Despite the difficulty of grooming her, Sintara insisted that Thymara be thorough. Thymara had spent most of her evening on the dragon’s wings. Despite her differences with the creature, she had enjoyed it. When Sintara opened her wings now, the delicate traceries of the bone and cartilage and the panels and patterns of her coloring meant that it was like cleaning stained glass. The scales with their serrated edges reminded her of translucent feathers. As large as the dragon’s wings had become, the skin of them remained thin and fine. The overlapping scales could scarcely be separated. Her wings folded so compactly that it seemed almost impossible that so large a spread of wing could fit so smoothly against the dragon’s back. Insects were an irritant when they crept into the folds, and the constant moisture of the river invited wet sores. There was no question that her wings needed daily attention of a kind the dragon could not easily give them. Even so, it seemed to Thymara that Sintara made her spend a ridiculous amount of time on them. Over and over, Sintara demanded that she praise the color and patterns that were developing, that she note the delicate strength of the structure and the fine barbed claws at the tips of each wing rib.

As a result, despite the fact that she’d traveled aboard the barge today rather than paddling one of the boats, she was tired. Tired to the bones, and they ached, too. Her hands hurt, and her back ached around her never-healed injury. That was a pain she was growing accustomed to; she seldom thought about it until a chance touch woke a stab of agony. Furtively she glanced around, and when she was sure no one was looking at her, she slid her hand up under her shirt and cautiously touched the area between her shoulder blades. Hot. Swollen. And a nasty scabby valley down the middle that made her feel queasy. It was almost a relief that Tats wasn’t currently speaking to her, let alone trying to kiss her or touch her. Keeping his wandering hands away from her back had been a challenge, and a behavior that completely confused him. She should have let him touch her there; that would have put a quick end to his heat.

She sighed. Rapskal came to her mind. Not for the first time, she missed him intensely. If he were alive, he’d be sitting here beside her tonight, nattering on about something inane, cheery, and optimistic. He had been her friend without any obligations or expectations. She hadn’t worked for him to like her, and he’d always just assumed that she liked him. He’d made friendship so simple. She missed that. Tonight, she longed for it.