Anne McCaffrey - Dragonsong

“I’m Manora,” the woman said as she returned with a bowl of steaming stew and a mug. “You realize that you’re at Benden Weyr? Good. You may stay here, you know, as long as you wish.”

“I can?” A relief as intense as the pain in her feet flooded Menolly.

“Yes, you can,” and the firmness of that reply made that right inalienable.

“Menolly is my name…” She hesitated because Manora was nodding. “How did you know?”

Manora motioned for her to continue eating. “I’ve seen you at Half-Circle, you know, and the Harper asked the wingleader to keep search for you…after you disappeared. We won’t discuss that now, Menolly, but I do assure you that you can stay at Benden.”

“Please don’t tell them…”

“As you wish. Finish your stew and take all the drink. You must sleep to heal.”

She left as noiselessly as she’d come, but Menolly was reassured. Manora was headwoman at Benden Weyr, and what she said was so.

The stew was delicious, thick with meat chunks and satisfying with herb flavors. She’d almost finished it when she heard a faint rustle and Beauty returned, piteously broadcasting hunger. With a sigh, Menolly pushed the bowl under the little queen’s nose. Beauty licked it dry, then hummed softly and rubbed her face against Menolly’s cheek.

“Where are the others?”Menolly asked, worriedly.

The little queen gave another hum and began to curl herself up in a ball by Menolly’s shoulder. She wouldn’t have been so relaxed if the others were in trouble, Menolly thought, as she sipped the fellis juice.

“Beauty,” Menolly whispered, nudging the queen, “if anyone comes, you go. You mustn’t be seen here. Do you understand?”

The queen rustled her wings irritably.

“Beauty, you mustn’t be seen.” Menolly spoke as sternly as she could, and the queen opened one eye, which whirled slowly. “Oh dear, won’t you understand?” The queen gave a soft reassuring croon and then closed both lids.

The fellis juice was already melting Menolly’s limbs into weightlessness. The dreadful throb of her feet eased. As her eyes relentlessly closed, Menolly had one last thought: how had Beauty known where she was?

When Menolly woke, it was to hear faint sounds of children laughing, an infectious laughter that made her grin and wonder what caused such happiness. Beauty was gone but the space where she’d lain by Menolly’s head was warm to the touch. The curtain across the cubicle parted and a figure was silhouetted against the light beyond.

“What’s the matter with you all of a sudden, Reppa?” the girl said softly to someone Menolly couldn’t see. “Oh, all right. I’m well rid of you for now.” She turned and saw Menolly looking at her. “How do you feel today?” As she adjusted the glow for full light, Menolly saw a girl about her own age, dark hair tied primly back from a face that was sad, tired and oddly mature. Then she smiled, and the impression of maturity dissolved. “Did you really run across Nerat?”

“I really didn’t, although my feet feel as if they had!”

“Imagine it! And you holdbred and out during a Fall!” There was a grudging respect in her voice.

“I was running for shelter,” Menolly felt obliged to say.

“Speaking of running, Manora couldn’t come to see you herself right now so you’re in my charge. She’s told me exactly what to do,” and the girl grimaced with such feeling that Menolly had a swift vision of Manora delivering her precise and careful instructions, “and I’ve had a lot of experience…” An expression of pain and anxiety crossed her face.

“Are you Manora’s fosterling?” asked Menolly politely.

The expression deepened for a moment, and then the girl erased all expression from her face, drawing her shoulders up with pride. “No, I’m Brekke’s. My name is Mirrim. I used to be in the Southern Weyr.”

She made the statement as if that should make all plain to Menolly. “You mean, in the Southern Continent?”

“Yes,” and Mirrim sounded irritated.

“I didn’t know anyone lived there.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Menolly remembered some snippet of information overheard in conversations between Petiron and her father.

“Where have you been all your life?” demanded Mirrim, exasperated.

“In Half-Circle Sea Hold,” Menolly replied meekly because she didn’t wish to offend the girl.

Mirrim stared at her.

“Haven’t you ever heard of it?” It was Menolly’s turn to be condescending. “We have the biggest dock cavern on Pern.” Mirrim caught her eye, and then both girls began to laugh, the moment in which their friendship began.

“Look, let me help you to the necessary, you must be bursting…” and Mirrim briskly threw back the sleeping fur. “You just lean on me.”

Menolly had to because her feet were incredibly sore, even with Mirrim supporting most of her weight. Fortunately the necessary was no more than a few steps beyond the sleeping cubicle. By the time Menolly crawled back into her bed, she was shaking all over.

“Stay on your stomach, Menolly; it’ll be easier to change your bandages,” Mirrim said. “I haven’t had to do many feet, it’s true; but if you don’t have to see what’s going on, that makes it easier. Everyone at Southern said my hands are gentle, and I’ll drown your feet in numbweed. Or would you want some more fellis juice? Manora said you could.”

Menolly shook her head.

“Brekke…” and here Mirrim’s voice faltered briefly, “Brekke taught me how to change sticky bandages because I…Oh, dearie me, your feet look just like raw meat. Ooops, that’s not the right thing to say, but they do. They will be all right, Manora said,” and there was such confidence in that statement that Menolly pre ferred to believe it, too. “Now Threadscore…that’s nasty. You’ve just lost all the skin on your feet, that’s all, but I expect you feel that’s quite enough. Sorry. Caught you there. Anyway, you’ll not wen have scars once the new skin grows, and it’s really amazing how quickly skin does grow. Or so I’ve observed. Now Threadscore, that’s nasty for healing. Never quite fades. Lucky for you T’gran’s Branth spotted you running. Dragons are very longsighted, you know. There, now, this should help…”

Menolly gasped involuntarily as Mirrim slathered cool numbweed on her right foot. She’d been biting her lips against the pain while Mirrim, with very gentle hands indeed, had removed the blood-caked bandages but the relief from pain was almost a shock. If she’d only lost the skin from her feet, why did they hurt so much more than her hand had?

“Now, we’ve only the left foot to go. The numbweed does help, doesn’t it? Did you ever have to boil it?” Mirrim asked with a groan and, as usual, didn’t wait for an answer. “For three days I just grit my teeth and close my nose and firmly remind myself that it would be so much worse if we didn’t have numbweed. I suppose that’s the bad with the good Manora’s always saying we have to have. But you’ll be relieved to know that there’s no sign of infection…”

“Infection?” Menolly jerked herself up on her elbows, craning her head about.

“Will you keep still?” Mirrim glared so authoritatively that Menolly forced herself to relax. All she could see of her feet were salvesmeared heels. “And you’re very, very lucky there isn’t any infection. After all, you’d been running shoeless over sand, dirt and goodness knows what. It took us forever to wash the grit off.” Minim made a sympathetic sound. “Just as well we’d dosed you good.”

“You’re sure there’s no infection this time?”

“This time? You haven’t done this before, have you?” Mirrim’s voice was shocked.