Zeevith

Rider: A'rin/Arin

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Help me. Please...help me?

The large egg in the center of the clutch, surface a painterly mess of faint crisscrossing blues and purples, was next to stir. Cracks spidered frantically across the surface, the egg's occupant restlessly snarling, squealing and thrashing about, utterly at odds with the soft, flutey voice that eked and gnawed its way into the surrounding minds. Onlookers were afforded a brief glimpse of a little head and staring yellow eyes,  before the rest of the shell gave beneath the creature's weight, and a tangle of wings and too-long limbs spilled out onto the sands.

Quickly, he rose, shook his head, blinking, spraying sand and the remains of amnion about. He was large, with the wide shoulders and deep chest of a bronze, but lacking the characteristic metallic sheen of the larger males.  

But a brown this was, though he seemed tainted with an almost sickly pallor, all smoke and ash, with faint speckles of klah - save for the twin fires that blazed furiously in wide, whirling eyes.

He stood on quivering, strengthening limbs, head swiveling about on a skinny neck, mouth open in a pant, tail lashing furiously behind him - and the anxiety was broadcast to the crowd without remorse.

Where are you? DO NOT LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!

The little dragon's vocal shriek was nearly as piercing as his mental one. Anxiety gave way to confusion as whirling eyes fell on the clusters of candidates, in their silly white robes, gawping at him and his siblings. Why?

There was a sharp intake of breath as he appraised the group before him with a strange, piercing stare, mounting paranoia and fear an assault on the minds of anyone nearby.

None of you.

He lowered his head, circling, prowling, one foot in front of the other, only occasionally stumbling with all of the grace of a newborn. His voice crept, the tone was honey and ice.

You appear like you are ready, dress the part...

He rushed forward, shrieking, grabbed a boy. The boy's frantic scream, strangled by teeth in his collar; a desperate swing, too slow.

You are all LIARS.

As suddenly as the attack began, the meat was thrust aside, heedless of where it landed. Or whether it was still breathing.

ALL OF YOU. He is here, and you keep him from me!

The brown whirled, hissed and flared his wings at the crowds in the stands, then at the handful of older riders who were running up, uncertain whether to intervene. The dragonet backed away from them, neck curling into a tight S as he stared, tail whipping furiously. Twisted, rounded on the nearest gathering of boys that dared to be in the way, eyes blazing. Obligingly, most scrambled out of the way without a word.

One only truly watched. One did not need to be afraid. One could not. This the little brown knew. They were all liars, but here he was. Near. Lying amongst liars, surviving. But only just. Only half-complete. But where? Why did they play like this?

None of you. That is right. Open mouth curled upward into a pantomime smile, before the dragon charged, tearing headlong into them, slashing and screeching with a renewed fury. Launched himself, slickened claws flashing, at the scrawny Healer boy in the back - and the candidate reflexively lashed out in return. Punched at it, hands wrapped around the hatchling's neck, momentum carrying the confused pair to the ground.

The struggle was only brief. The brown wrenched himself free, scrambled backwards, affixed his brilliant gaze on the gangling healer boy whose stare mirrored his own.

There was a long, still pause before the brown spoke again.

Yes. You are not like them. However you try. I know you...

The shrieks and hisses had mellowed into worried burbling, the orange and red facets exploded into the unmistakable rainbow of Impression. Paws shifted anxiously in the stained sand.

Hello, A'rin.

It was quiet, nearly apologetic, and only for him. Slowly, the dragon dipped his head and began to lap at the blood that had pooled around ignored injuries.

I am Zeevith. We are Zeevith.

With a strangled, wet sob, A'rin sat up, and gathered the brown up in his mess of gangling limbs. He began stroking that sooty hide, scratching his eye ridges, behind the exceptionally pronounced head-knobs, only too-painfully aware of the pulse hammering away in that little, deep chest that had only just begun to calm, unable to repress the mounting horror that knotted his stomach and throat. To think he had ever thought of injuring - no, destroying - this beautiful creature!  The most perfect, most ferocious, most intelligent dragon in all of Pern!

Other, senior Healers were rushing out onto the sands, addressing the mess left in the little brown's wake, but neither boy nor dragon noticed. Or cared.

Men clasped at the boy's shoulder, assailing him with a flood of questions. Was he all right, were they hungry, did he need to be bound, was his dragon all right?

All ignored, shrugged off. A'rin and Zeevith were truth, the only truth, and that was all that mattered now.

The dragon rested his head on the boy's other shoulder, creeling and shoving his forehead against him, worriedly. Streaks of red stood stark against the white robes.

We will never again be such fools. He slowly licked some of the mess off of his muzzle. Hiccuped.

But right now, we are very, very hungry.