[G] [P] 734.09.01 | Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

H'gra had been so certain, when S'kef had called them all, that it was starting all over again. So many deaths in the Landslide, so many of the Stolen now gone or too old, so many eggs that Aradissicath had given them to replace their losses. He could do the math as well as anyone. So despite Courtath's determined optimism, he'd gone to the meeting with his heart in his throat and dread souring his stomach, grimly resigned to doing his duty yet again and hoping it didn't break him this time.

But what he'd forgotten, what S'kef had determined and remembered (and what the man now had H'gra's eternal loyalty for), was that they weren't ghosts anymore. Tsuen was dead and it was okay to have a place in the world again, to leave traces and footprints and everything that real men did. They could Search as real dragonmen, admired protectors of Pern.

Alright, so it wasn't going to be ideal. What boys they did get would be ignorant as fuck. If they were lucky, ignorance could be mended and the boys would be so awed and honored to get off the farms that they'd accept any beast just to stay at the Weyr. If they weren't, they'd just get a bunch of close-minded little bastards cluttering up the place as they waited for that golden prize of bronze and brown.

And that's if they got any at all. If the dragonmen, and the Thread they fought, had faded so in men's minds, they'd have a much rougher time of it indeed. Much though he had no desire to see Thread himself, he felt a fleeting envy of those Searchriders- gratitude loosened a lot of strings. They'd been gone long enough for a full generation to have gone by among the common folk, a people prone to ignorance and fear of the different anyway- more than enough time to have been forgotten in favor of what to plant for spring or who was marrying who. Or to have become the victims of stories 'round the hearth, meant to shock and (after the kiddies had gone to bed) titillate the audience. By the first queen, those stories had been old when he was young!

But at the moment, relief and high spirits had H'gra rooted firmly in the past, all full of warm fuzziness and nostalgia for the days when he'd picked a hopeful-looking boy out of a crowd and the young man had yelled for joy, not anger or fear. Been glad to see him at all, in some cases; the mere experience of seeing a dragon up close something to tell the grandkids about someday.

He should get a firelizard, the thought occurred to him. A little, non-threatening toy to entice and reassure the holders.

But for now, all he could do was direct a delighted grin at the other prospective Searchriders upon leaving the meeting. "Well, isn't this grand?" He commented with dry humor, to no one in particular. "Here we go again."

In his way, he had known, though the hope he held onto as he walked the distance to S’kef’s tent was tentative. It was all very well for S’kef to state that he wanted to return North, that they would all go home eventually – that was before the mountain fell upon them and disaster struck once again. It was sad, really. Twenty years after the plague, they were destroyed once more. In another twenty years, the threat of Thread would be upon them – and from there, fifty years without rest. Or so the legends said.

As the brownrider spoke – and B’jin still refused to call him ‘Weyrleader’, for Jada was no Weyrwoman (she was a baby! Babies didn’t ride the senior queen!) than S’kef could surely not be Weyrleader; and despite the fact that Larrikith’s sire had been a brown Weyrleader, the whole concept was just off to B’jin. Then again, that was probably why Larrikith was such a bitch. I heard that. B’jin radiated mental innocence as he shifted his weight to the other leg, pursing his lips and studying S’kef.

When the brownrider asked for questions, B’jin paused thoughtfully before shaking his head silently. He had questions, true, but none of them were for S’kef and none of them were about the job itself. It was quite clear what was being asked, and how they were to conduct themselves and B’jin had no issues with that! He grinned brightly when they were dismissed, spinning on his heel and wriggling past several of the others.

“Fucking brilliant!” B’jin crowed in response to H’gra’s mostly rhetorical question, brown eyes dancing with delight, and a wide grin on his face. His steps were filled with bounce and energy and the greenrider was barely resisting the urge to skip and prance. Search! They were going on a real, traditional Search! B’jin made an entirely im-masculine sound (though perfectly pitched!) before dancing around those that were gathered.

“Excuse me!” He had to find R’nd! R’nd needed to know, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to drag the bluerider all across Pern with him on this adventure! Bouncing off, B’jin threw himself onto Larrikith, who winked between before she’d left the ground – as was their usual method, and completely unorthodox and rule breaking way – to reappear over where R’nd’s hut was set up.