The Moment of Truth

Writers: AmajoS, Heather
Date Posted: 12th April 2019

Characters: T'min, A'nir
Description: T'min and A'nir discuss the parts of dragonriding no one ever mentions and their favorite (and less than favorite) foods.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 10, day 16 of Turn 9

T'min collapsed backward onto his bed in the weyrling barracks. On the
platform next to the bed that served as his couch, Osgrath was sound
asleep, having been fed, bathed and oiled for the evening. The boy
knew he ought to go wash up and get ready for dinner himself, but he
was too tired to move.

"I thought being a Candidate was tiring," A'nir complained as he
dragged into the barracks, talking to whomever would listen. "This is
definitely worse." He gave an affectionate pat to Iebrath's hide as
she climbed into her makeshift couch and curled her tail over her
muzzle, her eyelids sliding shut almost immediately.

"This is the part of dragonriding that no one ever tells you," T'min
agreed, too tired to feel his usual reticence. "I mean all the songs
tell you about the honor of it, the danger. No one ever sang a song
about scrubbing or oiling or shoveling, that I remember." Even as he
complained, he reached over and ran a hand lovingly along Osgrath's
sleeping head and neck, scratching lightly along his ridges.

"There once was a tired Weyrling," A'nir sang, in a rather pleasing
tenor, to the tune of one of the popular ballads about dragonriders,
"who had shoveled many piles of dung, but still he could not know,
just how bad the blisters stuuuunnngggggg..... when they bursssttt."
He directed himself with a little twirl of his finger.

T'min's surprised bark of laughter was loud enough that Osgrath's tail
flicked in his sleep. The brown didn't wake up though. "You should
write that down and submit it to the Harper Hall," he grinned over at
his friend.

"I might do that, I feel as though they'd just skip apprentice and
promote me right to Journeyman for that piece of art." A'nir chuckled
before heaving himself to his feet. "You hungry?"

He thought about it. Was he hungry? Yes. Was he hungry enough to move?
Debatable. Still, he supposed he couldn't just lay here. "Sure. I need
to wash my hands first, at least. I still have oil under my
fingernails." He held up his hands as if to prove the claim.

"I don't even want to know what's under my nails," A'nir said, nose
wrinkling as he poured water in the wash basin and began lathering up
sweetsand.

T'min laughed and joined A'nir at the wash basin, his fingers stung a
little where he'd nicked them while slicing up the meat for Osgrath.
Not exactly burst blisters, but probably just as painful.

Once his fingernails no longer held any black grime, A'nir patted them
dry and them gave them a good shake. "I heard someone say we are
having fish tonight in the Dining Cavern. I hope they were lying."

"What's wrong with fish?" The younger weyrling asked, drying his own
hands. "Fish is tasty, especially when they batter it up and fry it."

"I don't like the way they smell," A'nir admitted, and it reminded him
of the seahold he'd grown up in, where he'd been a prisoner after his
father had found out that he liked boys.

"That makes sense. If you don't like the way food smells, it's gonna
taste bad too." Then, because the silence felt awkward for some
reason, he added, "I hate liver. It's not the smell, it's the way it
feels in my mouth. Like meaty chalk or something." He made a face when
he said it, like he had a bit of liver him is mouth right then.

"Oh, gross." A'nir made a face as they walked into the Dining Cavern.
"I feel like eating liver is an old person thing, my parents used to
do it." Not that they were necessarily old, but A'nir had never been
fond of the tradition. "The healers say eating liver is good for you,
but I just can't force myself to do it."

"My mother loves to cook liver and onions together. And, of course, I
always had to eat everything on my plate or go without. It was awful,"
T'min finished with an exaggerated shudder of dismay and horror.

"Well, it's the moment of truth," A'nir said as they drew near the
service tables ladened with food. "Ah," a smile broke across his face,
"we're in luck, roast wherry and gravy." It was one of his favorite
meals that the Dragonsfall kitchens prepared.

It was T'min's favorite too. "Much better than liver and onions," he
grinned at A'nir.

A'nir loaded down his plate with a helping of the roast wherry,
dolloped a generous helping of gravy on top, and then added some
tubers and greens to the side. His stomach twisted with hunger pangs
at the delicious smells. "I think I'm getting some of my energy back
just looking at it," he told T'min as he tossed a roll on top of his
pile of food.

T'min loaded his plate as well but snorted, "I wouldn't go that far.
But I sure am hungry." Then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously and
probed the spot in his mind where his dragon was sleeping. No. It was
his hunger, not Osgrath's. Sometimes it was hard for him to tell, but
he was getting better at it.

"Let's see if we can find a decent seat," A'nir said as he grabbed a
cup of fruit juice, balancing his plate in his other hand as he turned
and surveyed the Dining Cavern.

T'min followed his friend, letting the more gregarious boy take the
lead on seat finding. He still hated to sit with a bunch of people he
didn't know well, a little over two months at the Weyr and Impressing
a dragon hadn't changed that.

A'nir looked around and sighed at the overcrowded tables. "Maybe we
can just take this back to the barracks?"

Breathing an audible sigh of relief, T'min agreed, "Let's do that."

Last updated on the April 16th 2019

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The Moment of Truth