Jaxom eyed the slit dubiously. He was heavier as well as taller than Felessan. He presented the side of his body to the slit and took a deep breath. His left leg and arm got through fine but his chest was caught against the rocks. Helpfully, Felessan grabbed his left arm and yanked. Jaxom manfully suppressed a yelp as knee and chest were scraped skin deep by rock.

“Eggshells, I’m sorry, Jaxom.”

“I didn’t tell you to pull!” Then he added as he saw Felessan’s contrite expression, “I’m all right, I guess.”

Felessan pulled his tunic up to dab at the young Lord’s bloody bare chest. The rock had torn through fabric. Jaxom slapped his hand away. It smarted enough as it was. Then he saw the great golden egg, reposing by itself, a little apart from the motley group.

“It’s—it’s—so glisteny,” he murmured, swallowing against awe and reverence, and a growing sense of sacrilege. Only the weyrbred had the right to see the eggs.

Felessan was casting a judicious eye over the gold egg.

“And big, too. Bigger’n the last queen egg at Fort. Their stock is falling off noticeably,” he remarked with critical detachment.

“Not to hear Mardra talk. She says it’s obvious Benden stock is in trouble; the dragons are too large to maneuver properly.”

“N’ton says Mardra’s a pain in the ass, the way she treats T’ron.”

Jaxom didn’t like the trend of the conversation now. After all, Ruatha Hold was weyrbound to Fort Weyr and while he didn’t much like Mardra, he ought not listen to such talk.

“Well, this one’s not so big. Looks like a wherry egg. It’s half the size of even the smallest one of the others,” and he touched the smooth shell of an egg that lay almost against the rock wall, apart from the others.

“Hey, don’t touch it!” Felessan protested, visibly startled.

“Why not? Can’t hurt it, can I? Hard as leather,” and Jaxom rapped it gently with his knuckles and then spread his hand flat on the curve. “It’s warm.”

Felessan pulled him away from the egg.

“You don’t touch eggs. Not ever. Not until it’s your turn. And you’re not weyrbred.”

Jaxom looked disdainfully at him. “You’re scared to.” And he caressed the egg again to prove that he was not.

“I am not scared. But you don’t touch eggs,” and Felessan slapped at Jaxom’s impious hand. “Not unless you’re a candidate. And you’re not. And neither am I, yet.”