Laerwen ¶

My red dragon has arrived to the Laerith Weyr! ¶

Her book is on a lectern in my Weyr base:
Dragons of the Laerith Weyr
Merisath, Heart of the Weyr & Saevra Laerith

Merisath, Heart of the Weyr, glides overhead with quiet majesty. Her rider, Saevra, perched between her great eye ridges, gazing toward the horizon.

The oldest of the Weyrfolk say Merisath has lived an eternity, her rider bound to her an eternity more. Saevra speaks only of the moment of Impression, how time itself seemed to stop when Merisath broke free from the glistening ruby shell of her egg. In that instant, Saevra became neither young nor old. Rather, she harnessed time itself and stepped beyond its reach for eternity. Her silver hair remained as it was on that day, her bones unweakened, her mind undimmed. Time, unforgiving and forever in motion, simply moved around her.

Merisath, however, did not stand still. With each passing moon she grew, vast and unhurried, until her wingspan outstretched the width of the weyr bowl. The ledges carved for dragons long ago had faded into insignificance beneath her shadow. She could no longer enter the weyr she was meant to inhabit, instead rests high above the caldera where cliff and sky grant her the space she requires and quiet solitude she craves.

Generations of dragons and riders have come and gone beneath them, aging with the natural rhythm of the world. Saevra alone remains unchanged, and Marisath alone continues to grow.

Now they sail above the weyr once more, scanning the horizon. They scan not with fear, but with quiet certainty. As though they were not made for the past or the present, but for a day that has not yet arrived.

The weyr, small beneath her, waits too.