A brilliant spark of determination flared in Lorana’s eyes. “I wouldn’t let him.”
“It was the most amazing sight,” Lady Munori added. “You could even see them breathing together, her and her fire-lizard, as she fought to keep him here.”
Intrigued, J’trel said, “I should like to see this fire-lizard.”
“Thank you,” Lorana said, dipping a slight curtsy to the dragon-rider.
Lady Munori accompanied them. “You should see her drawings, too, J’trel,” she said. “Lord Carel has two hanging in his chambers.”
J’trel cocked an eye at the young woman. “A healer and a harper! You are a woman of many talents.”
Embarrassed, Lorana ducked her head.
Silently, she led them to one of the guest rooms and gestured politely for J’trel and Munori to precede her.
A fire-lizard’s chirp challenged them as they entered.
“They’re friends, Garth,” Lorana called out.
“You’ve two!” J’trel exclaimed as he caught sight of the beautiful gold fire-lizard posting guard over the injured brown.
“I tried to get Coriel…” Lorana began defensively.
“How many times do we have to tell you that you’ve nothing to apologize for?” Munori asked in exasperation. She explained to the dragonrider, “Lorana was watching the eggs for my daughter when they hatched and, well…”
The brown fire-lizard gave a plaintive sound. Seeing that his wing was splinted and immobilized, J’trel began crooning reassurances.
“There, lad,” he said. “Let’s have a look at you.” He moved closer, but stopped when the little queen gave him a haughty and challenging look.
“Talith, could you-?” J’trel said aloud to his dragon.
The gold gave a startled squawk as the dragon spoke to her. Then, with a very dignified air, she moved away from her injured friend.
“I’ve never seen the like,” J’trel said admiringly, examining the splint. “A break like this…”
“I did my best,” Lorana said.
“You did the best I’ve ever seen,” he told her. “Our Weyr healer could take lessons from you.”
Gently he spread the wing, examined the splint, and then returned the wing to its original position. “How long ago did this occur?”
“About a sevenday,” Lady Munori told him. “When we first came upon the three of them, we thought we’d lost them all, father, daughter, fire-lizard. But then that one-” She pointed at the gold. “-started squawking at us, and we realized that her Lorana was still alive.”
“Will the wing heal?” Lorana asked, worried that she might have condemned her fire-lizard to a fate worse than death.
“The bones are aligned properly,” J’trel judged. “And he seems well-fed,” he added, with a grin at the brown’s bulging stomach. “I’d say that his chances are good.” Privately, though, he wasn’t so sure.
“Is there anything else I should do?” Lorana asked. “And when will it be safe for him to fly again?”
J’trel pursed his lips thoughtfully. Something in the girl’s demeanor, in her worry and her determination, sparked his compassion.
“Why don’t you come with me and we’ll take him someplace safe and warm where he can rest until his wing is healed,” he suggested.
Lorana’s eyes grew round with surprise.
“But wouldn’t the dragons at the Weyr-”
“I wasn’t thinking of the Weyr, lass,” J’trel interrupted. “I know a very nice warm place where dragons-and fire-lizards-can curl up and rest all day long.” He wagged a finger toward the brown fire-lizard. “I think the best thing we can do is encourage this one to rest and not to fly until his wing is healed.”
Lady Munori beamed at Lorana. “You can’t go wrong with an offer like that.”
Lorana smiled at the dragonrider, a smile that lit her face. “Thank you!”
It took a month of careful attention for Grenn’s wing to heal in the warmth of a southern sun. During that time, J’trel was pleased to provide Lorana with pencil and paper to sketch upon-and amazed when he saw the results.
They had been together in the sunny warmth for two sevendays before Lorana really opened up to the old dragonrider. It happened the evening after J’trel had announced that he was certain Grenn’s wing would heal. Lorana had just finished sketching the splint design she’d put on Grenn and started a new page. J’trel hadn’t been paying attention until he heard her stifle a sob. Looking over, he saw that she was drawing a face.
“Is that your father?” he asked. He had guessed that, as soon as she knew her fire-lizard was safe, Lorana would allow herself to grieve.
Lorana nodded. Haltingly, with J’trel’s gentle questioning, she told him her story.
Lorana had been helping her father since she could toddle; indeed, since the Plague took the rest of her family-mother, brother, and sister-she had been his only helper.
She recounted huddling amongst the cold bodies while her father stood in the doorway shielding them from the outraged holders who feared his roaming ways had brought the Plague with him. It was only when they discovered that nearly all the bodies beyond him had gone cold that they relented.
Lorana had used all her wits-particularly her skill at drawing-to bring her distraught father out of the despair that overtook him after that fateful day. Since then, Sannel had used her ability in drawing, tasking her with registering all the marks and conformations of their various breedings, and taking her everywhere he went. When he died, she had been devastated.
When J’trel looked over Grenn that evening by the campfire, he was very pleased to be able to give Lorana some good news. “I think we should try to see if he can fly tomorrow morning,” he announced. “When the air is cold.”
“Because the air is heavier then, right?” Lorana asked.
“Exactly,” he agreed. “And, if he’s all right, I’ll take you back to the Weyr with me.”
Lorana’s face fell.
J’trel gave her an inquiring look.
“I don’t know if I belong there,” Lorana admitted. When J’trel started to protest, she held up a restraining hand. “I don’t know where I belong.”
J’trel bit back a quick response. He gave her a long glance and nodded slowly.
“I think I see,” he said at last. “In fact, I feel somewhat the same myself.”
“You do?” Lorana asked, taken aback.
“Not about you,” he added hastily, pointing a finger toward his chest. “About myself.”
Lorana was surprised.
J’trel let out a long, slow sigh. “I’m old,” he said at last. “I can’t say that I’ll be any credit when Thread falls again. And I’m tired.”
“Tired?”
“Tired of hurting,” J’trel admitted. “Tired of the pain, tired of memories, tired of not being able to move the way I used to, tired of making compromises, tired of the looks the youngsters give me-looks I used to give old people.
“It was different with K’nad,” he continued softly, almost to himself. “Then I had someone to share with. We would groan when our joints hurt and laugh about it together.”
He shook his head sadly. “I hadn’t planned on anything beyond saying good-bye to K’nad’s kin,” he admitted. “And then I met you.”
Lorana shook her head, trying to think of something to say.
J’trel waved her unvoiced objections aside. “I’m not complaining,” he assured her. “In fact, I’m glad to have met you.” He grinned at her. “I’ve never met a woman more fit to lead a Weyr.”
“Lead a Weyr?” Lorana repeated, aghast. “Weyrwoman? Me? No, no-I-”
“You’ve more talent than I’ve ever seen,” J’trel told her. “Half the Istan riders of the past thirty Turns were searched by me and Talith.”