Fiona needed no further encouragement and tore out of her quarters, through the Weyr Bowl, and into the Hatching Grounds, telling Talenth, I’m coming!

T’mar met her at the entrance, reaching up a hand to point at the cluster of white robes she still had thrown over her shoulder. “What are these for?”

“I’m not sure that Xhinna or Taria got theirs,” Fiona said. She looked around hastily, licking her lips. “And if I can snatch Bekka, I’ll set her out there, too.”

“So you’ve—what?—five girls on the grounds for twenty-one eggs?”

“And thirty boys,” Fiona corrected him archly.

“What about Kindan?”

“That’s including him,” she said as he reached over and grabbed the robes off her shoulder, shifting them from one hand to the other so that he could guide her toward the stands.

“No,” Fiona said, shaking him off, “I want to be down here.”

T’mar gave her a surprised look. “Breaking more Traditions?”

“I’m going to be with Talenth,” she said, snatching the robes back out of his hand. “You head up to the stands and talk nicely to the Holders.”

A roar from Talenth affirmed Fiona’s choice, so T’mar, still shaking his head ruefully, made his way up to the stands even as his Weyrwoman moved toward the clump of eggs nearest her queen.

Fiona reached Talenth’s side as soon as she’d handed out the last of the robes and turned back to stare out across the clutch of eggs toward the light of the Weyr Bowl with an air of fierce possessiveness.

“You were great,” Fiona said aloud as she patted Talenth and felt herself glow with pride as the first cracks appeared in the nearest egg.

A dragonet burst forth, creeling anxiously, and looked in Fiona’s direction.

“That way!” Fiona called, pointing to the waiting Candidates. Talenth bugled in agreement. With another cry, the dragonet awkwardly scrambled out of its shell and wobbled off, skirting the other eggs and searching, neck craning one way and then the other, searching for its mate.

Fiona felt the dragons’ hum grow to a higher pitch as the little dragonet and her new rider found each other with an exclamation of joy. Another egg cracked, and another, and suddenly the Hatching Grounds were filled with creeling, red-eyed, anxious dragonets searching for their mates.

Fiona shouted encouragement to each and every one, lost in the thrill of the moment, and cheered with each Impression.

One green stood in front of Taria creeling anxiously while the youngster waved her away.

“She’s yours!” Fiona shouted. “What’s her name?”

Taria looked toward the Weyrwoman, straightened her shoulders and looked back at the green in front of her, gingerly reaching out a hand to touch the green’s snout even as her own face burst with a look of pure joy. She cried back, “Coranth!”