Nylton drew a deep breath and let it out, watching the chill air crystalize before his face. It was rather cold today - not even close to warm enough to be outside, but he had chores and there he was doing them. He liked being able to walk about in the crunchy fresh-fallen snow, and he was happy because today was his fifteenth turnday.

No one really cared, he was the second son and fifth child of his herder family. But it meant that he would be able to head off to the Weyr if he was searched, and he hoped dearly that this time, a dragon would come. If they'd come today, that would even be better. Because it would make the only real turnday gift he'd get.

Three of his best friends had been searched, and they were never seen again. Since he didn't read very well, Nylton had to rely upon any drifting journeymen harpers who happened through IceFront hold. They were few and far between. Anyone in their right mind would never approach this place, if they knew what was good for them.

Way up in the northern climes, set upon the sharp cliff face just south of Dragonhope Weyr, IceFront hold clung to life with a small amount of herding, and a large amount of fishing being done to support itself. The fishing was apparently the greatest because the fish thrived in the chill waters off the shore. But Nylton didn't know because he was a herder. Plus, he didn't know how to swim, and he knew better than to jump into the sea where it would be apt to frost over in the winter.

His reddened nose got itchy as he walked to the bovine cavern. He had to scratch it and to do that properly he had to remove his mitten. "Shard it," he muttered, as he pulled his glove off and was exposed to the overly chill air, "it's awfully cold today."

The cattle in their faintly warmer cavern rustled around but were also a bit cold to be moved out. There was a bit of hay for them, and a batch of seaweed which was brought up from the seahold below, that they seemed to enjoy quite a lot. One by one, Nylton brought the milking cattle out, making two buckets filled with steaming milk after about an hour. It would freeze by the time he got back to the cothold, but by then too, he'd be able to pull the frozen cream off the top. Not too many others would notice that, he knew, but it was a trick passed on to him by his uncle before he died.

By the time he'd milked and fed the cattle, the sun had risen all it was going to get, this day. So far north, it was likely that the next time he saw morning it would be spring. With a half grin, he drew the milk back to the cothold, and true to form before he poured it into the churn and chill room receptacles, he skimmed off the slightly lighter cream from the top of one bucket. It was still warmer than the air, and it filled his mouth and nose with the delicious if faintly bitter taste he loved. When it was sweetened, then it was the best.

"Nylton!" His mother called. He gave a call back to her and heard her heading toward the barn cavern.

"Mother! I'm here!" He said again, concerned that she hadn't heard. It didn't look like she had - it was strange, because there was no reason for her to ... well, there was.

He was the youngest of the children, and she was rather old. It was possible that his mother was going senile or growing deaf. He put the buckets under the drip-barrel and ran off to catch her before she wandered too far.

"Mother," he said again, and this time she turned. She looked at him with oddly wide eyes.

"Nylton, you've ... you've gotten so big," she said. She held her hands on his warm cheeks, and didn't seem to understand the look of worry on her youn son's face.

***

His father had died two years after his uncle - but both of them had supplied the hold with older sons and heirs, marrying to others in IceFront hold, assuring that the cotholds and the beast hall would continue to thrive without them. Nylton's older brother, the first born of their family, and his wife, were considered the head of the household, and Nylton came to them with his worries.

"Mother isn't well," he said simply. "I don't think she's in her senses any more."

Taryton nodded gravely. He looked quite similar to Nylton, only some twenty years his senior. His wife pursed her lips with concern, but continued with her sewing.

"There's little to be done about it," Taryton said, "but thank you for saying something. I was wondering where she'd got off to."

"She needs to be watched more closely," Nylton said quickly. "And ... If I go off searched, I can't do it. Kalyl or one of the others should be doing it." His young neice and nephews were ideally aged for such things, and Ryion their mother did so love her grandchildren.

Or so they thought. After a few days, and the younger children of the hold were instructed to keep a closer eye on their grandmother, she began to wonder who they were and why they pestered her while she was looking for her husband.

Within a month - and the search dragon hadn't arrived yet - she hardly recognized any of her children at all. Nylton decided it would be a blessing if she were to catch a cold or chill - that would at least bed-confine her, and ... perhaps...

It wasn't that he was cold, inside, toward her. It was so hard seeing her like this. His own mother, who called him by his dead father's name, and who wondered why everyone would be so short with her.

So when the search dragon did finally come, Nylton prayed fervently that he might be taken away from this, before he had to see her snap at him.

Up on the ridge that overlooked IceFront hold, where the meager fields were kept during the warm months, was where the big blue search dragon and his rider stood. A small batch of young people from the hold below were lined up, and Nylton was the one which the dragon sniffed at most. The rider was gruff, but pleased that there was at least one potential rider among them. He apparently had a bit of disdain for herders or holders in general. Nylton didn't ask why - he merely packed up and told his elder brother that he would probably not be returning.

The expression of faint envy on his brother's face was mixed with the disappointment and anger that anyone would have, when learning that their best milker or one of their good workers was going away. As though betrayed, Taryton dismissed his brother with a wave of his hand. His wife had an even less kindly expression on her face, but said nothing. She seemed to know her place among the family. Silent, as a woman of her status ought to be.

Just as well.

***

The first thing that Nylton did when the dragon reached Sunstone Weyr was take off an extra layer of clothing. They stood upon a brilliantly sunlit weyrbowl - the likes of which Nylton had only dreamed about. A pair of weyr drudges came to take his bags, and he watched them only briefly. There were people wearing short pants, sleeveless shirts... Nothing like his own long sleeved shirt and parka, heavy hide pants.

He saw a pair of children race by, one of them squealing with joy and the other yelling in anger. Shortly, an older woman came by, scolding them, holding both of them by the shoulder and dragging them back to where they ought to have been working with their older friends.

"So this is what weyr life is like?" Nylton asked of no one. Someone came to his side, smiling.

"It is," she said. She was a shorter woman, but had a wry smile and a head full of red hair - rather like his own. "And you'd be a new recruit. I hope you're here for the clutch. We're needing some candidates."

Her accent was exotic to him, he was used to a clipped sort of speech that they'd adopted in the frozen north lands - when one had to open one's mouth, it tended to freeze. Here, he heard drawling sounds and laughter that was full, along with the endless crash of waves. That, at least, he was somewhat used to. But not like this...

"It's pretty awe inspiring, isn't it?" The woman said, as she saw him gazing over the lake to the south.

"I live near the ocean, but it's frozen so much... Not like this! Is ... is the water warm?" He asked.

"It is, you should come swimming with us, a bunch of us candidates are headed to the bay to spend our off time." She grinned. Nylton blushed furiously.

"I ... well, I'll get settled in first. I don't want to go running off yet. I don't even know where the barracks are."

"I'll show you," she offered. Brightly she chatted with him and he realized that the woman - who might have been just a few years older than he - was born and raised in the weyr - or at least a weyr. She was very open, chatty, and very very clingy. It was something that Nylton wasn't used to. In Holds, he explained when she asked why he was stiff as a board, young women behaved a certain way and this wasn't it.

"Well then you're going to have to learn that in a weyr," she grinned and hugged herself to him, "we behave differently."

She vanished, leaving him with his bags and a pair of other young male candidates, in a large room filled with bunk beds and dressers.

"So she got you too," one of the boys said, "she's a wild one, ain't she?"

"I think so," Nylton laughed.

It wasn't long before Nylton learned the habits of the weyr. He was able to get up far earlier than the other boys, being quite used to the long day chores and having to rise in darkness. The length of the day was so different here, he had to learn that sleeping in the dark was perfectly acceptable. It got almost uncomfortably warm too, though, and on one of those warm days he was finally found by the bay, learning to swim.

He did it well, but slowly. Learning to swim only added to his many duties as a candidate of course! He had to help clean weyrs, dust, clean dishes, he was led to the cooks side because he had animal tending experience and was placed - not surprisingly - on milking duties. He loved the smell of the kitchen here, though - there was bread and meat roasting at any given time, but also the delicious smells of seafood unknown in the chill waters north of there. There were sweets that were very hard to come by in IceFront, and wines which everyone shared. He was more than happy to help clean dishes, in trade for mucking duties when someone broke a glass or two.

One fine day he'd been on the lakeshore after classes, and someone yelled that there was a flitter nest! He'd never even seen flitters, he wasn't sure that they thrived well in the cold northern climates. No one in Icefront, at least no one he knew personally, had a flit. The candidate who found it was a lanky, tall boy. His big long hands grasped several eggs - and he offered those who came near each an egg. "We've got to get back to the kitchens!" He yelled, as he ran back up the beach. "They're going to need food!"

Carefully cradling his egg, and noticing with urgency that it was shaking already, Nylton raced on after him. Just in time, they bolted into the lower caverns and scavenged a batch of cast off meat rinds. There were five of them, and each of their eggs hatched in succession. There were two big blues, one brown, and two greens - and one of those greens hatched to Nylton. She called urgently for food and he offered a strip of the meat. Eagerly she gobbled it down, and then begged for more - grabbing on to his fingers and leaving a set of long marks.

"Marker, that hurts!" Nylton said, but gave her the rest of the meat. He felt a strange sensation in the back of his mind, and realized that it wasn't just Marker's hunger that he felt. There were the other hungry mouths - wandering farther away and growing harder to sense.

He sensed the flits? He could never have known that, since he wasn't raised among them. But now! Maybe there would be other flits in his future. The green snuggled up around his neck, and was completely satisfied with her meal and her master.

Nylton brought Marker into classes when they started. The Weyr was new, relatively so, and there were only a few others attending the weyrling and training courses. But their weyrling master was a woman with ... a female brown dragon?! That was weird, but what was begining to freak Nylton out even more was that the whole staff for the weyrlings and candidates seemed to be women!

He'd never been surrounded by so many female dragon riders! Nylton managed to trip up talking to every one of them, too. He was shy - but not an idiot. He would just shut up and talk only about dragons. That's right. Dragons. And flits.

One of them had some flitters... More than one of them did and he could sense the bronzes and browns and ... He sighed. This would be a long long candidacy...

Eventually ... The clutch would hatch, and he'd have real practical experience at looking over dragons! Maybe... maybe he'd impress and he could learn to ride. He was a herder, searched, lucky, and maybe he would become a rider soon.