“Man can alter size but only so far. He can, of course, breed the largest to the largest and improve on the original stock,” and Sograny gestured toward the long-legged cow. “But to breed a dragon from a fire-lizard? Absolutely impossible.”

F’lar wasted no further time on that subject but took the glove from his belt and emptied the grubs into the other, gloved palm.

“These, sir. Have you seen such as these…”

Sograny’s reaction was immediate. With a cry of fear, he grabbed F’lar’s hand, tumbling the grubs to the stone of the barn. Yelling for agenothree, he stamped on the squirming grubs as if they were the essence of evil.

“How could you—a dragonman—bring such filth into my dwellings?”

“Masterherdsman, control yourself!” F’lar snapped, grabbing the man and shaking him. “They devour Thread. Like sandworms. Like sandworms!”

Sograny was trembling beneath F’lar’s hands, staring at him. He shook his skull-like head and the wildness died from his eyes.

“Only flame can devour Thread, dragonman!”

“I told you,” F’lar said coldly, “that those grubs devoured Thread!”

Sograny glared at F’lar with considerable animus.

“They are an abomination. You waste my time with such nonsense.”

“My deep apologies,” F’lar said, with a curt bow. But his irony was wasted on the man. Sograny turned back to his laboring cow as though F’lar had never interrupted him.

F’lar strode off, pulling on his gloves, his forefinger coming into contact with the wet, slippery body of a grub.

“See the Masterherdsman, eh?” he muttered under his breath, waving aside the services of the guide as he left the breeding barn. A bellow from a herdbeast followed him out. “Yes, he breeds animals, but not ideas. Ideas might waste time, be useless.”

As he and Mnementh circled upward, F’lar wondered how much trouble D’ram was having with that old fool.

CHAPTER IX

Afternoon at Southern Weyr: Same Day

IT WAS A long flight, the straight way, from the western swamps to Southern Weyr’s headland. At first, F’nor rebelled. A short hop between would not affect his healing arm, but Canth became unexpectedly stubborn. The big brown soared, caught the prevailing wind and, with great sweeps of his wings, sped through the cooler air, high above the monotonous terrain.

As Canth settled down into long-distance flying, the rhythm began to soothe F’nor. What ought to have been a tedious journey became the blessing of uninterrupted time for reflection. And F’nor had much to think about.