Empty, Open, Dusty, Dead - 3. The Empty Weyr

‘K’lettan was going to transfer here, to be with me.’ V’nast started sobbing again as Zalna tried to console him. All she could really offer was a cloth with which to mop up the tears running down his face. ‘Now he’s gone.’

‘There, there,’ she said, patting his back. ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’ Hard to believe that this huge man, who had fought Thread for nearly fifteen Turns, could be so reduced. He had her sympathy though. Everyone she knew at Fort had vanished too. She would never see D’gar, M’rell, J’rud or Tirelle again. Even those she’d liked less well, such as Mardra, were gone forever.

‘I should have gone to Ista,’ he cried. ‘I should have tried.’

‘You couldn’t. None of us could leave the Weyr. We just have to tell ourselves that they’re alive and well somewhere.’ The latest theories had become more outrageous. Someone had noted that the Red Star was moving steadily away from Pern. Might it now be menacing some other world out there in the sky? And could the other Weyrs have followed it, to fight Thread all over again? She hoped not. Like everyone at Benden, those riders had deserved to live out the rest of their lives without death and destruction overshadowing them.

‘It’s so unfair. He got through the Pass in more or less one piece, then this…’

She’d heard similar stories from many riders over the past month. There had been quite a few transfer requests awaiting fulfilment, it seemed, both from riders at Benden wishing to join loved ones elsewhere and those who wanted to come to Benden. The last rider to transfer in was G’merl, of brown Raynerth, who had moved just two days before that fateful meeting. Even though he’d happily joined his lover, he apparently felt guilty at his good fortune. Plus, he too had no way of knowing what had happened to all of his former wingmates at Telgar.

‘It’s a mess,’ she said later, to T’san. They sat by the night hearth, nursing cups of klah, booted feet close to the warmth. ‘It’s almost worse than Fall. At least then, you only lost one or two at a time.’

‘I know. Some of the men in our Wing are in a terrible state.’ He shook his head. ‘I had friends at Telgar. Met a few there from other Weyrs too. We didn’t keep in contact as much as I’d have liked to, during the Pass, but we were going to meet up for a reunion. Now, that’s never going to happen.’

‘Have you been there?’

He shook his head. ‘Not Telgar, but I took half of the Wing to Igen yesterday. As the Weyrleader said, it’s totally empty. That’s why I don’t believe they can be dead. Why would people bother to take as much as they could carry if they were just going between forever?’

‘I agree.’ That was another theory being bandied around; with Thread gone, all of the riders and dragons had suicided to save draining Pern of resources. That didn’t make any sense at all. Intervals had come before and no one had felt the need to die. Besides, why would all of the support staff and children sacrifice themselves too? And why take furniture and kitchen utensils with them?

‘Have you been to Fort yet?’

‘No.’ She hadn’t been able to face it, alone. There were too many reminders there as it was. Besides, she’d been needed here, at Benden. For many, the shock hadn’t hit them all at once. It was only as they flew to the abandoned Weyrs and saw for themselves that they truly understood everyone had disappeared.

‘I don’t mind coming along with you.’

He had that knack of knowing what she wanted, as if he could read her mind. She smiled. ‘Thanks. I’d like that.’

‘Tomorrow, then? You need a day off. You’re spending so much time helping other people deal with it, you’re in danger of disappearing yourself.’

That was true, as well. She’d forgotten to eat, some days. Her clothes felt much looser and she’d had to tighten her belt another hole. ‘All right.’

They’d lost two riders since that awful day. Both had gone between, searching for their lost friends. Neither had returned, although, oddly, the dragons hadn’t keened. Perhaps they’d managed to rejoin the lost ones? No one knew for sure.

N’rax still looked haunted; the way he used to sometimes when there’d been a Fall with heavy losses.

‘I think he blames himself,’ Morna told her. ‘I don’t know why. What else could he have done?’

‘I’m sure he did everything he could,’ she said. Although, without having been privy to those meetings, how could anyone tell?

‘By the way, how do you feel about assisting the Weavercrafthall in the design of a specially commissioned tapestry?’

‘Oh?’ She wondered what kind of help they wanted.

‘Yes. It’s to commemorate the last battle against Thread and will hang in the great hall at Ruatha Hold. The Masterweaver happened to mention he needed some help with the dragons being portrayed.’

It sounded rather inessential - almost frivolous - by comparison with what she’d been doing recently. But then she remembered T’san saying she needed a day off. They could call in at the Weavercrafthall in Southern Boll before going to Fort. ‘I don’t mind. Unless you’d rather do it.’ The warmer weather would do Morna’s joint ache good.

Morna smiled. ‘I think you’ll be able to describe the Fort Weyr dragons better than I could. Obviously the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman will be the main pair, but they want to get the dragon colours just right and as T’ron and Mardra are no longer here…’ She tailed off.

These days, everything was a reminder.

The following day, she packed some food and fastened the bags to Gemalth’s straps. She was pleased to be having an outing. I can stretch my wings today, she said happily.

Zalna felt slightly guilty. She’d not really left the Weyr since the Disappearance, as it was starting to be called. Huylonth will be flying with us.

Good. I like Huylonth. He is not stuffy like some of the older bronzes.

T’san and Huylonth dropped down from their weyr and met her on the landing ground. ‘All set?’ he asked.

‘Almost.’ She attached a couple of flasks filled with fresh water. ‘Think I’ve got everything.’

‘So, first stop is the Weavercrafthall? I’ve never been there.’

‘I’ve fought over it often enough.’ It had been one of those places she’d always wanted to visit, yet never had the time or opportunity.

They ascended into the clear sky. It was one of those early spring days at Benden when you could almost be fooled into believing better weather was on the way. Tomorrow it might just as easily be raining - or sleeting - again. She pictured the Weavercrafthall, situated just below a range of hills. T’san signalled her to say he’d got it and they went between.

The air over Southern Boll was humid and the sunlight strong and warm. As they descended, the dragons’ shadows raced across the fields below. A few workers looked up, shading their eyes against the glare.

No sooner had they landed than they were ushered inside the courtyard. Fruit juice and light refreshments were brought and they sat under a shady awning to await the arrival of Ashal, the Masterweaver. The dragons, meanwhile, had found themselves a sunny spot and lounged comfortably.

‘Greetings to you both.’ The Masterweaver was a man of middle years, with a pleasant expression. ‘I believe I recognise you,’ he said to Zalna.

‘Gemalth hatched at Fort, but we both transferred to Benden a few Turns ago. Junior weyrwoman Zalna.’ She held out a hand. ‘My companion is Wingsecond T’san, of bronze Huylonth.’

Ashal shook hands with them both, then led them further into the hall. Large windows ensured plenty of light for the weavers. Inside the first hall were several looms, the clacking sounds as they were used providing a steady background noise. Different fabrics were being woven on each; some striped with the blue and yellow she recognised as Crom Hold’s insignia, others in plain colours.

‘This is where we make much of the fabric for clothing,’ Ashal explained. ‘Some on commission, some to trade, some for tithes.’ He carried on through, into a smaller room equipped with large vertical frames. Two women were expertly winding yarn onto one of these, while a man and a woman worked on another, passing bobbins of brightly coloured thread to and fro, then tapping it down with the pointed end.

‘Is that the tapestry you wanted help with?’ Zalna asked.

‘No, no. This is a smaller piece, commissioned by the Lord of Telgar for the betrothal of his younger daughter. The Ruathan piece is still at the design stage. This way…’

They followed him through several white-painted corridors until they arrived in another room. This one had no looms, just large, angled tables, where three men were sketching out designs on pieces of plain, stretched fabric.

‘This is how it starts,’ Ashal explained. ‘The design is worked out roughly first. It often goes through several drafts before it’s just right.’ He gestured for them to go to the furthest table. Zalna recognised Ruatha Hold drawn towards the bottom of the picture. In the fields surrounding the Hold, ground crew wielded flamethrowers. The top two thirds was reserved for the dragons; a Wing in the foreground, led by T’ron, with two others in the distance, all searing Thread from the sky. A golden dragon skimmed just above the ground crew; far lower than in real life, although Zalna could see that was due to artistic licence and the need to make the best use of the available space.

‘They look so real.’ T’san reached out to touch one of the dragons.

‘Wensel is one of our best artists.’ Ashal touched the man’s shoulder. ‘He likes to get things just right, though.’

Wensel spoke. ‘It’s the colours, more than anything. I’m aware there are different shades of dragon hide. Once this is painted, it will be used by the weavers, for reference, so the colours must be accurate. Now, if you could describe to me the exact shade of bronze for the Weyrleader’s dragon…’

‘I can do better than that. T’san, could you ask Huylonth to land somewhere he can be studied?’

‘There’s a smaller courtyard just out here, if he can squeeze in.’ Ashal pointed to another window at the far end of the room.

‘Now, Huylonth isn’t exactly the same colour as Fidranth. He’s got more of a reddish hue to his hide. But if you study him, you should see how the shade differs over his body. Most dragons are lighter under their belly and tail and on the insides of their legs. Bronze and gold reflect the sunlight, too, as you may have noticed.’

Huylonth landed carefully, folding his wings as his feet touched the ground.

‘He’s bigger than I expected,’ Wensel said. ‘I’ve only seen dragons from a distance before.’

‘Wait until you see Gemalth,’ T’san said. ‘Although I doubt she’d get in here.’

It was a fascinating process, watching Wensel mix pigments together to colour sketches he made of Huylonth, while Ashal fetched hanks of wool to best match the multitude of different shades.Huylonth moved around to let the artist capture him from each angle, while Zalna was able to explain the differences between this particular bronze dragon and that of the Fort Weyrleader. They then repeated the process with Gemalth, although it had to be done in the outher courtyard. As T’san had said, she just wouldn’t fit into the smaller one.

Finally, they returned to the design room, where Wensel asked more questions about the dragons making up a Wing; how many blues, greens and browns there might be. As he drew and coloured more sketches, Zalna thought how she could best honour and remember her friends. The second Wingleader, she decided would be R’feem on board Piroth. His two Wingseconds both rode browns; one the deep, freshly brewed klah colour of Herebeth, with the other the earthy brown of Toth. For good measure, she described the seaweed green hide of Zurinth and then, although she knew S’brin had been dead by then, the paler green of Zemianth. As she carried on detailing them, it was fascinating to see those well-remembered dragons come back to life beneath his brush.

Wensel was well pleased. ‘If you wouldn’t mind coming back when I work on the larger piece, I’d appreciate it.’

‘I could take you to the Weyr, too. Then you can study a wider variety of different dragons.’

‘I’d enjoy that. Thank you.’

By the time they left for Fort Weyr it was mid morning; at Benden the winter dusk would already be drawing in. This promised to be a long day. Once again Gemalth sent coordinates to Huylonth; the familiar shape of the Weyr Bowl with Tooth Crag at its northern end and they went between together.

It was cooler here than in Southern Boll, but still bright. A few light, fluffy clouds broke up the pristine expanse of blue sky over the mountain range. Down below, Fort Weyr looked as it always had, except for a total absence of movement and life. Normally, you’d expect to see a watch dragon up by the Star Stones and a few others up on the fire heights, catching the morning sunshine. Washing would have been hung out on the lines and weyrfolk going about their work. Today, there was none of that.

They descended into the eerie stillness. Zalna was abruptly reminded of a story her nurse had told her, when she was very young. An old, old tale about a Hold that fell asleep for a hundred Turns, until a brave Lord’s son fought his way through the forest that had grown around the Hold, kissed the Holder’s daughter and released her from the spell. She could imagine everyone inside their weyrs, sleeping, waiting to be awakened.

There is no one here, Gemalth said, puzzled by her flight of fancy. They are not asleep.

I know, dearest. It was a silly story I remembered.

Gemalth landed lightly, crouching to let her step down. Even in the short time since the Disappearance, blades of grass had begun to sprout where there should be none. Not that there was Thread to fear, now, but the sight of it still bothered her, especially here.

As always, she looked up towards K’torl’s weyr, remembering Ganath crouched on his ledge. Empty now, as it had been the last time she visited, except that no other dragon or rider would ever live there again. Empty too, the Senior Queen’s weyr. No Mardra to come out and tell her off. The stone benches outside the kitchen door would usually be occupied by folk on their breaks, but today, only the wind stirred.

‘It feels strange,’ T’san said, dismounting to join her. He reached down and pulled up a chunk of grass, shaking his head. He tossed it away, then turned a full circle. ‘Hello!’ he called, his voice echoing around the deserted Weyr. There was no reply, of course.

Zalna began walking toward the dining hall. The door had been left closed, but it swung open easily. T’san followed as she made her way around the huge tables. Obviously they’d been left behind as they couldn’t easily be transported, but the boards that used to line the walls, chalked up with Wing notices, had gone. ‘I used to sit up there, next to T’ron and Mardra,’ she said, pointing at the top table.

T’san ran his finger along one of the table tops and held it up to show her a thin layer of pale dust. ‘Funny how dust accumulates so quickly.’

‘Fort’s always been dusty. You should have seen it at the height of summer. Every time a Wing took off, you were choked by the stuff.’ She carried on, peering through into the kitchen. It was the same story there. All that had been left were the solid fixtures, too bulky to be moved. Pots, bowls and cups were all gone. She remembered D’gar’s mother working at her usual table and how she loved to feed him and all his friends. After K’torl had died, Agarra had gone out of her way to make the little cakes Zalna liked, to try and get her interested in food again.

Suddenly, she shivered. It wasn’t cold, just… wrong.

‘A Weyr should never be this quiet,’ T’san said, summing it up.

They left the dining hall. Zalna shut the door behind her. It seemed respectful, somehow. On the landing ground, Gemalth and Huylonth had settled on their haunches, resting.

‘I’ll show you around. This was my weyr, over here.’ It hadn’t been hers for almost five Turns, of course. After she’d transferred, Margatta had lived there. She climbed the steps. The curtain separating the dragon’s couch from the living quarters had been taken. Inside, all that remained were a few solid pieces of furniture, in the ornate, old fashioned style she associated with Fort. The ceiling was higher than in her weyr at Benden, she realised and even without glows, it seemed brighter due to the pale colour of the rock walls.

‘Nice stuff,’ T’san commented. ‘Better quality than at Benden. I wonder if we could move it?’

‘I suppose so, with a few strong men and a couple of dragons to lift it.’ She’d taken her favourite wall hangings to Benden, although she remembered Margatta had replaced them with her own. She assumed that wherever Margatta was now, they had gone with her. The pool at the back was still, with the ever present dust floating on its surface. Presumably the maintenance workers had shut down all of the systems before leaving. That must be why the weyr smelled a little stale; no air circulating any more.

T’san leaned into the service shaft. ‘Wish I had a weyr with one of these. And a pool, too.’

‘I thought Wingseconds got all that.’

He drew back, shaking his head. ‘No, Wingleaders only. A couple of the older Wingseconds have, as well, but only because there were empty weyrs so they could upgrade.’

‘You’ll be a Wingleader one day.’

‘I suppose so. Might take a while though, now we’ll have to wait for folk to retire. Let’s have a look at the rest of the place, shall we.’

It was almost as if he shared her own sense of unease, as if they might be caught, like children sneaking into a place they knew they shouldn’t be. In Mardra’s weyr, she felt it all the more. Not that Mardra had left much behind, either.

‘They wouldn’t have taken so much unless they knew they were going somewhere it would be needed,’ she said. ‘It would have been far easier to let the dragons fly unladen, don’t you think?’

‘Hmm,’ he agreed.

Everywhere was the same; emptied of anything that could be carried. The weyrling barracks was particularly poignant; row upon row of bed frames, all the mattresses gone.

‘Looks pretty much the same as the barracks at Benden.’ T’san pointed down the left hand row. ‘I had the third bed down. There were twenty-six in our clutch. Eighteen left, now.’

Zalna nodded. ‘We lost a pair in between training. Another two just after they joined a Wing. I don’t know how many died once I left, but I should think it’s about the same.’

They strolled down to the lake. T’san reached out for her hand and she let him take it. They sat on the flat rocks, next to the beach. The clear water lapped gently against the rounded stones, ruffled by a light breeze.

‘D’gar taught me to swim here,’ she said, reminded of that long ago summer’s day, when she’d still been new to the Weyr’s ways and embarrassed to take off her clothes.

‘D’gar? Was he a lover of yours?’

Zalna smiled. ‘No. He only had eyes for S’brin, his weyrmate. But he was a good friend, always.’

‘He was the one who got things improved for us at Telgar.’

‘Really?’ D’gar had never mentioned it in any of her visits.

‘Oh, yes. He had a knack for getting things done. Could never understand why he didn’t Impress a bronze.’

Zalna cast her mind back. ‘There weren’t any in Kadoth’s last clutch. Just two browns.’

‘That explains it, then.’

They subsided into a comfortable silence. Zalna watched as the wind sent little ripples across the lake. It felt unreal, sitting in the midst of a Weyr designed to house five hundred dragons, now deserted. All of a sudden, the full loss hit her. It was different than losing people in Fall; at least you knew what had happened to them. She had no idea whether her old friends were alive and thriving, or already dead, either because they hadn’t made it to the end of the journey or through what awaited them there. ‘What could have made them leave so suddenly?’ she asked T’san.

‘I’ve no idea. And why were we not included? Or told anything, for that matter?'

‘There must be good reason for both. One Weyr had to be left behind, just in case?’

‘One Weyr’s fine during an Interval, but what about when the next Pass starts?’

‘Every time I think about it, or someone asks me, it always brings more questions.’ Some of the frustration that had built up over the last month began to well up. She’d been suppressing her own feelings to stay strong and help others. ‘I feel so helpless. Useless.’ Tears began to fill her eyes; not just from grief, but also anger. Anger for those who had lost loved ones or relatives in a totally unexpected way. ‘It’s so… wrong.’ She wiped the tears away with her sleeve, but more followed.

‘It’s all right,’ T’san put an arm around her. ‘You’re allowed to cry, too. It’s got to be worse for you, coming from this place, than for those of us who’ve always lived at Benden.’

Zalna knew he was right. She’d been putting on a brave face for too long. T’san didn’t seem to mind as she let her emotions run free. He held her close for several minutes before she finally composed herself sufficiently to dry her eyes and blow her nose. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘I’ve made your shoulder damp.’

‘Don’t worry about it. You looked as if you needed that.’

Zalna nodded, dabbing at her nose again.

‘I’ve been trying to imagine what it would be like if this was Benden Weyr, abandoned and empty and I reckon I’d be doing the same under the circumstances.’

He is kind, came Gemalth’s comment. You like him.

Yes, I do. I really do. He was thoughtful. Not a trait she associated with many bronze riders. ‘Shall we eat out here?’ she suggested.

‘Why not. It’s warm enough.’

She smiled at that. ‘The Fort folk would have disagreed. They didn’t generally sit outside this early in the year.’ She called Gemalth, so that she could unfasten the food and water. Both dragons glided over, then settled on the beach. ‘Many a time I scrubbed and oiled her here, when we were weyrlings.’

She divided the food; sweet and savoury rolls together with some cheese and fruit. Simple, but tasty. They ate slowly. A few herd beasts grazed in the pens, even though the gates had clearly been left open to allow them to wander freely.

‘I don’t expect those will be here for much longer,’ T’san said, following her gaze. ‘As soon as folk realise the place is abandoned, they’ll steal everything they can.’

He was right. ‘I’m surprised they haven’t noticed already. Fort's the closest Weyr to a Hold.’

‘Once one finds out, it won’t take long before the story spreads. There may be some initial reluctance, but they’ll soon overcome their fears. Might even get some Holdless set up camp in the ground level weyrs.’

Somehow, the thought of that bothered Zalna more than anything she’d seen so far. ‘Maybe we should take what we can, before they do. I’ll suggest it to the Weyrleader, once we get back.’

‘Good idea,’ he agreed.

She finished eating, brushing the crumbs from her clothes. ‘We have the whole Weyr to ourselves,’ she said. ‘Weyrleader and Weyrwoman of Fort, for the afternoon, at least.’

He caught on to the joke. ‘I’d best summon the Wings for inspection, then.’

‘And I’ll go and shout at that lazy Headwoman. And, of course, be nasty to the poor junior and see if I can make her cry.’

T’san gave her a look. ‘Is that what happened to you?’

‘Mardra was nasty quite a lot but I never cried in front of her. Back in my weyr was another story.’

‘Poor you.’

‘I survived. And when I came to Benden, Morna was like a breath of fresh air. I learned more from her in a sevenday than in the whole time with Mardra.’

T’san made a mock bow. ‘Would the Weyrwoman care to examine any more of her domain?’

‘I fancy a look in a few more weyrs before we go. If you’re right and things will get stolen, we might as well see what’s been left.’

‘So, which one first?’

Zalna cast her mind back to all of the folk she’d known. J’rud had always kept a nice weyr. ‘Over on the eastern side, three levels up.’ She counted along the row. ‘That one. But it’s a green weyr, so there won’t be enough room for Gemalth.’

‘My dragon is at your disposal, then. Think a bronze might squeeze in?’

‘Just about.’

T’san climbed up and offered a hand. It was actually easier than getting on board Gemalth as Huylonth wasn’t quite as tall or broad, but she wasn’t going to say that. She settled herself behind T’san and held on tight as Huylonth launched himself. Riding someone else’s dragon always felt a little strange but it was nice to have an excuse to be so close to T’san.

‘Mind your head,’ he called as Huylonth landed on the ledge, having to duck his neck to get himself fully inside the weyr. She let T’san help her down and they went into the living quarters. Again, the curtain was missing. She imagined that would be the case in all of the formerly inhabited weyrs. Although made of heavy material, the curtains would fold up small and be easy to carry.

‘So, who lived here?’

‘J’rud and Zurinth. He was always quick with a joke. Do you know, I don’t think I ever saw J’rud miserable. People used to pay him to choose furnishings for their own weyrs. He had a good eye for colour and design.’

‘Sort of like U’bron?’

‘Similar, yes.’

There were no glow baskets, of course, but sufficient light came in from the opening for them to see that, once again, the weyr had been stripped of anything that was easily portable. Only a couch, an armchair and the bed remained. All of the colourful rugs, tapestries and pictures had gone. Oddly the hooks screwed into the walls were still there. It was almost as if he’d left them behind expecting to be able to re-hang everything in the same place when he returned.

‘Not much left,’ T’san commented. ‘His dragon must have been really weighed down.’

‘Zurinth was always good at carrying furniture.’ Once again she was struck that all of those who had left must have believed they’d end up somewhere where those possessions would be useful.

They didn’t stay long. Huylonth was hunched over on the ledge, clearly uncomfortable.

‘Could he take us two more along? It’s a double weyr, so not as tight.’

They climbed up and Zalna clung on again as Huylonth sidestepped off, dropping a dragons length before he could stretch his wings sufficiently to regain the height. It was much easier for him to land on the ledge where she remembered Zemianth and Herebeth often sitting, watching the world go by.

‘Whose was this?’

‘D’gar and S’brin’s weyr. They had some nice stuff.’

‘They probably took it all too.’

She led the way. ‘It was just D’gar, at the end. S’brin died.’ She had a surprise once she went into the living quarters. About the only thing D’gar had taken were his sleeping furs. He’d left all of the ornaments S’brin had collected, there were rugs strewn across the floor and the two tapestries she remembered still adorned the walls.

‘That’s odd,’ T’san said. ‘Why did he leave all this behind?’

‘Maybe he wanted to start afresh?’ She stood in front of the tapestry depicting Moreta’s ride. ‘I always liked this one.’

T’san stood beside her. ‘She looks a bit like you.’

‘Hmm.’ She’d never really noticed before, but it was true.

‘Perhaps D’gar had a thing for you, after all.’

‘Well, if he did, he never let on.’

‘It’s difficult, admiring someone from afar. Especially when you’re afraid they might reject you.’

’S’brin would have thrown me in the lake, weyrwoman or not…’ She stopped as T’san put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close for a kiss. She only resisted for a moment. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to walk in on them, here in an empty Weyr. T’san hadn’t kissed her since the night after the party. He’d hardly had the chance, what with everything that had been going on. Just as she had then, she let herself relax into it. It felt good. She’d not been kissed like this since K’torl died. All of her sexual experiences since then had been about physical need rather than emotional connection and most of them had been when Gemalth mated rather than through her own choice. Perhaps it was time to change that?

The bed, stripped of its furs, wasn’t the most comfortable, but somehow, it didn’t matter. It seemed strangely appropriate that the last time she’d really made love had been at Fort and now, being here with T’san re-kindled something in her heart she’d thought would never stir again.

Afterwards, they lay side by side. He stroked her face gently. ‘Was that all right?’

She smiled at his insecurity. ‘A lot better than just all right.’ She felt strangely peaceful and content. They stayed like that for a long time, kissing, touching and finding their way around each other’s bodies. They made love a second time and it was even better than the first.

Before leaving the weyr, she took down the tapestries and rolled them up. At least if she hung them in her own weyr, back at Benden, they would be appreciated, rather than staying here to be damaged or stolen.

You are happy, Gemalth stated, as they winged their way toward her. Huylonth’s rider makes you feel good. I like that.