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Date Posted: 14:53:00 04/16/02 Tue
Author: Bre�a
Author Host/IP: 205.221.227.251
Subject: |:searched:|

The Sisters were just glinting in the dawn skies, the Red Planet still only a figment of nightmares. The sun was rising, slowly; already fat on the horizon. Its watercolor wash of hues was projected outward, glinting across the lake, softness offset by the sharpness of the forest.

This all can be seen from the window of her chamber, through the open brass shutters. Tapestries adorning the walls flutter lightly. But she is already awake, and has no time to sit and admire sunrises. Having dressed in a simple riding gear, she had packed a meager lunch and is ready for the day.

The stables are her one and only stop; her father breeds runners. Usually, he breeds the heavier, sturdier beasts; gentle and stolid for pulling carts and ploughs. However, he does the quicker, lithesome beasts when the occasion calls, as it had then. A Holder had ordered a fast runner, to be ready when his son came of age. That time was fast approaching, and the runner still needed broken for the finer points of riding.
That was where she came in.

Her father had grown too old to train runners; a Thread score to his leg, when he was a daring youth was stiffening, causing him to spend more and more time out of the saddle. It pained him greatly; that he could not fully experience the fruits of his carefully planned breeding, but to know that his daughter was acquiring the bug for runners was payment enough.

She entered the stable and found it to be empty, save for the runners. The runner, which they referred to as Lordson, was a male. It stood almost too tall to be an effective racer; its tight bulk built more for maneuvers than flat running. He was white as ashes, with darkened legs, ears and muzzle. Its mane and tail were like thick ebony smoke as it swished away the early-morning pests. Eyes as blue as the glaciers in the High reaches were almost sleepy looking. She knew better than to be fooled, however. For under the beautiful exterior was a personality like fire, ready to take advantage of an unknowing rider.

She loved the runner; it was her favorite mount, because they had long ago come to accept their equality and were willing to make deals for the common purpose. It would feel like betrayal to let him go to some bratty Holder's son.

Stepping into the stable box, she ran knowing hands over legs and back, checking for problems. Lifting the hoofs one by one, she checked each throrogly, for her father had preached that there was no house without the foundation, therefore, there was no horse without the hoofs. With a fond pat on the snowpale shoulder, she sighed.

"If only the Holder's son would get Searched, and you could be mine."

Lordson flicked an idle ear back, before snuffling up the last of his breakfast.

"Your concern is overwhelming, Son."

A simple saddle was all she needed, preferring to control the horse with her legs and vocal commands. With a quick, careful brushing and a double check of the tack, she mounted up and trotted down the well-worn path to the beach.

The beach was well known to both runner and rider; each pratfall and fallen branch was marked and dealt with, for this place was their own personal track. The scent of the pine forest nearby sharpened the fresh perfume of the lake. From the rugged cliff where their Hold was carved, the lake curved outward. On the other side of the hold, the ocean met with stone. This lake was not of entirely fresh water, being too near the sea to be pure.

Urging the beast into greater lengths, giving him his head. Leaping into greater strides, she leans over the stretched neck. There cannot be anything better than this, she croons mentally. Nearly flying over the soft sand, the ride as smooth as the air. Almost like the famous between, where there is nothing but man and beast. An amazing type of fusion.

The serenity is shattered as Lordson lets out a bugle of total fear, surging backward and slipping in the sand and falling upon his back. Leaping nimbly, but not quick enough, she finds herself pinned under the great beast's squirming body.

"Damn. What the-Get off Lord!! Get off!!!"

The runner rises, only to go shying back again, fidgeting and screaming. Rising, finding her ankle sore, she grabs at his forelock, wishing she had opted for reins. Running her hands over the frightened beast's fine boned face, she coos words of endearment, trying to squelch her heated anger. Once the beast is calmed, she gazes about to see the cause of the stir.

Dragons! In the sky above her Hold!

A magnificent bronze, skin glowing in the early morning sun, gliding in lazy circles to the Watchstone. All anger forgotten in the same awe that overtakes all Pernese citizens, she hobbles to Lordson's side, mouthing with a stifled gasp of pain. Spurring the lathered horse gently on, she canters to the stable, bursting with emotion.

In the stable, she brushes Lordson down, trying not to hurry and do the job shoddily. She did not wish to treat the runner unfairly, after all; if he became ill because of her negligence, it would be her hide and her father's reputation.

The task is finally completed and she takes off running down the corridor, her boots smacking the flagstones loudly. Someone leaps from the stable, grabbing her roughly. It is a stable drudge, his eyes wide in fear.

"Milady! Bre�a! There are dragons aloft!! But the runner mare has trouble birthing! You must help! I must attend the riders!" With his last frantic words, the youth goes running headlong out of the stable. She sends a disappointed gaze at the heaving mare, lying on the straw in the stable box. Rolling back her sleeves and kneeling behind the writhing runner, she gets to work. Life first, gossip later.

Candlemarks later she staggers into the main corridor, feeling filthy but not really caring. The dragonriders must have left by now; just enough for her to zoom in and sweep up the news.

She finds she was quite wrong. The Hall is ablaze with activity, all surrounding the dragonrider who had situated himself at the middle of the table. The Holder had placed his insipid second daughter beside him, and she was slathering across the Rider's arm. She immediately felt a surge of contempt. The Holder was too much of a miser to separate with yet another dowry, so having his second daughter become Weyrwoman would be a great victory at a not to great prince. They already paid tithe to the Weyr anyway.

With a huff of disgust, she turned and marched down the corridor again, only to find her father leading a tall man down the hall behind her. She noted, her heart twisting, her father's ever growing limp. She reached out a hand, placing it on her father's shoulder, looking in annoyance at the man. How dare he make her father exert himself so�.She felt like raging, but her father's exultant words silenced everything.

"Bre�a! You've been chosen in Search!"

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|:the rest:| -- "Bre�a, 14:55:02 04/16/02 Tue