Zazil stood near his auntie Ami and helped her do the dishes for the evening. It was a big load, but no complaint came from his lips. He was too busy talking about his day. At nine and a half turns old, Zazil had a way with words as well as people.

"I don't understand it Ami," he said, "he's older than I am and all he wants to do is play silly games like a child. He isn't interested in seeing the weyr, or learning about how the dragons fly. And it isn't even like the riders games when they play poker - he has money, he doesn't want to bet it away. He's really stingy with it." Zazil's talk was hardly prattle to Ami's ears, he was actually speaking the truth about the visitors.

"Well, Zazi," she said while putting another pile of dishes into the big basin they both worked in, "he isn't from here. His parents are visiting dignitaries from the local lands, he's hold-born, and many young lordlings like him aren't asked to do any chores or learn difficult tasks like twisting riding leathers."

"But why?" Zazil asked again. "He's old enough to be responsible." He paused and scrubbed harder at a stain on one bowl, "he's old enough to stand on the sands, yet he won't even consider going down to see Nozomith or the other queens." He shook his head. "It's stupid, I think."

"You think he's an idiot," Ami said with a grin.

"No," Zazil said abruptly, "no, he's not stupid, Ami, he's really smart. That's why I don't get it! He could do all these things with himself. Great things. But ... he's just playing like a kid."

"That, Zazi," Ami said with a wider smile, "is the way of the world."

***

If there was one flaw that the handsome and tall Zazil had, by the time he was fourteen turns, it was the weyr-arrogance that he believed weyrborn folk were superior in all ways to others. Especially to hold-born. He'd had many encounters with visitors. Since he was always at the front of the line for volunteers when the Headwoman would call for escorts around the weyr, Zazil could count two dozen Holds that he knew he was better than. He asked questions carefully - where were you from, where was this place? What was the weather like? Did they do any crafting there? How many riders had been searched from there?

Only one Hold born girl, a lady about his own age, caught on to his ploy for digging. She chided him, but then was searched herself, and realized how different life could be for a rider. He would continue to ask questions and get enough information to tuck away - as proof of their superiority to such people.

In the meantime, while he wasn't busy finding things for young Lords and Ladies to do while their parents hashed out rights and tithes with the Weyrleaders, Zazil studied with the other weyrbrats. Though he was not always at the top of the class in every subject, the weyrharper would award him honors more often than not. Of special note, his ability with visual images and patterns. He was always top marked when it came to maths and logic puzzles, as well as when the tactics and flight pattern classes were held.

Though not everyone in the class was a rider, it was usually expected that the best in the bunch were. This class was an exception. The weyrling master and his assistant were surprised by Zazil's abilities to organize information - dragon size, rider weight, health and wingspan - and create diagrams which showed the most effective formations for a random group of riders.

"When this pair tire," he pointed at the chart, "then it's time for this blue to enter. And by the time these two greens are ready to head home, a brown will have come back from their rest period." The batch of weyrling riders sat and pondered his words, as well as the chart he'd drawn. "Unless he's injured badly, the wing leader will be able to pull a full duty that Fall."

Even R'vfen found himself nodding to approve the tactic. "Good job," he announced. "An excellent presentation!" He glanced at the elder weyrling riders in attendance, "I hope you've learned from that, I might just have that on your exams."

While in general there was a round of applause for the work Zazil had done, there were notably a couple riders who grumbled about him. "He's not even been searched, he can't know the skies better than we will."

"Well well, jealous much?" Said H'aeny, a young bronze rider. "You're not even up in the air yet. Don't go judging him. And besides," he looked over to the faintly embarrassed Zazil, "he's Searched now, anyway."

Zazil felt it from across the room, like a blast of warm air. The words that the young man had said were... they weren't a lie, right? How could he lie about something like this? After all, he'd lived in the weyr all his life and expected to Impress some day, but no one did that without first being Searched.

"Thank you, bronze rider," Zazil said with a little bow. The weyrling master dismissed the group, and Zazil bolted back to his shared dorm.

***

Though Searched, Zazil spent another year at Dragonhope. Through three hatchings, watching eagerly like everyone else, he was passed up by the dragonets. He was not daunted, but he was faintly disappointed. Not in the hatchlings of course - but more aimed at himself.

"Father, can I speak with you for a minute?" Zazil asked. L'zar turned to see his son at the weyr's door, and beckoned him inside. The relationship between this pair was an odd one, like many weyrbrats had. The son of a brown rider, L'zar, and a green rider named Pami (whose sister was Ami the kitchen mistress by the way) Zazil was hardly raised by the rider pair. Because they were needed at any time and could be injured beyond repair during Threadfall, dragon riding parents were hardly known to be close to their children. So Ami largely raised the boy, with the two riders freely acknowledging their pride in how he'd turned out.

"Of course son, sit down..." L'zar said, and his brown dragon lifted his head from his stone couch for a moment, and gave a pleased sniff at the teenager.

"When should I ask to be transferred to another weyr?" Zazil said, very straightforward with his father, if never with a holder. "It's been too long, I don't want to become too old to Impress. It isn't that I don't appreciate the weyr putting me on the sands time and time again, but..."

"But it's not an experience that anyone should have, over and over," L'zar said, nodding. "I understand completely. I stood three times, your mother I think five. It had to be worse for her, the girls are always so ... histerical over the queen eggs."

"Is it true that some of them try to kill themselves if they don't impress?" Zazil asked.

"I know of one, but none here. Fortunately we've got quite a good reputation among weyrs for that kind of thing." L'zar said. "But I'll look into transferring you to a new place. I'm sure that there are weyrs who need a good candidate like you."

"But I'd want to come back here," Zazil said suddenly. He wasn't panicking, but there was something oddly desperate in his tone. His father paused, and looked his son over. One couldn't help but see he was an attractive man in the making. L'zar hoped that thread didn't rip that from him. But nothing could take away the skill and cleverness the boy had always exhibited. Perhaps dull it over time - but that would have to come with Impressing and flight.

"Then we'll find a place that has a contract with us," L'zar said. "Come on, we'll speak to S'xon about it, and I'm sure he can find a place."

That place turned out to be Falas Weyr. With an odd set of inhabitants - wolves of lore, with wings? Who had ever seen those? Zazil was led around by his father, who introduced him to the proper people. Finally accepted and settled into the barracks, Zazil bid his father farewell.

"Just for the moment," L'zar said with a big smile. He left and Zazil was in good cheer for the first few hours. Eventually though, the awareness that he was no longer in a comfortable and well-worn setting (at least, not worn to him!) started to seep in. Zazil perched on the corner of his cot, wondering what he ought to be doing.

"Well I won't just sit here," he muttered to himself. He went off and found where the kitchens were. They smelled quite different from Dragonhope's but they were none the less quite busy and filled with things he could relate to. He offered to help with the cleaning, which surprised several of the locals. But they'd get used to it - he was happiest when he was doing something and it might as well be of use to others, right?

The biggest change of course was the weather and temperature. Born and raised in one of the farthest north Weyrs in the world, Zazil was at first uncomfortable with the heat here at Falas. Eventually that passed - he'd first lose the cloak, and then the heavy shirt, finally left with his light-weather pants and his vest. The weather wasn't all - the days were so ... bright! While Dragonhope would be plunged into darkness several months of the year, this place was always lit, evenly dark... It was actually nice for a change. Zazil's body adjusted to the hours easily.

At last, not too much longer, the call for candidates was sent up. Everyone donning their robes, Zazil was well familiar with the process by now. It was bizarre - Zazil was herded around by one of the winged wolves! "Easy, easy," he said to one, while she nipped at him gently to hurry down to the dragons.

The eggs were really rocking! They weren't really expected to do so until a few days from then, but Zazil allowed himself to get that same thrill from the hot sands below his feet. Though this was hardly his first hatching - it always felt that way.

The first egg to finally come open enough to see its inhabitant showed off a bronze! Such an excellent way to begin! He found his way toward another of the young men, but then Zaziil was suddenly aware of an itching sensation around his shoulders and neck. Looking around, he saw that another egg was breaking open, and the brown dragonet inside fell out into a dip on the sands. Tumbling downwards until he reached the low end of the little dune, the brown shook his head off and tried to stand.

Wobbly, but with purpose, the dark colored brown came striding toward Zazil. He chirped cutely and butted his head against the dark-skinned man's hip.

My shoulder hurts! The dragonet bespoke

"You took quite a tumble," Zazil chuckled, "But let me check that out anyway. I'm sure that it'll be fine in a bit." He looked, but did not see any injuries. He'd been to many classes for dragon care after all, he hardly needed the aid of the local healers. They finally headed off the sands and into the feeding area, where the dragonet finally satiated his deep hunger.

Ladaeth and Z'zi made a good team at least while on the ground. They marched proudly and in a good time with one another. It was clear that if too many bronzes got in the way, though, that Ladaeth would push his way through them. After all, he was the finest dragon to grace the sands of Falas weyr... ever. Perhaps it didn't help that he was the second largest in the whole clutch, just shy of the only true bronze.

They finally were gearing up to learn to fly, though, at last. That was where both of them worried. Would they do well? In theory, Z'zi knew his stuff. But he'd never flown with the riders at Dragonhope, he did know in theory how to grip and how to lean, where to look and how to work everything... But...

We will be fine! Ladaeth exclaimed when he felt the weight of his bond between his already-wide shoulders. The dragon was only a few shades darker than his bond, they looked exceptional together anyway.

"Well if you say we will," Z'zi laughed, "then I think that's how it's going to be."

I do say! Now, hold on to me. You can feel me as much as I feel you, can't you?

With that thought, Z'zi realized everything was perfect. They could almost literally become one. Two heads and four eyes, but with the wings and legs of a dragon and the memory and forethought of the man. And up into the air they went for all of a few seconds, as Ladaeth's first flight was over. Everyone else had their turn, but it was as though a whole new light had come on in Z'zi's mind.

This would be perfect. They were perfect together!

It was now time for Z'zi and Ladaeth to return to the wings of Dragonhope. For the first time in two full turns, he would be seeing his family and friends again! He had heard so much about the trouble that Aniz was having, but she'd be fine. She was so strong it was a wonder that no one had searched her yet. (little did he know!)

The brown bugled and announced himself to the watch dragon - and expressed to his rider that while they were going to be an exceptional fighting team, wouldn't it be great fun to post themselves as the watch dragon and rider?

"I think it would," Z'zi laughed, "it's what I used to do for the ground crew anyway." They flew north, catching the powerful drafts over the sea, and propelled themselves directly into the main dragon landing area. People and dragons, flitters and a couple herdbeasts all scattered.

"We're back!" Z'zi yelled, and lept from his dragon's shoulder. His father and mother greeted him, and appraised the big brown.

"He's ... he's half again the size of Tolteth!" L'zar chuckled. "He'll be at the head of any wing, and with you riding him?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," his mother added with a prideful smile, "if you're going to lead a wing some day."

That made both man and dragon raise their heads in unison. "Think so?" Z'zi said.

"You'll have to prove it," said ... that bronze rider? The one from so long ago? H'aeny gave Ladaeth a good once over and nodded. "Yeah, you'll have to prove it, but I don't think you'll have any trouble doing it. Your cousin's been Searched by the way, after everything..."

He caught up with the Weyr's gossip and information. Z'zi found himself almost out of the loop. But one weyr's gossip is largely like another's, just fill in the names and adjust for colors of the dragons...

***

Z'zil and his brown were definitely at the top of the list for wing leadership, and spent an amount of time doing exactly that. And when the beautiful gold ridden by the Weyrleaders' granddaughter Patina rose, it was to a spectacular flight. It wasn't her first flight, and definitely wasn't going to be the last. But... It turned out to be the last flight that Ladaeth would participate in.

It was a disaster, with Thread falling unexpectedly shortly after the gold's flight. It turned out that several of the dragons from the weyr he'd been hatched at were weakened, sickly, unable to participate, and some met an early death even before this. But Ladaeth toughed it out, tried so hard. But in the end, the brown dragon was Threadscored across too much of his wings, his back, his neck. Z'zi was spared the brunt of this by having a heavy sack of firestone lashed to his back, but he did have to spend several weeks in the infirmary from his shattered shoulder, and the loss.

The loss of his dragon, his one, that ashen-black brown, whose name echoed through his mind, unanswered. It was a stranger pain when he recalled his very first moment with his dragon, on the sands so long ago. That dragon had hurt his own wing shoulder, just a bump but it was the first pain he ever knew. And... it was the last pain he ever knew. It bought the tears back, but not so hard, because Zazil was trying to relive the good parts. The fishing, the flirting, the wing seconding and his own wing leadership. They were resoundingly successful.

Eventually though... Eventually there would be a strange tiding. He roused himself when Patina sat beside him as he lay still-lingering in his infirmary bed. "I have something you should see," she suggested. He'd been growing more restless, which the others in the infirmary suggested was a good thing.

Z'zi ... he kept saying "it's just Zazil again now", wasn't suicidal any longer, though he'd spent the better part of the first week having to be restrained and sedated. He waved off the dose once he'd come to his senses, but still did have a fractured shoulderblade given he was shaken free of Ladaeth's harness before the dragon betweened. He'd been caught mid-air by Elaaki and her green Lissuinth, not the first and not the only rider to be rescued that terrible day. But it had definitely taken its toll on his body, he was out of his mind in pain already from the dragon's connection from the Threadscore, and had passed out on his way out of the harness, flopping limply into the air - but still, still screaming at the dragon's pain.

That fall saved his life, that Fall ended his career. Or so he thought. Patina walked him carefully through the Weyr's infirmary and outside to a ledge. Her stunningly beautiful yellow-gold dragon Breaundath stood with a patient and almost soft gaze in her whirling eyes. He'd rarely seen such a tint of greenish teal from a dragon, let alone that dragon.

"Gear up," Patina said, indicating the large harness fit for at least three people that was strapped to Breaun's neck. A weyrbrat took that as his cue to hold up a flight jacket, riding cap and goggles, and a strap for the harness's fitting. "Your arm can stay out of the sleeve," Patina said, "but get that jacket on. It's cold today and it'll be cold where we're going."

Zazil stood dumbfounded for a moment, but with a little prodding - probably psionic and from Patina's mind directly - he accepted the gear, and also the help from the weyrbrat to get it on his good arm and over his bad shoulder. "Hope you don't expect me to hang on properly," the rider muttered.

"No, but you'll be in front of me, I can make sure you're seated." Patina wasn't kidding around. Normally he'd be behind as a passenger, but with the injury... and probably she wanted to keep her eye on him anyway. He managed to snug his riding cap on, and handed the strap to the kid next to them. With that hint, the boy eagerly helped the riders up, and snugged the harness strap down exactly as he'd been learning in classes.

"Good lad, that's just right," Zazil said, almost before he could prevent himself. There was a fluttering in his heart, that threatened to close his throat, it was all just - all of it was still right there, he was still a rider. He still knew the skies, the flex of a dragon's shoulder and muscular body. Good thing, too, because this queen could definitely fly the socks off of a rider. He remembered the mating flight, knew that there were eggs on the sands. They were her eggs? "Wait - why are--"

"Why are we leaving the sands unattended?" Patina said, as they reached a good flight altitude. "Who says they are unattended?"

There was a very strange sensation in his gut - Zazil suddenly realized that Patina and her dragon were still on the Sands at this very moment. He took the time and bore the pain of actively turning his whole head and body to face the queen rider, whose beautiful face was altogether too smug. He didn't even need to ask. He knew.

"Sneaky," he cracked a smile and a chuckle escaped, the first time since... well, since.

Patina drew in a long, measured breath. She knew that this would be harder for him than he expected. So she began doing... something, to his mind. Just a bit of protection, just a little. Confidence, calmness. If he felt this, he didn't make any external sign. As she coaxed the dragoness to head where they were going, Zazil knew instinctively how to react.

Moving between was something that hardly bothered dragon riders like him, it was cold, sure. It was dark and slightly-scary.

It was filled with the souls and minds of the lost. Though most people apparently couldn't sense this, it was perhaps why any given person felt ill at ease there for very long. Zazil did stiffen, though his eyes were shut and his breath was held as usual, he... sensed. The tears that came unbidden froze and might have left permanent stains had they remained in the void any longer than needed. But he felt that lost dragon, who flew carefree with thousands of others now. He could finally let go. He would never forget, but he did not have to try clinging on now.

They exited over a semi-familiar place: Aneris Weyr, but it was... different. When he'd recovered from the teleport, moments later, he glanced up at the night sky. They were...No signs of the Red Star, at least not where it ought to have been at this time.

"Patina, what have you done?" He asked, not harshly, but more in wonder. He knew that others in her family were rather good at this whole temporal switching thing, but she just did it twice and overlapped herself three times to do it. She seemed rather smug about it all too.

"I can't just go walking in," she said, as they landed some distance away - the watchdragon did not bugle, but that was due to the queen's mind(s) stifling the urge. "So you will be there with a few others..." Her feet carried her, and he had no choice but to follow, while the queen dragon put her head down and rested a bit.

More of Patina's family showed up, they had walked from up the hill, from inside the Weyr. Zazil was almost ... almost aghast? He didn't even know that word and he definitely felt it. He knew who these two were, they were Patina's cousins? Younger than she, as she was born to the eldest of the Weyrleaders' children. Stone crafter born, where she was definitely a healer at heart.

The siblings were maybe two-thirds his age, at best, he had been a rider for ... a while. Long enough to have history, long enough to have a lifelong career. They were just going to get started with theirs. He assumed that they would be standing and he'd be there to assist and encourage.

He was wrong, though. As they made their way to the entrance, and up into the halls where the siblings had apparently already been settled, Zazil realized that there was an 'extra' bunk in Tymax's dorm. Something gnawed at his mind, something more than just having been thrown back in time himself. The dragon that belonged to their their grandfather, the Weyrleader's great bronze Bhavyatath flew overhead, attracting only his eyes, only Zazil's attention. He was meant to see that dragon. Zazil knew something very important was happening.

He wasn't here to watch the next generation learn the ropes.

He was there to re-impress.

Zazil knew that the two siblings had been born barely before he impressed, the first time. But there they stood now, of an age similar to his own when he first stood. And somehow, it wouldn't surprise him when they got such unusual dragons to take home.

But for the moment, even though he'd been there at Aneris for maybe a day, maybe a day and a night, his name was on the list, with a smudge where the 'age' was supposed to be on that chart, and not a single strange glare was had when he, a fully grown mature man, walked onto the sands.

He didn't wear a white robe. He had chosen a dark brown one, probably unconsciously to honor his dragon. The dragon would know, this one anyway, who he was, what he'd been through.

That is true, a dragon's mind pierced Zazil's gloomy pall. Zazil didn't stiffen up particularly but he did stand at attention, like he'd done a thousand times before as a weyrling rider or a wing second... And it was warranted. It didn't look as though too many people noticed that dragon walking toward him, but he glanced once at the stands: there they were, not just Weyrleader S'xon and Weyrwoman Kira, but their son S'vax and his wife Tameshal, watching their Weyr's participants with care and pride. It was like the entire crowd beyond those dark men and pale women was blurred by ...

Not tears, nope. Because this dragon that walked boldly and with a sure gait was bigger by far than any brown had a right to be, fresh out of the shell.

Do not be surprised, I match your needs, do I not?

His voice was clear, as confident as his walk. "You do, Ravinth, you definitely do."

They were there at the Weyr only long enough to faintly wave recordings of names at the recordkeepers, and then all three of them were brought directly back to Dragonhope. There was no muss, no fuss, just 'we'll be taking them now thanks' and poof.

Patina and the beautiful gold she rode were nowhere to be seen, by the time the hatchling feast occurred at Aneris, but there were notably two casks of wine and several roast wherrie 'missing' from their kitchen.

The Weyrleaders' family had their own celebration back at Dragonhope, where they belonged. "A male green," Z'zil - he'd added that L back, but it would take time to hear it and respond to it again - "who would have thought." He didn't mention the gold that also came to them tonight, who was sleeping off the trip with Shyvex in their weyr rather than remaining with the rest. That male green as well, Tymax's, seemed rather snoozy. And though Ravinth was also half-asleep, Z'zil was not so easily drawn to his bedchamber. He had wine to drink, he had a feast for this, celebrating new life.

"There are quite a few oddities among the last decade's hatchlings," Kira said, shoveling peas mushed into her potato right into her mouth but not even pausing before speaking again, "a lot of them didn't remain here, though." She paused, swallowed, then glanced at her husband and offspring sitting around the grand feast table in their main meeting hall. "I mean. Originally," Kira waved her fork around, empty now, "maybe they're here again I don't know I can't even keep track any more, that's what Aniz is for."

She waggled her eyebrows and that self-same cousin of Z'zil's gave off a tittering laugh from behind her own mug of soup.

I like how they are all strong leaders and highly ranked, my one. That dragon bespoke groggily, we will make them proud again.

***

And they definitely did. With a man of his age and experience to guide the young dragonet, he spent all the time needed with the hatchling - feeding and cleaning every single little inch of his skin time and again. Peeling the hide when it was ready to shed, showing Ravinth how to put his head up high, without losing his balance. All these little things that a newly Impressed youth would not have known, but this came back to him easily. Maybe Aniz's perfect memory ran in the family, after all.

I like her, but I am glad that Sayaith is too old for me. She is a good mother though.

"I'm glad for that too, Ravinth, because Aniz is my cousin."

The word didn't mean much to the weyrling, he knew only clutch-mates and siblings and perhaps mates and offspring and mothers. It would take a while before he'd understand that he could have siblings who were not clutch-mates!

Humans complicate everything, the dragonet commented, as they did their marching drills with the younger and freshly impressed kids. Even though Ravinth was the same age, just under a year, he was by this point bigger than the bronzes that had hatched here at Dragonhope a year before. Now to be fair, their parentage was on the smaller side but still, Ravinth would be big. Not fat, he was already muscular and growing into a very large wingspan. He spread those wings, and other dragons and people gave him room.

Z'zil smiled broadly, and if the dragon could have, he would too.

Even though they looked nothing alike, Ravinth strode with the same force of purpose, the same proud gaze, as his predecessor Ladaeth had. They surveyed the team of younger riders, local dragons mixed with those from far off or ... far in time.

They didn't realize that the Weyrleaders were watching from their ledge, as this spectacular and huge dragon took to the sky with his training wing locked into formation. "It's like he never left," Kira sighed, happily. "I think it would be so different if she'd come back..."

"With this dragon, well, we'll see how she does with that bronze monster. I wonder," S'xon glanced up at the Outlook where that same bronze from Breaundath's recent, local clutch stood guard.

"They will compete for the same queens, I think," S'xon said, with a long, slow nod. "And it will be worth seeing, whoever wins."

Name: Ravinth
Species: Aneris Pernese, elongated skull shape, no other frills; wings have 4 visible fingers and a flexible thumb
Gender: male
Color: Brown, bronze sized (actually like 1.5 bronze size)
Size: very large 24' s / 110' l / 200' ws
Parents: Clutch 21: Gold Breaundath and Gold Gobicharth * carries off-gendered coloration
Abilities: Winged Flight
Teleportation
Telepathy
Personality: Head-Strong
Sociability: Dislikes Useless Chatter
Intelligence: average
Mating: Good endurance for his size
Threadfighting:
Other:
Bond: * Z'zil

Lineage

Mates and Descendants