Rocky and Diver were reassured by tidbits of meat, but Beauty refused to unwrap her tail from Menolly’s neck. She chattered angrily at T’gellan when he half-carried Menolly to Monarth, waiting patiently just outside the kitchen cavern.

T’gellan threw Menolly up the dragon’s shoulder. She hauled herself up to his neck ridges by the fighting straps, giving her feet one or two painful knocks.

T’gellan started to settle himself in front of Menolly, but Beauty came alive, hissing menacingly and lashing out at the dragonrider with one foreleg, talons unsheathed.

“She’s never been so bad mannered,” Menolly said apologetically.

“Monarth, will you speak to her?”, asked T’gellan good-naturedly. The next instant, Beauty stopped mid-hiss, chirped experimentally, her eyes whirling less frantically, and her tail relaxed from its choke hold on Menolly’s throat.

“That’s a sight better. She does have a baleful stare!”

“Oh dear!”

“I’m teasing you, Menolly. Now, look, I shall have Monarth tell your fair of fire lizards exactly what we’re going to do so they don’t go mad when we take off.”

“Oh, would you?”

“I would, and I…”T’gellan paused, “I have. We’re away!”

This time Menolly could enjoy the sensations of flying. She couldn’t imagine why Petiron had found the experience so horrible. She didn’t even fear the lack of all sensation as they went between. She did feel the bitter, bitter cold in the soles of her half-healed feet, but the pain lasted such a fleeting second. Abruptly, they were low over the Dragon Stones, coming in from the sea. The sheer thrill of the flight took Menolly’s breath away.

“There is a chance that the first queen might lay another clutch in that cave,” T’gellan said over his shoulder. “But it should be cleared of your things.”

So they landed on the beach with Monarth peering rather disapprovingly at the little cove while the water lapped gently on his feet.

Her group arrived, carolling in wild delight at corning home. A single firelizard appeared above and to one side of them.

“Look, T’gellan, that’s the old queen!”

But she’d gone when T’gellan looked up.

“I’m sort of sorry she saw us here. I was hoping…Where was the clutch when you rescued it?”

“We’re standing on the place.” Monarth moved to one side. “Does he hear what I’m telling you?” Menolly whispered anxiously in T’gellan’s ear.

“Yes, so be careful how you speak of him. He’s very sensitive.”

“I haven’t said anything, have I, that would hurt his feelings?”

“Menolly!” T’gellan looked back at her, grinning, “I was teasing you.”

“Oh!”

“Hmmm. Yes. Well, so you managed to climb that cliff face?”

“It wasn’t so hard. If you’ll look, you’ll see there’re plenty of hand and foot holds, even before I made a regular path.”

“A regular path? Hmmm. Yes. Monarth, can you get us a bit closer, please?”

Monarth obligingly angled against the cliff face and raised himself to his haunches; Menolly was amazed to see that they could step off his shoulders right into the cave.

Her nine came arrowing into the opening, trumpeting and squealing, their bugles abruptly amplified by the vaulting height of the inner cavern. Just as she and T’gellan reached it, the light was suddenly blocked. Turning, she saw Monarth’s head in the opening, his great eyes whirling idly.

“Monarth, get your great, bloody, big head out of the light, will you?”asked T’gellan. Monarth blinked, gave a little wistful rumble, but removed his great head.

“Why didn’t anyone find you on Search, young lady?” T’gellan asked, and she saw that he’d been watching her intently.

“No one’s ever been Searched at Half-Circle Sea Hold.”

“That shouldn’t surprise me. Now, where did the old queen have her clutch?”

“Right where you’re standing.”

T’gellan jumped sideways, giving her a second admonitory look, which she couldn’t interpret. He knelt, running his fingers through the sand, making pleased noises in his throat.

“You tossed out the old shells?”

“Yes. Was that wrong?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Would she come back here again?”

“She might. If the cove waters remain high the next time she mates. D’you happen to remember when you saw her mating flight?”

“Yes, I do. Because we had Threadfall just after. The one when the leading edge hit the marshes halfway to Nerat.”

“Good girl!” T’gellan tipped his head back, pressing his lips together, and Menolly thought he was doing some rapid mental calculations. Alemi had a similar habit when he was charting a course. “Yes. And when did these hatch?”

“I lost track of my sevendays, but they hatched five Falls ago.”

“That’s great. She may mate before high summer, if fire lizards follow the same sort of cycle the dragons do during a Pass.” He glanced around him at the bits and pieces with which she had made the cave livable. “D’you want any of these things?”

“Not many,” Menolly said and dove for her sleeping rug. Her pipes were still there, so he hadn’t seen them in his first visit to the cave. She bundled the rug round the pipes again. “My oil…” she said, grabbing up the pot. “I’ll need that.”

“Not really,” said T’gellan with a grin, “but bring it along. Manora’s always interested in such things.”

She took her dried herbs, too, and made a neat package, which she could tie on her back. Ruthlessly then she began to chuck her homemade crockery out of the cave entrance.

“Oh!” Aghast, she rushed to the mouth, looking about for Monarth.

“You missed him! He’s got more sense than to stay around when there’s a cleaning.” With that T’gellan launched her boiling pot into the air.

“That’s everything, I think,” she said.

“Let’s go!”

At the entrance, Menolly turned for one last look at the cave and smiled to herself. She'd never thought to leave it, certainly not to step to the shoulders of a dragon. But then, she'd never thought she'd live in a cave like this at all, much less ride a dragon. Nothing now marked that anyone had ever sheltered in this cave. Even the dry sand was falling back into the depressions their feet had made. T'gellan held out his hand to help her to Monarth's back, and then they were away to find the fire lizard's clutch.

Menolly and Tgellan brought the thirty-one eggs of the clutch safely to Benden Weyr without so much as cracking a shell in the double, furred sack that had been provided for the journey between. Their return caused a flurry of excitement, the weyrfolk crowding around to examine the eggs. Duly informed, Lessa arrived, imperiously ordering a basket of warm sand from the Hatching Ground; directing it to be placed by the small sauce hearth and scrupulously turned at intervals to distribute the heat evenly. She judged that the eggs were a good sevenday from hatching hardness.

“As well,” she said in her dry fashion. “One hatching at a time is enough. Better still, we can present the worthies with their eggs at the Impression.” She seemed inordinately pleased with that solution and smiled on Menolly. “Manora says that your feet aren’t healed yet, so you’re in charge of the clutch. And, Felena, get this child out of those ridiculous boots and into some decent clothes. Surely we have something in stores that’ll make her look less disreputable.”

Lessa departed, leaving Menolly the object of intense scrutiny. Felena, a tall, willowy woman with very beautiful, curved black eyebrows and green eyes, gave her a long appraisal, sent one helper off for clothing from a special press, another to get the tanner to take Menolly’s measure for footwear, a child for her shears because Menolly’s hair must be trimmed. Who had hacked it off? They must have used a knife. And such pretty hair, too. Was Menolly hungry? T’gellan had snatched her out of the cavern without a nay—yea or maybe. Bring that chair here and push that small table over! Don’t stand there gawking, get the girl something to eat.