Nemar's amber-green eyes flashed in amusement as the silver-finned fish flopped about on the deck. Crewmen worked to get the fish stowed, while others cast the net out again. Such was the life of the seacrafter.
During a lull in activity, the firstmate called the golden-tan Nemar over. He stood about 6'1", was of sturdy build, and usually wore a weathered gray tunic, when on ship. He had remarkable taste asns usually attracted attention to himself quite by accident.
When landbound, Nemar studied with Sennet's harpers, learning laws. He had become quite adept at this, as well as telling the weather - but this came naturally to seamen, eventually.
"What do you make of this, Nemar?" the first mate asked, guesturing to a gathering cloud formation off the port bow. Nemar studied it for a moment.
"Due to how it's moving, sir, I'd say it'll be a whopper of a thunderhead."
The mate nodded, and gave orders to haul the last net in, and head for the port.
Large waves were beginning to rock the laden fisher as it started the final stretch home. The cabin boy, an apprentice of 12 ventured up on deck, and within a moment, was sent sprawling across the deck as a large wave caught the ship off guard.
Nemar raced across the deck, his movements graceful as a feline as he shifted to compensate for the rocking of the ship. He scooped up teh boy, and had just handed him to another through the hatch when a frightfully large wave crashed against the fisher. Nemar grabbed for a hold, but missed, and was sent skidding across the deck, and into the churning sea, hitting his head on the rail as he passed.
Hours later, Nemar awoke on the beach, coughing seawater out of his lungs. He couldn't remember getting here, but could take a pretty good guess, as the dolphins started making happy noises when he began to get up.
The 19 turn old seacrafter began to walk down the beach, his throbbing head distracting him away from trying to recognise the area. Either he would come to the peninsula near Sennet, or to Bell hold, but he'd definitely get somewhere. Firelizards kept him company as he walked.
After a while, a blue dragon appeared from Between and spiralled down to land on the beach. "Hey there!" the rider called. "Would you be Nemar?"
Nemar nodded slowly. "Aye..."
"D'run, from Ryslen. Would you care for a lift?"
Nemar, being no dimglow, instantly realized that someone from Sennet had most likely called in a favor for this search, and was quick to accept. As Nemar neared the dragon, his eyes began to whirl faster. Okserth lifted one foreleg, as a step, and D'run leaned down to give him a hand up.
"You're kidding me, Okserth!" D'run said, it seeming a sudden outburst to Nemar. By the twisted expression on the rider's face, it soon became apparent that the blue was far from joking.
"Nemar..." D'run began. "Okserth here insists you'd be a perfect candidate for Andromeda Weyr."
Nemar blinked in astonishment, then blinked again. What would his captain think? Surely he wouldn't begrudge a mere sailor the chance to bond with a dragonet... and with his weather-eye, and law-training, he'd be an asset to the weyr... right? "I'd be honored to go, D'run, Okserth." he said finally.
Laughing, D'run signalled for Okserth to take off. "I love my job!" he said.
What happens to Nemar?
Background from Futura's Graphix Outpost.