That was one hazard he hadn’t considered and he’d have to do something about it. “I flew up with more seed for your brother …”
She thanked him sweetly for taking so much trouble for such a small hold as theirs. Then she became shy. Jaxom rather liked drawing her out and sent her into another spin by insisting on helping with the withie gathering.
“This Lord Holder wants to know how to do everything he requires of his holders,” he said, to silence her protests.
Actually, he enjoyed himself. When they had amassed a huge bundle, he offered to fly it home on Ruth if she’d ride with him. Corana was honestly frightened but he assured her they’d only fly straight since she wasn’t dressed for cold between. Jaxom got in a couple of kisses before Ruth circled to land his passengers at the hold. He decided that one way or another, Corana would no longer be just an excuse.
When he had deposited her and the withies, he directed Ruth between to their mountain lake. Though he was in no mood for a cold bath, Jaxom knew they’d better scrub off the firestone stink before going back to Ruatha. It took time to sandscrub the smell from Ruth’s fair hide. Then Jaxom had to dry his impregnated shirt and pants, spreading them in full sun on the bushes. By that time the sun was well past zenith and he had spent far more time than dallying with Corana would cover. So he took a risk and returned to Ruatha between time to when the sun was still on the morning side of the sky. But one detail he forgot to take into his calculations nearly gave away their endeavor.
He was at dinner when his dragon let out a call for him, an urgent call. “Ruth!” he explained as he sprang from his chair at the table and raced across the Hall to the corridor to his quarters.
My stomach burns, Ruth began telling him in great distress.
“Shells, it’s the stones,” Jaxom replied as he ran down the deserted hallway. “Go outside, to the fire-heights. Where Wilth leaves his.”
Ruth wasn’t sure he could fly in his condition.
“Nonsense. You can always fly.” Ruth had to disgorge his second stomach outside the weyr. Lytol might just follow to see what ailed the beast for him to interrupt Jaxom at dinner.
I can’t move. I’m weighed down in the middle.
“You’re just going to regurgitate the firestone ash. Dragons don’t keep that in their stomachs: they can’t pass it. The stuff has got to come back up.”
I feel as if it will.
“Not in the weyr, Ruth. Please!”
Scarcely a second later, Ruth eyed him apologetically. In the middle of the weyr floor, a small pile of what looked like brownish gray wet sand exuded steam.
I feel much better now, Ruth said in a very small voice.
“Can you hear Lytol coming?” Jaxom asked Ruth, because his heart was pounding so from running that that was all he could hear. He dashed out the metal doors and into the kitchen yard to fetch a bucket and shovel. “If I can just get this outside before it smells up the place …” He worked as fast as he could and fortunately the mess just filled the one bucket. It wasn’t as if Ruth bad chewed enough firestone for a full four-hour Threadfall.
Jaxom pushed the bucket out and sprinkled sweet sand on the spot.
“No Lytol?” he asked, somewhat surprised.
No.
Jaxom exhaled heavily with relief, patted Ruth reassuringly. He wouldn’t forget to have Ruth regurgitate in a safe spot next time.
When he resumed his place at the table, Jaxom offered no explanation and none was asked-one more example of the new respect from his familiars.
The next night he and Ruth filched as much firestone as the dragon could carry from the most logical place-the firestone mines in Crom. Half a dozen firelizards appeared during their raid, and Ruth merely sent each one on its way as soon as it appeared.
“Don’t let them follow us.”
They were only being courteous. They like me.
“There’s such a thing as being too popular.”