“It’s better to be awake at night than asleep in the day,” Fiona said, punctuating her words with a wide yawn. She poured the klah and gratefully downed a portion before adding, “I don’t know how I’d survive without this.”

“Talk to Bekka and Birentir before you get too far along,” Shaneese said, resting a comforting hand on the Weyrwoman’s shoulder.

Fiona turned again to look up at her questioningly.

Shaneese responded with a troubled look, then leaned down close to Fiona’s ear to confide worriedly, “This may not be the best time for you.” Fiona’s eyes widened but she said nothing. “If that’s so, there’s ways—”

“Ways?”

“‘Seven breaths between keeps a body flat and lean’ is what I’ve heard,” Shaneese said, her tone devoid of any emotion.

“I’d heard eleven,” Fiona said. “Are you saying that I should be careful going between?”

“At least you should know your choices,” Shaneese said. She gestured toward the pitcher of klah. “You’ve still no understanding of why you’re so tired—”

“Nor does T’mar!”

“But he’s not growing a baby, is he?”

“No, just flying Thread,” Fiona reminded her, surprised at her own clashing emotions. She was irritated at the headwoman’s suggestion; she knew what she was doing and why, but she hadn’t considered that her weariness might provide complications. Come to think of it, was there a correlation between the tired riders and injuries? She glanced at the wingleaders, saw T’mar and F’jian both stifle yawns—which, Fiona conceded, could just as easily be from their ongoing fatigue as from their exertions flying Thread. She made a note to herself to follow the issue up later.

“I’ll support you either way, Fiona,” Shaneese said, grasping some of the younger woman’s feelings better than the Weyrwoman did herself, “but I’d be remiss if I didn’t make you aware of your options and your risks.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said, aware that her tone was stiff but unable to control it. The thought of terminating the pregnancy was nearly as frightening as the thought of losing it to her fatigue.

Shaneese rubbed her shoulder affectionately. “Talk to Bekka and Birentir, they’ll know better.”

“I will.”

Shaneese moved away, not without a worried glance back over her shoulder as she left. Fiona returned to her breakfast, switching partway through her mug of klah to another glass of the juice, somewhat surprised that the smell of the klah wasn’t as pleasant this morning as it usually was.

As she self-consciously chewed on a roll, Fiona found herself paying more attention to the wingleaders’ discussion. It was a moment before she realized that they had stopped and were staring at her.

“I asked, Weyrwoman,” T’mar told her with a smile, “if you knew the strength of High Reaches?”