Rialdian
He was laying in a very comfortable bed and staring up at a stony ceiling. Obviously, he was not on the boat anymore. The room was cozily lit with glows, reminding Rialdian strangely of his quarters back at the Hall. He tried to sit up but found he still had the same pounding headache and lay back down.

"You awake, Rialdian?" he turned his head to see Thrin laying in the bed next to his, a bandage over his left eye and his arm in a sling but otherwise alright. "They weren't sure when you would."

Rialdian opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a raspy sound. Thrin raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You ok?" he asked.

Rialdian tried again to speak, but all that he could manage was that same raspy, gurgling sound. He sucked in a long breath and tried again. Still nothing. A feeling of panic settled itself in Rialdian's stomach. Why couldn't he talk?

Then a worse thought crept into his mind: if he couldn't talk, how could he sing?

He tapped Thrin on the shoulder and made writing motions. Thrin nodded and called over a woman who must have been the attending healer. "Rialdian needs a peice of hide and something to write with," he told her.

The journeywoman returned quickly with a pile of hides and a quill and gave them to Rialdian who snatched them and began writing furiously. He pulled at the journeywoman's sleeve and showed her the hide.

"Why can't I talk?" the journeywoman read. She sympathetically at Rialdian. "It's only temporary," she explained. "When you yelled to warn that the wave was coming, you damaged your vocal chords severly. We have some medicines for you to take to prevent too much permanent damage, but we couldn't give them to you until you regained conciousness."

She handed the hide back to Rialdian, who scribbled something else and handed it back to her. "When will I be able to talk again?" she read. "I don't know, Rialdian. I'm going to go get those medicines right now, and those will help some."

Rialdian watched her go, clutching the hide in one hand. Do you think I'll ever sing again? Rialdian wrote to Thrin, who looked away when he read it. "I don't know," Thrin said simply, and his voice choked on the last word.

Rialdian lay there in silence for some time, staring up at the stony ceiling. His other injuries he could deal with. The cut on his head had long since been stitched up, and the minor cuts and bruises along his shoulder and arms didn't bother him. Not even his ankle, sprained as he dropped to the deck, mattered anything to him compared to his voice. What use was a vocalist who couldn't sing? � � �
When the journeywoman returned with the medicines he drank them all readily, even the less than delicious ones. He'd do whatever he could to save his voice. But Rialdian had never been one to give himself false hope. He knew very well that he might never sing again.

Rennia came to visit him later that afternoon. She, Rialdian was happy to see, had not injuries save a few minor cuts and bruises. She sat at the edge of his bed and told him all that had happened after the wave had hit. They'd managed to steer their way out of the storm, it took hours but they made it. Obviously, they were very far off course. The Captain had taken them to the nearest seahold and was still there, while Rialdian, Rennia, Thrin, Yazin, and Kamino had been transported via runners to the nearest large hold to have their injuries treated.

Rennia was just as sad as Thrin, though she hid it magnificently, when Rialdian told, or rather, wrote, her about his lack of voice. He asked after Yazin and Kamino and Rennia told him that both were recovering well, though Yazin had a broken leg. They talked and wrote for an hour before the journeywoman gently suggested that it was time for Rennia to go back to her own bed. Rennia bent down and gave him a quick, reassuring huh before she left.

As the days passed, Rialdian's voice slowly returned. He was able to stop using the hide within the first sevenday of his recovery, but after two sevendays he had a depressing visit from the Hall's healer, Falligol, skilled in dealing with injured voices.

"How're you feeling, Rialdian?" he asked, seating himself at the end of Rialdian's bed.

"Better than I did two sevendays ago," Rialdian replied in a sad excuse for the voice he had once had. "But still not how I'd like to be feeling."

"Understandable," Falligol replied. "Rialdian, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Well, part of it is good news, but most of it is bad. You will regain full ability to talk, yell, shout, whatever. But at this point, it does not look like you'll ever be able to sing at the level you have been. It would be wise to develop another specialty in harpering."

Rialdian lay there, not comprehending what Falligol had just told him. "I'll never sing again?" he croaked, struggling to hold back his tears.

"Not as a proffesional harper, no," Falligol replied. "You'll be able to sing at an apprentice level after much recovery work if you so desire."

Rialdian didn't reply. He couldn't. After a few minutes of silence, Falligol gave him a reassuring pat on the arm and left him to think about his fate.

It didn't take long before Rialdian decided what he would do. If he couldn't sing, he didn't want to live. When an apprentice brought him his meals, he pretended to be asleep or just stared blankly off into space.

On the third day after Rialdian stopped eating, Rennia came to see him again. "How're you doing, Rialdian," she asked quietly, sitting down beside him. She eyed his untouched meal critically. "They tell me you aren't eating."

"They told you the truth," Rialdian replied simply, staring into space, not daring to look at Rennia. For he knew if he looked at Rennia he'd find something to live for, and that was not something he wanted to do.

"Please live, Rialdian," Rennia pleased, clasping his hand in hers. "Please don't die on us. You're more than your voice, Rialdian. You're you. Just eat again. Please. For me."

Thrin, still in the bed next to Rialdian, had been trying to coax some food into Rialdian for some time now. He propped himself up on his good elbow to watch. "For all of us, Rialdian," he said encouragingly.

Rialdian reached out and took a bite of the wherry meat. Then another. And another. After five bites he put the fork down, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

Those five bites of wherry meat were all Rialdian's friends suceeded in forcing into him. Yazin and Kamino tried as well, but neither gitarist had any luck. A sevenday after Rialdian had started starving himself, he was looking like a skeleton. His skin was stretched across his frame like a hide stretched too tight across a drying board.

He was very, very tired. And very, vrey hungry. He closed his eyes and felt sleep coming, but not the regular kind of sleep. He knew, somehow, that this sleep was death. As he lay there, waiting to die, a voice filled his head.

You cannot die. What will happen to the hatchling? the voice asked him indignantly. How selfish of you!

Hatchling? Who was the hatchling? Rialdian wondered, trying to block out the voice but finding he could not.

Yes the hatchling, the voice said again in a tone that Rialdian had heard used on errant drudges. What will happen to it if you die?

What was this voice saying? He knew it was not a human voice, for he was not hearing it through his ears. It sounded like a human voice.

Of course I'm not human! the voice snapped. How would a human be able to speak to you like this?

Too confused and eager to die, Rialdian tried one again to block out the voice. He didn't know any hatchlings. His dying certainly wouldn't affect any.

It most certainly will! the voice informed him. I'm insulted that you don't think I know a good Candidate when I see one!

Rialdian was becoming more and more confused with every word the voice said. He was about to ask the healer for help when a woman clad in riding gear strode in to the room, escorted by one of the healers. "Rialdian?" the healer asked, walking up to his bed. "Someone is here to see you."

"So you are Rialdian," the woman said, seating herself on a chair by his bed which was usually occupied by Rennia. "Merry meet. I am Serzona, searchrider with green Aphorath, who has already spoken with you, I understand, from Falas Weyr."

"She has?" Rialdian wondered. "Oh! The voice!"

Serzona nodded. "She didn't tell me she didn't introduce herself. The reason she was talking to you is because she thinks that you would make an excellent Candidate to stand at Falas," Serzona gave him an appraising look, "once our headwoman put some flesh and muscle back on your bony frame."

"I really don't think I'm a very good choice," Rialdian explained. "I can barely talk, and I'm not even useful as a harper anymore, now that I can't sing."

"Singing has very little to do with dragonriding, Rialdian," Serzona explained sternly. "I, however, have problems with the fact that you nearly killed yourself because of it. But Aphorath seems to think that Impression would give you a reason to live, and I'm willing to allow you to try if you'd like."

"I guess I will," Rialdian replied, already feeling that he had a reason to be alive.