apprehension in other candidates who shifted uneasily or twitched unnecessarily at their tunics.
A concerted gasp directed their attention from Felessan, and they saw that several more eggs were rocking violently as the hatchlings struggled to be free. Abruptly an egg split open, and a moist little brown dragon was spilled to his feet on the hot sands. Dragging his fragile-looking damp wings on the ground, he began to lunge this way and that, calling piteously, while the adult dragons crooned encouragement, reinforced by Ramoth’s half-hum, half-howl.
The boys nearest the dragonet tried to anticipate his direction, hoping to Impress him, but he lurched out of their immediate circle, staggering across the sands, his call plaintive, desperate until the next group of boys turned. One, prompted by some instinct, took a step forward. The little brown’s cries turned joyous, he tried to extend his wet wings to bridge the distance between them, but the boy rushed to the dragon’s side, caressing head and shoulders, patting the damp wings while the little hatchling crooned with triumph, his jeweled eyes glowing the blue and purple of love and devotion. The day’s first Impression had been made!
Piemur heard Menolly’s deep and satisfied sigh and knew that she was reliving the moment she had Impressed her fire lizards in the Dragon Stones cave three Turns ago. He was again assailed by a deep stab of envy. When would he rate a fire lizard?
Excited cries brought his attention back to the Hatching Ground as more eggs cracked, exposing their occupants. “Watch Felessan, Piemur! There’s a bronze near him…” cried Mirrim, gabbing Piemur’s arm in her excitement.
“And two browns and a blue,” added Menolly, scarcely less excited as she canted her body in a mental effort to direct the little bronze toward Felessan. “He deserves a bronze! He deserves one!”
“Only if the dragon wants him,” said Mirrim sententiously. “Just because he’s the Weyrleader’s son—”
“Shut up, Mirrim,” said Piemur, exasperated, clenching his fists, urging the Impression to occur.
Felessan was aware of the bronze’s proximity, but so were a handful of other candidates. The little creature, rocking unstably on his wobbly legs, seemed not to see any of them for a moment. Then the wedge-shaped head fell forward and got buried in the sand as his hind legs overbalanced him. It was too much. Felessan gently righted the little beast and then stood transfixed, the expression on his exultant face plainly visible to his friends as Impression was made.
Ramoth’s bugle astonished everyone into a long moment of silence; but it was no wonder, Piemur thought, that F’lar and Lessa were embracing each other at the sight of their one child Impressing a bronze!
The excitement was over too soon, Piemur thought, just moments later. He wished that all the eggs hadn’t hatched at once, so this dizzy happiness could be extended. Not that there wasn’t some disappointment and sadness, too, because far more candidates were presented to the eggs than could Impress. Only one little green had not Impressed, and she was mewling unhappily, butting one boy out of her way, lurching to another and peering up into his face, obviously searching for just the right lad. She had worked her way toward the tiers, despite the efforts of the remaining candidates to attract her attention and keep her well out into the Ground.
“Whatever is the matter with those boys?” demanded Mirrim, frowning with anxiety over the little green’s pathetic wandering. She stood up, gesturing peremptorily to the candidates to close around the little green.
Just then the creature began to croon urgently and made directly for the steps that led up to the tiers.
“What is possessing her?” Mirrim asked no one in particular. She looked behind her accusingly, as if somehow a candidate might be hiding among the guests.
“She wants someone not on the Ground,” rang
A concerted gasp directed their attention from Felessan, and they saw that several more eggs were rocking violently as the hatchlings struggled to be free. Abruptly an egg split open, and a moist little brown dragon was spilled to his feet on the hot sands. Dragging his fragile-looking damp wings on the ground, he began to lunge this way and that, calling piteously, while the adult dragons crooned encouragement, reinforced by Ramoth’s half-hum, half-howl.
The boys nearest the dragonet tried to anticipate his direction, hoping to Impress him, but he lurched out of their immediate circle, staggering across the sands, his call plaintive, desperate until the next group of boys turned. One, prompted by some instinct, took a step forward. The little brown’s cries turned joyous, he tried to extend his wet wings to bridge the distance between them, but the boy rushed to the dragon’s side, caressing head and shoulders, patting the damp wings while the little hatchling crooned with triumph, his jeweled eyes glowing the blue and purple of love and devotion. The day’s first Impression had been made!
Piemur heard Menolly’s deep and satisfied sigh and knew that she was reliving the moment she had Impressed her fire lizards in the Dragon Stones cave three Turns ago. He was again assailed by a deep stab of envy. When would he rate a fire lizard?
Excited cries brought his attention back to the Hatching Ground as more eggs cracked, exposing their occupants. “Watch Felessan, Piemur! There’s a bronze near him…” cried Mirrim, gabbing Piemur’s arm in her excitement.
“And two browns and a blue,” added Menolly, scarcely less excited as she canted her body in a mental effort to direct the little bronze toward Felessan. “He deserves a bronze! He deserves one!”
“Only if the dragon wants him,” said Mirrim sententiously. “Just because he’s the Weyrleader’s son—”
“Shut up, Mirrim,” said Piemur, exasperated, clenching his fists, urging the Impression to occur.
Felessan was aware of the bronze’s proximity, but so were a handful of other candidates. The little creature, rocking unstably on his wobbly legs, seemed not to see any of them for a moment. Then the wedge-shaped head fell forward and got buried in the sand as his hind legs overbalanced him. It was too much. Felessan gently righted the little beast and then stood transfixed, the expression on his exultant face plainly visible to his friends as Impression was made.
Ramoth’s bugle astonished everyone into a long moment of silence; but it was no wonder, Piemur thought, that F’lar and Lessa were embracing each other at the sight of their one child Impressing a bronze!
The excitement was over too soon, Piemur thought, just moments later. He wished that all the eggs hadn’t hatched at once, so this dizzy happiness could be extended. Not that there wasn’t some disappointment and sadness, too, because far more candidates were presented to the eggs than could Impress. Only one little green had not Impressed, and she was mewling unhappily, butting one boy out of her way, lurching to another and peering up into his face, obviously searching for just the right lad. She had worked her way toward the tiers, despite the efforts of the remaining candidates to attract her attention and keep her well out into the Ground.
“Whatever is the matter with those boys?” demanded Mirrim, frowning with anxiety over the little green’s pathetic wandering. She stood up, gesturing peremptorily to the candidates to close around the little green.
Just then the creature began to croon urgently and made directly for the steps that led up to the tiers.
“What is possessing her?” Mirrim asked no one in particular. She looked behind her accusingly, as if somehow a candidate might be hiding among the guests.
“She wants someone not on the Ground,” rang
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