“Surely after twenty Turns as partners”
“Are you already accustomed to being Lord of Ruatha Hold?”
“Not yet. I’ve only been” Alessan broke off, his eyes on her face, noting her fond smile. “Even after twenty Turns?”
“Ah, look. The flag for the next race!” She diverted his attention. One could never explain the bond to someone who wasn’t a dragonrider. Impression was a private miracle, a very private miracle.
CHAPTER II
Ruatha Hold, Present Pass, 3.10.43
THE SECOND RACE was over a greater length, the winning poles having been moved down the field and farther apart to accommodate the larger number of middle-distance runners.
“Have you an entry in this race, too?” she asked Alessan as the runners charged away from the start.
“No. I got either spindly sprinters or massive carters from my crosses. But one of my holders has a strong contestantblue with red hatching are the colors. Not that you can distinguish them.”
The field had already begun to stretch out when suddenly an ani-mal in the middle of the pack fell, tripping two others. Moreta could never watch a bad tangle without apprehension. She was holding her breath as she silently urged each animal to its feet. Two rose, one groggily shaking its head, the second running on down the field, riderless. The third made no effort to rise.
Moreta picked up her skirts and began to run toward the fallen runner.
“It shouldn’t’ve fallen.” Orlithi
“Close-packed field. Tripped.” Alessan kept pace with her, caught UP in her concern.
“Not that close, and it wasn’t a trip fall.” She saved her breath for
24 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
running even when she had seen that the two riders were examining the fallen beast and that handlers were running up from the starting line. Orlith, what’s wrong? Why doesn’t it get up?
As she got closer, Moreta could see the sprawled beast’s sides heaving. Its nose touched the ground yet it made no effort to rise. That was unusual enough. Runners preferred to stand.
Did it break a leg, Orlith?
“It can’t get its breath,” one rider was saying to the other. “It’s got a bloody nose.”
“Probably ruptured a vein falling. Just get it to its feet. Here, I’ll help.” The second rider begun to tug at the bridle.
Orlith, wake up! I need you.
“It should’ve got to its feet. Lord Alessan! Lady Moreta!” The first rider turned anxiously to them, and Moreta recognized the man as Helly, a capable herdsman and racer.
It cannot breathe, Orlith responded sleepily. She sounded a bit grumpy at being roused. Its lungs are full of liquid.
Moreta knelt at the animal’s head, noticing the distressed flare of the nostrils, the bloody discharge. She felt for the pulse in its throat, weak and far too erratic for an animal that had only run a few dragon-lengths before falling.
Around her men were shouting that the runner should be assisted to its feet. Several positioned themselves to heave. Moreta waved them off imperiously.
“It can’t breathe. No air is getting into its lungs.”
“Cut into its windpipe. Who’s got a sharp blade?”
“It’s too late,” Moreta said as she peeled back the upper lip, exposing the whitened gums.
The onlookers knew, as she did, that the animal was dying. From the finishing line the sound of cheering drifted back to those circling the taller. It gave one final sigh, almost apologetic, and the head rolled to the side.
“Ain’t seen nothing like this before,” the second rider said. “And I been riding since I could tighten a girth.”
“You were riding it, Helly?” Alessan asked.
“Yes, doing a favor for Vander. His jock was sick. I’ve never rid-den it before. Seemed quiet.” Helly stopped, considered. “Too quiet, now I think about it. Rode in the first race, and this one was all ready
Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern 25
for me … Broke well at the start as if it wanted to work!” Helly’s tone was a mixture of despair, anger, and surprise.
“Could’ve been the heart,” one of the onlookers suggested in a tone of broad experience. “That takes ‘em sudden. No way of telling. Runner in good spirit one moment, dead the next. Takes people that way, too.”