My name is Faranth and that is that itchy spot, Faranth said in tones that went from reproof to relief. Another is starting on my hind leg.

“She doesn’t like to be called by a nickname,” Sorka said tolerantly, grinning at her father. “But jays, she takes scrubbing.” A bristle brush had been made for the purpose, firm enough to rub in oil but not harsh enough to mar the tender, smooth hide.

Suddenly everyone was drenched as Carenath, sweeping his glistening wings forward in the low bath, showered them with water.

“Carenath, behave yourself!” Sorka and Sean spoke in the same sharp tone.

I am already clean, you polka-dotted idiot, Faranth said in an excellent mimicry of one of Sorka’s favorite admonitions. I was nearly dry, and now my oiling has to be done again.

Sean and Sorka laughed and then hurriedly explained to the drenched men that they were amused by what Faranth had said, not by Carenath’s playfulness. Sean gestured to the dragonets that perched on the rooftree, obviously watching everything below them. Almost instantly, the soaked observers had towels dropped about them.

“Handy critters, Sean,” Red Hanrahan said, drying his face and hands and mopping his clothing.

“Very useful with young dragons, too, Red,” Sean replied. “They fish constantly for these walking appetites.”

Am I that much trouble to you? Carenath sounded aggrieved.

“Not at all, pet,” Sean quickly assured him, lovingly caressing the head that was tilted wistfully. “Don’t be silly. You’re young, you have a good appetite, and it’s our job to keep you fed.”

Red was beginning to get accustomed to the sudden non sequiturs from his daughter and son-in-law, but the others were startled. Faranth butted at Sorka for reassurance and when she received it, her eyes settled to the blue of contentment.

“Can’t they be ridden yet? And hunt for themselves?” Phas Radamanth asked.

“You don’t attempt to ride a foal, even a good big one,” Sean replied, brushing oil on the rough patch on Carenath’s broad back. “Kitti Ping’s program suggests waiting a full year before we attempt it.”

“Can we wait long enough for them to mature?” Threadfall and the need to fight it was never far from anyone’s mind.

“I’ve never rushed a horse,” Sean said, “and I’m not about to start with my dragon. However, at the rate they’re growing, and if we can be sure that their skeletal structure—it’s boron-silicate, you know, which is tougher than our calcareous material—is developing properly, I think they’ll be capable of manned flight as scheduled.” Sean grinned. “Jays, what times we’ll have then, old fella, won’t we?”