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Date Posted: 00:38:59 02/19/05 Sat
Author: Yima & Yimask; Mikhal
Subject: [Watchwher people]

Stalking back to her watchwher, Yima slides back under Yimask's neck and sinks to the ground, the gold's heavy jaw once again thumping into her lap. Resting one hand on Yimask's neck and the other on her forehead, between her closed eyes, Yima rubs the thick hide idly with her thumbs, inscribing small circles on the cream-colored surface. Her eyes flicker over the children for a moment, pausing to alight on each one in quiet assessment. Manethenre is obviously waiting eagerly for the eggs to start hatching, though Yima isn't as wildly optimistic about that as the girl's little flittery pets seem to be. I'd give them an hour on the inside. I can't judge as well as I'd be able to if they were 'ask's eggs, so I might be wrong, though. It's not, as some people might assume the fact that she doesn't know when the eggs were laid. She can make that estimate to within a couple of days. No, it's because the condition and health of the mother, and the mother's heat near the eggs during incubation, affect hatching speed - a healthy, prime queen in top shape might produce hatchlings that would be cracking out of shells within minutes of the first small movements, but she doesn't know anything about the queen that had laid these, or even how long they'd gone without a mother's body heat after her death and before Yimask found them. Good grief, are those beasts going to hum the whole time until they hatch? Yima is a little exasperated by the firelizards, but she won't say anything unless the noise becomes intolerable or starts bothering Yimask. She'd had a whole fair, once, a long time ago, and the intincts hatching triggers in them seem to be the hardest to train out. Dismissing Manethenre for the moment, she lets her gaze travel to the shadowy shapes of Mikhal and Telomm - the oldest and youngest of her future handlers, respectively. Telomm seems a bit gun-shy for her taste, and nervous overall, but with luck she and his wher can knock some spine into him. He's the youngest prospective handler she's seen, but not the only one with the shyness. Hn. He did think quick on his feet, there. Well, boys like that seem to start growing backbone when their whers are at stake... and if he doesn't, there are other ways to instill it. She blinks at Mikhal for a moment, determined not to over-judge him just because he's a bit closer to the age she likes for this. He can be in his twenties, and if he doesn't have the right attitude for this, he'll still be useless, she reminds himself. In fact, at this point most of her thoughts on him have revolved around the physical aspect - scrawny and undergrown he might be, but he's still the biggest, and handling young whers requires a great deal of strength. Resigned as Yima is to providing most of that muscle to the children until they develop it themselves, Mikhal will be useful as a helper in that respect. He hasn't been stupid so far, but he hasn't been exceptional either. Well, average is good enough, in this day and age. I'll have to watch him for a bit. Well, all of them.... And with that thought, Yima's eyes flicker to Clell. He's probably the lowest on her mental totem pole right now; the mistake at the door, which she'd warned against in her note, had not impressed her. Black marks don't get erased from her book, but they can be balanced out by gold stars. She'll have to wait and see if he's capable of earning those, or if he'll have to be improved the hard way. There's certain benefits to the hard way, but it's so often extra work for her as well as the children, and they always resent it. Feeling drowsiness beginning to creep back up on her, but wanting to stay alert for when the eggs start hatching, Yima tilts her head back against the stone wall of the cave and closes her eyes. A light doze is all she'll allow herself, as Yimask shifts slightly in her sleep and cuts off the circulation in the woman's legs.


Mikhal smiles reflexively at Telomm, even though the younger boy can't see him. Smiling is something of a habit to him - it's much easier to get along with people when you're friendly, good-natured, and amiable. Not that these traits come hard to the young man, but emphasizing them usually keeps him bruise-free, so he tries to be good-natured even when he's not really in the mood to be. Telomm's question, though, makes him wince in embarassment. "I followed them - Yimask and Yima, I mean," he explains, suddenly glad of the dark because it hides his hot face. "I didn't think they realized I was there, but I guess they did, and Yima got annoyed and dragged me in. Manethenre was already here," he adds, just to make sure Telomm doesn't think he's trying to claim he got here first. "Yima said Manethenre found them, and asked if I wanted to try and handle one." Mikhal's still privately estatic at that, and some of that feeling leaks into his voice. "She said they don't fly - or not very high, anyway." There's immense relief at that statement. Heights absolutely terrify Mikhal, and always will. Just standing on some of the higher human-accessible points of the Weyr and looking down - say, from the steep ridge on the edge of the Bowl that's more of a cliff on one side - makes him light-headed and nauseous. "I think I'd be a better wherhandler than a dragonrider." He pauses, then forges on. "I was sort of asleep when you got here, but I heard some of it. I liked your reason for wanting to be a wherhandler." There's a note of admiration in his voice. "It was better than mine - I mean, I just don't want to have to fly up high, and I don't want to work in the kitchen the rest of my life."

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