The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit
of members unable to attend.
=======================================================================

November 6-7, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 22:29 on day 26, month 12, Turn 24, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a winter evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, Kassima.

A late-night conversation wends its way through chitchat, philosophy,
and metaphorical counselling.
=======================================================================
Records Room(#403RJs$)
Sounds echo off the cool stone walls of the records room, and bounce
hollowly off the uncarpeted floor. Though perfectly neat and dust
free, this room seems to maintain an aura of unease, though that may
be the weight of the ancient records that are contained within, and
the heavy decisions that have been formed here. A large, stained wood
table with seats stretched along one side stands on a raised area to
the north, up a single step from the rest of the room. The east and
west walls are covered, ceiling to floor, with book shelves and scroll
shelves containing records dating back nearly to the First
Interval. The most stunning feature is the broad sheet of clear
muscovite that stretches across the ceiling like a giant
skylight. Drifts of snow obscure the view of the sky above.
An exit leads out into the bowl.
Contents:
Kassima
Kyril(#8216JMOUps$)
Lapis Lazuli
Telgar NPC List
Turn Day Register
Council Table
--

The scratch of stylus against hide is accompanied by faint, actually
tuneful humming; Kassima's at work in here, and the flock of 'lizards
perched near the main table confirm this even if the other clues did
not. The warble of greeting that one of the greens gives to the
bronzerider brings Kassi to look up, and she smiles, nodding a
greeting. "Duties to Igen and her queens, and welcome back,
E'vrin. Looking for something, or dropping Records off?"

"Looking for someone," E'vrin answers, adjusting the word on a smile
and coming deeper in out of the snowy night, "but dropping nothing off
except a 'thank you.' Good evening, Wingleader. Am I disturbing?"

Kassima shakes her head, gesturing to the stack of hides in front of
her--most of them genealogy tree-charts, by the look. "'Twas only
doing a bit of personal research, to postpone going back out in the
snow. Lyss is probably just waiting for a chance t'dump the stuff on
m'head. Have a seat?" She nudges out a chair with her foot. "And did
you ever find V'bor? Nay that I intend t'pry or aught, mind."

E'vrin's smile lingers like incense, dry and clean, as he takes the
proffered chair. "No, it's fine. It's why I came by, actually. I did
just find him, and we talked, and I wanted to thank you before I went
back to Igen." He gives a beat, then says, accordingly, "Thank you."

Kassima laughs quietly, shaking her head again. "Nay need t'thank me,
really--anyone would've done the same--but you're welcome, for what
'tis worth." Tilting her head, she inquires, curiousity evident, "It
went well?"

E'vrin inclines a nod, studies his hands interlaced on the
tabletop. Harper's hands, long and tough, but the old ink's all but
faded before desert tan and rider's nicks. "It went well," he repeats
for affirmation and peeps up, eyes still smiling through a mazy
haze. "Oh, it was awkward, of course, but all things considered
... one good, happy thing in my life. I'll remember it."

Kassima's fingers drum idly next to her hide, long, slim, and
jewel-adorned. But too calloused to ever be mistaken for a
lady's. "Couldn't be much else but, I'd imagine," she agrees. "Though
perhaps less so than if'n V'bor hadn't known he had a son at
all... one?" That word causes her brow to arch; curiousity, again, and
perhaps even a touch of concern. "'Tis a worrisome thing, if'n bright
moments are that rare."

E'vrin lets his lashes flag low over his gaze a moment. "Well, I'm a
dour, dull sort, Kassima; it isn't a problem." And so ... subject
shift. "Yes, at least he did know of my existence first. I suppose
that when fathers don't, it makes a great difference?"

"Odd," Kassima remarks, quietly--low enough almost to be to
herself. "I'd nay associated Harpers with dour or dull a'fore. Nor
riders." But she knows a subject change when she hears
one. "Mmm-hmm. I've seen fairly bad or panicked reactions when the
children aren't even born yet, and when they're of an age t'actually
go seeking the father out... well, 'tis that much more the shock. It
doesn't happen all that often, but as methinks I mentioned, I've one
Wingrider to whom it occurs with disturbing frequency."

E'vrin gropes for a name. "You did -- J'lyn?"

Kassima blinks, and has to laugh. "Jal? Oh, nay, Faranth preserve
us. He did once confront a grown daughter from the other side of the
spectrum, but... nay, the one I meant was L'cher." Slinging one arm
over her chair's backing, she casually explains, "He has about... oh,
must be thirteen children now. That he knows about. If'n there aren't
more out there somewhere, I'll eat m'riding helmet without steak
sauce. So...." A shrug. "He's been confronted a few times."

E'vrin grimaces an apology for mixing up the names, but takes the cue
and relaxes as well, shoulders slumping over intertwined hands'
prop. "Such a word, that: _confronted_. It's the label for aggression
and accusations in a public forum. Is that what happened?"

"Once or twice." Kassi chews her lip for a moment, caught in
remembering. "One of his elder sons was... angry. Lach has a fondness
for dallying with Holder women, y'see, and he's broken up betrothals
once or twice. The lad's mum would've been in a much better situation
without his... ah... interference. So t'speak." Another shrug, and she
adds on a brighter note, "Mostly, the rest are just curious,
methinks. They want t'know what their sire is like, and mayhaps
something about the circumstances under which they came t'be. I would
do the same in their place, I think."

You say "But you already knew, yourself, about your heritage?"

Kassima nods at once. "Holdbred, little weyrblood," she explains. "I
grew up on Da's cothold amidst a nest of cousins, and nay riders in
the family until this generation." A faint chuckle escapes
her. "Little chance of that being a problem, anyway; Mum's a
draconophobe. You always knew whom your parents were, didn't you?
'Twas nay some sudden revelation?"

"No, no revelation -- well, not quite." E'vrin shifts his shoulders;
not quite discomfort, quickly past. "I was raised in a small hold, and
I knew we -- my mother and I -- had lived somewhere before that, but
where it was ... I guess I always knew it was a Weyr; I don't remember
/when/ I learned it. Mother Stood at Benden with Father, he Impressed,
she didn't, she kept trying, she returned home to Riverfeld with
me. My sister stayed there, now here, since your transfer."

Kassima mutters something not quite inaudible: "Why anyone wouldn't
stay there if'n they could...." Unhooking her arm, it's her turn to
lean forward, her interest seemingly unfeigned. "Some Holders," she
observes--either offhandedly or shrewdly; it's difficult to
tell--"have little care for the Weyrbred. Especially small ones."

E'vrin's smile is an old masterpiece of poise, down to the cracks in
the worn veneer. "They are, aren't they? Children are, everywhere, but
once some of them find a particular sore point -- some difference,
minor as it might be -- they are sharp as surgeons in carving up their
victims."

Kassima's expression doesn't change, but there's sympathy in those
dark green eyes; little doubt of it. "Indeed. A fault of childhood I
could wish more people outgrew, this need t'gain acceptance by denying
it to others. I could wish there were usually an unhappy end for the
sort that don't." Her head tilts, as though in thought. "Some would
say that the outcasted grow stronger in order t'survive. It's even
been argued that 'tis better in the long run t'be so. I... do nay
think 'twould be agreeing."

"I suppose," E'vrin says in a tone of voice that has nothing to do
with supposing and much more to do with knowing, "that it depends on
what sort of child is the victim. A weak metal breaks no matter how
well it's worked, you know."

"Precisely." Though she still seems offhanded, casual, there is still
something shrewd about Kassi's manner... perhaps in eyes, perhaps in
tone. Not in expression. That stays the same. "And even those who
don't break become too tough, too brittle t'bend, do they nay? Just as
fatal, in the end. There'd be little joy in such existance. The
question is, when does it become too late for things t'be mended, even
a little? Does it ever?"

E'vrin frowns at the tabletop between them; dark brows pinch skin
together, further hooding dark eyes to match hers. "I don't know much
about smiths' work, but don't they sometimes have to break or shatter
flawed metal to reforge it stronger? I think some people might be in
need of that process, what is it -- the crucible method." He nods,
studies her. "Strengthens, the crucible does."

Kassima laces her fingers together on the table, rings glittering
dimly. "I've heard of that. Strength is a wonderful thing. Sometimes,
a weapon needs strength in order to survive the uses 'tis put to." One
eyebrow quirks just a bit. "But if'n 'tis a brittle strength, then the
blade will snap in two soon or late. And if'n there are still cracks,
'tis so. The Smiths probably have t'be very careful about the
reworking, wouldn't you say?"

"Very careful," E'vrin agrees. "No doubt that's why they endure all
that training. One can't allow just anyone with with a vague idea and
good intentions to wander the world, snapping steel to make it
better. What if it doesn't need it, despite its appearance?"

A slight grin tugs at Kassi's mouth as she observes, "Some of the
strongest, finest ore is hidden beneath dirt, grime, and roughness,
m'cousin tells me. If'n the steel's already as strong as it needs
t'be, you take too much of a chance, breaking it t'try and make it
stronger. Especially if'n you don't know what you're doing." A brief
pause. The greenrider shifts in her seat slightly, tucking one leg up
to rest beneath her. "A'course, there are other ways t'strengthen
steel than breaking it. I've heard of one method that involves bending
metal back on itself, and molding it anew."

E'vrin taps his intertwined thumbs together, once, twice. "I've heard
of that, too. The strongest steel is made that way, isn't it? But it
requires so much dedication, so much effort. I couldn't think of
anyone I know who would put in that much work, just to mold an idea
into physical form."

"The strongest," Kassima agrees. "And steel mended such usually
doesn't have t'worry about breaking again at a weak point left by the
first shattering. I can think of a few folk who might put in the
effort, if'n they thought the result might have even a chance of being
worth it. 'Twould depend on the inherent quality of the steel, I would
suspect."

E'vrin nods, mute a moment. "Would depend on the worker, too," he
muses; his mouth drags at the corners, a sad effect. "If she, or he,
weren't strong enough to see it through ... well, would be best not to
even start, to leave the raw material alone."

[Yes, this conversational turn is about him -- here are references to
 the perceived fickleness of Laurene -- but also about Kassima, and
 her relationship with Lysseth.]

Kassima watches the younger rider a moment, her features
inscrutable. "True," she finally says. "Many is the craftsperson who
takes up a task they think they can finish, but don't. Many are those
who see it through, but whose finished products are less than they
might be. Some, a'course, prefer nay t'test their skill at all, and
leave the intricacies of the give and take to others." She brings up
one fist to prop her chin on it; the other hand traces at the patterns
drawn on the hide. "But is it a matter of strength so much as 'tis
dedication?"

E'vrin counters, "Isn't the one a facet of the other? Strength of will
leads to and incorporates dedication; dedication requires strength. Do
you know many who possess that tandem? Any who would bother with
flawed metal when shinier, easier materiel is closer at hand?"

Kassima shakes her head in denial. "Nay the same thing 'tall--at
least, nay quite. Strength of will lends the *potential* for
dedication, but whether you choose t'dedicate yourself to a particular
task may have naught t'do with whether you're weak or strong. Merely
whether the task suits you. I do know some." A nod is given out
towards the Bowl. "My dragon, for one. A'course, she works with a
different sort of steel." Tilting her head, she asks, "Does an easier
metal possess the same strength? Is shiny so much t'be valued, always?
Gold is easier t'work than steel, but there are some purposes for
which each is needed and the other completely unsuitable."

You say "Gold is soft." He muses it, stretching the words like baker's
taffy, thick and unwieldy. "It attracts the ... fluttery folk, the
easily impressed and easily pleased. Steel is harder, but harder to
work as well, and it cuts the unwary so easily." A sigh. "I can see
why steel would turn aside those lacking strength or dedication. It'd
turn back /me./"

Kassima studies her fingers for a moment, almost absently; some of the
bands there are gold, some silver, one amber. "Gold is lovely, but
unsuitable in the long term. Too easily scored and ruined. Steel,
though... 'twill stand up to aught. Good for protection, defense,
weaponry." Turning her hands palm-side up allows the glowlight to pick
out the fine white scars on her fingers--most, one might guess, from
her own knives. "Learning to deal with steel can be painful, but some
manage. Some. Would you prefer the gold, then?"

A sudden smile blossoms, diffident but there. "I don't like metals,
actually," E'vrin admits. "Not for adornment, not for weaponry. I told
you, I'm a dull and dour sort. Plain."

Kassima grins at that, admitting, "I like metals, of all kinds. A
weakness, perhaps, but they've so many uses. From knife
t'harpstring. But then, so do most things. And I don't know if'n
'twould label you plain. I won't speak on the rest, a'course, given
that I don't know you, but I reserve plain for those who aren't
interesting at all. D'you know how few people there are who are
actually plain out there?"

E'vrin blinks with the thought. "You know, you're right. Ordinary
people, /truly/ ordinary, are actually extraordinary, aren't they?"

Kassima nods with some enthusiasm; this is one of her favorite
theories. "Everyone has something that makes them special and unique
unto themselves, or at least different. That's what makes life grand,
I think. If'n everyone were precisely the same, is it just me, or
would things be abhorrantly boring?"

You say "It would, and I'm the last person to advocate a world of
normalcy. Still ... hmm." He raises his twined hands to support a
dropped chin; he blinks over them, winsomely open. "Am I being hard on
myself, do you think?"

"You're the last? M'kinsfolk will be disappointed, methinks. Each of
'em--m'self included, 'twill confess--has long been claiming that
*they'll* be the last." Amusement glints green in emerald depths;
Kassi leans back in her chair again, flicking her long braid back over
her shoulder. "Perhaps just a touch. In plain, certainly. As to the
rest...? Well. You know yourself better than I do; you tell me."

E'vrin's gaze flicks after the braid, flicks back to her face, and
fixes there, solemn and flat as marks. "I don't know. I'm too close to
myself to take stock." And there are no metaphors, here, to hide
behind? Steel and gold, crucible and folding... "I -- just don't
know. Sorry."

Kassima tilts her head quizzically, looking all the world for a moment
like a fire-lizard that's investigating something new and
unusual. "Why should you need to apologize? 'Tis understandable. We
can only guess what others think of us, and *they*," with a meaningful
nod towards the Bowl and the dragons there, "are nay help. Also too
close, and too biased."

E'vrin breathes out a snort. "The truth, to be sure. Sharath..." He
trails off; enough said. "You said everyone has at least one special
and unique trait. May I ask what yours is?"

"You mean aside from the ability to coexist with Lysseth without
either flaying her alive or being flayed?" The question is facetious;
Kassi's eyes are veiled for a moment beneath lowered lashes as she
mulls over this query. "'Twould be hard-put t'say," she finally
admits. "I'm told all the time that I'm crazy, humorous, willful,
stubborn, obsessive--even," and here she snorts, "frightening, but how
unique are any of those things in and of themselves, really?"

"The combination thereof is," E'vrin suggests.

Kassima nods, thoughtfully. "Perhaps. It may nay be so much a single
trait as the combination of traits, for anyone." Another thought:
"Dragons are much the same, aren't they? Nay two alike. A few others
besides Lyss have spoken t'me; nay even the colors or images are just
alike."

E'vrin frowns through a slow, "I've never felt another dragon, only
Sharath. I can't compare, but I think you must be right, from what
I've received from him. He talks with other dragons all the time." His
voice drops. "I think he touches other people, too, so if he touches
you -- well, I'm sorry. He doesn't apologize; I do it for him."

Kassima nods slightly. "Lyss does, too, sometimes--with other
dragons. If'n she has something t'say. But she only relays words, or
images that are images of something in particular... rarely
feeling. Unless she thinks I need t'know it." Lacing her fingers
together again, she asks with honest bewilderment, "What's to
apologize for? I was taught 'tis an honor. 'Tis... different. Two were
a'fore I Impressed, and there's more wonder in it then, but
after... you know enough t'feel the differences."

E'vrin sits up, and his hands drop into his lap. "Sharath's not a
polite dragon," he says simply. "I've realized that I need to exert
more control over him, especially in his interaction with other
humans. I'm not sure they could consider it an honor to know that a
dragon is ... well, spying on them, lurking in the corners of their
minds, just to gather information."

Kassima doesn't argue; she simply nods. "Wise, i'truth. Lurking's
different from approaching up front. With riders, a'course, there're
few enough secrets *anyway* unless you can convince your lifemate t'be
discreet--and g'luck in that!--but others wouldn't understand." Again,
her head tilts in that quizzical manner. "Does he know that it
distresses you?"

E'vrin ducks his head. "It doesn't distress me."
You say "I think I'd do it instead of him, if I could. Unethical of
me, but there it is."

"Why?" Kassima asks, simply. "Is there so much kept secret that
'twould be much worse off nay t'be knowing?"

E'vrin lifts the corner of his mouth. "How would I know how much is
secret unless I tried to find out?"

Kassima chuckles wryly. There's some mirth to the sound, but not
much. "Nay a very trusting sort, are you?" With a sigh, she shifts
positions again. She's never been one for sitting still. "Tricky
thing, trust. Give it, and you leave yourself open. Refuse it to
everyone, and you'll trap yourself behind those locked doors."

"Yes." E'vrin pushes a breath through flared nostrils. "Well, it goes
back to how one is raised, I suppose, built atop one's temperament. If
a childhood doesn't inspire trust, it makes adulthood that much harder
in the learning. What's the old saying about paranoia? It's not
necessarily so if everyone really is out to get you?"

"Just because you think everyone's out t'get you doesn't mean that
you're wrong," Kassi amends, or perhaps appends. "True. Only a fool
willingly walks into a 'snake den after he's had a hand bitten off. On
the other hand, nay everyone is those children, and you've got t'trust
to some extent sooner or later, or you die." That's said flatly and
matter-of-factly: Wingleader's creed. "You trust your Wingmates, or
you die. You trust your lifemate, or you die. The latter's done
without even thinking, methinks. 'Tis, if'n naught else, something
t'build on. If'n you choose to."

E'vrin says, "I suppose." Not doubt simmering in his mien, but
weariness and uncertainty: his shoulders slump. "I'm new to
it. Nothing's built in a day, even in a Turn. And metal /can/ break."

Kassima has that sympathetic look again. "Naught's built in a day, and
naught can be pushed past its natural time without suffering,
aye. 'Tis but something t'work towards. The Smith has t'be very
careful in bending that metal if'n he doesn't want t'stress it to
breakage."

"Mm." E'vrin eyes her. "You know from experience?"

Kassima jerks her thumb towards the Bowl. "Lysseth has been thirteen
Turns in bending me, and I'm still nay quite remolded yet. As have I
been working on her. Weak metal must be strengthened; brittle must be
made malleable, if'n both aren't t'shatter."

Brief horror bruises E'vrin's eye sockets, but it passes. "I don't
want to think what Sharath has done with me," he decides, firm, as if
that closes /that/ door forever. "You're right, you're right. Wise
wingleader."

"And some metal is left alone," the greenrider quips in a quiet voice,
"or worked differently. According t'need. But I digress." Another low
chuckle escapes her, this one decidedly rueful. "Wise, I? Hardly
that. 'Twas a wise man who raised me, and I remember some of his
sayings, is all."

You say "But you do know when to apply them. That's a form of wisdom."

Kassima shakes her head. "Down the same road that leads t'wisdom lies
respectability," she quotes, "and I won't have people thinking I
possess *that*. So if'n you'll kindly nay tell anyone I accidentally
sounded wise for a moment...."

"As you wish," E'vrin accedes. "And you are not respectable, either? I
should think that in public, at least, you have your Weyr and your
wing for which to stand as a symbol; the need to play the role
outweighs the need to be a different, private self."

Kassima actually seems pensive for a moment, though over an odd
subject. "Honor of the *Wing*, aye... well, I suppose I have t'be
slightly respectable, on-duty. But who I am on-duty and who I am
off-duty are usually somewhat different." And there's an
understatement for you.

E'vrin, who knows not nearly enough to know that it /is/ an
understatement, swallows it for face value. "I think that all we are,
at least sometimes, is a collection of masks. On-duty, off-duty, with
friends, with family, with strangers..."

"But everything can't be a mask. You can't live like that, and still
thrive," Kassi replies, looking fully serious for once. "As someone
once said, ''Tis nay forbidden t'be who you are.' Just so long as
y'know when the masks really are needed."

E'vrin props his cheek into a fist. "/Is/ there a central person, or
just a series of masks?"

Kassima states quite positively, "There's a central. If'n nay for all
people--which I don't believe; everyone has a personality even a'fore
they're too young t'don any masks, don't they?--then certes for
riders. Dragons would find naught in the soul of a truly hollow person
t'bond to. Dragons don't bond to masks." A frown crosses her face for
a moment, though. "A'course, wear a certain mask long enough, and it
could come t'fit itself so closely that it changes that central person
somewhat. Like Mum used t'say, about how if'n you make a face too oft,
'twill freeze that way."

E'vrin deliberately crosses his eyes. "Like that?"

Kassima grins and waggles her finger at the bronzerider. "Aye, like
that, so walk wary! Most inconvenient 'twould be if'n they did freeze;
how would you see aught?"

You say "Sharath would see for me."

[Such faith.  It isn't even trust.  Of course Sharath would.  The
 sun rises in the east, too, and sets in the west.]

Kassima points out, "But dragons can't read." This time, her headshake
causes her forelock to fall into her eyes, and she combs it back with
a nose-wrinkle of mild annoyance. "I don't know that I could live a
happy life without that. And there are other things. Better t'stay as
you are than disable yourself if'n it can be prevented."

E'vrin has already uncrossed his eyes; he leans more heavily into his
propping fist, knuckles smooshing up under the cheekbone. "I could
teach him to read, at least for a day or two, before he forget, or he
could transfer the images directly into my mind, for me to interpret."
He drifts into busily speculative thought for a moment, but
returns. "...'Other things'?"

Kassima asks, earnestly inquisitive, "Could he focus on the hide well
enough? Dragons are meant for good long-distance vision, nay good
up-close-and-personal." Toying with an earring, she confirms after a
moment's long thought, "Other things. Dragons can't go into the Living
Cavern, and they couldn't block the passage with their eye all the
time. If'n Lyss couldn't focus well enough t'read, she likely couldn't
focus well enough t'show me every detail of Khari's latest painting,
or Kaylira's newest attempt at writing, or... a number of things. And
blind riders can't be Wingleaders. One pair of eyes in Threadfall is
never enough."

"I don't want to be wingleader," E'vrin says with rote steadiness,
then pauses. "Kaylira? I know Kaylira."

Kassima smiles slightly. "But I do. Or rather... I don't know that I
*want* t'be, but I don't intend t'abandon duty, either. And there tend
t'be more deaths while a new Wingleader gets acclimatized." Shifting
subjects, she queries with surprise, "You do? I don't think she's
mentioned you, but she's only recently gotten in the habit of calling
people by name rather than vague description."

E'vrin pulls out, "Well, it was a couple Turns ago, when I was at the
Hall; I ran an errand here for the Craftsecond, and somehow she
enticed me into watching a fire-lizard clutch's Hatching with her." A
smile creases his face. "I didn't mind. I rather like children, now,
and there's something ingenuous about her, even when she's being
imperious."

"Ah, so you were the strange Harper man she mentioned when she came
running out t'show me the *wonderful* blue fire-lizard she'd
Impressed," Kassi deducts drolly. "She's my eldest daughter. I'm glad
she didn't do aught too horrible t'you, and I apologize for it being a
bit too late t'swat her for the imperiousness bit. She still hasn't
grown out of it. Convinced she'll be Telgar's next--mayhaps first, for
all I know--brownriding Weyrleader, in fact."

E'vrin arches polite brows. "Not Weyrwoman?"

Kassima shakes her head emphatically. "Nay, nay; she's obsessed with
browns. Then greens, then bronzes. She doesn't care for golds at
all. I place the blame for this squarely on Mart's shoulders."

E'vrin's brows pinch together again, frowning over the name.

Kassima elucidates, "M'rgan, brown Ularrith's rider. He gave
her--well, me, a'fore she was born, but 'twas intended for her--this
brown stuffed dragon that she carries *everywhere*. She's
brown-hooked. Khari's just as bad over greens, and with that stuffed
green Jhor gave her."

E'vrin has to smile, and it's a softer expression than ones before,
casting his gaunt, austere face into a fresh light. "What are you
going to give to your next child? You might want to plan that very
carefully, for possible obsessions."

"*Next* child? What next?" Kassi asks, with mock-horror that's clearly
mock; her grin belies it at once. "Go through that again? Well,
perhaps, but 'tis rather unlikely at best. I'm certes nay counting on
it. Flights are too unpredictable for that. But if'n there *is* a
next, mayhaps a blue dragon, t'round out the chromatic set."

"Blues are nice," E'vrin says, obviously aiming for the 'most inane
statement' award. He's relaxed, anyway. "I've thought ... well, I
might like to have a child someday, I admit. I didn't have a good
childhood, but I could make sure my offspring did." Hesitation; raw
honesty. "It might help me. Does that make sense?"

After an extended moment of thinking, Kassi nods--perhaps surprisingly
and perhaps not. "It does, and there's some merit to it. Certes a
better reason than many have for wanting offspring. The only
problem--beyond time--would be, a'course, seeing that the means were
there for the child t'be provided for if'n aught should happen." One
might suspect that she's speaking from experience now; there's a
heaviness to her tone, as though that last is a subject she doesn't
like to dwell on.

E'vrin gingerly, skittishly skirts that tone. "I couldn't be a
fulltime father, of course, but I could make sure the child wanted for
nothing, whatever it wanted. I couldn't give it the childhood /I/
wanted -- it would be a completely different person from me -- yet
... I could try to be good."

"There *is* such a thing as spoiling children," Kassi points out
delicately, then breaks off to laugh at herself. "Which I do,
shamelessly, so. But indulgences aren't such a bad thing if'n
discipline's given with them--the *right* kind of discipline, I mean."
Tilting her head to regard E'vrin thoughtfully, she remarks, "Based on
the intention, methinks you might make a good father. Better than
quite a number of riders, and a number of Holdfolk too, for that
matter. Mayhaps someday you'll get your wish. Nay real reason t'think
nay."

Blush ruddies E'vrin's cheeks. "Someday," he agrees. "That's nicely
vague enough, isn't it?"

Kassima shrugs, a half-smile curving her mouth. "I'm nay omniscient,
so don't ask me when someday would be. All I know is that if'n I can
have children, then anyone can have children. Eventually."

You say "And I'm not even a woman." Blush deepens, then seeps away on
a long, forced breath. "Less investment, isn't there? So it seems to
me, on the whole."

"Depends on the man." Kassi rests her chin on her laced fingers. "Some
men do all the work of seeing their children cared for. But for the
most part, I can't say I disagree. Keep in mind that you're speaking
with a woman who's been through pregnancy and childbirth twice; I'm
*nay* going t'say the woman's part is insignificant."

E'vrin hastily says, "Neither am I. /My/ mother -- No, you won't hear
that from me. I have nothing for respect for women on that score. I
couldn't do it."

Kassima grins at that. "You'd be surprised, actually. Tempting though
'tis to agree that nay man could handle it... neither could women,
if'n what's at stake weren't at stake. There's very little mothers
wouldn't go through t'see their children safe and well. Some mothers,
anyway. And fathers, too."

"Pregnancy and labor, I mean ... Doesn't that touch on trust, too?"
E'vrin shakes his head slow, side to side, propping hand sliding down
to join its mate in his lap. "Could I trust another person to put me
into that condition for nine months, knowing the incredible pain
awaiting at the end? Absolutely not, and I don't care what it says
about me. I couldn't."

Kassima accedes, with a shrug, "'Tis possible, aye. I certes didn't
think I could, but a flight of Lysseth's didn't leave me with much
choice. The condition grows on you--nay pun intended, mind;
labor... well, I don't imagine that being eaten alive by Thread could
hurt much worse, if'n at all. At least that'd be brief. But 'tis worth
it, I think, and most mothers would likely agree."

E'vrin nods solemnly. "I'll ... keep that in mind, I suppose. For
someday." Faint mirth scores the word this time, through the patina of
fatigue. Eyes still bright, but his wide-bowed mouth does sag, doesn't
it? "Tell me, though, if you would: Do you often serve as counselor
for quiet, lonely, adrift strangers?"

Kassima laughs, again; the sound is quiet, and perhaps somewhat weary,
but for the most part the greenrider hides tiredness well... if indeed
she feels any. "When they need it, and the opportunity arises. Why
nay? I like t'see people happy. Or happier. Or on their way
t'happiness. Or something. 'Tis all one, or hopefully so, in the end."

E'vrin asks, "What's your definition of happiness?"

"A good question, that." And one Kassima ponders a time before trying
to answer. "Happiness is when you think about your life and find
yourself pleased, or even simply content, rather than wanting t'weep
or wail. 'Tis amusement, and enjoyment, and laughing in the
dark. You're happy if'n you find yourself thinking, on occasion, how
marvelous 'tis t'be alive." Her shrug this time is sheepish. "A bit
over-florid, I know, but 'tis hard to define. Harder to achieve,
sometimes."

You say "But no less -- ah, but I'm not supposed to admit you're wise,
am I?" Slyness slides through his demeanor, vanishing with a snake's
flick of the tail in his mouth's quirk. "I like it. I'll remember it."

Kassima lays one finger alongside her nose. "Mum's the word, as they
say. Mayhaps if'n you substitute 'crazy' for 'wise'? Between a wise
man and a madman, some say there is little difference. Between a wise
woman and a madwoman, some say there is *nay* difference. Please
do... and let me know if'n you think of a better; 'tis a fair thing
t'have goals in life, even if'n they're vague."

E'vrin thinks hard a moment. "I'd like to know that my wingleader and
wingseconds respected me. That's my goal."
You say "How do your riders do that, with you?"

"How do they know that I respect them?" Kassi has to chew that one
over a bit. "I try and follow in P'tran's footsteps, really. He was
the best sharding Wingleader or Weyrleader I've ever seen--which makes
it hard t'be Wingleader over him now, let me tell you. I *still* want
t'salute and call him sir. Anyway, I show m'respect by trusting them,
methinks. Unless they prove themselves unworthy of it. I don't treat
them like children, I listen when one of 'em has an opinion, and I pay
serious attention to aught they report back t'me. I try and tell 'em
when they're doing well and rag 'em out when they're doing
poorly. Mayhaps 'tis nay enough, but I hope 'tis."

E'vrin's concentration looks fierce enough to pop the top of his skull
straight up into the air. "I follow what I see my wingmates doing," he
returns. "The successful ones, that is. Our leader has a different
style from yours, of course, but ... it makes sense." Age peers
briefly through his eyes. "It's what I was trained to do all through
weyrlinghood, you know. Bronze weyrlings were put under appropriate
pressure."

Kassima snorts vaguely, and with mild distaste. "Most of the bronzers
would consider it heresy, I suppose, but I still think 'tis ridiculous
t'give all the bronzers special priveleges and special hassles. This
is the Tenth Pass, nay the Ninth. 'Twas insisting that only bronzers
were good enough that got Telgar into some of the trouble 'twas in."
Tirade ended, though, she does admit, "A'course, 'tis mostly bronzers
who get t'be Weyrleaders, so... I suppose there's some point. You
don't want an untrained inept leading your Weyr."

E'vrin doesn't quite cower back into his seat; he's had too much
experience to show such emotional betrayals. He does blink, though,
quick and blank, then shrugs deliberately. "It happened. I didn't like
it. I complained about it. It still happened. I am not statistically
likely to become Weyrleader, or even wingleader, and it still
happened. What else can I say? It's over, and it's left its scores on
my spirit."

Kassima holds up her hands and hastily assures him, "Oh, 'twas nay
meaning t'rant at you! Hardly your fault. And nay really Igen's,
either... *'tis* Tradition, even if'n I think 'tis rather
outdated. Call it a greenriding Wingleader's bias, if'n 'twill. You
shouldn't let it get you down, either, if'n you can help it. Extra
training rarely hurts aught unless they take it to the degree where
you're in danger of burn-out."

E'vrin shrugs his way further back in his chair; crinkled leather
whines against the back. "I've thought about burnout," he says
candidly. "It was a possibility when I was at the Hall, too. I'm
watched, though, and I'm sure if it gets that far, someone will tell
me, Aellya will ground me -- something."

"Wingmates watch after their own," Kassima nods. "As it should
be. There's less chance of burnout with full riders, I suspect, unless
they push themselves too hard with extra drills or the like... it's
been known t'happen."

You say "Our leaders are too experienced to allow that to happen."
Slight smile. "I have that much to support me."

Kassima chuckles lightly. "I've met Aellya a few times. She seems the
sort who'd make a strong Wingleader, if'n a bit of an unusual one."
Hello, Kettle? Pot calling.... "You're in good hands with her. But
then, you knew that. I seem t'recall you saying as much." Faint mirth
sparkles at the mention.

E'vrin pulls his shoulders straight and nods. "I am." He hopes. It's
obvious. He really hopes. "It isn't much different from harper life,
you know. More life-or-death, but the constraints, the rules, the
chain of command--" He shakes his head.

Kassima asks with mild surprise, "Are we so very constraining?
Apprentices have quite a few restraints, I'd heard, though I never
made it to a Craft m'self."

E'vrin tips his head. "How many things can a rider not do that an
apprentice can, without authoritarian or societal punishments? A great
many."

"Riders can travel where they will, drink what and when they will,
dally with whom they please and where they please so long as it
doesn't cause Diplomatic Incidents--that restriction holds for it all,
a'course--study what they will in their spare time, buy more things,
own their own rooms and own furniture... plenty of things," Kassima
argues. "A'course, they also have a pile of duties and Threadfighting
t'deal with, but I'd certes take the trade."

[It was far too late to debate cultural constraints, so I didn't.]

E'vrin gives a very small smile. "I accepted Search, did I not?"

Kassima asks, sounding abashed, "Went on a bit much, did I? Ah,
well. I'm a touch biased in favor of the life of a rider. After all,
'tis the only one I'll ever know, so I'd best think 'tis pretty
sharding marvellous, nay?" Another question follows: "Are you glad you
accepted?"

E'vrin draws in a deep breath. "--I suppose I am. One always has to
consider before answering," he interrupts himself. "A blind, blithe
'yes' doesn't say much for one's reasonable consideration of the
options, does it? For me ... well, Sharath isn't the reason why I say
yes. I found -- I'm still finding -- pieces of myself on the path from
Riverfeld Hold to Harper Hall to Igen Weyr to where I sit tonight. My
Impression was part of that, but not the whole." Frown. "I don't like
who I might have become had I stayed at Harper, and that, I think, is
reason enough to give the answer I did."

Kassima considers that speculatively, listening. "A different answer
than most might give. An interesting one, though." Leaning back, and
grimacing at the faint pop of vertebrae, she observes, "But then, some
are changed entirely--and irrevocably--by Impression. Some are only
altered somewhat. The bond is different for everyone, isn't it? Two
parts of the same whole or two wholes joined by a thread... well, 'tis
a digression. Whatever the reason, when you like the path your life
has led you down better than the alternative, you're one step ahead of
the game."

Scrape: E'vrin shifts his chair back; hands rise to press flat on the
table. "And one step closer to happiness?" he asks with wistful
whimsy. "Well, we'll see. I need to be going home -- I should have
hours ago! -- but thank you for your time, Kassima." Solemn eyes pin
on her. "Words are inadequate, as usual, but thank you. One thing I
did learn at Harper is that the best person to listen to one's
problems is a sympathetic outsider. And you are one, I think."

"One can hope, anyway." Kassima smiles, standing herself and beginning
to gather her hides together. "I'truth, I should probably sleep
*sometime* a'fore drills are due to begin. As a'fore... there's naught
t'be thanking for, but you're welcome naytheless." Her head inclines
slightly in acknowledgement of the statement. "Sympathetic... aye, I
think you could say that. And if'n I could be of any help at all, 'tis
grateful I am for it. Duties t'you, Igen Weyr, her queens, and your
lifemate, fair winds, and clear skies... did I forget aught?"

"Naught," E'vrin returns in her own idiom, and smiles as he
stands. "Good night to you, then."

Kassima, goaded by some imp of the perverse, salutes the bronzerider
with her rolled-up hide. "G'night. Aye, that's the one I
forgot. G'night, E'vrin," she replies, with a hint of a grin.

E'vrin grins back and ducks out in the snowy night.

[Log ends.]