As fast as they worked to secure the precious burden to Ruth for flight, they were not quite quick enough. The leading edge of Threadfall fell hissing to the sand around them as Jaxom got to Ruth’s neck and directed him upward. Ruth, giving a belch of flame, vaulted skyward, trying to sear a path far enough above the ground to go between.
A ribbon of fire sliced Jaxom’s cheek, his right shoulder through the wherhide tunic, his forearm, his thigh. He felt, rather than heard, Ruth’s bellow of pain, lost in the black of between.
Somehow Jaxom kept his mind on where and when they should be. They were finally in the Hatching Ground, Ramoth bellowing outside. Ruth could not quite suppress his cry as the hot sand rubbed the raw Threadscore on his hind foot. Jaxom bit his lips against his pain as he struggled with the rope. There was so little time and it seemed to take ages to release the sling. Ruth lowered the egg to the sand but it rolled down the slight incline from their shadowy corner of the Ground. They couldn’t wait. Ruth sprang up toward the high ceiling and went between.
Dragon would not now fight dragon!
It was no surprise to Jaxom that Ruth came out of between above the little mountain lake. In what relative when, Jaxom was too concerned for his dragon to care at that moment. Ruth was whimpering with the pain in his foot and leg; all he wanted was to cool that Threadfire. Jaxom leaped from his neck to the shallows and splashed water on the sweaty gray hide, cursing himself that the nearest numbweed was at Ruatha Hold. He was so clever, he was, that he never thought one of them might get hurt.
The cool lake water was taking the sting from the Threadscores but Jaxom worried now about the mud causing an infection. Surely he could have used something less dangerous for camouflage than river mud. He didn’t dare scour the wounds with sand: it would be too painful for Ruth and might just rub the cursed mud deeper into the wounds. For the first time in many days, Jaxom regretted the total absence of firelizards who could have helped him scrub his very dirty dragon. Once again he briefly wondered when, besides high noon of the day, they were.
It is the day after the evening we left, Ruth announced. I always know when I am, he added with justifiable pride in his ability. Along the left dorsal, a terrible itch. You’ve left some mud.
Jaxom could and did use sand on the rest of Ruth’s hide and managed to ignore the way it smarted in his own scores. He was dead weary and aching by the time Ruth allowed that he was clean enough for a last plunge in the deeper part of the lake.
The ripples lapping around his soaked ankles brought Jaxom’s memory back to that not so distant day of his rebellion.
“Well,” he said with a self-deprecatory chuckle, “among other things, we did get to fight Thread.” And what a dismal showing they’d made of it with proof patent on their hides.
We weren’t exactly giving our complete attention to Thread, Ruth reminded him with a note of reproach. I know how now. We’ll be much better at it next time. I’m faster than any of the big dragons. I can turn on my tail and go between in a single length from the ground.
Jaxom told Ruth fervently and gratefully that he was without doubt the best, fastest, cleverest beast in all Pern, North and South. Ruth’s eyes whirled greenly with pleasure and he paddled to the shore, wings extended to dry.
You are cold and hungry and sore. My leg hurts. Let’s go home.
Jaxom knew that was the wisest course; he had to get numbweed on Ruth’s leg and on his own injuries. But scores they were and undeniably caused by Thread. How in the name of the First Shell was he ever going to explain all of this to Lytol?
Why explain anything? Ruth asked logically. We only did what we had to do.