“Yes, lighter bandages today, Mirrim, and salve. Tonight, no bandages at all. Wounds must have fresh air, too, you know. But you’ve done a good job. The fire lizard eggs are fine this morning, Menolly.”

With that she left, and Mirrim quickly set about dressing the feet. When she’d finished and Menolly rose to put on her clothes, her fingers lingering in the soft folds of the overshirt, Mirrim sank onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

“What’s the matter with you?” Menolly asked.

“I’m getting all the rest I can while I can,” Mirrim replied, “You don’t know what a Hatching is like, with all those holders and crafters stumbling about the Weyr, poking here and there where they’re NOT supposed to be and getting scared of and scaring the dragons and the weyrlings and the hatchlings. And the way they eat!” Mirrim rolled her eyes expressively. “You’d think they’d never seen food and ... ” Mirrim flopped over on the bed and started to sob wildly.

“Mirrim, what’s the matter? Oh, it’s Brekke! Isn’t she all right? I mean, won’t she re-Impress? Sanra said that’s what Lessa hoped ... ”

Menolly bent to comfort her friend, herself upset by those heart-rending sobs. Mirrim’s words were garbled by her weeping, although Menolly gathered that Mirrim didn’t want her foster-mother to re-Impress and the reason was obscure. Brekke didn’t want to live, and they had to find some way to make her. Losing her dragon was like losing half herself, and it hadn’t been Brekke’s fault. She was so gentle and sensible, and she loved F’nor, and for some reason that was unwise, too.

Menolly just let Mirrim cry, knowing how much relief she had felt the day before when she’d wept, and hoping deep in her heart that there might be joyful tears, too, for Mirrim later that day. There had to be. She forgave Mirrim all her little poses and attitudes, aware that that was how Mirrim had masked her intense anxiety and grief.

There was a rattling of the cubicle’s curtain, a squabble of fire lizard protest, and then Mirrim’s Tolly crawled under the curtain, his eyes whirling with indignation and worry. He saw Menolly stroking Mirrim’s hair and, raising his wings, made as if to launch himself at her when Beauty warbled sharply from the corner. Tolly sort of shook his wings, but when he leaped to the bed, he landed gently on the edge and remained there, his eyes first on Mirrim, then on Menolly. A moment later the two greens entered. They settled themselves on the stool, watchful but not obtrusive.

Beauty, in her corner, kept an eye on them all.

“Mirrim? Mirrim?” It was Sanra’s voice from the living cavern. “Mirrim, haven’t you finished Menolly’s feet yet? We need both of you! Now!”