She had long admitted that she wasn't exactly normal. But then again, by definition, who was? She was tall and skinny and wore her long mousy hair loose if she could get away with it. Her skin was pale, her eyes a pretty shade of green hidden behind thick-glassed spectacles. She was teased for wearing glasses as a child, but didn't pay any heed. They were rimmed with thin black wire and shaped vaguely oval. So, she wasn't your every-day golden-haired beauty, nor was she your run-of-mill ugly sister. But Liztara rather liked being in-between. With her small group of girlfriends, she stood out simply because she didn't stand out... if that makes sense.

She'd had just one suitor in her eighteen turns, a small, shy sort of fellow who spent much too much time trying to impress her and not nearly enough trying to like her. It was a shame she'd had to let him down so harshly, though. She really did regret the circumstances in which his family had been forced to transfer to another Weyr - but she still maintained that it was hardly her fault he couldn't hold a plate of mashed tubers in one hand and kneel before her crying how much he loved her and she would love him too if she gave him a chance! And it wasn't her fault he accidentally fell over, spilling his tubers on the Weyrleader and tripping the Weyrwoman, either. She hadn't gone anywhere near him with her foot! Anyone could see he was just clumsy.

But that's beside the point. Where were we? Right. Normalcy. Liztara thought like a normal girl, and she felt like a normal girl, and hey, she even washed her hair like a normal girl. So why did she always find herself in situations where she was made out to be anything but normal? Not that she minded, of course. She rather enjoyed the attention.

At age eight, a young Liztara had found something she wanted more than life itself. Not a dragon, or a house, or a kiss from the cute boy next door, but something small and shiny. This Shiny would come to be her most prized possession, but at the time, the only reason she willed to have it in her chubby little paw was because her sister had it and she didn't. It was a small silver trinket - one you could perch on a windowsill or keep in your pocket for good luck, that sort of thing - shaped like a tunnelsnake. It was a simply-forged piece with few details and a small flaw near where the snake's head was joined to a tiny blue gem for it's eye. But all this was of no consequence. Ziara, Liztara's youngest sister, had found it in the Herder's paddocks and cleaned it meticulously, the elder remembered Zia's shining blue eyes gawking at this unexpected wonder. And she had grown jealous. She didn't have a Shiny to show off to all her friends. Why did Ziara get a Shiny and she didn't it? It wasn't fair! And so the eight-turn-old Liztara went about to plot her sister's demise. The details are long are complicated and would thus take far too long to... Okay, so she just took it. Well, Ziara struggled and objected a little, she she hit her first. And what's so bad about that? It got her the Shiny, didn't it? Like taking candy from a baby. Well, except for the big trouble young lady and grounded for a month thing. That wasn't so much fun. But what her parents neglected to notice was her three-turn-old sister's caterwauling - something about a Shiny...

Her most recent stand in Pern's spotlight was started by a simple visit from a dragonrider. This rider also happened to be a Searchrider, and thus comes the dilemma. Liztara, normal young lady that she is, hardly took a second glance at the dragon and rider intently perusing the local talent and expected the favour to be returned. Not quite what the Searchdragon had in mind, or so it seemed. After a brief interlude in which Liztara argued profusely at the apparent choice, it became clear that the choice had indeed been made.

She had been Searched. She, who was so normal as to stand out painfully, had been chosen by the very dragon who picked out girls to Impress glistening gold and boys to become mighty Weyrleaders. It was nigh on impossible to believe, let alone accept.

But accept she had. She would be given one day to gather her belongings and inform any necessary craftmasters, family and friends, and they would return on the morrow to steal her away. And she was honestly excited about it. Confused, still, but excited. But no matter how many people she told, it didn't feel real. Her friends hugged her and wished her luck, her parents cried out with joy and sadness, her sisters all looked insanely jealous. But that night in the Dining Cavern, nothing was different. She sat in the same place - next to the second-eldest sister Anata - and ate the same meal from the same kitchen, and nobody seemed to notice that tomorrow she wouldn't be there. It was more than a little scary.

Suddenly, Liztara felt a little like the snake charm. Stolen away with nothing but a slap on the cheek and nobody noticed. She absently fingered the Shiny in her pocket where it lived permanently - her good luck charm - and looked speculatively at Ziara. Sitting across the table from her, the youngest sister wouldn't remember the incident. She'd been so little, so helpless and innocent. The brief urge to return the trinket to its original owner was smothered with a spoonful of mashed tubers. Why should she? It was rightfully stolen, no questions asked. And besides, Liztara added with a smile. Tomorrow she'd be flying off to a new Weyr, a new life, and maybe even a new dragon to call her own. She needed all the luck she could get.