Disclaimer: Everything to do with Pern and the dragons of Pern belongs to Anne McCaffrey. Only the characters and plot presented here are mine.

AN: This story is deliberately set at an unspecified place in an unspecified time. Sorry, but that’s the way it is. Please R&R and give me lots of feedback! (Thanks Kitsuneko, note the changes). Enjoy it!

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They’re hatching…

The whisper travelled swiftly through the Weyr, passing through the crowded kitchens and long corridors. The dragons were humming softly in their throats, filling the air with sound. Everywhere, people who heard the news from each other or had warning from their dragons finished off their tasks as swiftly as they easily could and made their way in chattering, speculative groups towards the Hatching Ground, fanning themselves against the heat as they looked down at the candidates for Impression – thirty or so boys in a tight huddle and seventeen girls, faces flushed with excitement and anticipation, some already eyeing the large queen egg.

Shifting from foot to foot to prevent the burning sand scorching her even through her tough wher-hide boots, Lystar tugged anxiously at the hem of her white tunic. She’d had it for her first Hatching, six turns ago, and now it was so pitifully short that she’d been forced to wear leggings underneath for decency’s sake. Painfully, she was aware that her strange ensemble of clothing marked her out from all of the other girls. She topped most of them by a head too, her bony, gangly body, all knees and elbows, meaning that she was virtually the tallest candidate present. She hunched up her shoulders and hid behind her mane of tangled brown hair, hoping that she looked inconspicuous.

It was her last chance, Lystar knew that. In the six turns since she’d first walked onto the hatching ground, full of confidence, to see the tiny, imperious gold Impress her friend Amara, there had been twelve Hatchings, and Lystar had been presented as a candidate for five queens. By now, she knew, there was not much chance that she would Impress. She sneaked a glance sideways from behind her hair at the other girls. Smart money was on tiny, black-haired Marti, who had somehow found time to brush her hair as well as appearing immaculate in her clean, smooth tunic. Lystar looked down at herself, crumpled and stained from where she had spilled klah down herself as she served at breakfast and felt herself blushing a fiery red. If she was the queen, she knew who she’d choose. But yet… but yet… no one knew how a dragon chose his or her rider. However unlikely, it might be her. It just might. She was her parents' daughter, after all. People had been expecting her to Impress for years. Lystar tried hard to quench the little bubble of hope that rose in her chest, but couldn’t suppress it completely. She might yet fly…

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‘Who’s that tall girl?’ Lord Holder Beric asked, his sharp gaze assessing the potential candidates. ‘The one in the tunic about three sizes too small.’

Weyrleader R’lan followed his pointing finger and smiled. ‘That’s our Lystar,’ he said. ‘Born and bred here in the Weyr. Not much chance for her today, I’m afraid.’

‘It seems a shame,’ remarked Reia, the Weyrwoman, in her calm, cultured voice. ‘I know how much she longs for a dragon of her own.’

‘Oh, she’s good hearted,’ R’lan agreed, ‘if a little accident prone. But she won’t Impress today. No, young Marti will be our new queenrider.’

Beric smiled with pleasure. Marti was holdbred, and distant kin to him. He had been both pleased and flattered when the Search had found her in his hold.

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The heat haze rising off the sand distorted Lystar’s vision of the spectators. They seemed hazy and far off, unrelated to the circle of sand where the candidates stood with the gleaming bulk of golden Shareth looming above them as she huddled protectively over her precious eggs, watching the youngsters suspiciously with eyes like molten metal. Lystar fidgeted nervously under her gaze and turned her eyes back to the watchers sitting in their orderly ranks. She felt sick.

A loud crack split the air, and at the sound Lystar had to lock suddenly trembling knees in order to stay upright. A large egg at the centre of the Hatching Ground was shuddering, black cracks spreading across its surface like vines crept over the walls of the Weyr. The boys moved forwards, some eagerly and some with more caution, stepping carefully round the fragile ovoids that lay half-buried in the sand. Lystar had just time to see a stocky, red-haired boy crying tears of joy as he gathered a tiny bronze dragon into his arms before she heard the tell tale sounds of another egg beginning to crack open as the tiny dragon inside fought his or her way into the light.

When a murmur went up from the crowd, Lystar couldn’t immediately see the cause. It wasn’t until the other girls began to move, Marti at their head, that she looked back at the queen egg. Shareth was crooning gently over it and it had begun to rock gently in its nest of burning sand.

For a minute Lystar didn’t want to move, to follow the others over just to be rejected again. She could just go, the thought flashed into her brain. She could leave the Hatching Ground now through the archway behind her and retain some shreds of her dignity. But there was always that tiny chance that today might be her day…

She broke into an ungainly shuffling run as she attempted to catch up with the other girls without knocking into any of the precious eggs.

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Reia frowned. ‘I don’t like the way she’s huddling over that egg. The girls can’t get near as it is and the little queen’ll be hatching any minute.’ Shareth, she commanded, move back. Let those girls come to the egg.

No. Mine.

Shareth!

The dragon protested, bugling loudly as she reared up. R’lan’s Aneth lifted his voice to join his mate, but under Reia’s steely glare Shareth was already backing down, moving away from the queen egg, so that the frightened girls, led by a bold Marti, could get close.

‘Well done,’ said R’lan, quietly, putting his hand on his weyrmate’s shoulder. Beric was leaning forward in his seat.

‘Look at Marti! That girl’s got leadership qualities alright.’

‘Certainly,’ agreed R’lan, turning his eyes back to the Hatching Ground. Then he frowned. ‘What’s going on down there?’

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Breathless and hot, Lystar had just caught up with the main bulk of the girls when Shareth reared up, glittering in the sunlight as she towered above the frightened girls. Shocked, Lystar jumped backwards, sure that her ears would never survive that earth shattering roar, and felt her boots knock against something solid. She staggered backwards a few steps and sat down hard on the gound, yelping as her bare hands touched the hot sand. Twisting around, she gaped in horror as the small egg she’d kicked rolled ponderously towards a tall, dark boy who was standing with his back to her and looking around him with an air of puzzlement and loss. Lystar could understand that. Nearly all of the eggs had hatched now, and few more of the boys would be able to Impress at this Hatching. But she didn’t have much time to sympathize now. Spraying sand in all directions, Lystar scrambled up, half running and half crawling after the errant egg. She could just see how it would smash into the back of his legs, and he would collapse on top of it with consequences she dared not imagine. Pure fright gave her a boost of speed as she considered how Shareth would react if Lystar caused the death of one of her children.

Lystar gave a yelp of triumph as she threw herself forwards, grabbed hold of the egg and snatched it safely to her chest. ‘Wha – ?’ said the boy, half turning, and then Lystar’s flying weight hit him. He yelled in surprise as he folded up on top of her.

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R’lan leapt down from tier to tier as he headed towards the hatching ground, Reia at his shoulder. All over the arena, people were pointing and muttering at the heap of bodies that had thudded onto the ground, sprays of burning sand flying up around them. R’lan barely noted that Marli had, as expected, Impressed the dainty little queen. If either of those two children had been hurt! Or the egg!

They had just reached the lowest tier and R’lan swung himself down to the hatching floor as the dark boy pulled himself up, shaking his head and brushing sand from his clothing. ‘Well that’s one thing to be thankful for,’ Reia muttered, and R’lan knew that she’d been entertaining the same sort of dreadful thoughts as him. They both knew the scrapes that Lystar could get herself into with the very best of intentions.

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Lystar lay curled in the foetal position, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her face, half-buried in the burning sand, was smarting so much that she bit her tongue to stifle a scream. But it doesn’t really matter, she thought, through the pain. This is nothing to what I’m going to get… She had felt the egg shift in her hands and knew that her efforts had been in vain. It had been damaged, and Shareth, Aneth, R’lan and Reia were never going to forgive her. It cracked apart more even as she held it, and a large chunk fell away, leaving her clutching at wet, jagged edges.

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‘She’s really hurt.’ R’lan said, grimly, lengthening his stride so that Reia had to break into a gentle run to keep up. It was as unlike Lystar’s earlier effort as anything could be. Even wearing inappropriate shoes on the hatching ground, Reia was everything that was elegant and collected. But she was on the verge of losing her cool now. Of all people, it would be little Lystar…

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Something sharp pricked Lystar’s chest through her old, thin tunic. Her eyes flew open and then she sat up in shock, her hair and face crusted with sand. The tiny dragon in her arms whistled sharply, protesting the sudden movement, his other foreleg closing round her arm to hold himself steady. She winced in pain and a couple of scarlet drops of blood blossomed through the old tunic.

Her burnt skin forgotten, Lystar gazed down. The baby dragon’s blue wings were a dark tracing between the struts of bone, sodden still with the birth membrane, but his claws were sharp and his eyes were bright as chips of burning sapphire as he looked up at her. I am Caliath. Feed me!