Yes, Lytol admitted heavily because he never lied to the boy. They can die and better so if the embryo is misformed .
Jaxom looked at his body quickly although he knew perfectly well he was as he should be; in fact, more developed than some of the other Hold boys.
Ive seen eggs that never hatched. Who needs to live crippled?
Well, that eggs alive, Jaxom said. Look at it rocking right now
Youre right. Its moving. But it isnt cracking, Felessan said.
Then why is everyone leaving? Jaxom demanded suddenly, jumping to his feet. For there was no one anywhere near the wobbling small egg.
The Ground was busy with riders urging their beasts down to help the weyrlings, or to escort guests of the Weyr back to their Holds. Most of the bronzes, of course, had gone with the new queen. Vast as the Hatching Ground was, its volume shrank with so many huge beasts around. Yet not even the disappointed candidates spared any interest for that one small remaining egg.
Theres Flar. He ought to be told, Lytol. Please!
He knows, Lytol said, for Flar had beckoned several of the brown riders to him and they were looking toward the little egg.
Go, Lytol. Make them help it!
Small eggs can occur in any queens laying life, Lytol said This is not my concern. Nor yours.
He turned and began to make his way toward the steps, plainly certain that the boys would follow.
But theyre not doing anything, Jaxom muttered, rebelliously,
Felessan gave him a helpless shrug. Cmon. Well be eating soon at this rate. And theres all kinds of special things tonight. He trotted after Lytol.
Jaxom looked back at the egg, now wildly rocking. It just isnt fair! They dont care what happens to you. They care about that Brekke, but not you. Come on, egg. Crack your shell! Show em. One good crack and Ill bet theyll do something!
Jaxom had edged along the tier until he was just over the little egg. It was rocking in time with his urgings now, but there was no one within a dragonlength. There was something frenzied about the way it rocked, too, that made Jaxom think the dragonet was desperate for help.
Without thinking, Jaxom swung over the wall and let himself drop to the sands. He could now see the minute striations on the shell, he could hear the frantic tapping within, observe the fissures spreading. As he touched the shell, it seemed like rock to him, it was so hard. No longer leathery as it had been the day of their escapade.
No one elsell help you. I will! he cried and kicked the shell.
A crack appeared. Two more stout blows and the crack widened. A piteous cry inside was followed by the bright tip of the dragonets nose, which battered at the tough shell.
You want to get born. Just like me. All you need is a little help, same as me, Jaxom was crying, pounding at the crack with his fists. Thick pieces fell off, far heavier than the discarded shells of the other hatchlings.
Jaxom, what are you doing? someone yelled at him but it was too late.
The thick inner membrane was visible now and this was what had been impeding the dragonets emergence. Jaxom ripped the slippery stuff open with his belt knife and, from the sac, fell a tiny white body, not much larger than Jaxoms torso. Instinctively Jaxom reached out, helping the back-stranded creature to its feet.
Before Flar or anyone could intervene, the white dragon had raised adoring eyes to the Lord of Ruatha Hold and Impression had been made.
Completely oblivious to the dilemma he had just originated, the incredulous Jaxom turned to the stunned observers.
He says his name is Ruth!