#0097: Dragonriders of Pern: Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern, by Anne McCaffrey

[orbitaldiamonds]

Dragonriders of Pern: Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
by Anne McCaffrey

p.45 To Moreta, of all the Gathers she'd ever attended, the Ruathan Gather at that moment of dusk evoked best what Gathers should be--folk from every weyr, hold, and craft assembled to eat, drink, dance, and enjoy one another's company. The glowbaskets on their standards cast pitches of golden light on the crowded tables, on the dancers, on the clusters of people standing about talking, and on the circles of men near the wine barrels. The darting figures of children wove in and out of the light patches, and occasionally their laughter and shouts cut across the music and the stamping of the dancers. The smell of roasted meats and warm evening air, of dust and and pungent glows and wine reinforced all prospect of entertainment.

p.71 "It's a bit late to cry Thread when the burrows set, isn't it?"

p.72 Nothing will change yesterday, Orlith remarked philosophically. So now you must deal with today.

p.106 Lord Leef had once confided that the way to avoid arguments was to keep them from starting. Tactful withdrawal, he had called it.

p.130 Old L'mal had told Moreta that the efficiency of the dragon was only hampered by his rider's ability to brag. However a rider flew, so long as no Thread reached the ground, the flight was well done!

p.150-151 The confrontation had shaken Moreta. She was drained of all energy, even Orlith's, and it had become an effort to keep upright. She gripped the edge of her chair, trembling. It wasn't just Sh'gall's rage but the unpalatable, unavoidable knowledge that she was likely the next victim of the plague in the Weyr. Her head was beginning to ache and it was not the kind that succeeded tension or the stress and concentration of repairing dragon injuries.
     You are not well, Orlith said, confirming her self-diagnosis.
     I have probably not been well since I went to that runner's rescue, Moreta replied. L'mal always said that runners would be my downfall.
     You have not fallen down. You have fallen ill, Orlith corrected her, dryly humorous in turn. Come now to the weyr and rest.

p.179 "We have lost the skills that the Ancients possessed even though we can refine runners and the herdbeasts for specific qualities. And..." Capiam paused, struck by an awful consideration. "And I'm suddenly aware that we are in a double peril right now." He thought of Talpan and all his bright promise lost, of Master Herdsman Trume, of the captain of the Windtoss, his own dead craftsmen, each with his or her own specific qualities lost to a swift, mortal illness. "We may have lost a lot more than a coherent account of the progress of a plague, Tirone. And that should worry you far more. It is knowledge as well as life that is being lost all over Pern. What you should be jotting down as fast as you can push your fist is the knowledge, the techniques that are dying in men's minds and cannot be recovered." Capiam waved the Record about, Tirone eyeing it with alarm. "As we can't recover from all the ledgers and Records of the Ancients exactly how they performed the miracles they did. And it's not the miracles so much as the working, the day-to-day routine which the Ancients didn't bother to record because it was common knowledge. A common knowledge that is on longer common. That's what we're missing. And we may have lost a lot more of that common knowledge over the past seven days! More than we can ever replace!"

p.221 "Lady?..." Capiam could not recall her name.
     "Nerilka." She supplied it quickly with the faint smile of someone who does not expect to be remembered.

p.271 "What makes you think that you are responsible for any of this?" One flourish of Capiam's hand indicated the burial mounds, the next their meeting in the beasthold and the veterinary preparations being made to one side. "No blame adheres to you, Lord Alessan. Circumstance, unpredictable circumstance, drove the Windtoss form her course. Opportunism prompted its master to land in the Southern Continent, and greed keep him there for three days. What prompted the crew to transport that animal to the unprotected north will never be known for every witness to that reprehensible decision is now dead. But that circumstance was beyond your control. What has been in your control, my Lord Alessan, is the courage with which you have conducted yourself, your care of the sick, your effort to sow crops, and the preservation of Ruathan bloodstock. Most of all"--Capiam drew in a deep breath--"most of all, that you are in, in the midst of the severe trials that you have endured, willing to help others.
     "When bad fortune occurs, the unresourceful, unimaginative man looks about him to attach the blame to someone else; the resolute accepts misfortune and endeavors to survive, mature, and improve because of it.
     "A fishing ship is blown off course in an unseasonal squall and that minor event has influenced us all." Capiam's expression was rueful. He glanced at Desdra, who was staring at him in a baffled manner. "If you view justice as the foundation of your life, then it has been served--for captain, crew, and cargo are dead. We live. And we have work to do. Capiam gripped Alessan by the shoulder, emphasizing his words by shaking him. "Lord Alessan, take no blame to yourself for any of this. Take credit for your vision!"

p.312 Orlith was visibly upset as Moreta ran across the hot sands to her, but not, Moreta knew very well, by Sh'gall. By Telgar Weyr. she paced in front of her eggs, her eyes wheeling from red to yellow and orange as she recited to her rider a list of damages she would inflict on bronze Hogarth in such detail that Moreta was torn between laughter and horror.

p.313 The notion of flying a rider was originally Leri's, but thinking about the process restored Moreta and indirectly placated Orlith. Perhaps she should go for Sh'gall's hide, too, except that she was fond of Kadith and wouldn't cause him anxiety.

p.315 "When this is over tomorrow, I'm going to sleep and sleep and sleep. Anyone, anyone whosoever attempts to rouse me shall be...shall be...I'm too tired to think of something suitably vile."