So here's the thing: Calla was here to become a dragonrider. She wanted it desperately, to do the thing her father had done, in the place where he had done it, and to find the success he did not. But that didn't change the fact that when he died her life had been about harpercraft. It was her mother's passion, and her mother had been the one to survive, the one to raise her. She was journeywoman now at High Reaches Hold. In truth, she had been about to ship Calla off to Harper Hall to cement her future -- and to get that dangerous dream of dragonriding out of her head -- before Calla's grandfather had intervened with a story about the beauty of Calla training with the same community that had first convinced her mother to take on the craft more seriously: the harpers who inspired riders and weyrfolk at High Reaches Weyr.

It had been a lie, but Calla had dutifully packed the beautiful harp her mother had passed on to her and smiled through clenched teeth as she set off for a new future.

The harp had been tucked away in the room she shared with other Candidates, kept in a trunk at the foot of her bed. For the first handful of Sevendays, at least. It itched at the back of her mind, even as she marveled at the daily presence of dragons swooping in and out. The harp, in the trunk, had become like a heartbeat of guilt. Each time she opened to grab something and spotted the glint of its glass inlay, it felt like the glass was going into her heart.

Calla was betraying her mother, she knew it, she was willing to do it, but that didn't mean she was happy about it.

That morning, enjoying a break, she decided to spend some time caring for the beloved gift, even if she couldn't quite bring herself to play. Oiling the wooden frame in her room may arouse questions from her roommates she didn't yet want to answer so she instead scampered down to a wide opening that looked onto the bowl. She dragged the cloth over its surface, plucking a few tentative notes before setting it to the side and walking a few paces away to stretch.

Really, it had been seconds! Yet when she turned, she saw her harp gone from the ledge and spotted instead the minty green of a tail darting away. "HEY!" she cried, hopping over the ledge and giving pursuit. "BRING THAT BACK!"

Please, no one pay attention to the crazy Candidate yelling after and chasing a dragon.

houllow