For all that his Searching had been as legitimate as any other, no one who had met the boy Cavan could really envision him as a dragonrider. It wasn't that he was a bad-tempered or unlikable child, oh no--in fact, from the day that Thera and Rilareth had brought him to the Weir, Cavan had started making all kinds of friends among the Weirfolk and other Candidates who had been Searched.

He was very friendly, welcoming and outgoing, taking new friends to his side as readily as he would seek someone to be taken as a friend by. He was one of a Harper's two sons, but while he had a fine singing voice and a memory perfect for relating and relaying news and histories, he wasn't an aspiring Harper himself. It wasn't that he hadn't tried or wanted to be a Harper, but that he had one unfortunate trait that rather got in the way.

Cavan was an absolute klutz. His many attempts at playing instruments had ended up in enough broken-string incidents as to be infamous back at his home Hold, and scribing jobs usually came to an end when he upset his inkwell all over the desk. His feet had an incredible knack for finding the smallest of pebbles for him to trip over, and his mother had lost count of the bruises he'd taken from accidental collisions with bench corners and doorframes. Cavan had also fallen into the water-troughs of his Hold's stables at least three times in the past turn.

It was practically impossible to understand how one young man could be so bizarrely accident-prone. Thera had merrily shared that when Rilareth had Searched the boy, Cavan had been in the middle of being stuck up a tree by the seat of his pants, and that they'd had to help him get down before letting him know his new status. The boy had then been so surprised at finding himself Searched that he'd lost track of his feet and stumbled over the largest and most obvious of the tree's roots. Thera couldn't even tell the tale of all the trouble Cavan had had just trying to get on to Rilareth's back to be brought to the Weir without breaking into laughter at least twice.

In the time Cavan had been present at Coeptus, he'd also managed to get himself buried in laundry by a collision with a drudge, chased halfway around the Weir by an angry firelizard, and lost two pairs of shoes to the maulings of watchweyrs.

To Cavan's credit, however, he never seemed to get seriously hurt, nor did his unintended escapades ever result in someone else getting hurt. His accidents didn't even appear to wound Cavan's pride, as one might expect. In his fifteen-turn life, apparently he'd far exceeded the point where his mishaps embarrassed him, so now he merrily laughed with the rest. He even took part in the playful wagers of how long he could go until his next mostly-harmless error, even though he usually lost them.

So for all that he was a kind and likeable boy, it seemed no one but Rilareth could see why he was a suitable Candidate.

"Can you even imagine him with a dragonet?" Weirlingmaster T'ron asked one of his assistants one day, as he watched Cavan walk by, covered head-to-toe in mud and heading for the bathing quarters. Though getting mud-coated wasn't unusual for a child, it was noteworthy this day because it was hot and dry, and T'ron couldn't even begin to guess where Cavan had found any mud, much less mud enough to fall into and be so covered by! "He'd probably spend half his time tripping over the creature, and the rest of it spilling oil and firestone all over the place!"

The assistant chuckled softly. "I find a more frightening image to be what might happen when he started riding his dragon... I see him finding a way to fall out of his harness while he's thousands of feet up in the air!"

T'ron grimaced, far less amused by the imagined scene than his assistant was. An image like that wasn't comical, but tragic! What had Rilareth seen in the boy? Had his good heart been enough to make up for his faults?

"I heard tell he almost knocked over the tank of tunnelsnakes yesterday," the assistant commented idly.

The Weirlingmaster looked at his companion in dismay. "Surely not!"

Nodding somberly, the man elaborated: "You've heard how he somehow managed to get Rydelle's Auralae angry with him? Well, it seems that his run to escape the little thing took him by the healers' offices, where his run turned into a skid when Auralae came out of between in front of him to cut him off. He stumbled right into the tank and probably would have knocked it right off its table if there hadn't been a pair of the healers nearby to run over and grab it!"

"It seems a terrible shame," T'ron sighed, "that a boy of such pleasant personality has next to nothing going for him when it comes to actual skills!"

The assistant shrugged. "He gets along well with children. He usually gets assigned to the nursery for his daily tasks. They really enjoy his Harper-learned stories. It's amazing how quiet the brats all get as soon as he starts talking."

"Shards, man, he can't make a living out of babysitting..." T'ron muttered, turning his head to watch a brown soar overhead, and wonder how the dragon might've faired if it had taken a man like Cavan for its bond.

Once again, T'ron's companion shrugged. "Then perhaps it would be a good thing for the boy if he bonded one of Erinquath's children. Maybe he'll surprise us and get less unlucky as he grows."

"Pah, enough of this!" T'ron shook his head. "The boy will bond or he won't, and there's no point in worrying about either outcome before it actually happens. Faranth knows we have enough else to worry about with this predicted Threadfall of S'val's looming over us..."

Later in the day, T'ron caught sight of the boy again. Cavan was clean once more, and from the look of him, off to the nursery yet again. The nursery seemed the only place in the entire Weir that Cavan never managed to cause or get dragged into an accident of some kind. He looked happy and confident.

The Weirlingmaster began a mental countdown. Five... four... three....

A second earlier than predicted, Cavan managed to trip over his own feet, his right foot catching on his opposite heel in the middle of a step. T'ron was just close enough to see the boy's hazel eyes go as wide as saucers just before Cavan tumbled to the ground, getting a facefull of dirt for at least the second time that day.

The Weirlingmaster sighed and shook his head, though not without some affection, as he hurried over to help Cavan back to his feet. There was no denying the boy had his heart in the right place... now if only the rest of him was as coordinated.