This is not the WC/Pern crossover I’m writing for DMK0064
The brown dragon knew these three things were important.
His name was Mozarth, but he really preferred to be called Moz or Mozzie.
He hatched from an Egg.
He looked to N’eal, his Weyrmate.
These were the only things he cared about.
Other dragons might talk about Thread and Hold and Weyr, but none of that mattered to him.
Sometimes, N’eal would remind Moz that he liked music and fine Benden wine (not that N’eal would allow him to drink too much of it), and that he shouldn’t keep stealing all of the ladies’ pretty jewels.
This was, apparently, the problem with being a dragon. He had almost no durable memory.
The older dragons - not the oldtimer dragons - but the hatchlings born and matured during this Pass seemed to have memories of places they’ve never been, of times before they breached their shells. But not Moz. He didn’t know about the First Shell and the Ancient Ways and he couldn’t be made to care.
N’eal was really the only thing he cared about, and the silly man kept insisting that he had to eat that smelly, awful tasting stone so he could make fire come out of his mouth. Which really wasn’t so bad, except when he was all done, he had to vomit it all back up.
Disgusting, truly.
Moz liked a few humans, and he was proud of the fact that he could (sometimes) remember their names. There was P’ter, who rode Bronze Satchmoth and was ’Neal’s wing-leader and bedmate. El, who had Dianath - a very pretty golden Queen dragon - she was of the same hatching as him. N’eal was friends with the Journeyman Harper, Clinton. That man had a beautiful voice - almost as good Master Robinton himself - deep and rich and profound. Moz didn’t quite trust Journeyman Clinton, but he wasn’t sure why.
Something about Harpers always having more than one motive.
Moz stretched out in his body, oddly proud of the fact that he was the smallest brown dragon in the Weyr. His wings might not be as broad as Canth’s (and few were), but he was faster, more nimble, and smarter that most other dragons (that little white sport at Ruth not withstanding), even if he couldn’t really remember why this was a good thing.
Basically an excuse to write Dragon!Mozzie
The brown dragon knew these three things were important.
His name was Mozarth, but he really preferred to be called Moz or Mozzie.
He hatched from an Egg.
He looked to N’eal, his Weyrmate.
These were the only things he cared about.
Other dragons might talk about Thread and Hold and Weyr, but none of that mattered to him.
Sometimes, N’eal would remind Moz that he liked music and fine Benden wine (not that N’eal would allow him to drink too much of it), and that he shouldn’t keep stealing all of the ladies’ pretty jewels.
This was, apparently, the problem with being a dragon. He had almost no durable memory.
The older dragons - not the oldtimer dragons - but the hatchlings born and matured during this Pass seemed to have memories of places they’ve never been, of times before they breached their shells. But not Moz. He didn’t know about the First Shell and the Ancient Ways and he couldn’t be made to care.
N’eal was really the only thing he cared about, and the silly man kept insisting that he had to eat that smelly, awful tasting stone so he could make fire come out of his mouth. Which really wasn’t so bad, except when he was all done, he had to vomit it all back up.
Disgusting, truly.
Moz liked a few humans, and he was proud of the fact that he could (sometimes) remember their names. There was P’ter, who rode Bronze Satchmoth and was ’Neal’s wing-leader and bedmate. El, who had Dianath - a very pretty golden Queen dragon - she was of the same hatching as him. N’eal was friends with the Journeyman Harper, Clinton. That man had a beautiful voice - almost as good Master Robinton himself - deep and rich and profound. Moz didn’t quite trust Journeyman Clinton, but he wasn’t sure why.
Something about Harpers always having more than one motive.
Moz stretched out in his body, oddly proud of the fact that he was the smallest brown dragon in the Weyr. His wings might not be as broad as Canth’s (and few were), but he was faster, more nimble, and smarter that most other dragons (that little white sport at Ruth not withstanding), even if he couldn’t really remember why this was a good thing.