Are you ever going to read that letter? Huarangith asked, looking out toward the sunset. The fact that he and his bond were not in the same place was no hindrance to their conversation. I think you should. It is from your sister after all. It could be important.

I'll get to it, R'bin replied, glaring across his weyr at the offending piece of paper as though the folded missive was his personal nemesis.

It had been some time since R'bin last heard from his family in Rivercrest. In the last five turns, the only word he'd had was an invitation to be present at the birth of his nephew and a request to help Reya deal with Eridan's wherryshit father, who had been harassing them. Huarangith had mentioned that they ought to go back and visit, but R'bin tended to put his brown off, hoping that he would forget that family entirely. It wasn't that R'bin disliked his family - he loved them. He simply had a life at the Weyr and no real desire to mix his past with his present and future.

Why do you prefer not to interact with your family? the brown asked. I spend most of my days interacting with dragons I'm related to. It's nice.

R'bin continued to glare at the paper. It was different for his dragon. Family was different for dragons. Clutchmates could breed with no ill effect, and only some chose to mate for life. Others were influenced by the loves of their human bonds (although that could go both ways, R'bin knew). Even so, it wasn't the family thing, as much as it was the separation of his past and present. R'bin was content with his life the way it was. He didn't want it disrupted, and he was almost positive that whatever that letter said, it would disrupt his life.

It can't hurt to read it, Huarangith prodded. You're not committing to anything simply by finding out what it says.

Huarangith had a point, R'bin had to concede, but as was his wont, R'bin could think of so many other alternatives that would get him out of having to do even that much. However, he could feel the weight of his dragon's disapproval as he began to follow those lines of thought. He didn't like to disappoint Huarangith.

You really are my better half, he grumbled to his ruddy-bellied brown. He felt, rather than heard, his dragon's deep rumble which might have been pleasure at the compliment, amusement, agreement, or simply appreciation for the colorful sunset before him.

"Fine," he muttered as he grudgingly crossed his weyr and snatched the paper from beneath the heap of riding gear where he'd left it several days ago. Actually, several days ago he'd placed it on top of the heap of riding gear, but he'd had drills in the intervening time, and so it had been dislodged and the gear had been dumped on it after, when R'bin brought it back to the weyr to finish some adjustments. The paper was a little greasy from where a metal bit had rested.

He unfolded the paper and squinted at it before deciding the sun had set too far, and the light in his weyr was too dim to read it. When he conveyed this difficulty to Huarangith as an excuse for putting it off, the dragon cheerfully suggested that perhaps he could either turn the glows so that he could see better, or else relocate somewhere with more illumination. Like the kitchen. Where he could also perhaps abscond with some bread for his starving dragon to eat while they watched the moon rise together.

Because it was an excuse to put off reading the letter a little longer, R'bin allowed himself to be persuaded to head toward the kitchen in search of bread. When he was a weyrling, Huarangith had once eaten so much bread so fast he'd had hiccoughs for nearly an hour. It had been hilarious to young R'bin, the way everyone started each time one had erupted from the young dragon's gut. It might have been even funnier, he later realized, if Huarangith had been given firestone first, but the dragon had refused to attempt to repeat the experience, although he retained his fondness for yeasty treats.

By the time R'bin had walked to the kitchen, found a loaf of bread that he was allowed to take away all for himself - saying it was for his dragon was not an excuse that would work, he had learned turns ago - and scrambled up to the height where Huarangith had perched, the sun was fully set and it really was too dark to read. Not that it mattered. He'd left the letter back in the weyr. Instead, he leaned against Huarangith's foreleg, drawing on the dragon's warmth as the evening grew chill, and watched the moon make its appearance over the nearby water.

It wasn't until the moon had fully risen and Huarangith was dozing lightly that R'bin left the rocky ledge. (To be fair, he also might have napped a very little bit.) He climbed back down, glad not to be burdened with bread at this point, since he almost certainly would have fallen and injured himself trying to retrace his ascent in the dark, and took a wending path through the Weyr on the way to his weyr, pausing to chat with wingmates and acquaintances.

It was early yet to really sleep, but late enough that he couldn't really begin any new activity before bed. It was, in other words, the perfect time to read the letter from his family. He sighed deeply, removed the glowbasket from its nook in the wall of his weyr and placed it beside his furs. Then he shucked off his boots, trousers, and top and lay down in his smallclothes, letter in hand, and began to read.

Word Count: 1,006