Another season, another inch (c) (Mehalen)

[B'til]

B'til could rarely be arsed to go below levels within the Weyr, no, that was the land of laundry, stinking tallow, and scuttling drudges. He was about the clean air and crisp wind of his personal weyr. Standing at the edge of the cliff, letting the toes of his well-polished boots jut out into the abyss, Tbouridath giving her usual grumble of If you fall, and I have to climb out of my couch to catch you, mumble mumble she couldn't even bother to finish. They had been busy. Always, to and fro, from Weyr to Hold and back again they had gone, reporting sightings of abandoned scavenger hideouts and the distant smoke of some ravager clan. When they reached home Tbouridath gorged herself completely and practically fell comatose into their weyr.

Freeing B'til to do just as he pleased.

He had a respite because of the coming Hatching. The Blues were out in force, and some Browns, to collect the last dregs of candidates, but mostly his duty there was done. He had brought in two squalling girls and a boy who seemed too small and too quiet to be presentable. B'til thought he was more likely to be casualty than candidate. But as always, he washed his hands clean of blood in advance, and cleared his conscience with the salve of Duty. That, and the salve of hot baths and the scrubbing sands. He had indulged himself there for nearly an hour, grinding and soaking out the crud of Duty. The hot water had soothed nearly all memory of cold wind and chapped skin away.

Now, fresh-faced, hair still drying, B'til went to find Mehalen.

Mehalen had grown from the weyrbrat B'til (then Bartentil) had befriended when he was first brought from his Hold, and with every passing year and rotation of B'til's duties, the boy had grown even more. 'Another season, another inch', he had joked often, fondly ruffling Mehalen's hair. Every Turn it was a little less of a reach to ruffle.

But even though Mehalen was of age, B'til would always find him still here, in the realm of other boys who hadn't earned their moment on the Sands yet. But now, Mehalen's moment inched closer and closer. And B'til was DAMNED if he wasn't going to find Mehalen, ruffle that hair, get him solidly drunk, and congratulate him in advance on Impressing. Because there was no way his little brother (blood forgotten) wasn't going to come out of that Hatching dragonless.

B'til knew the way by heart, and he rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Mehalen, you little runnershit," he called. "If you've a boy or girl in there, get them clothed and get them out. The rest of your day is mine!"

[Mehalen]

Ever since Mehalen had gotten word that there were eggs on the sands, he hadn't been able to sleep right. He was so excited, so enamored with the thought of Impressing, dreaming of what his dragon's name might be, how large he might be, whether he'd be Blue or Bronze or Brown. Maybe he'd get a Green, like B'til. They were certainly common enough, and he cared not a bit if his dragon was male or female, solid or bleached. More than anything, he just wanted to share that bond. Well, he hoped to have a Bronze of course, just like any male Candidate. The thought of Impressing such an uncommon color dizzied him.

The young man was musing over this in his quarters, twiddling some trinket in his fingers with a book laid open on his chest. He was ever distracted by his own daydreams of the shimmering hide of a Bronze, the voices of dragons in the Weyrs above him, the low din from other Candidates around him. The Hatching would be soon. How could he focus on reading when the eggs could hatch at any time now?

A knocking came upon his door and Mehalen jumped out of his reverie. Before he could inquire, he heard who it was, and he leapt from his bed and flung open the door with a grin.

"B'til!" Mehalen laughed, launching himself out of the doorway and onto the rider before him in an aggressive hug. Mehalen was still shorter than B'til, but he was almost as heavy, and he gave him a good jostle with the speed at which he left the room. B'til smelled like soap and his hair was still wet, and Mehalen could only laugh at him some more, "You even bathed for me? You must have really missed me, B'til."

[B'til]

It took Mehalen only a second to whip open the door, and B'til got only one more second to take in that he had, indeed, grown another inch, before his younger friend grabbed him up in a rough hug. B'til took the opportunity to wrap his arm around Mehalen's head and ferociously muss his hair. "Son of a watch-wher. You went and got taller again. If you finish up taller than me, I swear by the Egg, I'll push you off the edge of my weyr."

He pushed Mehalen back, gripping him by the shoulders to get a proper look at him. Mehalen probably wouldn't beat him by that final inch. He had a new broadness to him, the look of a boy becoming a man and filling into his body, of growing out instead of up. It gave B'til a pang. Mehalen was young, but he was still old for a candidate. This would be his only chance to Impress. If there were another clutch on the Sands next year, perhaps, but with Soforith on her last leg and the other two Queens unproductive... again, the pang.

The idea of Mehalen not becoming a dragonrider had never occurred to him. He had always, in the back of his mind, a mental image of 'M'hal' swooping within his Wing. They had talked about it for years. B'til had always joked that he would get the tiniest, whitest shit of a dragonet, and Mehalen, especially when he was younger, had always insisted that he would Impress the largest Bronze. The dream of any Weyrbrat. The dream of a Bronze dragon, of a shot at flying a Queen, of riding on the neck of such bulk and power. B'til had no envy of that position and what it entailed, but part of him wanted it for Mehalen. Not that he would ever confess it. They would argue some more, agree to disagree, get bored of talk, and go cause their usual trouble. Raiding the kitchen, usually.

But this time, B'til had a better raid in mind.

"One of us has to be clean," he said, and released Mehalen. "So..." He let it drag out, making Mehalen wait for the surprise. "Do you want to wash up before or after we sneak onto the Sands and see the eggs?"

[Mehalen]

Mehalen was laughing all the while as B'til mussed his long hair into a fray atop his head, hands flying down B'til's side to pinch, poke and punch at him until he released his grip. He was berating him, again, for growing. When pushed back, Mehalen puffed his chest out. "Not my fault I'm being fed better here then you ever were in the Hold! Just you try and push me."

B'til was thinking hard, too hard, as he stared at Mehalen. About what, the younger man wasn't sure at first. Maybe he was just that impressed, or perhaps intimidated, or something else. Mehalen let himself drift for just a moment, just long enough to pick up on the thoughts floating through B'til's head, hazy and somewhat out of reach. Fear, or more accurately, worry. A sense of desperation. A feeling of longing, almost... loss. Mehalen realised what B'til was already thinking -- that this was most certainly his last chance to Impress, and if he didn't, being friends would be much harder. Mehalen would be given different, more active duties to sustain the Weyr, and B'til would be off doing his running as always. He wasn't a boy anymore, helping out with chores where possible and waiting for B'til to come back. The silence stretched on until B'til spoke again.

"Sn--" Mehalen stopped, jaw going slack for a moment. His eyes darted up and down the corridor, checking for listeners, before he continued in a whisper, "Sneaking onto the Sands? Really?"

It was an exciting, tantalizing, terrifying prospect. Seeing the huge eggs was thrilling, on top of the rush of being somewhere they shouldn't be, but there was a very real danger to sneaking onto the Sands. If they were caught, it would blow Mehalen's last chance at Impressing for sure. S'ris would ban him from the hatching. At the absolute worst, if Soforith herself was there... the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he looked up at B'til, grinning ear to ear. He never was one to say no to a bit of risk.

"After. Show me the way."

[B'til]

B'til almost saw his own pucker of worry start to mirror in Mehalen's brows, but then his friend realized what he had said, and his eyebrows practically popped up off his head. Mehalen looked incredulously first at him, then down the halls, then back at him. B'til could see that special gleam in Mehalen's eye. The brilliance behind them that knew the danger- and wanted it, desperately. Bronze for sure, B'til thought suddenly and almost violently. Bronze and no less!

"Tbouridath has spoken to the others," he said, with the usual pride in his dragon. Her immense popularity among the males of the Weyr made things easy. "Soforith has a regular feeding time, and typically, someone will stand guard in her absence. But today she's changed her routine for some reason, no explanation really, and they've yet to change the guard." Whatever reason for the Queen's absence, it likely wasn't good, but thoughts of the Good of the Weyr absolutely paled against the exciting prospect of getting Mehalen near those eggs. "But we have to go quickly. Now!"

(cont in hatching grounds? coord with momo)