with this sort of thing?” he asked at last.

“It seems like a decent place.” V’al nodded, absorbing the advice given and deciding he had no instant for this. “We’ll stick with what you know then,” he stated with certainty. Maybe his new planting partner would get some confidence out of heading this. There was only one spade, which he was fine letting Jalarant use since he had no idea how deep or wide the hole needed to be. He moved to the plant’s temporary container and eyed it thoughtfully. This was a little more interesting than he’d expected anyway. He lifted it carefully and brought it near the spot Jalarant was prodding. “Seem like a decent spot? And weren’t you at the last hatching? I recognize you.”

V’al shrugged at Jalarant’s pessimism and wondered idly if the older boy was always this sad sounding of if he’d just had a rough day. The attitude was less grating than his roommate’s boundless optimism at least.

“I did.” It was impossible for riders not to speak of their Impressions without smiles, but he kept reserved to a ghost of a grin. “I didn’t expect Lerath… but that’s the way of it I suppose.” He gave a shrug, now trying to drop the subject. Jalarant seemed an affable sort and he knew Impressing after only being at Trine for a month was too lucky a thing to besmirch by rubbing in people’s faces. He would have told Jalarant that his turn would come, but he detested false hope in any form. Besides, they were too busy for that sort of thing now.

He knelt, carefully sinking fingers around the outer edge of the pot to lift the plant out with at little contact as possible. “I guess it’s alright,” he said, setting the mystweed into the hole. He sat back after setting it upright and considered it. “You want to pack some dirt in and I’ll water it?” he offered.

V’al’s eyebrow twitched, but he only stepped back, waiting for the older lad to pack some dirt in around the mystweed. After the second comment, V’al’s mouth twitched into a very slight frown. For a moment he was uncertain whether Jalarant’s comment was bitterly sarcastic, a joke, or simply subservient. Then, he quelled the entire notion by pretending he hadn’t heard and pulling a waterskin from his belt. Had Lerath been awake, he might have advised V’al to simply ask and resolve his conflict, but the blue wasn’t, and he was hardly motivated to trust on his own.

Disturbed, he knelt again by the plant and soaked the earth at its base. “I think that’ll do it.” He glanced up at Jalarant with a measuring, half-squinted eye. “So were you searched or born here?”

(((4+26+49+51+26+47)/6=epic fail (33.3)))