Fletched { Searchers}

[ilyich]

SO HERE WE ARE
fighting and trying to hide the scars

Night cloaked the world, wrapping it's greedy fingers around every living thing and blinding it. Brilliant. With the hold silent in the sway of childish things such as sleep the creatures of the shadows allowed themselves to slip out unburdened. Stone makes little noise when bested with leather wrapped feet, after all. Sarten paused, one hand gripping an over coat as he peered back into the Harper hall. It didn't seem as if his leaving had woken anyone up. Not that it ever did. Harpers traveled often, and having a well made bed put them all in a near coma state. A grin pulled along the teenager's alabaster face, curling lips into an almost cunning expression. It was a wonder they weren't all destroyed in their sleep. It would be a sadly easy thing to do, if not for a few wakeful heads. Sarten himself included of course.

Carefully closing the wooden door, the lad hurried off his pace set hard in the hopes of reaching the far wood before moon high. It was far too troublesome, being caught up in those dingy halls all day. The outside world was a better representation of society. Alive, and bitter in every possible way. Observation lead one to find so many similarities between these two places, human life and the outside world that is. Social similarities. Greed, for one. It burns through the veins of every living thing it would seem. Sharp auburn eyes skipped to the side, glaring into a particularly oddly shaped shadow before the boy's tightened muscles relaxed once more. As much as he loved these observations, the experiments, Sarten was not the kind to go loose.

Fear made you strong. That was the single difference that the scholarly teenager recognized everywhere. A hand reached up, lean fingers brushing against the bark of the first actual tree. Casting a glance backward Sarten gave the looming shadow of the hall, and the hold high above it, an almost distrustful stare before ducking into his sanctuary. In nature things made sense. No human would admit to fear, because shame makes him weak. Animals do not have shame, in fact it seemed to be the single emotion they lacked. Sarten had observed and recorded just about every other feasible state. Simple shame, the only thing that separated humans and beasts. Such a silly thing. The forest was getting thicker, which meant he was getting close. Roots came up to trip him, but they were all known by now, mapped by nineteen years leaping over their hateful grasps.

Close. Less then a click forward and Sarten would be in that meadow. At sometime or another the hold had used it to corral heardbeasts, but now the forest was to thick to get them there. People ignored it, forgot about it. Was it particularly intelligent of them? No, but it was useful for Sarten's purposes. Easing his pace the wry lad moved forward at a slight angle, having to duck his tall body to avoid the over hanging branches. Only a little bit farther. A fist came up, wrapping it's pale knuckles against the hardened bark of that final tree. The sentry. A bad pun, yes. The boy quaffed at his joke none the less. Grin set in place and an idea in mind the dark haired apprentice slid forward, shooting the starlit sky a swift glance. These last few day's he'd finally begun to understand why this meadow even existed. If it killed him he'd prove his theory correct, too. Root bulbs form a complex pattern under the earth, wrapping about each other as lovers cover one another with their arms. Tongue caught between his teeth Sarten moved towards the southern edge, staring at the ground with a rumpled brow.

[HG]

Searching was not exactly her idea of a good time. Little to no training and Cupith generally liked people and always gave them the benefit of the doubt where she could. If there was even an inkling someone might be good for the Weyr, the green was sure to approve them as Candidates. Which was why they Searched in pairs. Her twin sister, Zaylee was sleeping in a secluded place in the meadow they had found, both greens nestled around her protectively. Vaylee was on watch. Dragons could not see well in the dark and could not be expected to fly about at night. It was possible but dangerous. They decided to err on the side of caution.

She heard something rather than saw something coming from the right. Vaylee slowly moved into a crouched position. Her hand was at her side before she realized what she was doing. Protect your dragon and yourself. Those were the two things that were most important in a dragonrider’s life nowadays. They had to protect themselves instead of Pern as a whole because they were so understrength and under attack from more than one side of the World. There were reports the Bitrans were of the same mind as the Holdless. Dragons might have outlived their purpose. Vaylee was from the South, her life had always revolved around dragons. She had a hard time understanding the mindsets of these people.

There was that noise again. She turned, letting her plaited blonde hair swing to the left as she did so. She caught a glimpse of a dark figure walking around. Her blue eyes were watching intently, her breathing soft. Maybe she should have trained more before this trip after all? The young woman did not consider herself a fighter. She was a healer for Faranth’s sake. Although if anyone thought she couldn’t spar with the rest, they were wrong. The Dragonriders had become tough in their exile. More was expected of them than ever before. This was why Vaylee was alert so late in the evening. She was expected to work strange candlemarks in the infirmary. Her concern about having to draw a weapon on the person walking around, woke her green.

The dragon remained still but her presence in Vaylee’s mind was much appreciated by the woman. Mine, be careful. Deep breath, now! She came up behind the young man and pressed the tip of her blade to the upper left side of his back. “Make a move and this blade will puncture your heart.” Her soft voice was not as menacing as she would have liked it to be in this situation. Vaylee’s assumption that he was a thief or worse was quickly dissipating. “Who are you and what are you doing here at this late candlemark?” She needed to know whether to trust him without a blade to his back or whether he was going to be trouble.

Should I wake the others?
Not yet.

[ilyich]

SO HERE WE ARE
fighting and trying to hide the scars

Stiffness overtook the lad, at the brush. These day's were rough, and he knew what a knife felt like. The scars wrapped around his lanky form proved as much. Mind going into over drive Sarten did the first thing he thought plausible in the situation. Sarcasm, dead panned right into any conversation. Oh well, if he was to die then he'd die a happy man. "Now why would I move when a clumsy hand could kill me through rashness for shifting?" The words were bitter, tuned to the music of Sarten's deep almost iced over voice. Did this woman take him as daft? Whomever she was. Ears pricked, drawing in information upon the unknown quantities speech. Older then himself, but less crude. She was not the iron disposition that threatened anyone's life. A grin slid into place upon an arrogant face even as the lad turned his auburn eyes questioningly into the shadows.

Just what was this woman protecting?

Sarten could not claim to have good night vision. He had to use specs to read after all, one couldn't expect him to have cat eyes. Unable to pick out the treasure the Harper bit his tongue and returned his stare to straight ahead. Never the less annoyance pricked at him once more. Where others may feel fear Sarten felt nothing but blatant annoyance. If she was going to stab him she would have already, which meant she had a weak fortitude which lead to Sarten's disinterest in dealing with the woman. Shoulders rolled, their sharp edges raising the Harper blue over coat he had flung haphazardly over his shoulders on his way from the hold. "Rather obvious who I am isn't it?" Honestly all Sarten wanted was the theory to be proven. Why did such an odd occurrence have to happen on such an important night?

Sharp eyes lurched back to the side, burning a hole in the oxygen layer around Sarten's body. Any other time the monster would have hidden behind his neatly made mask, but right now it had no qualms in tearing some meek little girl apart. "Oh I just came out here to drown kittens, you?" His tone left nothing but a vile taste on the tongue, sarcasm dripping like poison. "By the first egg, I was working on something, and my research is none of your concern." Bitten out with annoyance, though the general tilt to Sarten's mood had sent curiosity flailing back out. Lips pursed, even as the apprentice sent yet another stare to the side, as if he could force his eyes around to see behind his head. "Just what are you doing outside Fort hold anyway?"

If it meant a new game, then Sarten was willing to deal with the woman. His body went lax once more, any ounce of annoyance bleeding out as curiosity and demand took it's place. A rumble bubbled up in the lad's chest, similar to a hum but deeper in it's tune. he wanted answers, but it would seem the knife welder had decided she wanted them more. "I am Sarten. Apprentice Harper of Fort Hold." A pause came upon the end of the greeting, if it could be called that. Announcement was a better word. "And should I just call you thief? Or is murderer the more apt term?" She was neither of those things. Her hand would not be so weak if distaste for the blade didn't hold it's sway. Only a game. A dangerous game, but one nonetheless.

[HG]

Snarky. He certainly was no theif or a murderer. Still she doubted he was anyone she could trust just yet. As she listened to him try not to answer her she held the blade steady. “I wouldn’t worry your dark little head over the steadiness of the blade. I have always been good with my hands.” The woman responded, though she lacked the darkness of soul to sound menacing in any way, she was being completely honest. She had been good with her hands from a young age. Although it was her voice and sweet nature which really got her the job at the infirmary it had helped to have deft hands. The young man was going to continue to try not to answer the whole question. Typical teenage angst or so it seemed to her at first. This was just one more reason not to have children. Who wanted to deal with the attitude?

Maybe had she been from the North it would have been obvious. She had no idea how people dressed here or why. There were many things lost over the past century. In the South the lack of centralized craft learning left them without knowledge of many things. Vaylee’s everlasting patience kept her from making another smart retort. He was concerned, why else would he be looking around. Were there more of them? Her eyes did not leave the young man. If there were, he was her best bargaining chip. If they were violent she could kill him before the others got close to her and then she would have one less to fight. He does not seem like he was prepared for company. Besides, I like him. The green’s words on his behalf were not as helpful for him as they could be. Vaylee was not the brightest glow in the Weyr but she certainly had a good deal of common sense.

He wanted to get under her skin. The youth had no idea whom he was speaking to. Despite her softness, Vaylee was also determined to protect her sister and the two green dragons. The boy would learn just how determined if he kept up with the attitude. The sarcasm was not lost on her but she kept quiet. He was going to tell her what she wanted to know eventually. “What makes you think I’m from a Hold?” She was no prim little Hold bred girl. Her mother would turn in her grave to hear something like that said about her children. She was far too promiscuous and open minded to be a Hold girl. Not that he could ascertain that from where he stood. Still it was a bit insulting to her. She preferred being Weyrbred.

“Apprentice Harper Sarten.” The woman said his name and title as if trying out the words. She moved a few steps back. “No. I am neither of those things.” Her tone suggested he well knew that before he spoke. “You may call me Vaylee.” Can I meet him? I like him. Issarith’s little ones will like him. Are you certain? The green was adamant. “Illume Wingrider of Green Cupith and Apprentice Dragon Healer from Refuge Weyr.” The words would probably sink in over time. Please let Cupith be right about this one. They needed Candidates badly, and who would miss a Harper who had wandered off on his own? No one was looking for him now. Her riding leathers were easy enough to see in this light. Her weapon was still in her hand but her posture was no longer aggressive in any way.

“I come on Search.”