keep your distance (c) (momo & kerz)

[S'hyd]

It was near dawn, and S'hyd was visiting with the watch-wher.

Though they couldn't communicate outright, Uisbeth had acted as translator enough times that he had come to an unspoken agreement with the sad, ugly creature. Ugly, thought S'hyd, but ugly in the manner of the short-snouted molossers that guarded the towers: an ugliness with a certain handsomeness in it.

S'hyd told it so, saying, "You are a bit of a handsome lad, did you know that?" as he scratched the wher's eye ridges. The watch-wher, uncomprehending, glanced sideways at him, but largely ignored the man and gazed steadily eastwards for a warning hint of the sun's rising. S'hyd watched, too, but for a different reason. He felt guilty for being awake at night. He tried to avoid succumbing to naps during the day when he should have been serving as Uisbeth's eyes. The Bronze dragon insisted he didn't mind, and S'hyd knew he had plenty to perceive with his other senses and through the flurry of Hold emotions, but still S'hyd felt himself a poor dragonman. He worried that Uisbeth was bored.

Of course, Uisbeth never gave off an appearance of boredom, only cheerful indolence. He perched on the peaks of the Hold, or languished in his great wallow, or he took up space curled up in the courtyard. Always preening, always shining in the sunlight, occasionally warbling to the watch-wher or roaring at the arrival of guests. It made visitors to the Hold quite nervous.

That amused Uisbeth a great deal. Didn’t they realize that dragons were no danger to humankind? S’hyd didn’t have the heart to explain to him the intricacies of politics that had relegated them to this place, nor the fact that Uisbeth’s intimidating presence was meant to be just that.

They flew, sometimes. Not often.

When they did, S’hyd served as eyes to get off the ground, and to land safely, but Uisbeth was comfortable in the open air with or without his rider. He had an uncanny knowledge for where he was in space. S’hyd had often chastised him for taking off unmounted and without permission. Uisbeth had all but shrugged him off.

I know where things are, he had said, pateintly, as if explaining to a child. S’hyd could only throw his arms up in defeat. Dragons.

What right did anyone have to tell them not to fly, anyway?

Light began to peel over the horizon, and the watch-wher grumbled sharply and skittered back into its lair, chain rattling.

As if on cue S'hyd felt Uisbeth stir awake.

The Bronze had been sleeping outside of the Hold, in the great dragon-sized depression he'd worn into the earth bordering the road. Now he stretched, curling his great talons over the road, dragging sparks from its surface.

Good morning, said Uisbeth pleasantly as his rider approached. He curled his neck around to face S'hyd as if he could still see from the hollow pits where his eyes had been. Those pits, and the scars raked down his muzzle, often disturbed the already-disturbed visitors. It had taken S'hyd a long time to get used to them but now they barely registered. Now he even reached into one of those hollows to rub away an itch, as Uisbeth settled his head on the ground next to him with a heavy draconic sigh that blew S'hyd's clothes around him.

"Good morning," said S'hyd agreeably.

You did not sleep, observed Uisbeth reproachfully.

"I wasn't tired," said S'hyd, not caring that it was impossible to lie to one's dragon.

You have bad dreams, said Uisbeth plainly. And you don't want to wake me.

That was true and S'hyd didn't bother to deny it. he'd had bad dreams ever since they left the Weyr--dreams of Uisbeth screaming, dreams of plummeting through the air towards a death on the ground, and most of all, dreams of Cath's white eye, and the red one, coursing with blood and lust. S'hyd awoke with heart hammering, mouth dry, and sweat freezing cold on his skin.

And that would wake Uisbeth, too. And far from being traumatized with memories of his blinding, he would have worry and sympathy for his rider, and attempt to soothe him. Uisbeth viewed himself responsible for the failed flight and their exile, no matter how desperately S'hyd tried to convince him otherwise. As far as Uisbeth was concerned, it was his duty to protect S'hyd, and provoking distress and ruining his sleep was a failure his own.

Come sleep on my neck, said Uisbeth. I'll keep an eye out for you.

S'hyd didn't miss the sly choice of words and grimaced. Uisbeth chortled to himself.

"I've got more important things to do this mor-" he began, only to be interrupted when Uisbeth suddenly reared up to his full height.

Someone is coming.

"Who?" S'hyd looked down the road but saw no characteristic column of caravan dust.

Dragonriders, said Uisbeth. Coming down from the mountains.

S'hyd mouth popped open in surprise. Shards, it had been nearly a Turn since a rider had come to Thomos Hold, and then it had been only a Green with an uneasy rider, swiftly on her way. What could dragonriders possibly want in Thomos-

Then he realized it. A Hatching. They came hunting candidates.

Aghast, he thought of Dorael. The man's tolerance for dragonmen was thin at the best of times, his hatred of S'ris, transparent. How would he react to the Weyr's riders intruding on Search? And why, by the Egg, would they come to troublesome Thomos when-

He was struck by a second realization. A Queen. There had to be a Queen egg on the Sands, for the Weyr to risk the ire of Dorael.

S'hyd thought of the Lord Holder's sweet, pretty niece (the one who always asked to visit Uisbeth and begged to ride on his great neck) and feared the worst.

We must go to greet them. Uisbeth interrupted his stream of morbid thoughts. Come. He snaked his neck down around S'hyd. Realizing what his dragon meant meant, S'hyd began to protest, only to be met by a wall of stony Bronze dignity. Uisbeth would not meet them here, he was told, grounded like a wherry with its wings clipped.

Cursing, S'hyd obliged, vaulting onto the Bronze neck. Uisbeth thrust them aflight scarcely before he could fasten his belts let alone direct the blind dragon.

Uisbeth knew the direction of the visitors, and rose to their level above the Hold, keeping his position with powerfully beating wings. Even blinded, he was a Bronze dragon, huge and gleaming in the freshly risen sunlight. He trumpeted a greeting as if welcoming them to his personal Weyr. S'hyd winced. If the rest of the Hold had not been awake before, they were now.

[H'lain]

H'lain was up before the sun broke over the mountains, far before. Beside him, Vitella slept, soundless and perfectly still as ever under their shared furs and woven blankets. He was as careful as he could be as he rose, replacing the warm covers over Vitella as he crawled out of them and into the brisk morning air. The fire must have gone out already. A shiver rolled up him as his bare foot touched the stone, and he was quick to pull on proper clothing and boots as Suleth began to wake. The Brown beast was equally careful not to disturb his mate as he lifted his head, craning it towards H'lain to inspect him.

(Good morning,) Suleth chimed. H'lain's wide palm, dwarfed by the impossible size of his dragon's magnificent head, came to rest on Suleth's nose. He was pulling on his boots in silence, watching Cath out of the corner of his eye. What little moonlight streamed into the weyr glinted off her golden hide, shimmering as she breathed. She was still asleep, and H'lain felt a little guilty for breathing a sigh of relief. With his wherhides pulled on, H'lain let himself relax onto Suleth's face, reaching up to scratch his eye ridges, his sharp cheekbones, the deep jowls that always reminded H'lain of the faces of runnerbeasts but so much more. A heavy sigh ran out of him.

"Good morning. Are you ready to fly for Thomos Hold?" He asked, removing his weight from Suleth's face to brush some order into his hair. Not that it would matter once it was wind-whipped.

(Are you?) Of course. H'lain was apprehensive about this trip, to say the least, and Suleth knew. The hulking dragon stretched out his legs, clearly in no hurry to rise from his comfortable position at Cath's side. (You fret too much.)

"I fret just enough for us both." He was chuckling. "Get up, you big fire-lizard."

Suleth uttered a plaintive moan as he rocked himself away from Cath and onto his feet. He was towering, for a Brown, all dense muscle and weathered hide. Handsome, H'lain thought, and Suleth preened. It would be too early still for breakfast, and so H'lain set to pulling on all the various straps and belts and buckles that made up Suleth's saddle. With that, he clambered on to his colossal neck and set out, meeting in the weyr of his Seeker before they would depart for Thomos Hold.

---

For the hour long duration of the journey, Rom and H'lain hadn't spoken to one another. They'd simply allowed Imith and Suleth to spiral down the mountain in silence as the sun crept up behind them, the first rays of light peeking out from behind the Cloudwalk mountains and onto the foothills and jungles below and beyond. It was when Thomos Hold came into view that H'lain finally spoke, shouting over the wind.

"When we get to Thomos Hold, do not stare," he commanded Rom, who looked to him and knit their brows together as if confused. Stare at what, they thought? At who? H'lain continued, "The dragonrider stationed there. His dragon is... scarred. Don't mind the dragon and just do your Search."

Rom's interest was immediately piqued. They had expected a dragon to greet them, but a dragon that was so injured was... curious. They nodded in affirmation and made their final approach to Thomos Hold, and lo and behold, were met with bronze wings shining in the new sunlight. The giant thing roared in greeting, and the dragons approaching blasted trumpeting responses, all three dragons now hovering over the road into the Hold. Imith's mind was abuzz suddenly, and Rom wondered why, peering into her mind just in time to see that she was staring at the Bronze, and Rom immediately knew why they had been instructed not to stare.

Instead of great, gleaming eyes, the Bronze's head was empty. Only deep pits remained in their place, greenish scars covering his face in distinctive rake marks. Rom remembered their orders and tried to avert their gaze but found themself awed by the brutality this creature had faced. Only one thing could have wounded such a glorious beast so dearly, and that was another dragon. Likely a larger one... likely a Queen. The Blue rider's memories lingered on talk of Cath, the white-eyed Queen, who was as vicious to her suitors as she was to simple herdbeasts. Rom's blood went cold, and Imith's one colored eye turned from green to a bright, anxious yellow.

(Great Faranth!) Imith cried, flooding Rom's senses with alarm. Images of Cath whizzed by, all viewed from a distance. She was the only dragon who could have been responsible, and the pieces were fitting together. (How terrible that he survived to bear this wound!)

"Worse than the wounds, they were exiled." Rom tried to settle themself, ease the nausea that had set in at the thought of what must have happened during that flight. What a horrible sight it must have been. They remembered talk that it had been the Weyrleader's son's dragon, and the uproar when it was announced that he would be banished for upsetting a mating flight. Remembering it, Rom sneered -- how was he to blame for the actions of that terrible Queen? "The rider is the son of the Weyrleader."

"We're here on a Search," H'lain shouted beside them, pulling Imith and Rom out of their stupor. Privately, he cursed them. He knew they were staring, even after he'd expressly told them not to, and he was already at his wit's end. Seeing Uisbeth and S'hyd again brought a pain he thought he had control over, and the thought of dealing with Lord Dorael set him on edge to begin with. Suleth's attempts to soothe him only did so much, but he continued in an even tone, "There's a Queen egg on the sands. Allow us into the Hold, please."

[S'hyd]

As the dragons spiraled down into view, S'hyd felt his gut clench with forgotten grief. He had forgotten the smell of firestone, the organized flight of sighted and well-practiced dragons, their bellows of greeting. His only loss and inferiority attempted to confront him. S'hyd swallowed it down for the sake of Uisbeth, who was too overwhelmed with excitement to taste his rider's quickly-stifled despair.

The dragons drew near enough for certain clarity. One was a Blue, mottled with white, that he didn't recognize. The other, a Brown, he did. The dragon had always been distinctive, huge and richly colored, more athletic and powerful than most smaller Bronzes, and his mass now was just as impressive as it had been when S'hyd was younger (despite his own larger mount).

It's Suleth, said Uisbeth, sounding pleased.

And H'lain, thought S'hyd, though the man's features weren't as clear at the distance. Some uncharacteristically bitter part of him wondered if they had sent the weyrmate of Cath intentionally. He dismissed it with a sardonic rationality; S'ris was probably too preoccupied with Weyr troubles to intentionally further his son's punishment.

H'lain called out, confirming S'hyd's previous suspicions of a Search and a Queen egg, and he jerked his head in assent. He waved for them to land with the traditional signal, as if to prove that even here, he was a dragonrider still.

Uisbeth, caught up in the same bluster, folded his wings and dropped dramatically. They plummeted. The bronze spread his wings to catch the air just in time to slow his speed and land as light as a sparrow on the entry spire of the Hold. He left S'hyd cursing and clinging to his straps.

Don't try and show off, you blind bastard.

Uisbeth nonchalantly lowered his neck to let his rider drop from the saddle.

Wishing belatedly that he'd had warning enough to groom himself, S'hyd finger-combed his hair into a reasonable twist at the back of his head as he approached the other dismounting riders.

As he did, he glanced at the Blue's rider. The man looked somewhat effeminate. Or perhaps he was only young. H'lain, although he dismounted limberly and stood tall as always, showed his years in the crease of his brow as he regarded the Hold. S'hyd glanced briefly at Suleth, wondering if the Brown even remembered him as the kid that had begged for rides years ago, and then he blanched.

Suleth was covered in deep scars nearly from throat to tail. For an irrational second S'hyd thought of Thread, but even if that had been a possibility, the scars were wrong. He knew, because the marks were so familiar. He felt a gut-deep memory as strong as his nightmares. Deep, clinging claw marks. The size and varying age of the scars told the story. S'hyd had heard that Suleth flew the vampiric queen, but he hadn't realized until now the ramifications of those flights.

Uisbeth, seeing the scars through S'hyds's eyes, grumbled a low sympathy.

S'hyd put all emotion aside to greet his father's Wingsecond.

"Wingleader," he greeted, with a respectful inclination of his head. "It is a pleasure to see you well. The Hold is, of course, open to your Search." he glanced sidelong at the pied Blue, who Uisbeth regarded with great interest for some reason. "However." His words and tone, which had been more recitation than conversation, became dubious. "Dorael will not be pleased."

[H'lain]

It was... uncomfortable, to say the least, for H'lain to face S'hyd and Uisbeth again. Many emotions rushed in at once, from remorse to resentment. Had he only waited until he was older, more experienced, perhaps things would have been different. H'lain wouldn't be stuck with a weyrmate who didn't much care about him, nor Suleth with a Queen who routinely savaged him. S'hyd would still be at the Weyr, perhaps following in his father's footsteps or at the very least standing as a proud Bronze rider. Uisbeth would still have his eyes, and would not be relegated to babysitting a troublesome Hold. H'lain let Suleth land them, the dragon bellowing in amusement at Uisbeth's show of prowess. He was so easily impressed by physical displays. The rider allowed himself to be warmed somewhat by his dragon's joy, forcing thoughts of the promising young rider's banishment out of his head.

With all the dragons grounded, the riders dismounted and stepped into the center of the triangle formed by the great beasts. An inquisitive Suleth jutted his head towards S'hyd and Uisbeth, investigating the man and dragon he could only remember fondly. He bore no ill will towards Uisbeth, and H'lainn could never hope to explain to him why they were exiled and what it meant. To Suleth, he was merely meeting a friend again for the first time in years. A cacophony of friendly honks spilled out of him, eager to see what a great bronze Uisbeth had grown into despite his maiming.

"Control yourself, please," H'lain quietly begged. "We're here to Search, not to play."

(Oh, but he is truly grand, can't you see? He has no eyes and yet he flies so splendidly, and he is so large and imposing! There are few dragons in the Weyr as marvelous as he.)

H'lain couldn't stop the exterior eyeroll as his dragon sang Uisbeth's praises, and said, "You can marvel after I speak to S'hyd, Suleth. But you have to act like a dragon now, you silly old lizard."

"It is a pleasure to see you well too, S'hyd," he said aloud, finally addressing the rider before him. He'd grown considerably, filled out some more, and had a mass of long hair and a beard. H'lain sized him up a bit and couldn't completely suppress an inkling of pride, followed immediately by grief -- he truly would have been a magnificent rider to keep in the Weyr. But he was sound and healthy, and that was the most he could hope for now. "We will speak to Dorael face to face, then. He ought to know that we wouldn't come here unless it was of the utmost importance."

H'lain turned quickly to Rom and Imith, who were minding themselves abreast of Suleth and keeping quiet. Imith's gaze was locked on Uisbeth still, partly awed at seeing a Bronze so close and still partly horrified by his terrible wounds. "Rom," H'lain commanded, one of the few people in the Weyr who used their preferred name rather than their given name, "Don't start Searching until we speak to Dorael. He won't take kindly to it."

Rom nodded and stepped forward, away from Imith and closer to H'lain. They knew that this Hold was perhaps one of the most hostile Holds for a rider to visit, and the thought of appearing before the Lord as a Seeker was certainly daunting. They knew that they likely wouldn't do any of the speaking, leaving it to the Wingsecond, but it still intimidated them to know that they would be appearing before someone who reviled them especially severely without Imith's direct protection. In the Weyr, even the people that were disgusted by Rom wouldn't kill them, and no other holdfolk would risk incurring a dragon's wrath, but Thomos Hold was said to be an extreme. Imith, too, shifted restlessly at the thought of Rom leaving her to enter the hold.

"So," H'lain started again, outwardly unfazed by the scenario but churning inside just the same as Rom. His dark eyes met S'hyd's, and he gestured softly with one hand. "Will you take us to him, please?"

[DMITRI]

AS DORAEL, LORD HOLDER

Rage was the color of the morning, the hot pink of the corner of the sky he could see from his window, the night fleeing from a sun that was almost too brilliant for the north. It was a bitter omen for a man accustomed to mornings of cold mists and sullen purple twilights.

The movement of dragonkind always made him twitch, and Dorael knew before out of bed that the weyrlad had woken his Bronze, curled up like a damn cat in the courtyard.

How he wished time would rattle him of that sensitivity.

He dressed, though he could have stayed abed til noon if he had like, for the Hold expected no caravans, no deliveries, and no messages. It was the quiet time between harvests. He had a clear schedule and if he had fancied to do so, he could have taken a runner over the fields, perhaps with his niece. She grew feistier every day, while his son grew only more sullen. Dorael scowled over that instead of scowling over the dragon, as he thrust his feet into boots and barked servants out of his way with their offerings of stuffed eggs and warm oats. He wanted only his walking breakfast of rough bread and klah.

Instinct panged again as he strolled through the hall towards the great doors.

Uisbeth roared a greeting, and two voices called in response--two voices that were coming closer, spiraling down to Dorael's Hold.

Searchriders! he thought instantly, and didn't even wait to be outside before spitting on the ground. "Bring me a blade," he snarled at a passing lad, who rushed to do the useless task. As if Dorael could have run the monstrous things off his walls with even a mastercrafted sword.

Bladeless, he marched out of the doors and into the courtyard.

Alongside the mottled mass that was Uisbeth, there was another pied thing, a small and insignificant Searching Blue. Next to it was a massive Brown beast. By the size of it, and the strength of its color (not a spot of white), he and his rider must have held some rank in the Weyr. Here to intimidate him with their power, perhaps? Dorael's lip curled in derision as much as aggression as he strode the whole length of his courtyard, scattering the anxious holdfolk, all the way to where S'hyd had begun to invite the strangers onto the grounds.

"What an honor," snarled Dorael as he reached them, unwilling and unable to even pretend at courtesy. "So long without a word from the Weyr and now we receive two riders in one morning? Tell me the occasion." He demanded the truth from the Brownrider as if he didn't already know they came to claim children for their bloodbaths. As he snarled, he found with a lash of ice in his gut, that he knew this man already. S'ris had seldom been seen without him. Not in youth, not as Weyrleader. "H'lain. It's been years, hasn't it?" The unhealing wound of loss and betrayal wept bile into his tongue.

The lad from before reached him then. The stupid boy had brought him a sword after all. Dorael snatched it from him with a glare, and the lad quailed both from his Lord and from the dragons, fleeing with wide eyes.

[H'lain]

S'hyd didn't even have time to take H'lain and Rom into the Hold proper. By the time H'lain had asked to be let inside, the Lord was already well on his way to meet them at the gate, fuming. Dorael's harsh voice cut into H'lain like a knife into an old scar. The Brownrider grew tense and stiff even as he turned to Dorael, wearing an appeasing, neutral expression on the surface, but frazzled already beneath. It certainly did him no favors to see the man he knew as D'rael again, and he didn't have to be told to know how it hurt him as well. His voice alone spoke volumes to that.

"You know the occasion," H'lain rumbled back without missing a beat. He had no patience for Dorael's games of spite. Finally, he was looking at Dorael in full, at what he'd become after all these years. To begin with, it was remarkable that he wasn't still in a complete drunken stupor somewhere in the depths of his hold -- H'lain nodded some form of 'approval' at that -- and indeed he was fit and well, for a Lord Holder of his age. Usually they became quite a bit more fat around this time, but Dorael kept himself in shape. He was obviously older, too, but they both were. H'lain sniffed, seemingly impressed, and jerked his head to Rom and their Blue. "A'rom is here to see if you've any fine girls to contribute to the Weyr. Perhaps she'll have the honor of Impressing the Gold."

At about that time, a young boy ran to them, carrying a blade as long as he was tall in his arms and offering it to Dorael, who took it. Rage and indignation flared in H'lain's chest, more from Suleth from himself, and the Brown beast at his back lowered his head with a growl that was felt more than heard. Beside him, the pied Blue Imith turned her gaze, and suddenly four sunset colored eyes were fixed on the infinitesimally small Lord. They were silent for a long, long moment.

(Try it,) Suleth silently dared, intense and unblinking. H'lain tutted and waved the back of his hand at one great eye in Suleth's colossal head, shooing him, refusing to be intimidated.

"Or perhaps the Queen dragonet will simply pass between, with none suitable to Impress upon, and when the ancient Thread returns, your Hold will fall with all the other life on Pern." The Brownrider took a step closer now, his own dark brown eyes settling on Dorael's, pinning him. "I dread to think what would happen to you this time should you kill S'ris' Wingsecond. Truly, was the blade a good decision?"

In the middle and to the side of this stood Rom, paralyzed with a fear they weren't previously familiar with. Certainly they'd been threatened before, countless times in countless ways; farmers with their pitchforks protecting their daughters, mothers swatting at them with a cooking pan, the Candidates themselves punching and kicking and biting with all their might, as the still-healing scrape on their nose would attest. But here, at the gateway to an unfamiliar Hold, the Lord himself was threatening a Brownrider -- the Wingsecond -- with a sword. Imith was equally discomforted, if only out of a desire to protect Rom. Her attention flitted wordlessly between the scene below her and the Bronze dragon ahead, and Rom's eyes darted to S'hyd.

(They may kill each other if we do not intervene,) Imith chimed to Uisbeth, casting her one white eye up at him for only a moment before replacing it on Dorael. (But he has no fondness for us. Perhaps your rider could be more persuasive? Quickly, before they're on each other.)

[S'hyd]

S'hyd's heart swelled to see Uisbeth's welcome received, how clearly Suleth remembered and was pleased to see him. So they were not altogether dead to the Weyr. H'lain's greeting was more muted, but hidden under protocol was a warmth S'hyd had not expected. A pain gripped him--a pain that he probably would not have felt had their meeting been cooler, more formal. He felt the inkling of family that he and Uisbeth had been robbed of, and it burned him. It was fortunate Uisbeth was too buried in the excitement of his hellos to register his rider's pain. S'hyd pinched it quickly away. There would be only more pain to come, he told himself, and he had best get ahold of his reactions swiftly, for he had much more to bear this day.

S'hyd wanted to grip that warm moment longer, but he saw H'lain's eyes slide behind him, and too late he realized that Uisbeth had roused Dorael before he'd had the opportunity.

S'hyd turned ready to placate, but had no chance even for introductions.

Dorael knew H'lain and had reason to hate him. Dorael's rage was no surprise, but the fool boy who ran up with a blade made even Uisbeth snarl overhead. Suleth's growl was more subtle, but all of the dragons felt the shift in mood, the cool morning air taking on an entirely different chill. The Blue in particular was anxious.

She passed her misgivings on to Uisbeth. He had forgotten her in his excitement over Suleth and the sudden arrival of Dorael, and now turned his head on her with belated surprise at her sex, and even more surprise that she (just a little Blue thing) would suggest orders to a Bronze dragon, even one exiled to such a sad state. But Blues were more keen to this sort of thing.

S'hyd knows Dorael, Uisbeth passed on with confidence. They are friends.

'Friends' was generous, but S'hyd did know him. He had experience defusing the Lord Healer's anger.

He stepped neatly between H'lain and Dorael, an insult to H'lain that would please Dorael and which H'lain would forgive. "Forgive me, my Lord, for I was late in my introductions." He neatly shouldered the blame for the hostilities as if there were no history to rage over. "And the Weyr begs your good will for arriving unannounced--with such an urgent Hatching at hand, formality has gone by the wayside. Surely you understand."

Dorael gave him a foul look, recognizing the blunt placation, but at least his searing eyes were no longer focused on the more volatile H'lain. "And I suppose they will want our finest meats and fruits, as well as as many children that can be packed on their dragons' backs. Yes, better to bring two. Why settle for a few girls when they can steal away a whole generation?"

S'hyd improvised. He was exercising ludicrous authority of the situation, and silently hated himself for the insult to H'lain, but anything to keep the two of them from drawing blood on an already red morning.

He reached out and slung an arm around the Blue's rider to drag him forward--shards, what was his name?

A'rom, Uisbeth provided drily. And their dragon is Imith.

"A'rom is the best Searchrider in the Weyr," said S'hyd earnestly, as if he knew the man as a matter of legend. "They would bring no other to Thomos. We all know the necessity of finding only strong candidates. They come not to seize in numbers, but to select only the strong or none at all."

In truth, S'hyd, had no idea what H'lain intended, but he said the words he knew would temper Dorael's ire. Without looking at A'rom, S'hyd gave the other rider an insistent and invisible squeeze of the shoulder, while Uisbeth passed the message back to Imith.

Your rider should tell Dorael what he wants to hear, Uisbeth advised her.