You never asked, Canth replied. I like Brekke.
Youre impossible, Fnor said, exasperated, and looked, back in the direction Brekke had gone. Brekke? And he stared hard at Canth, somewhat disgusted by his obtuseness. Dragons as a rule did not name people. They tended to project a vision of the person referred to by pronoun, rarely by name. That Canth, who was of another Weyr, should speak of Brekke so familiarly was a double surprise. He must tell that to Flar.
I want to get wet. Canth sounded so wistful that Fnor laughed aloud.
You swim. Ill watch.
Gently Canth nudged Fnor on the good shoulder. You are nearly well. Good. Well soon be able to go back to the Weyr we belong to.
Dont tell me that you knew about the Thread pattern changing.
Of course, Canth replied.
Why, you, wher-faced, wherry-necked …
Sometimes a dragon knows whats best for his rider. You have to be well to fight Thread. I want to swim. And there was no arguing with Canth further, Fnor knew. Aware hed been manipulated, Fnor also had no redress with Canth so he put the matter aside. Once he was well, his arm completely healed, however …
Although they had to fly straight toward the beaches, an irritatingly lengthy process for someone used to instantaneous transport from one place to another, Fnor elected to go a good distance west, along the coastline, until he found a secluded cove with a deep bay, suitable to dragon bathing.
A high dune of sand, probably pushed up from winter storms, protected the beach from the south. Far, far away, purple on the horizon, he could just make out the headland that marked Southern Weyr.
Canth landed him somewhat above the high-water mark in the cove, on the clean fine sand, and then, taking a flying leap, dove into the brilliantly blue water. Fnor watched, amused, as Canth cavorted an unlikely fish erupting out of the sea, reversing himself just above the surface and then diving deeply. When the dragon considered himself sufficiently watered, he floundered out, flapping his wings mightily until the breeze brought the shower up the beach to Fnor who protested.
Canth then irrigated himself so thoroughly with sand that Fnor was half-minded to send him back to rinse, but Canth protested, the sand felt so good and warm against his hide. Fnor relented and, when the dragon had finally made his wallow, couched himself on a convenient curl of tail. The sun soon lulled them into drowsy inertia.
Fnor, Canths gentle summons penetrated the brown riders delicious somnolence, do not move.
That was sufficient to dispel drowsy complacence, yet the dragons tone was amused, not alarmed.
Open one eye carefully, Canth advised.
Resentful but obedient, Fnor opened one eye. It was all he could do to remain limp. Returning his gaze was a golden dragon, small enough to perch on his bare forearm. The tiny eyes, like winking green-fired jewels, regarded him with wary curiosity. Suddenly the miniature wings, no bigger than the span of Fnors fingers, unfurled into gilt transparencies, aglitter in the sunlight.
Dont go, Fnor said, instinctively using a mere mental whisper. Was he dreaming? He couldnt believe his eyes. The wings hesitated a beat. The tiny dragon tilted its head.
Dont go, little one, Canth added with equal delicacy. We are of the same blood.
The minute beast registered an incredulity and indecision which were transmitted to man and dragon. The wings remained up but the tautness which preceded flight relaxed. Curiosity replaced indecision. Incredulity grew stronger. The little dragon paced the length of Fnors arm to gaze steadfastly into his eyes until Fnor felt his eye muscles strain to keep from crossing.
Doubt and wonder reached Fnor, and then he understood the tiny ones problem.
Im not of your blood. The monster above us is, Fnor communicated softly. You are of his blood.
Again the tiny head cocked. The eyes glistened actively as they whirled with surprise and increased doubt.
To Canth, Fnor remarked that perspective was impossible for the little dragon, one hundredth his size.
Move back then, Canth suggested. Little sister, go with the man.
The little dragon flew up on blurringly active wings, hovering as Fnor slowly rose. He walked several lengths from Canths recumbent hulk, the little dragon following. When Fnor turned and slowly pointed back to the brown, the little beast circled, took one look and abruptly disappeared.