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Date Posted: 11:30:23 04/14/05 Thu
Author: Taran
Subject: Clutch? Huh? Argh!

Looking rather comical as he struggled inside his candidate’s white robe – it was too long for him, they always were – Taran’s curses were muffled by the fabric. When he had heard that bugle of Shrineth’s, and the humming of the other dragons had begun, the seventeen-turn-old had run full pelt to his room, where his robe hung on a hook on the door. The problem with a thing that was made to be one-size-fits all was that Taran’s height made it look ridiculous on him. His younger siblings had already made the prediction that he would be the shortest dragonrider in Pern, and the way things were going it looked highly likely that he would be. No growth spurts seemed in the offing. When at last he finished getting into the hated white robe, it hung around his ankles and he had to tie the stupid thing up with a belt.

It was lucky dragons didn’t choose on appearances. If they did Taran would never live to see the day when he would ride one. Unless the dragon had a sense of humour, that was. Not bothering to see how he looked – and thus missing the dishevelled state of his hair, and the smudge of dirt on his face from gardening earlier in the day, Taran set of for the Hatching Sands at a run, pausing at the entrance to the enormous arena when he saw how few candidates were there already.

If there was one thing Taran didn’t like, it was to be the centre of attention. He didn’t like being picked on for anything – it made him tongue-tied. What if everybody noticed him when he went out into the Hatching Ground? Poking his head out of the door the one sight that cheered him up was that of his brother, who was sitting in the stands and looking over at the eggs. Arden was here! Things couldn’t be so bad, then. Trying to make it look as if he had been bestowed with all the confidence in the world, Taran walked out onto the hot sands – cursing his lack of sandals – and went to the other person already there.

When he chanced to look up at Shrineth, his eyes almost popped out of his skull. She was so…big. But it wouldn’t do to show if he was nervous, so he bowed to Shrineth a little self-consciously, and tore his eyes away from her to get a look at the eggs. For a moment he was struck dumb at the sight of them. He had been a candidate at Grenith’s clutch, but this was entirely different. These eggs were all bigger, there were more of them, and they were guarded by a queen dragon in her prime, rather than a green.

Taran shuffled his feet nervously, unsure what to do. If he moved around, he might upset Shrineth – and that would lead to a fate worse than death. He could even be expelled from the Weyr if he upset her, he reasoned. Maybe it was best to just stay still, and not do much. Another glance over at the stand showed him that Arden knew he was there, and the two smiled at each other before Taran looked back at the eggs. He wanted to see every one of them hatch – until (if) he Impressed his own, of course. This was something you did not see every day – and his family would demand a letter from him about it, he knew.

So, though he felt a little stupid in his over-long robe, and with his equally chaotic hair, Taran made an attempt to stand his ground.

((Really...if I may ask for no green? Though if you need to place one...))

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