Brekke had finally found time to see to Mirrim’s wounded brown. He was so stuffed with juicy tidbits from the hand of his overzealous nurse that he barely opened one lid when Brekke inspected him. Numbweed worked as well on lizard as on dragon and human.

“He’s doing just fine, dear,” Brekke told the anxious girl, the greens fluttering on the child’s shoulders in response to her exaggerated sigh of relief. “Now, don’t overfeed them. They’ll split their hides.”

“Do you think they’ll stay?”

“With such care as you lavish on them, sweeting, they’re not likely to leave. But you have chores which I cannot in conscience permit you to shirk…”

“All because of Kylara…”

“Mirrim!”

Ashamed, the girl hung her head, but she deeply resented the fact that Kylara gave all the orders and did no work, leaving her tasks to fall to Brekke. It wasn’t fair. Mirrim was very very glad that the little lizards had preferred her to that woman.

“What did old Rannelly mean about your queen? You take good care of Wirenth. She lacks for nothing,” said Mirrim.

“Ssssh. I’ll go see. I left her sleeping.”

“Rannelly’s as bad as Kylara. She thinks she’s so wise and knows everything…”

Brekke was about to scold her fosterling when she heard F’nor calling her.

“The green riders are bringing back some of the meat hung in the salt caves,” she said, issuing quick instructions instead. “None of that is to go to the lizards, Mirrim. Now, mind. The boys can trap wild wherries. Their meat is as good, if not better. We’ve no idea what effect too much red-blood meat will have on lizards.” With that caution to inhibit Mirrim’s impulsive generosity, Brekke went out to meet F’nor.

“There’s been no rider in from Benden?” he asked her, easing the arm sling across his shoulder.

“You’d’ve heard instantly,” she assured him, deftly adjusting the cloth at his neck. “In fact,” she added in mild rebuke, “there are no riders in the Weyr at all today.”

F’nor chuckled. “And not much to show for their absence, either. There isn’t a beach along the coastline that doesn’t have a dragon couchant, with rider a-coil, feigning sleep.”

Brekke put her hand to her mouth. It wouldn’t do for Mirrim to hear her giggling like a weyrling.

“Oh, you laugh?”

“Aye, and they’ve made a note of both occasions that I did,” she said with due solemnity, but her eyes danced. Then she noticed that the sling was missing its usual occupant. “Where’s…”