Razi stared suspiciously at the young man on the easygoing blue.  <<Chareth?>> she queried, her lithe body held gracefully, neither stiff nor slumped.  <<It’s only Ka’shan and Beridonth, Razi.  Don’t get in a tizzy,>> the green burbled.  <<He’s a former Smith Journeyman.  Last posting was NoWher Hold.  Beridonth,>> and there’s no mistaking the possessive hooks which Chareth has embedded into her tone, <<is from Talor Cliff Weyr; his mother is gold Veralineth, his father is brown Rajinath.>> <<Thank you, oh fount of knowledge,>> Razi retorted, rather acidly.  The come-hither looks her weyrling green was tossing toward the serene, lightly-built blue—who, by Razi’s estimation, could barely have graduated—made her irritable.  A good deal of the irritability, she realized with exasperation, was because she wasn’t sure if it was dragon-coquettishness or her own traitor self that was soppily yearning after the muscular figure of Ka’shan. ***** Ka’shan fought not to raise an eyebrow as he seated himself at the weyrling’s table.  The puzzled looks that the tall, athletic Mooncrest weyrling was shooting him were hardly usual, and her light golden skin flushed a little as she realized he was staring back at her.  <<Beridonth?>> he begged, and the flame of his lifemate’s presence sprung to life in his mind, as steady as that of an oil lamp.  <<Yes, Ka’shan?>> <<Who does this girl,>> and he closed his eyes and pictured her, long-legged and energetic, with the reddish brindling in her black hair, <<ride?>> <<Green Chareth,>> replied Beridonth, shyly.  The pale green roundness of a Mooncrest-bred filled his mind’s eye for a moment.  <<She is flirting with everyone, but Oroshth says that she said she liked me best.  I don’t know what to say to her, so please don’t ask me to bespeak her!>> Ka’shan bit his lip.  <<All right.  Does Oroshth know her rider’s name?>>  Eyes as liquid as any runner’s fixed upon him, and he could feel a blush rising on his own cheeks.  <<Chareth isn’t proddy, is she?>> Beridonth winced mentally.  <<No, I don’t think so.  Just friendly.  Her rider is Shaharaza, or Razi.>> <<Shaharaza?>> Ka’shan said skeptically.  <<What will they come up with next?  Thanks, Ber.>> ***** The meal ended without fanfare, and one of the male weyrlings grinned.  “Race you for the hot springs over here,” he invited to the weyrling table at large, and those that were athletic rose.  Amused, Razi watched Ka’shan rise to the occasion. Hmm.  I wonder if he runs.  He’s a lot taller than he looks when he’s sitting down. She took her place at the entrance to the Living Caverns, dropping to a light crouch beside the too-tall ex-Smith.  “I didn’t know senior weyrlings dropped their dignity like this,” she challenged him, but he merely smiled.  “Senior weyrlings don’t have a shred of dignity, Shaharaza.  They’re just desperately proud.”  His voice was a pleasant baritone, and she smiled back, involuntarily.  How did he know her given name? “On your marks…get set…GO!” called out one of the more indolent young riders, and the weyrlings were off in a flash.  Ka’shan’s easy lope carried him along effortlessly, but Razi’s flat-out sprint blurred her bony legs, and she was first to the hot springs, crowing and panting as she splashed into the heated pool.  “You’re faster than you look,” he remarked, as he plunged in, the sixth or seventh after her.  “You, unfortunately, aren’t,” she told him, and twitched her soaked braid back over her shoulder as she dove.  ***** The weyrlings dried out in front of a roaring bonfire, fueled by the greenery they’d plucked earlier from the heights of the abandoned weyr.  One tiny lass, a former Harper, told deliciously frightening stories, and they shivered agreeably as hair and clothes began to pick up the smoke-perfumed warmth.  A class from another weyr—Ka’shan did not know the name—got rowdier and rowdier, finally demanding dance-tunes from the grinning Harper.  She complied. “Ka’shan,” they fussed at him, whirling by in a blur of dull uniforms and Cheshire-cat grins.  “Don’t you dance, Ka’shan?  Where’d you learn to party?” He sighed and rolled his eyes at them, climbing gracefully to his feet.  “I don’t party, you silly wherries.  I /polka/!”  He closed his eyes and whirled around, hand outstretched.  “And I’ll dance with…you!” His finger had stopped on a wide-eyed Shaharaza, and he regretted his impulse.  “May I have this dance, m’lady?” She flushed and rose to her feet, eyes downcast.  Karelise the Harper struck up a lively fiddle piece, and he swept her away. Ka’shan guessed that she had never danced before.  Although her movements were graceful, they were ill-defined, and her cheeks were red with embarrassment.  He hoped that anyone watching would attribute it to the firelight. He released her after the one polka, and claimed a dimpling clutch-sib for his partner the rest of the evening.  *****

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The morning was overcast and a little chilly, to the dismay of the Southern weyrlings.  The lonely stonework of the abandoned Weyr echoed with the soft half-conversations of rider with dragon, rider to rider, and rider to obstinate strap-buckles.  Shaharaza was already aboard Chareth, and Mooncrest’s Weyrlingmaster ready to take his charges home. Hastily, he mounted Beridonth, and cued the dragon to walk beside Shaharaza’s green, wings tightly folded.  He checked the rose he held for any damage it might have incurred during the climb; it was perfect still, crimson petals blowsily open around a creamy center.  “Shaharaza!”

She turned to look haughtily over her shoulder, and he smiled sheepishly.  “You forgot something.” Her sharp features stretched as she arched one thick black brow. “My apology.  I couldn’t let you leave without that.”  He stretched from his unbuckled straps, and she, with a shy smile, leaned over and accepted it. “That’s all right,” she said, and to his surprise added, “I wasn’t too kind after the race, either.” “Friends?” She grinned.  “Friends.” He beamed back at her, aware that Beridonth thought he was making a fool out of himself.  “When do you think they’ll have something like this again?” Shaharaza frowned.  “Probably long after we graduate.  But,” she said, and her eyes sparkled, “they should do this with less of a crowd.  Three’s a crowd, you know.” Beridonth and Chareth snorted almost simultaneously, and leapt away from each other, into the air.

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