When Glanees came to Retribution, Redell already built the Hold from the ground up. She knew him for a driven and focused individual, as his return from exile and building up his 'holdless' Hold proved. She recognized his revenge, so carefully plotted and executed, came from a deeply wronged man of honor. But until he had taken her to his library and unrolled a map (made during his long trek across the planet encircling ocean) of the southern archipelago, she did not truely appreciate the depth and breath of his ambition.

"Remake Pern, my Lord?" She asked, her brow furrowed.

"Not all of it. But as Retribution is a base for my revenge, it is also where I got my second chance. I would extend that second chance to all who choose to follow me. I would make the southern archipelago into Redemption Hold." His dark eyes captured hers. "When I returned to the continent, I had no thought beyond stopping those that murdered my uncle and set me up to take the blame. I had no Marks, no Craft, no allies beyond my half grown lizards." His queens, napping on the warm hearth, looked up at his mention of them, then returned to their slumber. "I did not believe I had value, outside of my duty to stop Farkin. Stonemason Otairo gave me what I wasn't even willing to give myself, a kind word, and a chance. He gave me back my worth." He tapped the map. "It was a gift, Glanees. I would gladly give that same gift to every man, woman or child that looks to me. Like me, they would know the value of that second chance. I would fill my island holding with people who have seen the worst, and seek to make a life despite that."

She had required a couple of long moments to digest the enormity of what he was proposing, before she reached down and tapped the map.

"You will need certain skills, then. Stonemasons familiar with this type rock, carpenters used to the hardwoods of the South. Farmers who can cultivate in nutrient poor soils, fisherfolk, since the sea is going to be the best source of fresh meat, at least until you find an island appropriate for Herdmen to ply their trade. And," here she hesitated.

"I shall need harpers, for we shall need an educated populous to transmit information in the absence of contact with the continent." Redell supplied. Glanees smiled slightly and shook her head.

"I was thinking of your Wher Wing, actually, but you make a good point. Where will you find these harpers? Most of the crafts you will need you can find readily enough, either in the holdless or in a teacher, who can train a skill or two for a small sum of Marks, no questions asked. But harpers willing to turn their backs on the Masterharper? We are far rarer than my presence might suggest."

"Glanees, my clever Glanees, who better than you, to be my Masterharper and train up the harpers for my Hold?" He took her hands in his own that night almost three Turns before, and pledged to her whatever she desired, if she would turn her skills to his cause.

Now, watching Branth emerge from the Hatchery, she wondered for the first time if she had made the right choice.

The wherlet must have felt her apathy towards the rapist, for it turned red eyes at her and hissed balefully. That surprised Glanees, she had not thought Branth capable of such loyalty that the wherlet would reciprocate.

"Come. You're being transfered to your wherery." She waved him to follow, and he meekly fell in between the two guards who escorted her. The room she chose was the furthest from main part of the underground Hold. Inside the spacious room was a sand wallow, a desk with chair, and a clothes press at the foot of a cot that held his sleeping furs.

"Your things are in the press. There is a privy and bath just beyong the curtain, I highly recommend you use it. You are to remain here, until she is old enough to train." She stepped aside so he might step into the room.

"Yes Mistress." Branth whispered, entering and turning back to face her.

"Can you read?" She asked sharply. He hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"Some, Mistress."

"Good. I'll have the Wherletmaster send you a training manual. Read it while she sleeps, attend her needs when she wakes. You will not want for food while you are here. If you have any other needs, tell the person who brings you food. If the request is reasonable, I will see to it."

"Yes mistress." He repeated quietly, as she closed the door on his new prison.

Char stood outside the feeding pens, blowing on her mug of klah. In the cool predawn she watched as Vaeth and Mirrth circled the wherry enclosure, the sleepy birds unaware of the danger from above. Vaeth flew very well at this point, but Zandur had not released her for her First Flight, despite half of the clutch already having had theirs. Char resented herself, for Vaeth earned the right, but she needed the aid of her walking stick to go any further than from her cot to the privy. If her leg remained weak, she would be hard pressed to stay astride Vaeth, even for the short distance of the First Flight.

I woulf not let you fall.Vaeth assured her, as Mirrth struck, taking a large wherry.

I know, sweetling. But I don't trust ME. The morning exercises under Zandur's critical eye helped immensely, but she still had a ways to go.

But it was Keslo's words she thought back on whenever she was getting impatient.

"It took my father a Turn to work out a replacement for my leg. It took me twice as long to learn how to walk, run, and ride again. And I can't count the number of times I planted my face into the sod learning to mount my runner. So take your time. Vaeth isn't going anywhere without you, and unlike my runner, he won't shrug you off while you're trying to mount up."

"Good morn, Char of Vaeth." Lybae's cheerful greeting interrupted Char's circular thoughts, and Char grinned at her friend.

"Good morn yourself, Bae," she replied. "But aren't you ranging a little far for Arseth's breakfast?"

Lybae laughed.

"No, Arseth is still sleeping. Yudnov woke me, creeping back to her cot." The whole Weyr knew the story of K'lo and Yudnov by dinner time, and with the Weyrleadership's blessings, the pair were given a weyr to have some privacy. "Yudnov says K'lo is staying at Benden, now that L'stur is running things there." The bronzerider's Wing was temporarily reassigned to Benden, given the unusual circumstances of his leadership, but no one seemed terribly displeased with this change.

"Zandur says we will see a lot of change in the next few months." Char mused. "Do you really think they will rotate out the entire Weyr?"

"Makes sense for them to, what with this being a Pass and all. Better to put Wings in a Flight with Wingleaders they've trained with." Lybae pointed out, as Vaeth struck, killing his chosen herd beast nearly. Several mornings the blue merely helped Mirrth corral the wherres, but it had been two days since his last meal, and this morning he shared his bovine meal - a yearling bull from the looks of it, with the Weyr's fair of fire lizards.

"Hmm. I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if K'lo's Wing will get reassigned here." Char sipped her klah , as Lybae frowned suddenly. "For Yudnov, I hope so. Sorry, Arseth is waking up." She turned to return to the Weyrling Barracks.

"I'll walk with you. Zandur's gonna fuss iffin' I linger any longer," Char laughed, and followed.

C'seld was there the next morning, during the pre Fall briefing. B'ton had sent L'stur's Wing the night before, and the newcomers now sat patiently on their dragons as L'stur explained how he expected to stack the Flight in the gusty weather. L'stur ignored C'seld's baleful glaring, although he had the grim satisfaction of knowing no other Weyr accepted his petition for relocation. The rest of the Wingleaders and Seconds treated him with cautious optimism, although L'stur knew his true test would be this Fall.

"Alright then, look sharp and fly fast." He concluded his orders with the traditional words, once ascribed to M'hall, and the riders broke to return to their Wings.

"I thought for sure C'seld was going to knife you just now." G'rri, his Wingsecond muttered in an undertone.

"You know he would like to." L'stur replied with a wry smile.

"Then I'll check my eye on him and you." G'rri sighed.

"Thank you, G'rri. I appreciate it."

"Concussion, complicated with going between immediately after? Your Harper is lucky to be alive, Degal." Masterhealer Cici's rebuke was mild, but to the point.

"I rather imagine M'rsi didn't feel he had any other options." Degal replied with an equal measure of mildness - this was not the first time, nor he feared the last that he would be at odds with the Masterhealer about the adventures his harpers managed to get into.

"How soon before I can speak with him, Cici?" He asked patiently. She shook her head. "We must get the swelling in his brain down. Lethan is prepping for surgery as we speak. And your Bukset, unfortunately has not woken since you brought him in." Degal sighed, and bit back his frustration. Bukset had interrupted his debriefing just long enough to complain of a sharp pain he attributed to the fall from his runner, before collapsing.

"I need his knowledge, Cici. Please, see that he pulls through." He entreated and Cici patted his hand reassuringly.

"We'll see him through this, you have my word."