“Well, that really is interesting.” Silvina regarded the two bronzes with thoughtful respect. “So they’ve a full set of wits…”

“They seem to,” T’gellan went on. “F’nor uses his little queen, Grall, to send messages to the other Dragon Weyrs. Of course,” and T’gellan chuckled disparagingly, “she doesn’t always return as promptly as she goes…Menolly’s trained hers better. You’ll see.” The dragonrider had been edging toward the door and now gave a huge yawn. “Sorry…”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” replied Silvina, “indulging my curiosity when you two are all but asleep. Get along with you now, T’gellan, and my thanks for your help with Menolly.”

“Good luck, now, Menolly. I know you’ll sleep well,” said T’gellan with a jaunty wink of farewell. He was out of the door, his boot heels clicking on the stone floor before she could thank him.

“Now, let’s just have a quick look at these feet you ran ragged…” Silvina gently tugged off Menolly’s slippers. “Hmmm. They’re all but healed, Manora’s clever with her nursing, but we’ll have Master Oldive look at you tomorrow. Now, what’s this?”

“My things, I don’t have much…”

“Here, you two watch that and keep out of mischief,” Silvina said, putting the bundle on the table between Rocky and Diver. “Now, slip off your skirt, Menolly, and settle down. A good long sleep, that’s what you need. Your eyes are burned holes in your head.”

“I’m all right, really.”

“To be sure you are, now you’re here. Living in a cave, did T’gellan say? With every harper on Pern looking for you in holds and crafthalls.” Silvina deftly tugged at skirt tapes. “Just like old Petiron to forget to mention you being a girl!”

“I don’t think he forgot,” Menolly said slowly, thinking of her father and mother and their opposition to her playing. “He told me girls can’t be harpers.”

Silvina gave her a long hard look. “Maybe under another Masterharper. Or in the old days, but surely old Petiron knew his own son well enough to—”

“Petiron was Master Robinton’s father?”

“Did he never tell you that?” Silvina paused as she was spreading the sleeping fur over Menolly. “The old stubborn fool! Determined not to advance himself because his son was elected Masterharper…and then picking a place halfway to nowhere…I beg your pardon, Menolly…”

“Half-Circle Sea Hold is halfway to nowhere.”

“Not if Petiron found you there,” said Silvina, recovering her brisk tone, “and sponsored you to this Craft. Now that’s enough talking,” she added, closing the glow basket. “I’ll leave the shutters open…but you sleep yourself out, you hear me?”

Menolly mumbled a reply, her eyelids closing despite her effort to remain politely awake while Silvina was in the room. She let out a soft sigh as the door banged softly shut. Beauty immediately curled up by Menolly’s ear, and the girl felt other small hard bodies making themselves comfortable against her. She composed herself for sleep, aware now of the dull throbbing of her feet and the aching of her banged toes.

She was warm, she was comfortable; she was so tired. The bag that enclosed the thick rushes was stout enough to keep stray edges from digging into her flesh, but she couldn’t sleep. She also couldn’t move because, while her mind turned over all the day’s incredible events, her body wasn’t hers to command but in some nether region of unresponsiveness.

She was conscious of the spicy odor of Beauty, of the dry sweet scent of the rushes, the earthy smell of wet fields borne in by the night wind, accented occasionally by the touch of acrid blackstone smoke. Spring was not advanced enough to dispense with evening fires.

Strange not to have the smell of sea in her nostrils, Menolly thought, for sea and fish odors had dominated all but the last sevenday of her fifteen Turns. How pleasant to realize that she had done with the sea, and fish, forever. She’d never have to gut another packtail in her life, or risk another infected cut. She couldn’t use her injured hand as much as she wanted to yet, but she would. Nothing was impossible, not if she could get to the Harper Hall in spite of all the odds against it. And she’d play gitar again and harp. Manora had assured her she’d use the fingers properly in time. And her feet were healing. It amused Menolly, now, to think that she’d had the temerity to try to outrun the leading edge of Threadfall. Running had done more than save her skin from Threadscoring: it had brought her to Benden Weyr, to the attention of the Masterharper of Pern and to the start of a completely new life.

And her dear old friend, Petiron, had been Master Robinton’s father? She’d known the old Harper had been a good musician, but it had never occurred to her before to wonder why he had been sent to Half-Circle Sea Hold where only she had profited from his ability as a teacher. If only her father, Yanus, had let her play gitar when the new Harper first arrived…but they’d been so afraid that she’d disgrace the Sea Hold. Well, she hadn’t, and she wouldn’t! One day her father, and yes, her mother, too, would realize that Menolly was no disgrace to the Hold of her birth.

Menolly drifted on thoughts of triumph until sound invaded her reflections. Male voices, laughing and rumbling in conversation, carried on the clear night air, The voices of harpers; tenor, bass and baritone, in amused, argumentative, cajoling tones, and one querulous, sort of quavery, older, whiny voice. She didn’t like that one.

Another, a velvet-soft, light baritone, rose above the cranky tenor, soothing. Then the Masterharper’s deeper baritone dominated and silenced the others. Though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, his voice lulled her to sleep.

Menolly roused briefly, reacting to an inner call that had nothing to do with the sun’s rising on this side of Pern. She saw dark night and stars through the window, felt the sleeping fire lizards tucked about her, and gratefully went back to sleep again. She was so tired.

Once the sun had cleared the roof of the outer side of the rectangle of buildings that comprised the main Harper Craft Hall, it shone directly at her windows, set in the eastern side of the Hall. Gradually the light penetrated the room, and the unusual combination of light and warmth on her face woke Menolly.

She lay, her body not yet responsive, wondering where she was. Remembering, she was uncertain what to do next. Had she missed some general waking call? No, Silvina had said that she was to sleep herself out. As she pushed back the sleeping furs, she heard the sound of voices chanting. The rhythm was familiar. She smiled, identifying one of the long Sagas. Apprentices were being taught the complicated timing by rote, just as she had taught the youngsters in Half-Circle Sea Hold when Petiron was sick, and later after he died. The similarity reassured her,

As she slid from the bed, she clenched her teeth in anticipation of touching the cool hard stones of the floor, but to her surprise, her feet only felt stiff, not painful, this morning. She glanced out the window at the sun. It was well into morning by the cast of shadow: she’d really slept. Then she laughed at herself, for, to be sure she had: she was halfway round Pern from Benden Weyr and Half-Circle Hold, and she had had at least six hours more rest than usual. Fortunately the fire lizards had been as tired as she or they’d have wakened her with their hunger.

She stretched and shook out her hair, then hobbled carefully to the jar and basin. After washing with soapsand, she dressed and brushed her hair, feeling able to face new experiences.