auncandid

Aundar slid off of the frosted green dragon's back, surveying the area around him. Moutain's Note Weyr had few dragons perched in its many weyrs, but he knew that it was a very new Weyr. After all, what better luck could he hope for than to stand at the first clutch of what might be a wonderful Weyr? And if a dragon chose him, no matter what it was, it would be perfect.

He walked into the weyr that the greenrider pointed him to, deeply glad that he was finally here. Yes, he had finally been Searched, and didn't have to worry about flirty greenriders wondering why a grown man like him didn't have a dragon whenever he was still only 14. There was definately a curse that would keep him from ever being considered his age. Maybe whenever he got old, he would still look young, and then people would think that he was younger than his real age... Now that would be a welcome switch, Aundar decided.

Just as he stepped into his weyr, there was a bugle from the sands, and he gasped sharply. The eggs? Hatching now? He had come just in time, and it was lucky that the greenrider had such good luck.

Or had she timed it?

That was of no matter; he quickly grabbed the folded white robe that he had packed in his wher-hide sack, and stripped of his pants and tunic to slide into the robe, hurrying out to the sands and tripping on his flimsy sandals. They would offer minimal protection from the sands.

'If they mean for us to stand the heat of the sands, how ever to they expect us to do it when wearing these things?' he wondered silently, but hurried onto the sand anyways, looking at the eleven eggs, with the one golden egg. He wondered what they held in there... It would be wonderful to see.

The eggs are shaking,
The queen is bugling,
Eggs are hatching,
Come Candidates,
Come!

Aundar had tried to write a poem once, but that was as far as he'd ever gotten. But now that an egg was shaking violently, he couldn't help but think that it portrayed the situation perfectly.

Come!