Fiona grimaced; there was green dragon ichor everywhere.

“You should have called,” Fiona said reprovingly to the brown dragon as she cleaned away the ichor. “Talenth was ready to hear you.”

I didn’t realize, Janorth said apologetically.

Fiona grinned and slapped the brown affectionately on his chest. “We’d rather you say too much than too little.”

I’ll remember.

“See that you do,” Fiona said, leaning down beside Terin to examine the base of the wound. Fortunately it was forward on the neck; if the injury had been at the join to the chest, recovery would have been much more difficult. She sighed. “The stitches have come open.”

Terin nodded, absently wiping a long stream of green ichor on her tunic before wiping her forehead.

Talenth, we need some thick sutures, double dragon size, Fiona called. See if Xhinna is awake.

She could have called down the service hatch, but Xhinna would be quicker, if she was available.

She sleeps, Talenth replied instantly. She is having strange dreams.

Strange dreams? Fiona mused. She never knew that dragons could tell when people were dreaming, let alone have an insight into them.

Then check with Ellor, she said.

A moment later, Talenth responded, The Weyrwoman will fly them up.

Surprised, Fiona moved to the edge of the weyr and glanced out. In a moment the great queen was beside her, hovering close in while Cisca threw a sack attached to a rope. Fiona caught it on the first try and quickly undid the knot, then waved in thanks.

“We need some new weyrlings for this sort of work,” Cisca called as she waved in response.

“I’ll see what I can do!” Fiona shouted back, grinning.

“I’m talking with Melirth about the problem, too,” Cisca replied, grinning in turn. “A mating flight—or two—would also do wonders for morale.”

Fiona chuckled, then returned to the job of sewing up Janorth’s gash. Once done, she rejoined Tintoval and W’jer. The healer had treated the dragonrider’s wound with numbweed, rebandaged it, and dosed him with fellis juice. Between them, Fiona and Tintoval managed to get W’jer settled back into his bed for “a good long nap.”

“We’ll check on Janorth before we leave,” Fiona said, gesturing for Tintoval to follow her to the brown’s weyr. Terin was happily scratching the brown’s eye ridge and crooning to him encouragingly.

“You just rest up, you’ll get better soon,” Terin said to him as Janorth’s multifaceted eyes whirled with the green of contentment.

Tintoval looked to Fiona for direction. Fiona smiled and raised an eyebrow, glancing challengingly at Janorth’s resutured neck.

“What sort of sutures did you use?” Tintoval wondered as she knelt down and examined Fiona’s deft handiwork.