“You could bring Kindan,” Fiona said. “Xhinna and Taria are somewhere around here.” She rested her head against Talenth’s chest, near one of the younger boys; his hair smelled pleasantly of lemon, freshly washed. She sensed Lorana’s reluctance and added, “I used to sneak out of bed when Kindan was visiting and curl up with him when I was younger.” She smiled fondly at the memory, then gestured to the children nearby. “It made me feel like I had family, sleeping all together, so I’m passing it along.”

Lorana’s expression changed and Fiona felt the other woman’s sorrow.

“What?” Fiona asked, her eyes open again, staring intently at the other woman.

“I was the last of my family,” Lorana said. “My mother, brother, and sister all died when I was feverish.” Fiona could tell that the memory was hard on her and Lorana recalled it with difficulty. Lorana took a ragged breath before continuing, “My father was a breeder, ranging between the holds and the locals thought we’d brought the Plague. They were going to kill him and us.” She squeezed her eyes tight against the memory. “I remember feeling cold, oh so cold! And then realized that my mother, brother, and sister were cold and stiff. I cried out and Sannel, my father, rushed from the doorway. It was then that he realized what had happened and he turned back to the holders, shouting, ‘They’re dead! Now leave me with my daughter while we’ve still a chance!’

“So my last memory of family is with the cold and the dead.” Lorana was silent for a long moment, her head hung low. “And then I had Garth and Grenn and I lost them and Arith to the illness.” She raised her head to meet Fiona’s eyes grimly. “So you see, everything I love dies.” She glanced nervously back toward the weyr she’d left, the one with Kindan sleeping in it.

Fiona reached out a hand toward Lorana. Lorana examined it for a moment before shyly reaching out to touch it.

“I won’t die,” Fiona swore to her softly. She nodded toward the children. “They’ll live and their children will live because we say so.”

Beside her, little Aryar stirred and looked up at Lorana, her eyes wide with wonder. “Are you Lorana?”

Lorana nodded.

“My father says you saved his dragon,” Aryar said, pushing herself up from the ground and wrapping her arms around Lorana’s waist. “He said you gave your dragon to save all the other dragons.”

“That’s—” Lorana began, shaking her head, her eyes wet with tears.

“She did,” Fiona told Aryar firmly, her look daring Lorana to argue.

“Does she have half a heart, Weyrwoman?” Aryar craned her head around to ask Fiona in all seriousness.