Zazil stood near his auntie Ami and helped her do the dishes for the evening. It was a big load, but no complaint came from his lips. He was too busy talking about his day. At nine and a half turns old, Zazil had a way with words as well as people.

"I don't understand it Ami," he said, "he's older than I am and all he wants to do is play silly games like a child. He isn't interested in seeing the weyr, or learning about how the dragons fly. And it isn't even like the riders games when they play poker - he has money, he doesn't want to bet it away. He's really stingy with it." Zazil's talk was hardly prattle to Ami's ears, he was actually speaking the truth about the visitors.

"Well, Zazi," she said while putting another pile of dishes into the big basin they both worked in, "he isn't from here. His parents are visiting dignitaries from the local lands, he's hold-born, and many young lordlings like him aren't asked to do any chores or learn difficult tasks like twisting riding leathers."

"But why?" Zazil asked again. "He's old enough to be responsible." He paused and scrubbed harder at a stain on one bowl, "he's old enough to stand on the sands, yet he won't even consider going down to see Nozomith or the other queens." He shook his head. "It's stupid, I think."

"You think he's an idiot," Ami said with a grin.

"No," Zazil said abruptly, "no, he's not stupid, Ami, he's really smart. That's why I don't get it! He could do all these things with himself. Great things. But ... he's just playing like a kid."

"That, Zazi," Ami said with a wider smile, "is the way of the world."

***

If there was one flaw that the handsome and tall Zazil had, by the time he was fourteen turns, it was the weyr-arrogance that he believed weyrborn folk were superior in all ways to others. Especially to hold-born. He'd had many encounters with visitors. Since he was always at the front of the line for volunteers when the Headwoman would call for escorts around the weyr, Zazil could count two dozen Holds that he knew he was better than. He asked questions carefully - where were you from, where was this place? What was the weather like? Did they do any crafting there? How many riders had been searched from there?

Only one Hold born girl, a lady about his own age, caught on to his ploy for digging. She chided him, but then was searched herself, and realized how different life could be for a rider. He would continue to ask questions and get enough information to tuck away - as proof of their superiority to such people.

In the meantime, while he wasn't busy finding things for young Lords and Ladies to do while their parents hashed out rights and tithes with the Weyrleaders, Zazil studied with the other weyrbrats. Though he was not always at the top of the class in every subject, the weyrharper would award him honors more often than not. Of special note, his ability with visual images and patterns. He was always top marked when it came to maths and logic puzzles, as well as when the tactics and flight pattern classes were held.

Though not everyone in the class was a rider, it was usually expected that the best in the bunch were. This class was an exception. The weyrling master and his assistant were surprised by Zazil's abilities to organize information - dragon size, rider weight, health and wingspan - and create diagrams which showed the most effective formations for a random group of riders.

"When this pair tire," he pointed at the chart, "then it's time for this blue to enter. And by the time these two greens are ready to head home, a brown will have come back from their rest period." The batch of weyrling riders sat and pondered his words, as well as the chart he'd drawn. "Unless he's injured badly, the wing leader will be able to pull a full duty that Fall."

Even R'vfen found himself nodding to approve the tactic. "Good job," he announced. "An excellent presentation!" He glanced at the elder weyrling riders in attendance, "I hope you've learned from that, I might just have that on your exams."

While in general there was a round of applause for the work Zazil had done, there were notably a couple riders who grumbled about him. "He's not even been searched, he can't know the skies better than we will."

"Well well, jealous much?" Said H'aeny, a young bronze rider. "You're not even up in the air yet. Don't go judging him. And besides," he looked over to the faintly embarrassed Zazil, "he's Searched now, anyway."

Zazil felt it from across the room, like a blast of warm air. The words that the young man had said were... they weren't a lie, right? How could he lie about something like this? After all, he'd lived in the weyr all his life and expected to Impress some day, but no one did that without first being Searched.

"Thank you, bronze rider," Zazil said with a little bow. The weyrling master dismissed the group, and Zazil bolted back to his shared dorm.

***

Though Searched, Zazil spent another year at Dragonhope. Through three hatchings, watching eagerly like everyone else, he was passed up by the dragonets. He was not daunted, but he was faintly disappointed. Not in the hatchlings of course - but more aimed at himself.

"Father, can I speak with you for a minute?" Zazil asked. L'zar turned to see his son at the weyr's door, and beckoned him inside. The relationship between this pair was an odd one, like many weyrbrats had. The son of a brown rider, L'zar, and a green rider named Pami (whose sister was Ami the kitchen mistress by the way) Zazil was hardly raised by the rider pair. Because they were needed at any time and could be injured beyond repair during Threadfall, dragon riding parents were hardly known to be close to their children. So Ami largely raised the boy, with the two riders freely acknowledging their pride in how he'd turned out.

"Of course son, sit down..." L'zar said, and his brown dragon lifted his head from his stone couch for a moment, and gave a pleased sniff at the teenager.

"When should I ask to be transferred to another weyr?" Zazil said, very straightforward with his father, if never with a holder. "It's been too long, I don't want to become too old to Impress. It isn't that I don't appreciate the weyr putting me on the sands time and time again, but..."

"But it's not an experience that anyone should have, over and over," L'zar said, nodding. "I understand completely. I stood three times, your mother I think five. It had to be worse for her, the girls are always so ... histerical over the queen eggs."

"Is it true that some of them try to kill themselves if they don't impress?" Zazil asked.

"I know of one, but none here. Fortunately we've got quite a good reputation among weyrs for that kind of thing." L'zar said. "But I'll look into transfering you to a new place. I'm sure that there are weyrs who need a good candidate like you."

"But I'd want to come back here," Zazil said suddenly. He wasn't panicking, but there was something oddly desperate in his tone. His father paused, and looked his son over. One couldn't help but see he was an attractive man in the making. L'zar hoped that thread didn't rip that from him. But nothing could take away the skill and cleverness the boy had always exhibited. Perhaps dull it over time - but that would have to come with Impressing and flight.

"Then we'll find a place that has a contract with us," L'zar said. "Come on, we'll speak to S'xon about it, and I'm sure he can find a place."

***

That place turned out to be Isla Weyr. With an odd set of inhabitants - wolves of lore, with wings? Who had ever seen those? Zazil was led around by his father, who introduced him to the proper people. Finally accepted and settled into the barracks, Zazil bid his father farewell.

"Just for the moment," L'zar said with a big smile. He left and Zazil was in good cheer for the first few hours. Eventually though, the awareness that he was no longer in a comfortable and well-worn setting (at least, not worn to him!) started to seep in. Zazil perched on the corner of his cot, wondering what he ought to be doing.

"Well I won't just sit here," he muttered to himself. He went off and found where the kitchens were. They smelled quite different from Dragonhope's but they were none the less quite busy and filled with things he could relate to. He offered to help with the cleaning, which surprised several of the locals. But they'd get used to it - he was happiest when he was doing something and it might as well be of use to others, right?

The biggest change of course was the weather and temperature. Born and raised in one of the farthest north Weyrs in the world, Zazil was at first uncomfortable with the heat here at Isla. Eventually that passed - he'd first lose the cloak, and then the heavy shirt, finally left with his light-weather pants and his vest. The weather wasn't all - the days were so ... bright! While Dragonhope would be plunged into darkness several months of the year, this place was always lit, evenly dark... It was actually nice for a change. Zazil's body adjusted to the hours easily.

At last, not too much longer, the call for candidates was sent up. Everyone donning their robes, Zazil was well familiar with the process by now. It was bizarre - Zazil was herded around by one of the winged wolves! "Easy, easy," he said to one, while she nipped at him gently to hurry down to the dragons.

The eggs were really rocking! They weren't really expected to do so until a few days from then, but Zazil allowed himself to get that same thrill from the hot sands below his feet. Though this was hardly his first hatching - it always felt that way.

The first egg to finally come open enough to see its inhabitant showed off a bronze! Such an excellent way to begin! He found his way toward another of the young men, but then Zaziil was suddenly aware of an itching sensation around his shoulders and neck. Looking around, he saw that another egg was breaking open, and the brown dragonet inside fell out into a dip on the sands. Tumbling downwards until he reached the low end of the little dune, the brown shook his head off and tried to stand.

Wobbly, but with purpose, the dark colored brown came striding toward Zazil. He chirped cutely and butted his head against the dark-skinned man's hip.

My shoulder hurts! The dragonet bespoke

"You took quite a tumble," Zazil chuckled, "But let me check that out anyway. I'm sure that it'll be fine in a bit." He looked, but did not see any injuries. He'd been to many classes for dragon care after all, he hardly needed the aid of the local healers. They finally headed off the sands and into the feeding area, where the dragonet finally satiated his deep hunger.

***

Ladaeth and Z'zi made a good team at least while on the ground. They marched proudly and in a good time with one another. It was clear that if too many bronzes got in the way, though, that Ladaeth would push his way through them. After all, he was the finest dragon to grace the sands of Isla weyr... ever. Perhaps it didn't help that he was the second largest in the whole clutch, just shy of the only true bronze.

They finally were gearing up to learn to fly, though, at last. That was where both of them worried. Would they do well? In theory, Z'zi knew his stuff. But he'd never flown with the riders at Dragonhope, he did know in theory how to grip and how to lean, where to look and how to work everything... But...

We will be fine! Ladaeth exclaimed when he felt the weight of his bond between his already-wide shoulders. The dragon was only a few shades darker than his bond, they looked exceptional together anyway.

"Well if you say we will," Z'zi laughed, "then I think that's how it's going to be."

I do say! Now, hold on to me. You can feel me as much as I feel you, can't you?

With that thought, Z'zi realized everything was perfect. They could almost literally become one. Two heads and four eyes, but with the wings and legs of a dragon and the memory and forethought of the man. And up into the air they went for all of a few seconds, as Ladaeth's first flight was over. Everyone else had their turn, but it was as though a whole new light had come on in Z'zi's mind.

This would be perfect. They were perfect together!

***

It was now time for Z'zi and Ladaeth to return to the wings of Dragonhope. For the first time in two full turns, he would be seeing his family and friends again! He had heard so much about the trouble that Aniz was having, but she'd be fine. She was so strong it was a wonder that no one had searched her yet. (little did he know!)

The brown bugled and announced himself to the watch dragon - and expressed to his rider that while they were going to be an exceptional fighting team, wouldn't it be great fun to post themselves as the watch dragon and rider?

"I think it would," Z'zi laughed, "it's what I used to do for the ground crew anyway." They flew north, catching the powerful drafts over the sea, and propelled themselves directly into the main dragon landing area. People and dragons, flitters and a couple herdbeasts all scattered.

"We're back!" Z'zi yelled, and lept from his dragon's shoulder. His father and mother greeted him, and appraised the big brown.

"He's ... he's half again the size of Tolteth!" L'zar chuckled. "He'll be at the head of any wing, and with you riding him?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," his mother added with a prideful smile, "if you're going to lead a wing some day."

That made both man and dragon raise their heads in unison. "Think so?" Z'zi said.

"You'll have to prove it," said ... that bronze rider? The one from so long ago? H'aeny gave Ladaeth a good once over and nodded. "Yeah, you'll have to prove it, but I don't think you'll have any trouble doing it. Your cousin's been Searched by the way, after everything..."

He caught up with the Weyr's gossip and information. Z'zi found himself almost out of the loop. But one weyr's gossip is largely like another's, just fill in the names and adjust for colors of the dragons...