V’len’s early morning run, a tradition since he’d arrived at Southern Weyr, is sometimes thwarted. Sometimes an early-morning Threadfall, or a meeting, and once a greenflight will keep him from his beloved habit. Today, the reason had been an Ocelot wingmate who had been severely wounded in a Fall; the entire Wing was taking turns sitting with the brownrider in a show of solidarity. Their dragons had, likewise, companioned the severely-scored brown dragon who even now fought for life. V’len had been so emotionally exhausted by the end of his early-morning turn, and so overwhelmed by the scent of antiseptic and redwort, that he’d opted for a swim, rather than a run. The ocean had cooled him, but not pressed him to the heart-pounding exhilaration that a fast run usually does. So V’len had eaten a light dinner, fending off R’mi’s attempts to get him to eat more, and had had Yaath drop him off at the far end of the beach, around dusk. He’d run…And run…And run, until he’d finally reached the docks - his personal ‘finish line’. He’d forced himself into a surge up the last set of stairs and then paced the planks, listening to the hollow sound of his boots on the wood, as he’d walked himself cool. Now he leans over the railing in casual hamstring-stretching pose, peering into the black depths of the ocean, and watching the water’s waves dance with the twin moon’s beams, deflecting the light right back in twinkling denial of revealing its depths.

Almost as far along the pier as one can get, there’s a spot that’s currently free from moored vessels. Earlier in the day it was exposed to the burning sun and unbearably hot; now, the stone still holds some heat and the night is warm and humid, but there’s enough breeze from the land to make being here tolerable. Seated on the edge of the pier, with sandalled feet dangling, a girl in her mid-teens is sitting. She’s playing a pipe, whose quiet notes are spilling out in bursts rather than in one continuous stream. A phrase is played, then repeated several times, varied by slight adjustments, so that over time it transmutes into something quite different from the original notes, and what might have been part of a sprightly dance is now something altogether gentler. The young piper seems quite wrapped up in what she’s doing. It’s perhaps not surprising that she is wearing the knot of a harper apprentice on one shoulder; the other bears a tiny green firelizard, clearly very young but sitting upright as if listening intently.

Not one of V’len’s lizards is present. They are sweeping the beaches, where the foaming surf combs the sand smooth, for evidence of spiderclaw burrows, and making a game out of the hunt, given that they are already well-fed and sleek. But a few other firelizards flit over to where the Harper youth plays, and their gradual migration attracts V’len’s attention. He watches, from where he alternately stretches each leg out, now adding in deep knee bends, with one hand on the railing to ensure that he does not accidentally tip over into the walkway of the dock. The young man’s dark regard tracks the two, then three, then six lizards who array themselves along a nearby railing. A blue, in particular, seems enthralled and he holds his wings half out, quivering them slightly as his protective lids slowly ease over the curve of his tiny eyes. V’len, intrigued by the blue’s behavior rises and pads a bit nearer, but not too near - just to where he can better see the lizards who watch the girl. Nor does he interrupt her. Only when she comes to a natural pause in her playing, will V’len clear his throat and mention, in light tone, “You could make a pretty penny, calming the lizards. For anyone who has a raucous fair.”

Gilane lowers her pipe and looks to see where the voice is coming from, smiling as she notices the row of listening lizards. As she turns, her gaze settles on V’len. “I’ve heard tales that they’ll sing, but I’ve never heard them do it. Wouldn’t that be a thing to hear, though? Maybe Nettle will learn to do it. She’s been listening to music since the day she hatched, after all.” Which really can’t be very many days ago, from her size. The girl takes another look at the lizards on the rail, made more visible by their gleaming eyes. “Are some of those yours?” Speculation takes her further, and she asks in wonder, “All of them?” Nettle lets out a squeak of protest - her private recital has stopped - but then becomes interested in the older firelizards, and launches herself from Gilane’s shoulder and glides across to join them on the rails. “They do say that dragons like music too, but I’ve never heard of one singing. I suppose they haven’t got the voices for it.”

“No, no. None of those is mine. Mine are out by the beach right now, hunting.” V’len grins. “I suspect these belong to the fishermen here, and have already eaten their fill. Must be a good life, being the firelizard of a fishmonger.” But he thinks about the girl’s other words for a moment, his regard settling on the little green lizard. “I suspect,” he drawls quietly, “That lizards, who do not usually chew firestone, might have a better shot at singing. But dragon throats are designed for firestone and flaming, and though they can make a considerable number of different noises - from humming to roaring - I am not sure that any of those would constitute ‘singing’ to our ears. But perhaps the humming is to them, singing. They hum when the new ones hatch, so perhaps are singing the hatchlings a welcome into the world. Firelizards do that as well. But I think that the lizards really have more vocalization skills: They hum, they trill, they chirp, they squawk, hiss and can screech when they are hurt. Kind of a shrieky noise.” HE realizes that there are probably specific Harperish vocabulary words that would describe the different variations of racket that lizards can emit, but has never paid attention. “What do you think?” His regard turns back to the girl, seeming to be interested in her opinion.
Gilane considers the question. “Firelizards do have a large vocal range - low to high. And different types of sound that they make, as you say. But whether they could hear a piece of our music and make sounds that would fit, so that it’s music rather than noise, that I can’t work out - even if harper tales say they can. What do you think, Nettle?” She turns her question on the firelizard as if asking a human person. “You think you’d rather cosy up to that nice-looking blue. Well, I suppose you’re a bit young to discourse on musical theory just yet.” Nettle is indeed trying to get close to the blue, and turning rapturous eyes on him. “She hasn’t met many other firelizards yet. And no dragons. I suppose I’ll have to introduce her to the rest of the family soon.” She draws her knees up and turns towards V’len, so that instead of looking over her shoulder she’s facing him, hands clasped round her lower legs. After a second or two, though, she remembers her manners and gets to her feet, wobbling a little on the edge of the pier as she rises. No harm done, though. “And speaking of introductions, my name’s Gilane - harper apprentice.” She peers through the gathering gloom at V’len, looking for any clues as to his identity.

V’len is clad in clothes best used for running: a shirt that appears to have been run through the wash a few too many times, and is a little threadworn, and britches that come to his knees only. He has ‘well-loved’ boots on,proof against the rocky shore that would cut up unwary bare feet too easily. Besides, he is a proponent of ‘practice how you perform’, and he does not help out in rescues, as a rule, barefoot. “V’len, rider to Yaath.” V’len flashes a quick smile with his introduction. “We’re in Ocelot wing. That is the one who flies higher tier and does Search and Rescue, sometimes. R’zel is our wingleader and we have one dragonhealer in the wing.” Those seem the salient points to V’len, and they are trotted out like someone else might recite a family lineage. “Yaath clutched a couple hatchings ago, so we’re still a bit new at the game, compared to some.” And still alive, compared to some. He grins again, to deflect the conversation away from himself and back to the girl: “How long have you been with the Harpers? And are you from around here? Blackrock?”

Gilane gives conventional nods of encouragement as V’len talks about his wing - even if she’s known some of it for longer than he has. His own history is far more interesting to her, and her eyes brighten with curiosity. “Oh, right; was that Theidith’s clutch, or Zymuraith’s? I didn’t see Zymuraith’s Hatch; I didn’t get back from the Harper Hall until after Wrayth’s latest, in fact. What colour's your Yaath? And how long have you been in your Wing? Your wingleader's not a bad gitarist, did you know that?" But there are questions for her, too. “I’ve been a harper for more than two turns, but I’m from here - Southern Weyr born and raised. We're one of those complicated Weyr families. And I was training here, too, only they sent me away to the main Hall at Fort for one turn." Her tone suggests that this was not entirely pleasing to her. "But now I'm back where I belong, so that's all right." There's a flutter of wings as the blue that Nettle's trying to cuddle up to loses patience with the hatchling and takes off.

“Uh, Theidith and Nokteryth. The one with all the bronzes,” V’len grins. “Yaath is one of the bronzes. My brother also Impressed bronze. We were very lucky to both Impress.” His grin of pleasure is genuine and bright. R’mi Impressed Cuth, and they’re training to be dragonhealers, which is perfect for them. Yaath is a middle-sized bronze, so we’re working to get better at the Rescue part of ‘Search and Rescue’. But he does shake his head, “No, I don’t…Really socialize much with the wing like I should. But alot of them tend to drink and …Ah…I really don’t have much experience and I’m still too new at things to have much time and I have intended to do that kind of thing, but as a younger wing member, I’m always first to be scheduled for sweeps on off days and early mornings, which we don’t mind at all, but …I don’t want to be compromised when doing anything associated with our job…Right? So I haven’t gotten to hear R’zel play a guitar or anything.” Mild discomfort comes through as V’len tries to uphold is part of the conversation, “There really are some complicated families here! For us, it’s just three of us still living - me and my two brothers. So that’s easy. But I am always afraid that I’m going to irritate someone related to someone important and that’ll come down on me.” He grins again. “This dragonriding business is a great profession and I don’t want to blow it. It seems to come natural for a lot of folks, but I’m not sure if it’s because we’re cothold bred or what, but I am always second-guessing myself.” THEN V’len tries to shift the conversation topic over, though his gaze follows the little blue lizard who fled, “What part of Harpering are you liking so far? What are you thinking of specializing in, or is that too early to tell?” He does not ask about her family ties, because she is no doubt related to some lineage who - hell, founded the whole Weyr or something. Ignorance is bliss.

"You don't like drinking? You should try the Treble Clef. Lots of music and no alcohol." There's distinct amusement on Gilane's face, especially when V'len mentions his fear of offending someone with important connections - perhaps he was right to be wary! Anyway, she's not going to allow him to remain in blissful ignorance. "You're not wrong about complicated families. My Ma has eight of us and another on the way, though we don't all have the same father, and our - my - father-by-blood had other children, though they're at Igen rather than here, because he and Ma came from there when this Weyr was founded. And you might know some of my family, if your Yaath was from that clutch, because that's the class Sevi and R'nev were in, with Danyth and Gavoth. My sister and brother. From what I hear, that class had a lot of siblings as well as a lot of bronzes. Sevi said there were some twins: harpers, though I didn't know them." She doesn't add another name that's also likely to be familiar, though she does wait expectantly for a moment or two to see if V'len does in fact know her blueriding siblings, and whether he's picked up what must have been common knowledge about them - that they were the younger brother and sister of Weyrlingmaster Ginger. "I'd stopped Standing by then. I did, a couple of times, but I think the little ones can tell when your heart isn't really in it, and I always wanted to be a harper, from when I was knee-high to a trundlebug. It's the music I love - I hope they're going to let me specialise in composition, but it might be instruments or vocals. And three of us being riders is probably enough for any family, though the younger ones aren't old enough to Stand yet, so I suppose there could be more to come."

Even though many eggs hatched into many dragonets, the Weyrling class still knew each other, possibly (in some cases) far better than they ever wanted to, by the end of their time together as Weyrlings. So V’len grins over at the young Harper, “Sevi and R’nev, yeah? I always thought they were ‘naturals’ and their blues are amazing.” Blue being V’len’s second favorite color of dragon, behind bronze, he is sincere in that compliment. But he falls silent again by the time that Gilane starts speaking again. “I think I’ve heard of harpers that rode dragons, but mostly during Pass, which makes sense. I really don’t know how some of these riders are able to care for their children and their dragons and be in fighting wings. They are really impressive and I wonder when they sleep. I also think,” he confides, “That our army of Aunties and Uncles are amazing beyond words.” He punctuates that with another quick grin and an appreciative shake of his head. “So does ‘composition’ mean making the tunes, or composing songs?” A small green lizard - adult, but just on the smaller side, pops out of *between*, circles around V’len in a flutter of wings, then slips *between* again. V’len lifts a hand and points out a finger as he drops the hand, lifts and pops another finger out, and on the third lift-and-drop, a small fair of lizards pops in: Gold, bronze, blue and the original green, who takes the proprietary place on V’len’s shoulder: She found him.

"We learn - oh, calm down, Nettle!" The arrival of V'len's fair has set the little green into a flap - literally - and the rest of the firelizards perching with her take off in a flurry of wings and creeling protests. Gilane holds out her hand, and the young green hops onto it and allows herself to be settled on her human's shoulder, where she lets out several enquring chirps. Gilane ignores her and tries to answer V'len over the din. "We learn how to do all of it, but some people prefer to do the music for songs without the lyrics - I mean, they might set a poem that already existed to music, or something someone else has written. And some music is purely instrumental, of course. That's what I like best, I think. It's like… painting pictures with the notes. And then, there are harpers who aren't composers as such, but do write lyrics. But we all learn a bit of everything, because you never know what you'll have to do if you're posted somewhere and you're the only harper for miles." A particularly insistent chirp has her raising her hand to her ear and telling Nettle, "Hush!" She looks despairingly at V'len. "How do you manage with four? I can't seem to keep one quiet."

“I have a dragon and he helps a lot with the lizards.” V’len admits with a smile. “Ask your siblings to ask their dragons to help, if you’re not making yourself clear, maybe. But Yaath doesn’t take to too much racket, and he’ll shut them right down if he’s in a mood. I think he uses them to… Go hunting sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if they are more his lizards or mine. And my brother is very good at training animals of all sorts. If we’d have had the marks to send him to apprentice, I’m sure we’d have sent him to Beastcraft, to become an animal healer. He will make an amazing DragonHealer.” V’len’s pride is as fervent as if he were R’mi’s parent, rather than big brother. He does not to Gilane’s explanation. “My father was a Harper, sent out to journey through the jungles of Southern. We had a loose community of cotholds and he settled in to be the Harper there, and met my mother. The older I get, the more I appreciate that he was able to do. A Harper assigned to a small area really has to know much more … General skills, than someone who specializes in one or two parts of Harpering. I think.” V’len adds, evidently willing to be corrected by the actual Harper.

Gilane nods emphatically. “That’s right. Not much chance to be a specialist unless you’re at the Harper Hall or somewhere else big, like this. Smaller places can’t make good use of them, usually - maybe if it’s education, but not composing. Or even instrumental music - people want to sing along. And who can blame them, to be sure! But if your father was a harper, you’ll know all about how that works.” She turns curious eyes on V’len’s fair of lizards. “I hope Nettle will learn to catch her own dinner, but I think I’d rather she left it at that. Anyway, I’ll never have a dragon for her to hunt with. My sister’s got a couple of firelizards, but I don’t know if Shokravanth helps her with them. Maybe he does: one of them was really noisy at first, but she isn’t now. Maybe I should ask, if I can keep her in the same place for long enough.” The sister rather than the lizard, presumably. Gilane looks up to the sky. “Ah, the mist’s coming in. I’m not finding inspiration here, anyway.” She tucks her small pipe into her belt pouch.

“Well then,” V’len straightens, “It was lovely meeting you, Harper Apprentice Gilane.” His grin is quick and maybe a little lopsided, though he reaches to draw fingers over the hide of the green on his shoulder, absently. “Perhaps we will see you - or hear you - around sometime.” Then he thinks, “Also, if you really struggle with your Nettle, look up R’mi. He’s really really good with animals of all sorts. He’s the reason I got my first lizard at all. He found a wild hatching and he impressed two browns, and I only got one lizard, by accident I think.” V’len chuckles. “Though maybe I was luckier, because he had to figure out how to take care of two of them, while I only had the one to deal with. But he knows a lot about how to train things. Anyway.” V’len realizes he might rightly accused of babbling, and he steps back smartly and waves, “Good luck!”

“Maybe I’ll do that. Or perhaps the pipe will work its wonders! But it’s early days yet: she’s only little.” Nettle is indeed very young: she can’t have been hatched more than a couple of sevendays, if that. Gilane also takes a step backwards, taking care not to go over the edge of the pier. “It was good to meet you, too, bronzerider. Perhaps I’ll play for you sometime! But I should be getting back now before it’s any darker. Clear skies to you and yours.” With that and a bright smile, she turns away and heads along the dock, prior to making the trek back to the Weyr.