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Whermaster Dalinna sat on a sturdy wooden chair in the nesting chamber, massaging one of golden Dalinnesk's tiny head knobs absentmindedly with her thumb. It was quiet moments like this, surrounded by only the light of the moons and the smell of fallen leaves, that she knew clearing out the wherhold had been the right decision. Even if Pern hadn’t needed saving from Thread, the whers themselves had needed saving. While most of Pern considered the precious creatures nothing more than useless, ugly dragons, the wherhold was specifically designed for them to thrive.
Dalinnesk’s head lifted slightly as a silhouette hit the side of the chamber. The hatching of a wher clutch was a small, intimate affair, and the nesting chamber reflected that. Unlike the grand hatching grounds of the Weyrs, whers hatched in a dimly lit alcove, filled above the ankles with loose dirt, leaves, and small branches. The wrinkled, knee-high wher eggs didn't need hot sand, only reasonable temperatures and some soft detritus to hold them at an angle.
“D-Dalinna?” a hesitant voice asked as her steps rustled through the leaves, careful not to bump any of the dozen eggs carefully hidden among them. The whermaster recognized Prenatta’s voice before she recognized the tall, willowy figure moving toward them. Her build was very reminiscent of her uncle’s, though she lacked Bennofen’s air of confidence. Had he been as timid when they first met? Dalinna couldn’t remember, it had been so long ago.
The young woman sat down in the other chair, angled to watch the eggs as much as talk to Dalinna. “Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” Dalinna joked. The gold wher kept her eyes on the visitor but didn’t move. As long as the head rubbing persisted, she was content. “How can I help you?”
Prenatta stared at the leaves, lost in thought.
“Prenatta?”
“D-Do you ever get tired of the comparisons?” she asked finally, her eyes moving to Dalinnesk’s too-tight hide. “To dragons?”
The whermaster laughed - a single, rough sound combining exasperation with amusement. “Most people look at the two, dragons and whers, and see dragons as the clear winner. But,” she looked down at Dalinnesk lying contentedly with her eyes closed, “most people never really think about it, either.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Dragons are larger, flashier, have an unbreakable bond, speak using words. Sure. But whers are smaller and more self-reliant. They can eat practically anything - including Thread - and don’t need their handlers to endanger themselves during Fall. They communicate perfectly well with emotions and images, and heck - the only downside, as far as I’m concerned, is their aversion to sunlight.” She looked at the younger woman, who seemed to be considering her words. “I’m damn proud to have bonded to a wher. More proud than I would be of a dragon, I think.”
Prenatta’s eyes widened. “Wh-what makes you say that? Because sh-she’s the only bonded gold?” The whermaster shook her head. The leaves rustling on the trees was the only sound for a few minutes while Dalinna formulated her response.
“Do you know why Dalinnesk is here right now? Why she is even called Dalinnesk?”
“Why?”
“Because she chooses to be. Not because she’ll die without a handler, not because of some whim the moment she hatched, but because - of her own free will - she chooses to spend time here. With me.” Dalinna sighed, moving her hand slightly to massage the queen’s eye-ridges. “Poor Prideth… she doomed herself on her hatching day. Wirenth, too…” she drifted off. The tragedy with the queen dragons was fresh on everyone’s minds these days. “I wonder if she would have left her rider, given the option.”
Prenatta watched the older woman, unsure how to answer, then decided that the statement didn’t require one. She let her eyes drift to the rest of the nesting chamber. She thought she might be able to pick out one of the eggs from where she sat, but the others were all carefully hidden within the detritus. As carefully as she was observing the leaves, Dalinnesk was observing her. The wher’s bulging eyes closed for a moment as she communicated with her handler.
“My friend here would like to know if you’ve considered becoming a wherhandler yourself,” Dalinna asked, gesturing to her golden companion. “Not that you’re obligated. You’re not, by any means, though it is an option, and don’t let your Uncle Bennofen push you into it, either. You are a young woman, and there are many paths to happiness - no matter what that old codger says.”