NRPG: This is all outside Whiteriver, the parts involving Har'son were
written by Mia Sherman and editted by me, to incorporate Darren's
character into the story. These posts were my training posts, compiled
into one long story. Arlene was good enough to do the final editting on
the post before I finally sent it.


Time: Day 14, late morning (As I understand the timeline)
Scene: A small farm near Ralengarde

	Ashlyn brushed a whisp of hair from her eyes and leaned into the
hayfork as she swung hay over the stall door. The roan knickered softly
and lowered it's head to sniff the sweet grass appraisingly. Ashe hung up
the hay fork and climbed onto the stall door, reaching over to scratch the
old mare between the ears as she ate.

"I'm glad you're feeling better Gitta...I was so worried for a while." she
said as she stroked the horse's mane and forelocks.

	The horse snorted quietly, almost as if responding to the young
girl's words, then returned to the hay. Ashlyn hopped off the stall door
and collected the well worn book of stories before making her way out the
back of the barn, into the fields.

	She looked around, surveying the scene, an idyllic day with a few
whispy white clouds overhead to break up the warm, spring sunshine. It had
rained that morning, so the grass was still damp, and everything smelled
fresh and alive.

	Clutching her book close, she bounded out across the field, and
up the hill on the other side. From here she could see the tiny buildings
of the village in the distance, and a small tree lined stream at the
bottom of the hill. 

	She bounded down the hill, laughing quietly to herself as the
spirit of the beautiful day filled her with joy. She didn't even mind that
the other kids had snubbed her cruelly by their refusal to let her join in
the scavenger hunt that engaged them even now. It was a beautiful day, and
she was determined to enjoy it.

	Down by the stream, she took up her usual place, atop an outcrop
of rocks that hung over the brook. She leaned back and looked up through
the trees at the sky. What a beautiful day. After she'd tossed some rocks
into the stream and ensconced herself comfortably, she opened the well
worn book and started to read.

	The day was warm, yet comfortable with the cool breeze that blew
through the hills and down the stream, following the line of the small
valley toward the lake. After several hours, Ashlyn stretched and yawned,
setting her book aside to close her eyes, soon falling asleep under the
peaceful rustle of leaves in the wind.

	There were hands...Rough and calloused...She struggled but
someone was holding her. A dream, she thought, it's only a dream, so she
fought to wake herself. Her eyes opened to darkness, a rough cloth bound
about her eyes as cruel hands  ripped at her clothes. She was in a panic,
so many things happening, she could get away, but she was afraid, too
scared to concentrate. Her gift...Useless.

	Ashlyn screamed, or tried to, a filthy hand covering her mouth
before she got more than a squeak out, then stuffing a rag in her mouth to
silence her. She fought harder, but there were too many hands, they were
too strong. She felt the cool breeze against her skin, the sun warming
her, and she knew they had destroyed her new dress, and that she was, for
all intents, nude before her attackers. She screamed again, a barely
audible muffled cry against the clothe filling her mouth.

	Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought them hysterically,
violently, as she felt one pull her legs apart, his nails ripping into her
skin as easily as they had torn her dress. They laughed, congratulating
each other on their luck as one moved over her. She felt them tying her
arms behind her, as one braced her back against him, holding her shoulders
back into his chest, immobilizing her. She tried to kick at the man
between her legs, but a short rope had been tied to her ankles like a
hobble.

	There was a horrible moment of silence where she smelled one
man's fetid breath against her cheek just before his lips smashed against
hers. She felt him guide his manhood against her, hot, hard and throbbing
lightly, and her heart caught in her throat with the realization that she
was about to be ruined. Raped. Then he thrust, his steel length impaling
her, ripping past her virginity with a single agonizing stroke that drove
the air from her. As the stroke drove the air from her, it expelled the
cloth in her mouth that had silenced her, and she screamed with the soul
rending agony of the man's thrust.

	With that ear-shattering scream, suddenly, it was quiet, chilly,
and the pain was gone, or at least the man in her was gone. It was
instant, so quickly that her breath caught in her throat. She forgot to
breathe for a moment, then gasped for air. Gitta. How she would miss
riding her. So this is what it's like to be dead.

	There was a jerk, and a shudder, as if someone had twisted her
guts up for a moment, then she was falling, not far, just a couple inches.
She smelled hay. She could hear a horse snort nearby. She was home, her
gift...Too  late to save her soul, but enough to save her body. Then there
was a wave of nausea, and she fainted.

	It was her father who found her, hours later, naked, bloody, and
unconcious in the barn. The search for her  attackers was fruitless, she
healed slowly, but the memories of what had happened were always there
when she slept. There was no more innocence for this sixteen year old.

------
Time: Day 17, early morning
Scene: In Ralengard, on the way to the weaver's hall

	Ashlyn was up before the dawn, as had been her custom...Before.
She collected her basket and started down the road toward town. She has
been in bed for the previous four days, trying to put right what had
happened to her in her head, but the familiar walls of her home were like
a prison now, and she had to get out. Father didn't like it, but she she
was an apprentice and she took her responibility to the weavers seriously.
He didn't need to know that home frightened her more than the prospect of
another attack.

	The walk was peaceful and the town just coming to life, vendors
setting up carts in the square, shopkeepers  making ready to open for the
day. She kept her head down and hurried for the weaver hall, something
unreasoning in her breeding fear.

	By the time she reached the weaver's hall, she was nearly
running, she threw open the door and slammed it behind her, resting back
against the door frame once inside.

	"Is there someone chasin' you girl?" asked Garen, the old master
weaver who she worked under at the hall.

	Ashlyn shook her head, blushing sheepishly.

	"Then you're letting ghosts chase you? I heard what happened..."
he spoke with a soft sigh, standing to walk over and stroke the girl's
hair in a fatherly, comforting gesture.

	Ashlyn threw her arms around the old man and held him tightly as
she burst into sobs, "It was terrible..."

	Garen gave the girl a small squeeze to reassure her and brushed
several whisps of hair from her eyes. "There's a bag of angora over
there...I need you to card it out for me, then I want you to go home, take
a rest..."

	"But..." she began.

	"I'll hear no more of it...You need some time...The work here can
wait." he interjected with a kindly smile. Then he ruffled her hair
lightly and shoo'd her off to her work.

	It was early afternoon before she finished, thankful to be
through with the tedious job that afforded her far too much time to think
about the week past. Garen checked her work and leaned down to give a
chaste kiss on the cheek, "Run along home girl..."

	Ashlyn turned toward the door to leave, then whirled, hugging the
elderly man tightly, "Thank you Garen...Thank you so much"

	Garen smiled and gave the girl a tight hug, "Just go home and
rest, we'll start tomorrow as usual, okay?"

	The girl nodded, and disentangling herself from him, turned and
dashed out the door. She paused outside the guildhall and looked around,
some people stopped and looked at her, they had all heard, and it made her
self concious. She clutched her book close and headed home.

-----

Time: Day 17, early afternoon
Scene: Ralengarde, at a pub

	Har'son, on his way to Whiteriver, took a few moments to get out
of the air, to have an ale in a town near his ultimate destination. It was
a nice community, the ale as good, and the women were beautiful. He smiled
a bit.

	His reverie was interrupted by Fourd, <<There's a girl with the
affinity over there...>>

<<Which one? there are lots of girls out this afternoon>>

	<<That one, over there,>> the dragon said to his human, who was
lounging at one of the tavern's open-air tables.  <<Across the square from
you.>>

	<<Where?>> Har'son asked, scanning the noontime crowd in the town
square.  <<How am I supposed to find this person if you don't give me a
description or tell me where?>>

	<<Look back to your left,>> the dragon replied patiently.  <<How am
I supposed to help you if you're not looking in the right direction?>>

	Obediently, Har'son turned his head in the indicated direction
slowly.  <<You could just come down here and look, you know.>>

	<<My presence might alarm them.  They are only villagers,>> the
dragon sniffed.  <<Besides, it is more fun to use your eyes.  Stop-- there.
The girl with the basket.>>

	Har'son squinted into the light.  <<The blonde?>> he asked
incredulously.  <<The one leaving the square?  You've got to be kidding.>>

	<<You must look again, my human.  She has affinity.>>

	<<Perhaps you're right.  But she's gone now-- I might as well
finish my ale,>> the man thought back, leaning comfortably back in his
chair and picking up his glass again.

	His dragon's mind-voice tone was smug when he spoke again.  <<She
is taking the west road out of town-- passing right under my perch now.
There is only one farm on this road.  You must go there.>>

	Har'son sighed, and drained the rest of his ale in one swallow.
<<I'll meet you there.>>

-----

Scene: The Evermead farm, rural Ralengarde

	An older man opened the door when Har'son knocked, and stood looking
at him expectantly.  "Yes?"

	"Afternoon, sir," Har'son said politely, his voice soft
in the quiet afternoon as he held out his hand.  "I'm Har'son, from
Whiteriver Warren-- may I see your daughter, please?"

	Aidan Evermead was not what you might call handsome, or smart, or
spectacular in any way, but he took pride in his farm, and he was good at
it. As much as that meant to him, it was nothing compared to his love for
Ashlyn. The man who stood in his doorway had the look of a traveller,
worn, but not threatening. He had a sense about people, this man could be
a father, so he decided to trust him for the moment.

"She's laying down..." he responded gruffly, "What can I help you with..."

	Har'son held his hand there a moment longer, "As I said, I'm from
Whiteriver...I need to speak with your daughter about joining us as a
searchling, she has the affinity"

Aidan's eyes narrowed slightly, and shook Har'son's hand finally, "My name
is Aidan. Why not come in and we can talk a moment..."

With that Aidan turned and stepped back into the house. He pulled out a
chair for Har'son in the greatroom and sat in his own chair. "Please
sit..."

Har'son nodded slightly and took the seat.

"Elianne! Two ale's please...We have company...." called Aidan over his
shoulder before returning his gaze to the leather faced man in the other
chair.

"What makes you think she is suitable for this sort of thing?" asked the
elder farmer.

Har'son pulled one leg over the other andleaned back in his chair, "The
dragons know, and some of us can tell...It's never one hundred percent,
but the potential is there..."

Just then a short woman with fading blonde hair came in with a pair of
mugs , handing them to the two men. She leaned over to kiss Aidan, then
kicked him in the shin, "Next time get your own ale dear"

Aidan winced at the kick, sloshing some of the amber liquid onto his
shirt, he straightened "Har'son, this is my wife Elianne, Elianne, this
is Har'son, from Whiteriver."

Elianne offered the dragonrider a suspicious glance, then turned back to
Aidan for him to fill in the rest.

He took a sip from his ale, then Aidan looked up to her, "He thinks Ashlyn
could join a dragon..."

Elianne pulled up another chair, "I don't know...Did you tell him what
happened to her?"

Aidan shook his head and sighed, looking back to Har'son, "Ashlyn is a
special girl...Some men raped her the other day. She may not be ready for
such a move..."


-------
*** Ashlyn ***

	Ashlyn lay curled on the bed, listening to the farm noises and
trying to work out the trauma of the previous days, her mother had talked
to her, and she knew, intellectually, that it was not her fault. But
something in her felt dirty, and that same part of her knew with equal
assurance that it was her fault.

	 The tears started again, and she scarcely heard the knock at the
door, or the scrape of her father's chair as he stood to answer it. She
lay there for a long time, then pulled herself up and padded softly out of
her room. The sound of voices in the living area drew her, and as she
stepped around the corner, heard her father's last sentence.

	Her eyes were puffy from crying, and she sniffed slightly, "Not
ready to move where..."

	"Every girl's special, Master Evermead," Har'son replied quietly,
sipping his ale.  Turning his head, he looked at Ashlyn and nodded
cordially.  "Afternoon, miss.  I'm Har'son of Whiteriver, here on Search.
As I told your parents, I'd like to take you back with me, to stand as a
candidate for the current clutch of eggs."

	Ashlyn frowned as she studied Har'son, a stranger, a man. She
could feel her face go cold and her hands start to shake. Thankfully that
was the moment her mother chose to step in behind her. She leaned back
against her Elianne for a long moment until she steadied.

	"The Warren?" Ashlyn asked in disbelief.

	"Will they want her, knowing what happened?" the older woman asked,
placing comforting hands on the girl's shoulders.

	The young girl closed her eyes a moment and took a long, deep
breath, so much had happened in the last week and she could feel the
weight of it all bearing down on her. She leaned almost gratefully into
her mother with the stress of it.

	Har'son nodded slowly.  "Dragons don't care about your physical; if
it were elsewise, half the riders in Whiteriver we'd not have today.  They
only care about your heart-- and my dragon says you've got a good one,
girl.  As for the riders, well, there's no telling," he said with a small
shrug.  "But I know that folks can only judge you based on what you tell
them-- and there's nothing saying you've got to tell them everything."

	Aidan shook his head, sipping his ale slowly.  "I still don't think
it's a good idea.  I'd rather she stay here with us."

	The rider lifted an eyebrow, and nodded.  "I understand that much,
Master Evermead.  Ashlyn's your daughter, here she'll be safe from harm.
She's about sixteen years, I'd say?" he asked, glancing towards her for
confirmation.

	"Just a few weeks past it," her mother replied.

	"Then she's a woman grown, and begging your pardon, sir, it's not
your decision anymore.  Ashlyn?"

	She blinked several times, lost in the memories of the darkness
and the hands on her. It was a fear of the unknown, she recognized that
now, but it haunted her, hands on her body that she could not make go
away, the awful tearing agony that had healed physically, but lingered in
her mind.

	The girl looked from her father to the rider, and shook her head in
confusion.  "Can I think about it?"

	"Take as much time as you need," Har'son nodded, and watched as she
turned and dissappeared back around the corner, her mother close behind her.

------

Scene: The Evermead Farm, barnyard

	Ashlyn walked outside, intending to stroll for a while and
consider the choices she had. The view that had been her friend stopped
her. It had once been a wonderous thing to her, peaceful, idyllic, no
longer. To her, now, it was pale, full of shadows and monsters lurking
around the corner. She caught a sudden shiver then turned on her heel to
reenter her family's home.


------
<<Meanwhile, in the home.>>

	"Do you have any children, Har'son?" Aidan asked bluntly, watching
the dragonrider over his ale.  "Any daughters?"

	"All the children I search," the rider replied in his quiet,
gentle voice.  "Why?"

	"It's not the same."

	"No, I suppone not," Har'son said.  "But I can empathize with
your situation, this has to be hard for you."

	Aidan nodded solemnly.  "It is, but I'm not sure you really can
understand."

	"I do, believe me.  But it is still her decision to make," the
rider replied, then looked past Aidan to the hallway.

	Her father turned in his chair, and both men watched quietly as the
young girl came back in, twisting a handkerchief in her hand.  "Ashlyn . .
. " he trailed off, a mixture of hope and sadness in his eyes.

	"So you've decided, then?" Har'son asked softly.  "Would you like to
come to the Warren, or stay here?"

	"I'm sorry daddy..." she began, then turning to Har'son, "This
place is full of demons for me, shadows and pain. I need to go away from
here, and find a life that is not broken. Please...Take me with you.

	Har'son nodded quietly and finished his ale.  "Is there anything
you'd like to collect before we leave?"

	"My clothes," she said softly, and dissappeared again into the
innards of the house.

	Har'son stood, and met her mother's cold stare with a calm one of
his own.   "Why are you doing this to us?" she asked, a tear in her eye.
"Why are you taking her away?"

	"Elianne--" her husband said warningly, but Har'son shook his head
slowly and held up a hand.

	"I have only given her another possibility.  She made the decision
on her own.  I thank you both for your hospitality-- miss Ashlyn?  I will
take that for you, if you are ready to go."

	"I am," she said, and placing her bag in the rider's outstretched
hand, she followed him out into the afternoon.

	"That is Fourd, my dragon," Har'son said, gesturing to a massive
dragon.  "Don't be afraid-- he has not dropped anyone since we were first 
joined."

	<<You fell,>> the dragon retorted, but Har'son didn't find it
necessary to pass that comment on.

	Fourd kneeled gracefully, extending a muscled blue leg in front
of him.  "Just step up," Har'son directed, "And walk up his leg there, it
doesn't bother him."  Handing her bag up to her, he climbed easily up to
the dragon's neck and settled behind her, wrapping a protective arm around
her waist.  "It may be unsettling at first," he warned softly, feeling her
flinch, "But you have nothing to fear, I assure you."

	The deep blue dragon shifted on the green, gathered his legs under
him, and leapt into the sky.  Ashlyn turned her head and leant slightly,
peering over the dragon's side at the fields and forests far below.
"Those buildings, there.  Are those-- is that-- my village?  Where is the
Warren?"

	"Yes.  You cannot see the Warren from here, but it is in the
mountains to the left.  We will teleport-- unless you'd prefer to fly
straight?"

	She paused for a moment, squirmed uncomfortably, and checked
herself with a skeptical glance at the far-off ground.  "I think I'd like
to get there as fast as possible, if you don't mind."

	"As you wish.  Hang on tightly; we will teleport now."  Barely a
second after he finished, the sky around and world below them dissappeared,
only to resolve itself a few heartbeats later as a cave-pocked cliff and
green, bustling with activity.  "We are here," he said, with a slight note
of proudness in his voice as the blue glided slowly down to the green.
"Whiteriver Warren.  I will take you to see lady Merissa as soon as we
land, since I have yet to check in myself  Fourd?"

	Lightly, the large blue dragon touched down and crouched against
the grass, stretching a leg out as before and turning his head to regard
Ashlyn with one large eye.  Har'son deftly relieved her of her bag and
slid down to the ground, then turned and reached a hand up to help the
girl. He pulled aside a passerby for a moment, pseaking the him softly a
moment, then smiled and turned back to Ashlyn.

	"The Warrenlady's office should be this way," he said, leading her
into one of the openings and down a short corridor to an door.  "I think
you'll like Merissa-- I understand she's a nice girl, young, like you."

Har'son knocked at the door, and they both waited.

------
NRPG: It's hugely long, sorry. Darren, I hope the bits where you were
written in here were not too much of a stretch. Please smack me if I went
to far.

Many thanks to Arlene, who's stuck with me, as far as getting me here, and
Mia Sherman, who was my trainer, and wrote the segments involving Ashlyn's
searching, which I butchered to edit them into the story. The character in
her post was named Shotin, and Arlene suggested that Ashlyn be searched by
Darren's character, since we were both new. 

Also thanks to Kris Gant, who put up with  my endless wining and
pestering.

Angela MacLeod
angel@solitary.net
-----
History is told by the victors. Keep your eye on the ones telling the
tale, not the words they write. For as often as not, the victors tell
the story, not how it happened, but to justify their own actions.
					-- A. MacLeod