Энн Маккефри: The Impression

Golanth certainly had the softest skin Felessan had ever touched. Even though the little bronze was only a few minutes old, he was as steady on his feet as could be. And his wings! They were drying faster than any other hatchling on the Ground, even the ones who had broken shell before him. What transparent sails they were, and so perfect that they looked like they had been carved from glass. Felessan was so full of joy and pride that his chest hurt. His jaws ached, but he could not stop smiling.

I'm hungry, Golanth told him piteously, adding a croon to his plea.

“Hungry!” Felessan was abashed. He had stood there like a lump of coal while his dragon was hungry! Terribly hungry. His own guts were rumbling in sympathy, and he realized that the could feel the craving for food right through their precious link. His training flooded back to him, and he remembered there would be food out in the Weyr Bowl for them.

“Come on, we've got to get you some food! There's food right out here. Just come along with me now,” he chattered on, reassuring Golanth, who tottered along beside him. The sand was hot, and the young dragon's claws were still soft and damp from being in the egg. “It's all right — here, I'll help you. Don't worry about it. It sure is hot here, isn't it? My feet hurt, too, but that's okay. We're just going outside. It's much cooler there. And the food!”

I'm very, very hungry, Golanth told him.

Other hatchlings were already being fed by their proud new weyrmates, with some guidance from the senior riders. One of the brown riders came over to F'lessan and handed him a big bowl of fresh red meat.

“Here you go, F'lessan.”

Felessan dragged his eyes away from Golanth's and recognized T'gran; at the same moment he realized that the smiling older rider was the first to address him by his new name.

“What's his name?”

“Golanth.” F'lessan grinned as he rolled the name around in his mouth for the first time. “This is my friend T'gran,” he told Golanth. “And his dragon is Branth. He's a brown dragon.”

The older rider smiled and clapped a hand to F'lessan's shoulder. “The Weyr-leaders are mighty proud of you. F'lar just looked as pleased as can be, and the Weyrwo-man — I think she was glowing as much as Ramoth was. You just see to Golanth now. He's a fine-looking little fellow, isn't he?” T'gran walked away, and Golanth opened his mouth for the meat.

The first pieces were swallowed promptly, and Golanth asked for more, rolling his jeweled eyes at F'lessan in appeal. His stomach hurt so much. It was so empty

“It's all right!” F'lessan promised him. “It's all right. Your stomach will stop hurting, really. Here's more. And more. Boy, you are hungry, aren't you? No, wait, chew it!” the boy pleaded as a large lump of meat disappeared down his weyrmate's throat. “You can have as much as you want, but you'll choke if you don't chew your food.”

Chew? The mental tone was puzzled.

“Uh, … mash the meat between your teeth.” F'lessan tried to demonstrate, pointing. “Those are teeth. You tear the meat with the front ones, and you chew with the back ones. Yes, you're all right now. Good.”

As the edge of Golanth's hunger abated, F'lessan began to take in his surroundings more fully. Suddenly the Weyr Bowl seemed bigger than he remembered it, and the sky was more beautiful. Everything was new. “See? It's lovely out here. This is where we'll be living.”

I like it. I like everything you like, Golanth told him, taking another chunk of meat. The bowl was nearly empty, and the dragonet's voracious eating was slowing down. The frantic spin of his eyes had abated to a placid whirl. Then the skin on Golanth's shoulder twitched and his eyes changed color.

“What's the matter?”

I itch came suddenly from the dragonet's mind.

F'lessan started at Golanth's emphatic tone. He set down the bowl and ran his hands over the shoulder joint. “You do? Here?”

No, further down. Yes, there.

“Yes, you feel very dry suddenly. I'll get some oil.” He turned around and around, trying to recall where the oil was kept. A few of the senior riders looked up at him questioningly. “I need some oil!” he exclaimed. “He's itching. His skin is dry.”

“Of course it is,” one of the men said. With a smile, he handed F'lessan a pot of oil and a paddle.

“Oh, good!” F'lessan seized the oil and smeared some on Golanth's shoulder. Instantly he shared his dragon's relief. “I'd better do a good job. I'll oil you all over, to make sure you won't be uncomfortable.” He spread paddlesful of oil all over the bronze dragonet, admiring the shimmer of his hide in the sun.

You are so considerate, Golanth said, his eyes glowing with love. The scent of the meat attracted him again, and he plunged his muzzle into the bowl while F'lessan worked. You are so clever, and you make me very happy.

F'lessan sighed with joy, caressing the soft, soft skin of his weyrmate and scratching above the dragon's sensitive eye ridges. “I'm happy, too.”

Joyful creelings from a fair of Impressed fire lizards echoed overhead in the wide Weyr Bowl, as a very small green dragon joined the other hatchlings in the sun. F'lessan noted with one astonished glance that the Weyrling with her was Mirrim. A girl impressing a green? Why she hadn't even been standing on the sands. Then Golanth nudged his arm again, and the boy turned back to spread more oil on his new friend.

When at last his dragon's skin was soothed, F'lessan helped Golanth make his way toward the Weyrling Barracks at the opposite end of the Bowl from the Hatching Grounds. Through their new bond, the boy could tell that Golanth was growing very tired. After all, he had only been Hatched that day. He needed to get some rest from the exertion of breaking shell and walking so far from the Hatching sands.

Somehow F'lessan managed to get the staggering bronze up the ramp, into the barracks, and over to the side of the room he had been assigned by the Weyrlingmaster. With a sigh of relief, Golanth collapsed onto the little stone couch. F'lessan discovered that he, too, was exhausted. He had been up practically all the night before, too nervous to sleep, not knowing what to expect and worrying what the other Candidates would say if the Weyr-leader's son failed to Impress on his first try. But it had all turned out just fine! And he had Impressed a bronze, too — the most beautiful, intelligent, wonderful bronze on Pern! The reality of the Hatching was more wonderful, more terrifying, and more rewarding than any description he had ever heard. He would never be alone again — and he had never realized how alone he had been until Golanth's presence filled his soul.

He sat down next to the small bronze hatchling, who was trying vainly to keep his glowing jeweled eyes open. As F'lessan smiled down at Golanth, the translucent lids slid closed one by one, then all Golanth's muscles relaxed at once. Suddenly F'lessan's eyelids became too heavy to hold up, and he leaned against Golanth's shoulder. With a little sigh, the boy slumped down next to the bronze dragonet. In a moment, their placid breathing joined that of the other new weyrmates.

With a soft step, the Werylingmaster made his way through the rows of stone couches, checking on each boy and dragonet. He lifted one of F'lessan's long, thin legs where it was dragging on the floor and settled it next to the other. Beaming paternally down at the young pair, he drew the woven coverlet up from the end of the couch and settled it over them. F'lessan was smiling in his sleep.