She pushed the worry aside, releasing Jirana’s hand and straightening to her full height. Oh, it felt good to stand again!
“I suppose it’s too early to ride Tazith?” she asked wistfully. She had an entourage: Jirana, Mirressa, and Bekka had all insisted on being present as she showed off her recovery to the Weyrleader, Weyrlingmaster K’dan, and her own wingsecond, R’ney.
“Can you touch your toes?” Mirressa asked.
Xhinna shook her head.
“Well, then, I expect you know the answer.”
Xhinna frowned. She steadied herself and slowly leaned over, her hands palm out toward the ground. She got no farther than mid-thigh before the pain stopped her.
She straightened once more, fighting to keep the pain from showing on her face. It didn’t matter. Jirana moved behind her and, pulling her tunic from her trousers, inspected Xhinna’s scar.
“No bleeding,” she reported, lowering Xhinna’s tunic.
“Good,” Mirressa said.
“Well, I’d be surprised if there were. We took the stitches out a fortnight back, she should be all healed,” Bekka said. “But if she stretches too much, too fast, she might tear the scar.”
“So we take it slowly,” Jirana said in a voice that hid a warning.
“We take it slowly,” Xhinna agreed. She looked around. The Weyr was empty: The weyrlings had been carried to the beach for drill and a swim; the older dragons were out hunting or searching for suitable Hatching Grounds.
Given V’lex’s continued influence on T’rennor, Xhinna decided that she could use Kisorth’s imminent clutching as a reason to talk with the older green rider both about the depredations on their stock and her concenrn about finding a safe location for Kisorth to clutch. V’lex, when Xhinna inquired, seemed not the least concerned. The interview had been awkward and his attitude had been just short of insulting. Still, she was convinced that the green rider was in contact with J’keran.
Since they had last talked about the issue, the depredations had slackened to one herdbeast every two days and then, after a fortnight, they’d suddenly stopped altogether with one final, grisly assault on a herdbeast, its clawed remains scattered throughout the holding pen, rendering it unusable. R’ney had found a new location and, with Colfet and—surprisingly—Jepara, who had proved as fair a hand with an axe as with a bow, had put a new pen together in a day.
An itch twitched along Xhinna’s scar, recalling her from her reverie, reminding her not to overexert herself. She smiled at Mirressa. The green rider had matured so much since Impressing her Valcanth. She was still too eager to please, too meek for Xhinna’s tastes, but she was starting to develop an inner conviction, a strength that would grow all the stronger as her green grew to maturity. She might still say “yes” far more often than was good for her, but she’d at least started to say “no.”
Xhinna grimaced, then asked Mirressa, “How many?”
“How many times do you have to touch ground?” Mirressa asked, confused. “Just once.”
“It’s hardly ground,” Xhinna said, indicating the canvas-covered tops of the broom trees they stood on. “But I meant, how many times should I try this now?”
“Oh, you mean to stretch?” Xhinna nodded and Mirressa pursed her lips in a way that made the young green rider look cute enough to kiss. “Try three more times, and then you should give it a rest.”
“Three more times,” Xhinna repeated with a gleam in her eye. She bent down and found it no easier, but the stretching, while painful, felt good, right. Jirana wanted to check her scar once more, but Xhinna shooed her away testily. “Wait until I’m done!”
Twice more she bent over, slowly, straining the scar, feeling it give, and bending lower before the pain and the stretching forced her to stop.
“Okay, now I’m looking,” Jirana declared, sliding Xhinna’s tunic back up and, with a hiss, gesturing for Mirressa to look. Bekka took a quick glance, then gave Mirressa a challenging look, requiring opinion.
“No,” the green rider said, “that’s all right. It should be a little red.” The green rider’s fingers traced the scar lightly, pressing here and there in what was just barely more than a tickle. Xhinna, who was used to such inspections, managed not to twitch in reaction.
“And now, Wingleader, that you’ve completed your calisthenics and been vetted,” R’ney said drolly, “perhaps you’d care to engage in the management of your wing?”
Xhinna managed not to glower at him, conveying instead an authoritative nod in his direction.
“Very well,” R’ney continued, drawing a breath to begin. “Bekka reports”—he nodded in the direction of the healer—“that our stocks of bandages have been depleted.” He gave her a telling glance. “I have no idea why they’ve been used so profligately …”
Xhinna ignored the taunt and let his words roll over her, even as she smelled the fresh blossoms of the broom trees and the other scents of spring. There would be more showers soon, and then, as R’ney had excitedly declared, the mud would flow. The barren hill that lay beneath the burnt plateau was rainfall by rainfall creeping more into view and the appearance of bare rock could so excite only a smither—or those worried for the future of Pern.
The new pen was working well and there’d been no more Mrreow incursions, further convincing Xhinna that the prior assaults had been planned. She fumed at that, but revenge would have to wait.
“Are you listening?” R’ney asked softly. Xhinna shot him a glare and nodded. “Just checking,” he said, continuing. “Meeya has reported some luck in turning wherry feathers into pillows, but Colfet reports that we’re running low on canvas.”
“Any luck with the gold?” Xhinna asked.
R’ney and X’lerin exchanged looks. Ah! Xhinna thought, so that’s why they’re looking so complacent.
“Shouldn’t we get Javissa here with Aressil to talk about our trade options?” Xhinna asked, cocking her head at them inquiringly.
“Wouldn’t that be counting your eggs before they clutched?” R’ney asked.
“Not if I’m any judge of character,” Xhinna said, grinning as bronze and brown rider exchanged exasperated looks. “So, R’ney, how much did you find? And am I to gather that because Aressil isn’t here, she’s busy chortling over your new hoard?”
“She is, in fact, down at the flume now with Danirry, cataloging our findings,” R’ney admitted.
“How many grams?” Xhinna prompted, wanting to cut to the heart of the matter without any of the word dancing that the brown rider loved—and with which, apparently, he had also infected X’lerin.
“About two thousand,” R’ney said, smirking at Xhinna’s reaction.
“We thought you’d be pleased,” X’lerin said. Xhinna cut a look over to K’dan, but the harper shrugged and said, “I’ve been working with the weyrlings—this is as much news to me as it is to you.”
Xhinna was not entirely surprised at this admission, but it was a shock to realize that for all K’dan’s age and wisdom, it would not have occurred to him to keep a closer eye on R’ney and X’lerin in this matter, particularly when they started acting so smug. She would have. But then, she was naturally inquisitive and … she’d had months of practice. Before that, she’d had even more time with children, and as she was coming to realize more and more, children were great teachers of human nature.
“We’re going to need to worry about Candidates soon enough,” she said, musing aloud. “We could probably bring the gold with us for trade.”
“Gold for people?” R’ney asked dubiously.
“No, gold for trade,” Xhinna said. “Gold could help make life here easier, more enticing.” R’ney looked relieved.