“I don’t think so. The deserts to the west are terrible. One or two riders got curious but the winds turned them back. And eastward, there’s just ocean. It probably extends right around to the desert. This is the bottom of the earth, you know.”

F’nor flexed his bandaged arm.

“Now you listen to me, Wing-second F’nor of Benden,” Brekke said sharply, interpreting that gesture accurately. “You’re in no condition to go charging back to duty or to go exploring. You haven’t the stamina of a fledgling and you certainly can’t go between. Intense cold is the worst thing for a half-healed wound. Why do you think you were flown here straight?”

“Why, Brekke, I didn’t know you cared,” F’nor said, rather pleased at her vehement reaction.

She gave him such a piercingly candid look that his smile faded. As if she regretted that all too intimate glance, she gave him a half-playful push toward the door.

“Get out. Take your poor lonely dragon and lie on the beach in the sun. Rest. Can’t you hear Canth calling you?”

She slipped by him, out the door, and was across the clearing before he realized that he hadn’t heard Canth.

“Brekke?”

She turned, hesitantly, at the edge of the woods.

“Can you hear other dragons?”

“Yes.” She whirled and was gone.

“Of all the—” F’nor was astounded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded of Canth as he strode into the sun-baked wallow behind the weyr and stood glaring at his brown dragon.

You never asked, Canth replied. I like Brekke.

“You’re impossible,” F’nor said, exasperated, and looked back in the direction Brekke had gone. “Brekke?” And he stared hard at Canth, somewhat disgusted by his obtuseness. Dragons as a rule did not name people. They tended to project a vision of the person referred to by pronoun, rarely by name. That Canth, who was of another Weyr, should speak of Brekke so familiarly was a double surprise. He must tell that to F’lar.

I want to get wet. Canth sounded so wistful that F’nor laughed aloud.

“You swim. I’ll watch.”

Gently Canth nudged F’nor on the good shoulder. You are nearly well. Good. We’ll soon be able to go back to the Weyr we belong to.

“Don’t tell me that you knew about the Thread pattern changing.”

Of course, Canth replied.

“Why, you, wher-faced, wherry-necked…”

Sometimes a dragon knows what’s best for his rider. You have to be well to fight Thread. I want to swim. And there was no arguing with Canth further, F’nor knew. Aware he’d been manipulated, F’nor also had no redress with Canth so he put the matter aside. Once he was well, his arm completely healed, however…