“I brought you some klah,” Kindan added, extending a mug toward her as she rose.
“Would you happen to know where a robe is?” Lorana asked, feeling awkward in her nightdress.
Kindan pulled something off his other shoulder and tossed it to her. He turned away to give her privacy while she robed herself. “She’ll sleep for several more hours, judging by her stomach,” he told her.
“And she’ll wake ravenous,” Lorana added.
“Ten of the eggs still lie on the Hatching Grounds,” Kindan said suddenly. “Ten out of thirty-two.”
Lorana turned suddenly to Arith, reassuring herself that the dragon was all right, still here-still hers.
“That’s not normal?” she asked, turning back to him with an apologetic look.
Kindan shook his head. “Not at all,” he answered. “Oh, sometimes one or two are stillborn, but Salina’s Breth has never had a stillborn egg in any of her clutches.”
“What of the other Weyrs?” Lorana asked, her curiosity blending with her growing sense of unease.
“M’tal has spoken with C’rion,” Kindan said, “the Weyrleader of Ista.” He continued, “C’rion’s queen has just laid a new clutch, so it will be some time before we find out more from there.”
“And the other Weyrs?” Lorana asked.
Kindan shrugged. “We are only beginning to think of the questions we want to ask,” he admitted. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you.”
“Me?” Lorana asked, trying to keep a note of panic out of her voice. What if she was the cause?
“K’tan and I would like you to work with us,” Kindan told her. “Your drawings alone would be a great help.”
“My drawings?” Lorana asked in surprise.
“Yes,” Kindan agreed. He held up the drawing she’d made of the green sputum Valla had coughed up. “K’tan said we dare not keep samples of the actual infection, but with your drawings we can compare differences, and track changes in the sick.
“Which is not to say that your understanding of herdbeasts won’t also be a great help,” he added.
“Dragons aren’t herdbeasts,” Lorana protested.
“No,” Kindan agreed with a nod. “They’re not. But you’d be surprised at how similar illnesses can be between man, beast, and dragon.”
Behind Lorana, Arith stirred in her slumber. Kindan noticed.
“I didn’t mean to disturb her,” he said. “In fact, I should leave you to yourself. I’m sure you’ll want to wash up.”
Lorana forced herself to relax. “Yes, the ground was harder than I’d thought,” she said.
“Have your dragon bespeak Drith, K’tan’s dragon,” Kindan said as he made to leave.
Lorana nodded. “Is there a good time?”
He chuckled. “I suspect that your time will be more constrained than ours,” he said, gesturing toward the sleeping hatchling. “Whenever you’re ready and your dragon is asleep.”
“Which won’t be much longer,” Lorana said as Arith shifted position again.
“No it won’t,” Kindan said, agreeably shaking his head. “I’ve kept you too long, I’m sorry. It’s just-”
“I understand,” Lorana replied.
Kindan made a half-bow and departed.
Arith awoke faint with hunger. Again. It had been three sevendays since she’d hatched. In all those sevendays, Arith had eaten scraps brought by the Weyrlingmaster. Lorana had been amazed at the dragonet’s appetite, which rapidly grew from one large bucket, to two, then three, and finally five.
Arith’s sleep was as erratic as any newborn’s, which slowed Lorana’s own recovery from her exposure and exhaustion. It was all Lorana could do to keep Arith fed, feed herself, and keep up with the constant oiling necessary to keep the dragonet’s growing skin from cracking. She would wake up bleary-eyed and go back to bed bleary-eyed, never quite sure what hour of the day it was.
Fortunately, Arith’s newborn growth spurt was finally smoothing out and her sleep pattern normalizing.
“She’s growing very fast,” P’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, had exclaimed the last time he had come to check on her. “She’ll be ready for the Feeding Grounds soon.”
He shook his head in amazement. “Catch her own food, too, I don’t doubt.”
Now, as Lorana guided the increasingly irritable dragonet out of their quarters on the lowest level of the Weyr, she realized that she did not know where the Feeding Grounds were. She stopped in confusion and stood in the great Bowl of the Weyr, looking around desperately.
“Are you going to wait until she dies from hunger, or were you perhaps hoping that her keening would disturb the whole Weyr?” a voice from behind her demanded caustically.
Lorana spun around to come face-to-face with a woman not all that much older than herself. The woman’s face had a pinched look, as if she had been caught in a perpetual sneer. Her blue eyes were pallid and her lips were pursed tight in a thin line. Blond hair was pulled together behind her neck.
“I don’t know where the Feeding Grounds are,” Lorana said apologetically.
“Peh! Some Weyrwoman you’ll make!” the other returned. “Didn’t bother to listen to the orientation, did you? Too high and mighty. Expect the rest of us to look after you, do you?”
“No, I-”
“It’s not as though we all don’t have our own dragons to look after-” At this point a large queen burst into air above them, hovering near the other woman.
Arith took one fearful look up at the full-grown queen, gave a wistful chirp, was answered by an encouraging bellow, and promptly disappeared herself.
In a moment, Lorana could feel Arith’s pleasure as she made her first kill, and she saw an image of the Feeding Grounds in her mind’s eye. She looked up at the large queen, certain that she was the source of Arith’s inspiration, and said with relief, “Thank you.”
My pleasure, the queen responded, settling gently on the ground beside her rider. Your little one was quite agitated.
I’m sorry, Lorana apologized. I hadn’t expected to Impress her. She got a feeling of amused tolerance from the queen. I’m Lorana.
I know, the queen responded. I am Minith.
“You talk to other dragons?” Minith’s rider asked, shocked.
“Oh, yes,” Lorana said, forgetting that this was not a common trait among the weyrfolk. The look on the other rider’s face quickly disabused her. Trying to be civil-after all, the queen had helped Arith to the Feeding Grounds-Lorana stretched out her hand and said, “I’m Lorana.”
The other eyed her hand dubiously but did not take it. “Tullea, Weyrwoman second,” she said, still looking like she’d just bitten into a bitterfruit. “Salina asked me to check on you,” she added in a tone that made it clear what she thought of that imposition.
“That was very kind of Salina,” Lorana replied, desperately trying to place the name but failing. She knew she’d heard it before, but she was too groggy to dredge up the memory.
“You don’t know who she is, do you?” Tullea asked accusingly.
“Her Breth is Arith’s dam,” Lorana temporized, feeling overwhelmed by the other woman’s manner.
“Salina is the senior Weyrwoman,” Tullea snapped. “Don’t you know anything?” She didn’t give Lorana time to respond before continuing, “Well, obviously you don’t. I can’t see what sort of help you’ll ever be. Perhaps it would be best if-”
Minith erupted in a loud disapproving roar, cutting Tullea off. Tullea looked up at her dragon, her eyes softening somewhat.
“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve upset her.”