Talaran Talaran's Story

The red-haired boy stormed out of the room, and down the hall. Talaran, by name. He was raised as a fosterling at Kielac, his parents had been riders at the nearby Ryslen Weyr.

He had been working with the Tanner all morning, and now, had decided he should be allowed to continue this afternoon, and skip his other chores. Korrim, the steward here at Kielac, thought otherwise.

The broad-shouldered Talaran met his brother Sylarn, a drummer, in the hallway.

"Oh! There you are! Been searching high and low for you, Talaran." He says, blocking his older brother's path. Talaran regarded his brother coolly. Though he was two turns older, 20 to Sylarn's 18, he was a full two inches shorter, only reaching 5'10." "You're supposed to be helping me haul blackrock up to the Drumheights, remember?"

Talaran went with his brother, and the work of hauling pail after pail of Cromcoal up the stairs slowly burnt the fire of his temper down. It was nice to work with Sylarn - he never complained. Sylarn grinned as Talaran went back for one last pailfull. "Strong as an ox, and as stubborn as one too!" the drummer said to noone in particular.

Talaran, who had managed to avoid getting too many coal-smudges on his hide pants and tunic, ran into Korrim in the hall. "Korrim..." he began, and the steward stopped and looked as him. "I'm sorry I was impolite earlier." The man nodded, ready to be on with his own task. "I'll try to remember my other duties from now on." the apprentice Leathercrafter said.

"You do that, Talaran, and you'll be happier." The steward said, accepting the young man's appology, as he continued on. Everyone knew how good Talaran was at working with hides -- tanning, cutting, sewing, etc. He could spot minute flaws without trying. Even the Craftmaster himself was impressed. If only Talaran could harnass his exhubarance, and make it work for him, instead of letting it get him into trouble.

A visiting Harper suggested to Korrim and Kielac's Lord Holder, Oran, that Talaran spend some time with the Tanners at a Weyr. In particular, Blackstone Weyr. "Those folks," he said, "have dedication that lasts generations." Their motto, he insisted, was 'Work with us, or get out.'

Talaran was delighted. Working at Blackstone took all he had, pushing him to the limits. At the end of the day, he was exhausted, but happy. It didn't surprise anyone, other than Talaran himself, that he was soon asked to stand at Blackstone Weyr's next Hatching.

The time spent at Blackstone had done Talaran a heap of good. He was more focused, and a bit less likely to snap at people.

Time passed, and then the fateful night came, when Kagamith and Tsuchith's clutch Hatched.

It wasn't exactly night, but it was still too early for it to be morning. Since this clutch was slated to be the golden Kagamith's last, there were hoardes of people present, Lords and Ladies and holders galore. Talaran was rocksteady, and sure enough, when the eggs began to hatch, he was ready. A lithe brown, and a big sturdy brown hatched at the same time, and the big one found his way to Talaran. you will make a strong rider for me. I hope I do not tire under you when we fly! Dulveth had said to him. He chose to change his name to L'ran, shortening it as other riders did, as a symbol of Impression. He'd wondered why the other riders were so shocked that he dropped the first sylable entirely.

Now, L'ran the tanner had his hands full with a handsome brown dragon, in addition to his work.

For the first few weeks, Dulveth did a lot of eating, and quite a bit more sleeping, leaving L'ran some time to keep up on his Craft.

L'ran was leaning up against a waist-high counter in the tannercraft workshop. A glowbasket full open behind him. In his strong hands, a strip of leather about four inches wide, and four feet long. That particular piece was destined to become someone's new riding straps, and had come into his hands for inspection. He examined the length, and then, with a satisfied nod, began coiling it up.

L'ran.... I'm awake now... and you're not here... the brown dragon said, calling to his rider from the barracks. L'ran grinned.

Moving from his perch, L'ran returned the length of leather to the tanner. "It's an even job; but there's a stretched spot about half a span from the near end." L'ran said, revealing his findings to the tanner. The man gave an ambigous nod. "Dulveth is calling, I..."

The tanner cut him off. "Go, L'ran. See to your dragon." He didn't look up, and L'ran went towards the door. "When you get back, there's a lot of hides that need to be dyed." The tanner called after him.

"Yessir!" L'ran called, and was gone.

The sturdy young man hurried down to the barracks, and to his dragon. The hatchling brown stood outside the doors, waiting for him. I'm hungry... and I itch... Dulveth said, walking excitedly towards his rider.

L'ran reached out and scratched the itchy spot between the hatchlings wing and neck instinctively, as if he was scratching an itch of his own. Dulveth's eyes whirled happily. "Let's get you fed, and then off for a scrub, eh Dulveth?" L'ran said, leading the way towards the dragon's next meal.

That sounds good. You're very kind. Dulveth said, trotting along beside. The dragon was growing so fast, he needed to be scrubbed and oiled about twice a day, or three times every two days, if L'ran was lucky.

And the story continues...

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