A slim figure shivered in the shadows of the unwelcoming peaks high above. He didn't feel any more at ease here, in a rocky crevice beside the entrance to the Lower Caverns, than he had out on the mind-reeling flat space of the Weyr floor, where dragons took off, landed, ate, and Faranth knew what else. He was used to seeing dragons in the sky. He didn't realize they were so sharding big. Why, he barely stood as high as the elbow of the great green creature that had brought him to the Weyr only minutes before, and he knew greens were the smallest dragons.

Jalderyk shivered all over, a long shudder that was as much a reminder to get a grip as it was a physical expression of discomfort.

More like completely and totally out of place, he thought. What business had he here? He had never dreamed of riding a dragon. Well ... he had once seen a bronze in the sky when he was very young, leading a sweep wing after a particularly nasty Threadfall over the hills, and the size and majesty of the great dragon compared to his fellows had imprinted itself on the boy's memory. But to be selected as a Candidate? Unthinkable. He was Jalderyk, shepherd's lad, educated only four times a Turn when the Harper came through - even if he did pick up everything faster than his five siblings combined. His parents weren't even proper Beastholders. He spent his days in the hills, tending the flocks, alone with his thoughts and with the foothills and sky of Pern.

In short, he was nobody.

Except that a green dragon had found him trying to scare off a pack of wherries from his flock, and she had Searched him. Him. Searched.

So suddenly he was Jalderyk, Candidate.

"And," he muttered aloud, suddenly disgusted with himself, "Still a nobody if you don't get your arse moving. Candidate in a Weyr where no one knows your name, and isn't likely to if you don't do something to change it."

He gave himself a little shake. Not the shiver of a moment earlier. A shake, and pried himself away from the wall, hitching the battered rucksack that contained everything he owned higher on his shoulder. It wasn't much. The rucksack was light. Change of clothes for everyday, a comb for his unruly hair, and a twist of lamb's wool braided into a leather thong to remind him of home. He'd left his Gather clothing after discovering that the trousers were well above his ankles and the shirt would not lace closed over his broadening chest.

Jalderyk ran a hand through his hair, further rumpling the curls, and walked through the tall, wide mouth of the Lower Caverns for all Pern as if he'd been there before.

Naturally, he became lost almost at once. This place was just too big for a lad used to a two-room stone cot and the wide-open hills. He barked his toes on a rough stone and limped on, cursing, following the glowbaskets set at intervals along the wide corridor. Sooner or later he was bound to meet another living soul, he was certain. With luck, it would be someone who could tell him where he was supposed to go, who to report to, what to do next.