Special Clutch 1 Records

No sooner had the first golden-yellow leaf fallen from its tree than Shamira appeared in the doorway to Rimaea's office.

"A Gather." Rimaea took up one of two mugs of spiced klah and handed it to the other woman. "For what occasion?"

"Rather an otherworldly one," Shamira replied, bringing the mug to her smiling lips to drink. "All Hallows' Eve."

Rimaea motioned for the two of them to sit in armchairs by her fireplace. After all, Shamira was a friend, not a stranger; this was hardly a business meeting, though she suspected it was about to become one.

"All Hallows' Eve," Rimaea repeated as the two of them sat. Aalimeth, still on the Sands with her hardening eggs, was notably absent. In her place, Shamira's green dragon Shiriteth lounged. Rimaea would hear it from Aalimeth later for letting another dragon use her couch, but that was a bridge she'd have to cross when she got to it.

"They celebrate it on Earth," Shamira explained. "It is said that the veil between the worlds - that of the living and that of the dead - is thinnest on that night. Those who celebrate All Hallows' - 'Halloween,' some call it - don costumes in a sort of masquerade. Some believe the guises ward off wayward spirits. Others just do it for a bit of harmless fun."

Rimaea sipped her klah warily. "I hope you're not suggesting we get the dead involved."

A rare laugh burst from Shamira. "Hardly!" She put down her cup and stood. "Regardless of what you believe about the thinning of the veil, I admit I love the masquerade. And besides, we already have our costumes, you and I."

The greenrider's form rippled as if surrounded by radiant heat, and morphed smoothly; rather than the human woman who had entered, Rimaea now found herself faced with what she recognized as Shamira's true form. Half-woman, half-snake, her lower half was covered in acid-green scales, while her top half retained humanity. Looking into Shamira's eyes, though, revealed slitted pupils. Her incisors, too, had grown sharper. Rimaea thought she caught the sparkle of a drip of venom from one of them.

"Please don't bite my Weyrfolk," she said.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Shamira bespoke with a more sibilant, snakelike inflection. "They are mine to protect."

Rimaea smiled. She was surrounded by a similar energy to Shamira's as she shifted her own shape.

"I just adore that trick of yours," Shamira said, extending a hand to the Weyrwoman, now a caramel-coloured house cat. Rimaea leapt onto the naga's shoulder.

"It's been a long time," Rimaea admitted, thankfully still capable of speech in her feline form. "It'll make it easy to watch the festivities."

"So it's agreed, then," Shamira grinned. "An All Hallows' Eve Gather. Costumes... mandatory. And a prize for the best."

"That's hardly fair. Yours would win every time."

"I will be the judge." Shamira lifted her mug again to drink. "And this blend must make an appearance. You have a talent for brewing."

Rimaea leapt from Shamira's shoulder and shifted back into her human form. "I've been practicing. Iany has been cultivating gourds brought from offworld. It turns out that adding a little pumpkin makes everything better in the fall." She sipped her klah - pumpkin spice, naturally - and moved to her desk to write.

Shamira followed. "And the clutch," she grinned. "There will be room on the Sands, of course?"

A long silence.

"What clutch?"

Story is located here for now; it'll be added to this page when I get the HTML formatting done!