Hannala

Mooncrest Weyr
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Hannala gaped at Weyrwoman Celina, speechless—which was unusual for a harper. “Could you—could you say that again?” she stuttered, her face still shocked.

The queenrider smiled. “I said, as a reward for your ballad, you are to stand on the sands for a dragon. Moonvith, our Searchdragon, said you’d be perfectly fine for the clutch.” She repeated, slowly and clearly. Hannala’s jaw dropped for a few moments, before she realized what she was doing and closed it with a snap. “Well—well, it’s an—an honor, Weyrwoman.” She stammered, a grin beginning to form on her face. She, a mere apprentice harper, was going to be a Candidate!

“Blazing, flaming fire
Blossoming from dragon jaws
Burning, twisting fire
Chars the Thread from where it falls

Dragons fly
On wings a-mighty
Bursting from cold between
Daily dangers do they brave
With all Pern for them to save

Golden queens
Lithe quick greens
And every dragon in between
Gliding forth on gleaming wings

Dragons fly
On wings a-mighty
Bursting from cold between
Daily dangers do they brave
With all Pern for them to save

Under Rukbat’s shining glare
Rise the dragons ever fair
Great pinions quickly flare
The dragons and their riders pair

Dragons fly
On wings a-mighty
Bursting from cold between
Daily dangers do they brave
With all Pern for them to save

With all Pern for them to save...”

Hannala let the last note die away as the audience applauded heartily. She smiled inwardly, imagining her mother’s face when she found out that her rebellious daughter had written a ballad worthy of applause. Hanara hadn’t wanted Hannala to be a harper, but the girl had run away to the Hall, and that was that.

A deep humming interrupted her thoughts. Humming? The Hatching! Hannala nearly flew out of her chair and down to the sands, then remembered her robe and ran back up to get it. She arrived in the Hatching Grounds just as the first Impression was made.

Very quickly there were no eggs left. Hannala’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, when the mother of the clutch moved her tail to reveal a small, stunted-looking egg that was rocking furiously. Oh oh oh! Help me out of this shell, Hannala! cried a silvery, youthful voice in the young woman’s head.

Hannala ran forward, much to the surprise of the onlookers. Candidates were supposed to let the dragons come to them, not the other way around! But Hannala didn’t care. A long zigzagging crack appeared at the top of the shell, and the harper girl pulled at the edges of the break, unmindful of the cuts the sharp shell was making on her hands.

As the shell abruptly cracked open, dragon and candidate both tumbled down in a heap. Hannala disentangled herself, gasping as she realized that the hatchling was white. Oh thank you, my rider. Now can I get something to eat? the little dragon asked. Hannala laughed and patted the upturned head. “Of course we can, Ilyth!” she assured her lifemate.

Hannala soon became an object of much interest to the other weyrlings, since Ilyth was white. Some were just curious, others were jealous. Which wasn't good. Ilyth didn't like all the attention either, especially when she was bathing--the little white was remarkably modest.

Don't worry about it, rider mine. Ilyth interrupted Hannala's troubled thoughts, turned her head back to regard the girl.

Hannala sighed and leaned forward to caress the delicate white head with one hand, then hugged Ilyth's neck. She didn't reply.