Fiona murmured noncommittally and closed her eyes. A moment later she opened them again. Kindan was still looking at her.

“Who ordered H’nez to lead the flight?” he asked. “Was that you or Lorana?”

“I think it was me,” Fiona said.

“It sounded mostly like you,” Kindan agreed, his brows furrowed. “But it sounded like Lorana, too.”

“A bit of both,” Fiona agreed.

They looked at each other for a moment longer then, reached out and hugged tightly, comfort against the pain.

Fiona felt her tears come and let them flow freely. When they were gone and Kindan was still in her arms, she felt a different feeling wake in her. Awkwardly she moved her head to peer into his eyes and darted her lips against his for a kiss.

Throwing despair away for passion, Fiona let her hands flow over his warm body, and had the reassuring pleasure of his hands moving in response. Slowly they maneuvered, touching, moving, silently, passionately.

Long afterward, Fiona reached a hand up to his cheek and stroked it gently. Kindan cupped her hand with his and smiled down at her. “Three times,” he told her with a smile. Fiona chuckled and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“What do you mean, I can’t go out?” T’mar demanded testily when Birentir told him. “I waited an extra two days because you said so!”

He turned to Fiona, who was eyeing him with one eyebrow raised archly. “And you—dowsing my wine with fellis juice so I slept an extra day! Give me those crutches!”

Fiona pulled them away from him, saying, “Not until you get some sense in your thick skull. You’re acting like an addle-pated wherry!”

“I’m acting like a Weyrleader,” T’mar declared, but his words lacked conviction.

“A Weyrleader sets an example, or so I’m told,” Birentir said dryly. “And a Weyrleader recovering from a severe pair of injuries would best set an example by listening to the Weyr Healer, wouldn’t he?”

T’mar scowled stubbornly before leaning back in his bed, asking in a grudging tone, “So, healer, what can I do?”

“If you wish to recover fully,” Birentir responded, emphasizing the last word, “you’ll restrict your movements to your weyr for the next sevenday or so.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll see,” Fiona told him, shaking her head in exasperation as she added, “You’re just as bad as the worst were back in Igen, you know.”

T’mar’s face twisted as the barb struck home. He had vivid memories of the younger Fiona arguing with grizzled old-timers—and winning.

“Ah, you’re remembering,” Fiona said, taking in the look on his face. “Perhaps you’ll also remember that all of my charges recovered and are now fighting Thread?”

“I do,” T’mar growled with a resigned look on his face. He brightened as he turned back to the healer, saying, “So, just around here?”

“If you don’t tire yourself.”