Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2004 21:39:22 -0800 (PST)
From: Corrinne S <mdaigle@prodigy.net>
Subject: The Red Orb of Pern

I present the story of M'chell and his dragon.
Greatly inspired by Anne McCaffrey's wonderful Pern
series, this is fan fiction.  This story was a
Christmas present two years ago for a dear friend of
mine who is, incidentally, a main character.  I make
no money off of this story and it is intended purely
for the enjoyment of those who decide to read it.  It
is, and will always be, my gift to Mitchell.  This is
Nifty so you can expect that this story is about love
between men.  But there isn't any sex here, so if
you're not interested look for something else.  Oh,
and it's copyrighted on Nifty and under International
Copyright Law.  Bear with me because it was written in
bits and pieces.  I'd like to thank ib3000 for his
permission to post my own `Pern' story, and my dear
Mitchell who gave me permission to share his present
with the rest of you.  And perhaps the greatest thanks
of all to Ms. McCaffrey, who gave us such a wonderful
world to dream of.

The Red Orb of Pern

M.C. Gordon

Chapter One:

   All the residents of Benden Weyr were busy.  They
were always occupied with the thousand tasks that went
into maintaining a weyr full of fighting dragons but
more so during Threadfall.  And Thread was falling
across Pern.

   Ten year old Mitchell, along with his friends Lydel
and Andren, had been assigned to the weyr's Healers
for the day.  They had the task of seeing that there
were enough pots of numbweed, bandages for humans and
dragons, and the fine silk thread used by the Healers
to stitch together the giant winged creatures and the
men who rode them into danger.

   "Ick!" Mitchell moaned as he and Lydel hauled a
heavy pot of numbweed from the kitchen to the open
area where the wounded would be tended.  "I hate the
smell of this stuff.  It makes my nose burn."

   "Me, too," Lydel replied.  "Maybe next Fall we'll
get to work with the Weyrlingmaster.  I'd rather haul
firestone any day.  It stinks but it washes off.
Numbweed stench sticks with you for days."

   "I wonder if Fenely will let us work with her on
the dragons," Andren added to the conversation.  His
arms were filled with the fine linen used for bandages
and a basket of needles and thread hung from his left
arm.  "I'd like to be a Healer when I grow up and help
to care for injured dragons."

   Mitchell was trying to think of an appropriate
remark when it hit him - a feeling so powerful that he
dropped the handle of the pot and numbweed spilled
onto the ground before Lydel could set the pot aright.
 Mitchell dropped to his knees and clutched at his
head.

   Seconds later a low moaning sound was heard that
built in volume and sorrow as all the dragons in the
Weyr began the terrible keening that signaled the
death of a dragon.  Lydel and Andren hurried to the
side of their stricken friend.  They grasped his hands
and held him as tightly as they could.

   Dragon deaths weren't new to the Weyr during a
Pass.  The mammoth creatures were in danger each time
they took to the skies to breathe fire and char the
silver Threads that were Pern's enemy.  They were the
main line of defense against the mindless whisps that
could destroy life, whether flora or fauna, in mere
seconds.  It was for this reason that dragons and
dragonmen were held in high regard by the inhabitants
of Pern.

   "Mitchell?" asked Lydel, greatly concerned by his
friend's reaction.

   The boy lifted his head and looked at his friends
from tear stricken eyes.  "Trilenth," he replied.
"The dragon was Trilenth."