“It could be,” T’mar said. “But it gives me hope that perhaps we can survive longer before that day comes to hand.”

“Long enough for our weyrlings to grow to fighting strength?”

T’mar shrugged at the notion but Fiona could tell he was hopeful.

“So …” Fiona began slowly, “because B’nik’s not dead yet, you’re hoping that this will somehow mean that you won’t die when you fly the same Fall twice, am I right?”

T’mar’s hopeful look faded as he stammered, “I wasn’t quite looking at it that way.”

T’mar was not completely surprised when Fiona arranged for Kindan to stay with Lorana that night with only the thin excuse, “Xhinna needs a chance to prove herself.”

Nor was he surprised to be awoken by her quietly slipping into his bed not much later.

“If you are going to get yourself killed, bronze rider, then I’m going to need something to remember you by,” Fiona told him firmly. As his lips quirked up in a smile, she added severely, “And more than just one good night.”

She put actions to her words and gave herself so completely and demanded so much of him that neither was in doubt afterward of the nature of the gift, the willingness with which it had been given, nor the love with which it had been received.

Later, in the afterglow, Fiona propped her head on one arm and told him, “And when you come back, you’re to make more time for Shaneese.” She smiled as she plumbed the depths of his expression. “As I told Lorana, I share. And I plan to get all the help raising children I can.”

Wisely, Telgar’s Weyrleader said nothing.

“You came back, you came back!” Fiona cried flinging herself into T’mar’s arms two days later as they returned from their first round of flying the Fall.

“We still have to fly again,” T’mar warned her.

“But you’ll come back from that, too,” Fiona said, gesturing toward Lorana in the distance, before burying herself once more against his chest. “She knows.”

“I see,” T’mar said, hugging her back tightly. He pushed her away gently, his eyes filled with pain as he asked, “And does she know how many we’ve lost?”

“Yes,” Fiona replied, equally grim, casting her eyes upward to avoid meeting his. “Seven lost—two now, five more when you go back. Three severely injured and five moderately injured in addition to more than the usual number of scrapes, cuts, and near-misses.”

“How did she take it?”

Fiona raised a hand, gesturing toward the distant figures of Lorana and Kindan as they went from rider to rider.

“She’s taking it well,” Fiona said. She moved away from the Weyrleader, adding, “I’m going to make my farewells.”