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Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 9th November 2025

Characters: D'miran
Description: Damarin arrives back at the Weyr to Stand for Galgaith's clutch
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 12, day 10 of Turn 12

Dragonsfall Weyr from the air was a familiar sight by now, but Damiran felt a thrill all the same as the green dragon emerged from /between/ and glided in a wide circle above the stepped cliffs, flecked with the dark hollows of hundreds of weyrs. The last time he'd been here, for Chioneth's clutch, the skies had been overcast, with heavy grey clouds gathering over the mountain ranges that overlooked the Weyr, but today they'd come out into full sun, a light early-morning frost glittering on the plateau and the fresh scent of spring in the air. All along the cliffs, dragons were basking in the warm rays, blues and greens standing out like splashes of bright colour against the dark rock, and here and there the glittering hide of a bronze.

**I belong here,** he thought, although he'd never have had the audacity to say so aloud. This time, perhaps his own dragon would be waiting, sleeping in his shell in the Hatching Grounds.

The green touched down lightly in the Weyrbowl, not far from the barracks entrance, and the dragonrider swung lightly down from her perch. "Well, here we are!" He was quietly pleased when she didn't offer a hand in case he needed help dismounting. "I expect you know the drill?"

"Yes, I need to go and let one of the weyrlingmasters know I'm here, and the Headwoman." Damiran had been through this routine before, but he couldn't help hoping this would be the last. He bowed politely to the green. "Thank you, Esiath, and you, ma'am."

He headed for the barracks first, though, to drop off his belongings, grab a bunk and smarten up. He didn't know yet if the weyrlingstaff were still the same, after all, and first impressions were important.

When he pushed open the door, it looked deserted, which wasn't a surprise at this hour - he imagined the others would be at class or maybe chore duties. Damiran walked up and down the rows of bunks, looking for one that looked free. Most of the best spots had been taken already by those who lived at the Weyr permanently, but it was hopefully only for a few nights, and anyway no worse than sharing with his annoying younger brothers. He found one in the middle aisle and swung his bag up with a thump.

"Damiran?" A mop of auburn curls popped up from the upper bunk across from him. "That you?"

"Oh - hi, Gefryn." Damiran knew the bakercraft boy from his previous visits. They were the same age and had got on pretty well, both being from outside the Weyr, although he privately thought Gef could be a bit lazy sometimes. "I didn't realise anyone else was here! How long have you been back?"

"Just arrived this morning. I've not been assigned to a chore group yet, and I don't feel like reminding anyone." Gefryn sat up in his bunk, grinning. "It's good to see you. I wasn't sure you'd bother coming this time."

"Oh, well, I haven't seen you, then." Damiran planned to go join the class himself, but he wasn't a snitch. Then he blinked, wondering what that last comment meant. "Why wouldn't I come?"

"Well, the clutch." The other boy took in his expression. "You haven't heard?"

"No...what about it?"

"There's only fifteen eggs. Galgaith was caught by a brown when she'd hardly got off the ground." He grimaced. "Bad for the Weyr, and less chance for all of us."

Damiran thought at first he'd misheard. Fifteen? There'd been thirty-seven at his last Hatching, and though Chioneth was senior and bound to lay more than other golds, that did seem awfully low. He tried to remember what he'd heard of clutch numbers, a topic of great interest to all candidates. That would mean less than a handful of bronze and brown hatchlings. Would there even be a bronze? Perhaps Gef was right, and he'd have been more use staying at home to help with the spring surveying.

"Well, even if it's a small chance, it's my duty to be here, in case my dragon is," he said, silently rebuking himself for thinking that way. "And it's always good to see the Weyr again."

"You haven't heard the rest yet," Gefryd went on dourly. "There's the extra competition."

"Competition?" He glanced around the barracks. It didn't look much more crowded than usual.

The crafter boy lowered his voice, his eyes shifting as if to check they wouldn't be overhead. "Holdless people."

"Oh, I heard about that." It had happened after he'd left, but news had reached the hold about a flood in the mountains and dragonriders involved in the rescue. Since then, his daydreams of fighting Thread had been interspersed with plunging into flooded caverns to save helpless folk. "Haven't they left yet? The roads should be open by now."

"Some of them have, but others are still here. Not surprising, really, they know a good thing when they're onto it. But what matters is, a few of them got Searched, and were admitted as Candidates."

"What?" Damiran stared at him. "But aren't they - don't you have to be..." He didn't know quite how to put it. "Don't you need a clean record?" He remembered clearly being warned about misbehaviour at some of the classes he'd attended. Once, he'd overheard some of the boys debating whether they'd lose their standing rights if they put a dead tunnelsnake they'd found in the Weyrlingmaster's desk. And they were letting holdless criminals onto the sands?

Gefryd shrugged. "No one knows what they were up to before they came here, and I guess they haven't got caught. Yet."

"But they could be murderers!"

"Ssh, keep your voice down. They could walk in any minute," Gefryd hissed, with a wary glance at the door. "They're probably just thieves. A couple of them are girls."

"Girls can be thieves. They're the worst. No one suspects them." Damiran remembered one of his uncles saying something to that effect. "And you don't just get made holdless for stealing...like, a blanket, or a loaf of bread. It's done when they're proper unrepentant, or violent." He couldn't believe he was hearing this. "Do they even know how much work it is, to be a dragonrider?"

"Probably not." Gef puffed out a breath. "Anyway, hope you didn't bring anything valuable with you. Or if you did, better find a good hiding place."

Damiran frowned. He'd only brought a change of clothes - and his good tunic, for the hatching feast - since he'd learned from previous visits that the Weyr provided for most of the candidates' needs. However, he did have a few small marks in his belt pouch. He could ask to leave them with the Headwoman, but that sounded like more hassle than it was worth. Perhaps he could sleep with them under his pillow?

"I'm going to see if one of the Weyrlingmasters is in," he said, unsettled by the news, and headed out towards the offices. Though again, he'd never have said so aloud, perhaps it was a good thing he'd come, even if there were only fifteen eggs. If the Weyr was that hard up for candidates, they'd need every eligible body they could find.

Last updated on the November 28th 2025

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