K’tan’s nod was nearly imperceptible.
“You must leave,” K’tan said to her.
Lorana looked up from her drawing of the fire-lizards, eyes stricken. Behind him she could see Kindan, his eyes burning with hate.
“You killed the fire-lizards,” Kindan snarled at her. “You brought the sickness.”
“You must leave,” K’tan repeated.
Yes, I must leave, Lorana thought to herself. This is my fault. I must go into quarantine. Until… until…
Lorana woke with a start, sweating. She looked around, trying to place herself. It was late, dark. She had been dreaming.
It had been nearly four days since M’tal had ordered the fire-lizards from Benden Weyr. Lorana had recovered her strength, but she had remained in the infirmary, scared of being seen by the weyrfolk, particularly those who’d had fire-lizards.
She gathered her gear together and found a carisak to stuff them into. She left the colored pencils and her drawings behind-perhaps they would make payment for all that the weyrfolk had done for her.
Slowly she crept out of the infirmary and toward the Weyr Bowl. Inside, she was numb. She felt nothing.
Except, maybe, hungry. No, definitely hungry. In fact, Lorana was painfully hungry. She could feel it in her belly, she could feel it in a hunger headache pounding in her head. She couldn’t understand how she could feel so hungry so suddenly.
Her ears caught a faint humming. Her nose picked up the scent of food cooking, and her stomach rumbled.
Don’t worry, you’ll get fed, Lorana told her stomach.
But I’m so hungry, her stomach protested. Lorana was momentarily surprised; she couldn’t remember her stomach ever answering her. She pushed the issue aside, allowing that it could be the product of many things-her exhaustion, her exposure, her weakness.
As she neared the end of the corridor, the sound of humming grew louder, and the smell of roasting meat stronger. Her stomach knotted in anticipation. Then, when she reached the torchlit Weyr Bowl, comprehension burst upon her like a wave.
A Hatching! In the Hatching Grounds across the Bowl, dragons were hatching, and new riders were Impressing-and around them all, the adult dragons were humming encouragement.
For a moment, Lorana considered heading toward the sound. To see a Hatching! What a glorious thing!
But, no, she had to get away before anyone found her. Before they knew-
But I’m hungry! her stomach complained.
I’ll feed you, honest, Lorana responded, wondering exactly when her stomach had become so demanding, and also wondering when she’d become so good at placating it.
She heard a murmur of voices growing louder, coming from the Hatching Grounds.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” someone said, his voice carrying loudly across to her. It sounded like Kindan.
“Hasn’t a hatchling ever left the Grounds before?” A female voice asked.
Ahead, the darkness split off into three shadows. Two were human shaped, and they seemed to be following something. A hatchling!
What’s a hatchling doing here? Lorana wondered. She shrank against the wall, trying to remain unseen, but the hatchling turned toward her.
I said I was hungry!
Lorana stopped dead, frozen in shock and fear, her breathing shallow, her eyes wide. It could not be. The dragonet couldn’t be talking to her-it had to be her stomach.
Please, my wing hurts. The pitiful voice in her head was accompanied by a painful mewling that Lorana’s ears heard.
Her instincts took over. She could never let an animal suffer. She rushed to the waddling dragonet and quickly untangled its baby clawed feet from its left wing tip.
“There, better?” Lorana asked out loud, oblivious to the crowd gathering around her, concentrating solely on this marvelous young gold dragon who had asked her for help.
Much, thank you, the dragonet replied, butting her head against Lorana’s side. I am Arith.
And in that instant Lorana recognized the impossible. She had Impressed.
Lorana’s sense of shock was overwhelmed by her nurturing instincts. She wobbled but did not fall down. Instead, she crouched beside Arith’s head and began to gently rub, then scratch, the dragonet’s eye ridges.
“Please,” she said, looking up at the crowd for the first time, “Arith is very hungry. Can you get her something to eat?”
“Certainly,” someone replied instantly. A figure broke from the crowd and hastened away toward the source of the distant succulent smells.
“Best get Lorana something, as well,” Kindan added, in a rich, well-modulated tone that carried the length of Benden’s great Bowl.
“Here,” a voice much closer to her-a woman’s voice-said, “Put this on.” Lorana felt a warm jacket being draped over her. “You must be as frozen as you are hungry.”
Lorana looked up to see a woman about six or seven Turns older than herself with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. A red-haired man stood beside her, looking protective. Lorana couldn’t see that the woman needed it, she had rarely seen such a selfpossessed person in her life.
“For a moment I thought maybe she was coming for me,” the woman said with a chuckle. “I’m so glad it was you. Two would be impossible.”
A sound, not quite a dragon sound, burst in the sky above them, and a small, ungainly, ugly gold shape descended toward them. It was a watch-wher, and when it alit deftly on the floor of the Bowl, it trotted over to the woman.
The gold watch-wher snuffed at Arith, who returned the gesture full of curiosity; then, with a satisfied chirp, the watch-wher sidled over to place her head under the blond woman’s hand.
“I know you!” Lorana exclaimed. “You’re Nuella.”
“I told you your fame has traveled far and wide,” Kindan said, bowing toward Nuella.
“This is Weyrleader M’tal,” Kindan continued, gesturing to a silver-haired, wiry older man beside him.
“My lord-” Lorana was abashed to have been in the Weyr all this time without meeting him.
M’tal cut her off with a wave of his hand. “M’tal, please,” he said. “Or Weyrleader, if you must. You are one of us now, Lorana.”
Tears burst from her, running unchecked down her face. Arith looked at her worriedly.
Are you hurt? the dragonet asked, ready to both comfort and defend her mate.
It’s all right, it’s all right. I’m just so happy, Lorana assured her. And she was. M’tal’s words had been just what she’d needed to hear. She had a home. She was Lorana, rider of gold Arith, dragonrider of Benden Weyr.
“I could not be happier,” she said aloud.
Lorana found herself ensconced in the last empty Weyrwoman’s weyr, her scant things moved without her asking, her stomach-and Arith’s-filled beyond bulging, and all the while she was lost in the magic of gold Arith’s whirling eyes.
Her dragon’s eyes.
All the pain, the loss, everything that had gone before in Lorana’s life was redeemed, erased, made nothing in the warmth of Arith’s love.
It was as natural as breathing to Lorana that she’d pull her bedclothes over to her hatchling’s lair and fall asleep, curled up tight around her dragon.
Kindan’s rich voice woke her the next morning. “There’s a warm pool just the other side of your sleeping quarters. I’m afraid you’ll need it.”
Lorana stretched-and winced. The hard stone of Arith’s lair might be comfortable to the dragon, but it had left a lot to be desired by her weyrmate. Her muscles ached and threatened to cramp as she gently disengaged herself from the still-sleeping dragonet.