Pleased with this solution, though he hadnt a notion how to accomplish it, Fnor continued along the path to Wirenths sun-baked clearing.
He paused at the edge, affected by the sight of Brekke, totally involved with her queen. The girl stood at Wirenths head, her body gracefully inclined against the dragon, as she tenderly scratched the near eye ridge. Wirenth was somnolent, one lid turning back enough to prove she was aware of the attention, her wedge-shaped head resting on one foreleg, her hindquarters neatly tucked under and framed by her long, graceful tail. In the sun she gleamed with an orange-yellow of excellent health a color which would very shortly turn a deeper-burnished gold. All too shortly, Fnor realized, for Wirenth had lost every trace of the fatty softness of adolescence; her hide was sleek and smooth, not a blemish to suggest imperfect care. She was an extremely well-proportioned dragon; not one bit too leggy, short-tailed or wherry-necked. Despite her size, for she was easily the length of Prideth, she had a more lithesome appearance. She was one of the best bred from Ramoth and Mnementh.
Fnor frowned slightly at Brekke, subtly changed in her dragons presence. She seemed more feminine and desirable. Sensing him, Brekke turned, and the languid look of adoration for her queen made her radiant face almost embarrassing to Fnor.
He hastily cleared his throat. Shell rise soon, you realize, he said, more gruffly than he intended.
Yes, I think she will, my beauty. I wonder how that will affect him, Brekke asked, her expression altering. She stepped to one side and pointed to the tiny bronze tucked between Wirenths jaw and forearm.
Cant tell, can we? Fnor replied and, with another series of throat-clearings, covered his savagery at the thought of Brekke mating any of the bronze riders at Southern.
Youre not sickening with something, are you? she asked with concern and was abruptly transformed back into the Brekke he knew best.
No. Whos going to be the lucky rider? he heard himself asking. It was a civil enough question. He was, after all, Flars Wingsecond and had a right to be curious about such matters. You can ask for an open flight, you know, he added defensively.
She turned pale and leaned back against Wirenth. As if for comfort.
As if for comfort, Fnor repeated the observation to himself, and remembered, with no relief, the way Brekke had looked at Tbor the day before. It doesnt matter if the riders already attached, you know, not in a first mating. He blurted it out, then realized, like the greenest dolt that that was stupid. Brekked know exactly what Kylaras reaction would be if Tbors Orth flew Wirenth. Shed know she would have no peace at all. He groaned at his ineptitude.
Your arm is hurting? she asked, solicitous.
No. Not my arm, and he stepped forward, gripping her shoulder with his good hand. Look, itd be better if you called for an open flight. There are plenty of good bronzes. Nton of Benden Weyr, Bdor of Ista Weyr. Both are fine men with good beasts. Then you could leave Southern …
Brekkes eyes were closed and she seemed to go limp in his grasp.
No! No! The denial was so soft he barely heard it. I belong here. Not Benden.
Nton could transfer.
A shudder went through Brekkes body and her eyes flew open. She slipped away from his grip.
No, Nton shouldnt come to Southern, she said in a flat voice
Hes got no use for Kylara, you know, Fnor continued, determined to reassure her. She doesnt succeed with every man, you know. And youre a very sweet person, you know.
With a shift of mood as sudden as any of Lessas, Brekke smiled up at him.
Thats nice to know.
And somehow Fnor had to laugh with her, at his own blundering interference, at the notion of him, a brown rider giving advice to someone like Brekke, who had more sense in her smallest finger than he.
Well, he was going to get a message to Nton and Bdor anyhow. Ramoth would help him.
Have you named your lizard? he asked.