"Scorch it," Red swore under his breath as he jammed his feet into his steel-capped work boots. He still didn't have the right-sounding name for the place.

Mairi hadn't been at all in favor of naming the place Keroon, or even Kerry, which he had thought she'd go for.

"Oh, it should be something of us, or ours," she'd said, her face screwed up as she tried to express what she mean.

"Hanrahan Hold?" he'd asked, almost facetiously.

"Good heavens, no. That smacks of lord of the manor." Then she'd given him one of her sly sideways grins. "Though you are, you know. Lord of all this…" She'd gestured broadly through the deep-set window of their upstairs bedroom.

The day they had moved their bed from his old office which immediately became his office again, to the three-room suite that had been carved out of the cliff face—that had been her day. He was not likely to forget the joy on her face as she had directed Brian and Simon just where her heirloom chest—once more glued together since its dismemberment for the Second Crossing—should be placd. When she'd seen it settled exactly where she wanted it, she'd given such a happy, contented sigh. Then she shooed everyone out so she could polish it to a soft gleam.

She was so long at that task that Maureen ended up feeding her baby brother.

"That's not like Ma," she told her father as she cuddled Ryan in the crook of her arm.

"It is today, Maureen," Red replied, swirling the last of the klah around in his cup before he drained it. "Settling that chest means this place is definitely your mother's home now."

"First thing Ma asked for when we landed here was glue to put the chest together," Brian told his much younger sister, and winked at his father.

"Apart from the stones we stand on, that's the oldest object in this Hold, " Red remarked in a sentimental tone. "Cherished for generations in your mother's family…"

"And doubtless for generations here," Brian added with an understanding grin. "So, when are we getting the front door installed, Dad?"

"The invitations have been accepted," his father said, "so let's get the hoists set up."

Now everything was ready—and at last the great door was to be hung! Red had new trousers hiding the work boots, and a fine new shirt over which Mairi insisted he wear one of the leather jerkuns that had been adopted as useful work apparel.

"At least until that thing is in place. We've ever so much spare hide," she'd said, "but no time to set up Maddie's big looms yet, so spare the cloth and wear the jerkin."

Today, too, Sean and Sorka, with their newest son would join the celebrations. A dragon or two might come in useful bringing in guests, though not in a million years would Red ask that a dragon be employed in any task but the one it had been bred to do. He knew how bitter Sean had been when all the dragons could do was carry things from one place to another. Of course, that was before they had learned to fly between and chew the firestone that made Thread-charring flame. Sean might be a tad arrogant over his present high position, but Red would not fault him. He and the other young dragonriders risked hideous death and many injuries to keep Thread from ravaging this one area of Pern that humans could survive in. And more power to the lad—no, the man that Sean had become—he was a true leader of his riders and a fine manager of the new species. The night that Alianne and Chereth had died had been the only time Sean had revealed any of the burden of responsibility he had undertaken. In one sense, Sean's emotion had been a sign of real maturity in Red's eyes: a man had the right to tears of grief, no blame attached. Red genuinely admired Sean for that. But then, he had always admired Sean, even when he'd been an unknown quantity as the wild and young proud possessor of two brown fire-lizards.

Tantalizing odors of the beef and sheep roasting over the glowing coals in the barbecue pits wafted across the rough road that led past the fields to the front of the Hold. Red could hear the fuss from the open kitchen doors and windows as Mairi, Maureen, and most of the fosterlings were pressed into service to prepare the feast for those who would gather here to set the door in the portal.

The mechanicals to perform that setting were already in place, awaiting the arrival of the guests; the hoist, securely supported, jutted from the window directly above, and the chains were already attached to the door to lift it out of the sled-wagon. The durasteel had been well rubbed with fine steel wool, removing the minor scrapes acquired during its first occupation. Red wondered briefly which shuttle it had been taken from. He hadn't asked Joel Lilienkamp, too relieved to get the door released to him to irritate the old man with a minor detail. He'd say it was from the Eusijan, the shuttle in which Sallah Telgar and Barr Hamil had piloted the Hanrahans down to the surface of their new home. Who could argue with him? The shuttles had all been the same in design.

Suddenly a bronze fire-lizard came streaking in through the opening, chittering wildly at him. Snapper appeared and the two conferred. The bronze then approached Red, who held out his arm for the creature to land. Snapper popped to his shoulder, overseeing any attentions from a stranger. Chittering again, the bronze held up one foot, and Red could see that a message capsule was tied to it.

He carefully untied it, thanking the fire-lizard.

Where the hell's this ford you told us to take? PB

Red laughed, sensing the frustration in the bold writing of the terse note. He poked his head out the window. "Someone saddle King for me. Paul can't find my ford."

By the time he got downstairs, King was saddled and waiting—along with ten other mounts and their riders.

"Should we bring a boat to make him feel at home?" Brian asked, grinning as he swayed easily with Cloudy's excited cavortings.

"No, let's just make tracks and get him here, or the day'll be done with no door in place," Red said, swinging up into his saddle.

"And no feast tonight either, if my front door's not in place, Peter Hanrahan," Mairi yelled from the kitchen door.

"Let's go then, lads, or we go hungry!" The moment Red eased the reins, King took off, and the others were showered by the pebbles the eager stallion kicked up behind him.

The ford was an hour's distance on a fast horse, four hours' travel by wagon or cart. As he rode, Red hoped that his guests' horses were still fresh enough to make the return journey at a decent speed. Maybe Paul had been practicing riding. Gorghe Logorides had bred a beast similar to a walking horse, but though the animals were easy to sit, they were plainsbred. Red's Paso Fino types would be more useful here in the hilly North.

They paused only once to give the horses a breather—and surprised the party on the other side of the ford by their sudden appearance.

"Ahoy, there, Admiral Benden, be ye bogged down by a mere river?" Red shouted through cupped hands. Beneath him, King blew vigorously through his nostrils, but he was in such good condition that he was only slightly sweaty from the run and his breath rate quickly returned to normal.

"Ahoy yourself," Paul bellowed back, getting to his feet. "How're we expected to get across that?" He pointed disgustedly at the swirling current of muddy water that separated them.

"I told you to look for the cairn and line up the poles," Red shouted back, pointing to the right and then indicating the plainly visible—to him—steel pole on his side of the bank. "Spare me from spacemen who need a bloody computer to navigate and a blinking beacon to guide them. Hi, there, Ju, Zi!" he added, noticing Paul's wife and the big dark man among the nine or ten others who now joined the admiral where he stood just short of swirling water.