Tristan & Yarrima's Search

"Searched? Before me?"

The teenager - more of a young man every day, Tristya mused - had his arms folded over his chest and his bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

"It looks that way," came his father's reply. H'ran's hand fell softly on Tristya's shoulder, and she reached up to lace her fingers with his. "The letter asked for Yarrima. But you're still young, Tristan-"

"Sixteen!" Tristan, their firstborn, looked ready to burst. "Sixteen, and no Search - you and Mom were younger - I'm never going to Stand at this rate!"

"I was nineteen," H'ran corrected. "Your mother was seventeen. Both older than you."

Tristan sank to the floor dramatically and leaned his head against the wall. "I was supposed to be first," he whined, his voice softer now.

"You'll Impress someday!"

He was surprised by the hand ruffling his hair - not his father's or his mother's, but his younger sister's. Yarrima, thirteen Turns old, smiled down at her brother encouragingly. Part of Tristan wanted to swat her hand away and storm off, but something about the way she smiled rooted him to the spot. Instead, Tristan just felt guilty. Yarrima didn't have a bad-tempered bone in her body - no wonder the dragons had noticed her first. And here he was, sixteen and whining like a child that he wasn't the one they chose...

"Tristan. You're spacing out. It'll be okay, you know?"

"You'll do great," he managed, struggling to meet his sister's eyes. "Sorry. I'm the oldest. I guess I thought it meant I'd be the first to be a rider, too."

"We've got it in our blood," Yarrima chirped, turning to her parents for confirmation. "Right?"

H'ran and Tristya, who'd refused to foster their four children in favour of raising their own family, both nodded.

"Of course." H'ran puffed out his chest a bit. "You four will all be Candidates. Nunkith and Aoaoth are sure of it."

"Just not necessarily at the same time," Tristya chimed in.

"You promise?" Yarrima demanded, giving her brother's shoulder a squeeze as if ready to defend him from harm.

Tristya felt a prickling in her eyes. When she looked at her daughter's face, she remembered the gentle kindness of Yarrima's namesake: the friend she'd lost. Yarrima - the first one - had been fourteen when she died, barely given a chance to live at all. Her daughter was almost the same age now. And, if all went well, she'd be a rider soon. She'd known it was coming, but how had she let the time slip by so quickly?

"Mom."

"Yes," Tristya started, shaking herself back into the present. "If the dragons don't come for you, we'll take you to them."

Yarrima's eyes lit up. "When I get to Istabitha's I can tell them you really, really want to Impress, if you want! Or you could stow away in my bag. But you have to buy me new clothes when we get there. I don't think you'll fit in there with them."

"It's okay, 'Ima," Tristan laughed. "I think I can get over it. Plus... if I'm not Searched by nineteen, I think Dad might take it straight to the Searchdragons."

H'ran said nothing, but grinned knowingly.

Tristya moved toward her two oldest children and gathered them in her arms. "I love you," she said. "Both of you. No matter who's first on the Sands."

"The letter does say guests are welcome," H'ran remarked, still holding said invitation in his hands. "We could make it a family outing if Istabitha's can give us somewhere to stay."

Yarrima practically jumped out of her mother's embrace. "Yes! Please come! Nila and Tryna can come too - it'll be their first Hatching! And Tristan. I mean, if you want to."

Tristan was in a bit of an awkward headlock; he wasn't quite ready to leave the hug, no matter how uncomfortable it was for his face. Still, he managed a sort of half-nod.

"I'll come. But don't be surprised if one of the dragons chooses me first," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Yarrima made a delighted sort of squeaking sound and jumped back into the hug, nearly smacking her head into Tristan's. (Tristya's shoulder made a sound too, but this one was more of a not-so-delighted pop.)

"I'll get the riding gear ready," announced H'ran, before he could be absorbed into the conglomerate of affection and creaking joints. It's time, he mused fondly, hearing the sounds of his younger two daughters playing outside. Here we go again.