Doll by Dolldivine, kingv.

Name: Ysantoc / Y'san

Gender: Male

Age: 16

Origin: Farm hold, reasonably poor but occasionally able to indulge in a gather. He is the sixth child in a family of ten kids, seven boys. He has numerous aunts, uncles, and a tremendous number of cousins. All of them have worked the same wide farm land for generations, under the extremely strict Holder family nearby. Some of his cousins and two of his brothers have gone on to work in the Holder's private land, as gardeners and maintenance workers. He has no such aspiration, and enjoys his work in the field.

Height: 6'0

Build: lean and muscular, a bit bony without food but builds muscle extremely well when he's able.

Skin: fair, though he spends most of his time in the sun he rarely burns and hardly has much of a tan to show for it

Hair: Black, cut with whatever knife is nearby. When clean, his hair is extremely glossy and heavy; he wonders why girls like it so much

Eyes: grey, almond shaped, often squinting in the sun

Personality: Ysantoc is not as simple as he seems on first glance. Though he's a farmer by generations of family history, there are dragon riders scattered among his ancestors and even reasonably close (his great-uncle and two aunts of that generation were riders, one even on a queen!) it was never expected that anyone in his generation would be searched. Ysantoc is very quiet, though is often found chatting to his flitters - his or whoever's are around, they like him quite a bit. He's miserably shy around girls, which gives many of his less-handsome siblings the chances that he would normally have.

History: Though it might seem at first that Ysantoc is slow-witted, he is in fact anything but. He uses his time in the field to imagine himself anywhere else - he listens to Harpers with a keen ear, though hardly ever speaks of what he imagines to anyone else. Only his youngest sister Yssalia has any inkling of his true dreamer's nature.

Because they are a poor farming family, they have little to offer in terms of potential inheritance or dowry, but the fact is that among his brothers, Ysantoc is by far the most attractive - and the smartest. His eldest two brothers are simply huge, usually driving the burden beasts to plough fields and lifting anything heavy. The middle three children are triplets, two boys and a girl, though even they are neither bright nor particularly worthy of note besides being triplets. Though he wants to learn to read, it's been difficult to get a Harper to stay on the farm long enough to teach, since the Holder's money is already spread thin among his many farms. However, Ysantoc has been known to repeat what he's learned almost unerringly to his younger siblings, seeing that they missed out (by being too young, or not comprehending what was said) earlier.

Ysantoc would normally have nothing to his name, he and his four younger siblings would have to fend for themselves if the farm went under. But he among them was Searched. Perhaps it was the handful of flitters that he has impressed, that drew a search dragon to him?

Standing: Sedona Weyr

Their names weren't very inventive, at least that's what the search rider thought. But 'Cabbage, Leafy, Tiller, Stone and Rill' followed their owner everywhere he went. It could have been worse, they could have been poorly trained. But it seemed that they were tame around Ysantoc, and followed his instruction very well. The darker green, Leafy, in particular: she seemed most attached, and he most attached to that one beyond the others. She was smaller than the rest, too, though the little blue Rill was also a bit stunted. Perhaps that was because they, like the boy and his family, hardly ever had enough to eat.

The folk at the Weyr watched this young man with interest, though. He was quiet, shy, but not sensitive or silent. Insults rolled off him, and there were insults. His upbringing and situation meant that his table manners were hardly what any of the Holders around would like: he ate quickly and loud, gobbling whatever was in front of him with gusto. The Weyrfolk realized that was because he hardly knew whether he'd be eating the next day. He would never become fat, not even if he ate that way every time he sat down - those muscles of his grew stronger if not bulkier. His quiet nature made him the target of some more aggressive boys pranks, but little did they realize that his flitters would come to his aid even if he himself couldn't extract himself from their sprung trap. And it was those flitters as well that aided the weyrling master in determining who best to punish for that little trap: the flits kept pestering the boys until they fessed up. That wasn't at Ysantoc's command, either - he was in the infirmary and only Leafy remained behind to keep her bond company.

It dawned on the Weyrling master that Ysantoc's quiet behavior was not because he wasn't particularly aggressive, but because he felt he had little to talk about, to others that he considered 'above his station'. When he spoke with the search riders who had canvassed that Holder's lands, they determined that the Holder himself was quite the domineering man, insisting on his 'proper due' - and this was instilled into his sons, learned from his elders, and pervaded the area. The best way not to get beaten or a harsh punishment put on the farm, was to keep his head low, act as though he was all but mute, and make sure he knew who was in charge so he didn't offend them.

It was a reality that had to be broken a bit, it was something that others around him wanted Ysantoc to work out of. So his observant Weyrling master assigned rooms for the candidates, and put a slightly younger, less loud-mouthed craft-born boy with the raven-haired lad to see what would happen. Within days, they were chatting regularly about how they would go about digging an aquaduct, or how to irrigate dry land. With a few more weeks of encouragement, Ysantoc could almost hold his own in a crowded dining hall. His friend tried to get him to talk to some of the girls, attempted to explain how to use his flitters to his advantage. "Say they're getting in your way, don't they always for her, you know!"

"But..." Ysantoc said, "they aren't."

He was still hopelessly honest. Honest, but thankfully not blunt. He would never insult someone's appearance, intelligence, education or skills. Even if he knew someone was dull witted, errant in behavior, or plain ugly, he held his tongue. Now, that said, he didn't exactly leap to anyone's defense if they were being mocked, either. Mockery, in his experience, was from those whose station could not be challenged. Even if that wasn't the case here, where everyone was a Candidate no matter where they had come from before, he still reverted to keeping his head down and his mouth shut.

Thus, his friend had to actually go out of his way to discover what it was that Ysantoc liked in a girl, in order to make an attempt to pair him up with one. As Candidates, they couldn't get used to that kind of thing, but as young men, they had little choice. They were, as one of the female riders proclaimed with a wink and a laugh, victims of their own proddy parts. Feblin, his room mate, believed that Ysantoc might like a girl somewhat similar to him in terms of background - but that was difficult to arrange, since most of the girls around were hardly farm-bred stock. What Ysantoc actually considered attractive was a brilliant imagination, but not necessarily a girl with her head in the clouds.

Unless she was riding a dragon, at the time, of course...

But because he was shy, and handsome, and had been said to be quite intelligent, some of the local girls - candidates and otherwise - considered him quite the catch. Some of them gave up out of hand - he was impossible to flirt with, as he missed all their cues and even if he might think up some witty discussion topics otherwise, he never knew what to say. Even when Feblin was standing right there mouthing the words to him. No one thought of him as not liking girls, he was pretty clear on that regard. Feblin, on the other hand, might have been one to try and convince him otherwise. It was easy to see that Feblin would be fine with whatever arrangements he got into. Ysantoc was blissfully naive on that account as well, if he missed the cues coming from the girls, he doubly missed them coming from his room mate.

Over the course of a few sevendays, Ysantoc learned to read properly and to make sure that his writing wasn't terrible. His hand was unsure, but he knew his spelling and grammar very well. He out-read most of the Holder boys, they often didn't bother to learn by virtue of having 'someone else do that', or 'being too busy hunting'. He kept up in math and other subjects, getting the typical crash-course that all Candidates needed in order to function properly in the Weyr. Everyone had to be able to read - not just words, but numbers and charts. Everyone had to be able to communicate properly, so he learned how to interpret the drums and fires that were always going in the Weyrheights. He was quite good with verbal lessons, harkening back to his memorization of older Harper tales. But when he could write something down? Even better. He would scribble in the sand pits after classes, looking for new ways to puzzle out a flight formation or plot the landscape to their advantage.

For all intents and purposes, anyone who didn't know it would say he was already a brown-rider, at least. The way he looked at charts and fall accounts, trying to best interpret the results, he was adept enough that he needed to correct one lesson plan. In private. After class. He didn't dare raise his hand to correct the Weyrling master while they were still in class. But that prodded the older man to look the boy over sternly.

"You've got to become a little more... aggressive, son. You need to be able to correct me if I'm wrong - because your life, and the lives of those flying with you will depend on it."

While he nodded solemnly and tried to put the words into practice, what words struck him far more profoundly were those last few: he said will depend. Not might.

So before the hatching, while the eggs hardened and occasionally the Candidates were led through the sands to touch and become familiar with them, Ysantoc did put himself to a test. He would begin commanding his flight of flitters. That would do for the moment. They had always obeyed him, unconsciously, but whenever he gave a specific command they were prompt and reliable. In a fit of truly unheard of boldness for him, he asked two other candidates who had multiple flitters to help him out. They issued theirs to fly about in a particular manner, while he instructed his to do a move or two. The Weyrling master caught sight of this, just as Ysantoc was animatedly talking to the other two about how they could have avoided that last collision between Cabbage and the other boy's brown, if he'd started out a little higher in the formation after takeoff. When the trio saw that they were being observed, the other two deferred - bewilderingly - to Ysantoc.

"I've figured it out, sir," Ysantoc said, finally snapping to attention when the man approached. "The trailing left wing must be able to gain altitude, so that they move over the trailing right wing in motion. They're... They're like a ribbon, twisting over itself. But ribbons don't have bones that break..."

With a growing smile, the Weyrling master nodded and asserted that he'd look into changing the pattern on the wing chart a bit. He'd have to talk to the wings of course, to make sure that this was something they'd be willing or able to do.

It turned out, they'd been doing it that way since their first incident with actually having a blue smack straight into a green from each side of the flight. The Weyrling master knew better than to bring Ysantoc to the head of the class and praise him for it there - it would destroy him, his progress relied on incremental shifts in actions, rather than being dumped into something and made to sink or swim. What good was learning to swim, when you panic at the first sign of deep water?

So he took a different tactic, and it appeared to work. "I think today we're going to have a practical demonstration - not on the full field," the Weyrling master said to the cheers of some in the class. "Turns out Ysantoc was right about my flawed formation. He and Chenlet, and you Berara, bring your flitters up here and show the class what you were working on. As long as your flitters are all right with it!"

It broke the ice enough for Ysantoc to gear himself up and stand, he summoned his flitters just as the other pair did. Among the three of them, they had a total of twelve flits (!!) so they could reasonably emulate a good wing in motion. Though it took him a little effort, raising his voice to make sure everyone heard the play by play, Ysantoc narrated the flight. He described how they would take off from their weyr ledges, move into formation on the ground and then head for the heights - he knew the dragons might already be in the air by the time they would need the formation, but they were meant to be learning ground drills too. At the vital moment when the brown would have slapped his wing-mate silly, they were already two lengths straight up and passed overhead harmlessly. "Since... since the trailing ends of this formation often need to cross paths, it's important for one side to arrange to be higher in altitude - and for everyone to know which of them it is beforehand."

Two of the riders of Sedona nodded, watching from the back of the room. "I can vouch for that," the man said, "we make sure to always have the left up. It's easy to remember, when you come at the formation from your weyr. Let those on the right leave first, wait for them to get into the air and you can match them. As long as you can see the backs of their wings, you're at the right height."

The class dismissed and Ysantoc blushed furiously as he was congratulated by his friends and weyrmates, but he grew that much more confident by the day's end. What would the next day bring?

***

While it wasn't the next day, more like several sevendays later, the hatching was finally announced. It seemed that Ysantoc's farm upbringing died slowly if at all, he was quite rested and wide awake when he heard his flitters beginning to hum. "The hatching already?" He asked, and Leafy landed on his shoulder to chirp at him enthusiastically. He had to shoo her away as he and Feblin were made to dress in their candidacy robes of white. Feblin crawled out of his cot with less enthusiasm and more yawning, but that was every day.

The hatching began quickly enough, and Ysantoc listened carefully for that precious voice that he was told he may hear. It would be the voice of his one, his truest partner.

Obviously, it wouldn't come from that gold egg that tried to break! Half way through the hatching, while that shiny yellow-tinted orb tried to hatch but didn't quite make it, another large egg opened in a shower of shards, to show off a handsome burnished bronze. The dragon was as yet a bit unsure on his feet, but he dutifully inspected all the male candidates carefully.

If he'd been asked just at that moment, Ysantoc would have said he could swear he felt the dragon's mind brush his with a hint of a dragon-smile. So when the bronze came back to him, Ysantoc's mind was wide open and eager to hear those words:

I am Edneth, he said. No flowery gushing of adoration, no diatribes about hunger - just the name, and that was more than enough for Ysantoc.

***

Y'san enjoyed teaching his dragon about the world. Not that he himself had seen much of it, of course, but the bronze was just short of aloof as far as wanting contact with any others - dragon or human. He was strong willed, independent, but he listened to his rider with a keen mind. He was also observant enough that he knew that his candidacy had been filled with the presence of his friend Feblin, who hadn't impressed.

His time will come, I'm sure, Edneth proclaimed as he dove into the lake to retrieve a good sized fish.

"Well I hope so, he was disappointed but there wasn't anything to be done. We all knew there might not be the right dragon for us." The bronze tried to get Y'san to 'eat up' - but as usual, the farm-bred young man would want to cook that fish rather than just dig into it raw... He swore he heard the dragon laughing.

***

"The transfer papers are all in order, it's time for you to take your rightful place, son." The Weyrling master said, and Y'san's blush showed him he'd hardly changed in the two years he'd been at Sedona. Well, he had changed: he was even stronger than he'd started and that was saying much. But he was also still somewhat shy around the girls, quiet and introspective. That keen mind of his though, he'd been able to focus his energy and his efforts around learning the most he could about each formation, each time they were sent up to fly against Thread.

Though boldness and strength were surely vaulable, Edneth was just on the edge of too-bold. Not quite far enough to be called careless, he merely didn't seem to mind it if he was scored a bit in order to flame a large clump of Thread on its way down. He was thorough, that was what counted most. Y'san was never scored while they were growing strong as a weyrling pair, nearly hit once or twice, but Edneth was quick on the wing. While he would allow himself to get scored, he protected his rider fiercely and always asked whether Y'san was secure or happy with the flight.

So now, they were to be transferred to a smallish weyr, Albion by name. That was all right, it was the size that Y'san could grow into. It was also the size that would allow him to grow into his future role as Weyrling Master. No one knew more than he about the ways of dragons by the time they were having their own hatchings. It was far from grudgingly that he attended these duties, as well - he was more happy to be a wingthird and weyrling master, than to be thrust into a leader's role! Not that anyone thought he couldn't do it - he was adept, it was just his personality that kept him from aggressively seeking the role. The other bronze rider (at the time he got there, only the one) Hl'ver is well suited to his tasks as Weyr leader, but has on more than one occasion sat down withY'san to have a good old fashioned boasting match. Primarily, to see Y'san blush!