“Lad, everything reminds us of that,” the blue rider said. “Even the dragons are off color. But,” he continued more briskly, “the Impression will help.”

Jaxom hoped so but, pessimistically, he was sure something would go wrong today, too. Then he clutched wildly at D’wer’s riding tunic for it seemed as if they were flying straight into the rock face of the Weyr Bowl. Or worse, despite D’wer’s reassurance, right into the green dragon also veering in that direction.

But suddenly they were inside the wide mouth of the upper entrance, a dark core that led into the immense Hatching Ground. The whir of wings, a concentration of the musty scent of dragons, and then they were poised above the slightly steaming sands, in the great circle theatre with its tiers of perches for men and beasts.

Jaxom had a dizzying view of the eggs on the Hatching Ground, of the colored robes of those already assembled, and the array of dragon bodies, gleaming eyes and furled wings, the great, graceful blue, green and brown hides. Where were the bronzes?

“They’ll bring in the candidates, Lord Jaxom. Ah, there’s the young scamp,” D’wer said, and suddenly Jaxom’s neck was jerked as Trebith backwinged to land neatly on a ledge. “Off you go.”

“Jaxom! You did come!”

And Felessan was thumping him, his clothes so new they smelled of dye and were harsh against Jaxom’s hands as he pounded his friend’s back.

“Thanks so much for bringing him, D’wer. Good day to you, Lord Warder Lytol. The Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman said to give you their greetings and to ask you to stay to eat after Impression, if you would give them a moment of your time.”

It all came out in such a rush that the blue rider grinned. Lytol bowed in such solemn acknowledgment that Jaxom felt a surge of irritation for his stuffy guardian.

Felessan was impervious to such nuances and pulled Jaxom eagerly away from the adults. Having achieved a certain physical distance, the boy chattered away in so loud a whisper that everyone two ledges up could hear him distinctly.

“I was sure you wouldn’t be allowed to come. Everything’s been so sour and horrible since the—you know—happened.”

“Don’t you know anything, Felessan?” Jaxom said in a rebuking hiss that startled his friend into wide-eyed silence.

“Huh? What’d I do wrong?” he demanded, this time in a more circumspect tone, glancing around him apprehensively. “Don’t tell me something’s gone wrong at Ruatha Hold?”