A Gift of Dragons by Anne McCaffrey

Benden was so small in stature: a full head shorter than Aramina. But, once Aramina confronted Lessa, the vivid eyes and the forceful personality made her forget about such a trivial detail as height. Nor had Heth mentioned that F’lar and Lord Asgenar also waited.
    “My dear child, are you quite all right?” Lessa’s expression turned anxious as her hand hovered over the ugly bare patch on Aramina’s head.
    “I don’t know how that villian Thella eluded us,” said Asgenar, his teeth clenched with frustration. “We have captured the rest of her band. Fewer to trouble you, and us. I am most chagrined, Aramina, that despite our precautions you were put at risk.”
    “I’m fine, really, Lord Asgenar. Heth saved me. And Mother had the fellis and numbweed.”
    “We are extremely grateful to you,” Barla put in, “for those generous gifts.”
    “Generous!” Lessa made a scathing remark. “I would be a lot more generous, Lady Barla, if your stiff Ruathan pride would permit.”
    Nothing could have startled Barla more, but, though she permitted a slight smile to curve her lips, to Aramina she seemed to be more prideful than ever.
    “We Ruathans have reason to be proud, Lady Lessa.”
    “But not stupid in that pride, Lady Barla. Lytol tells me that Dowell’s hold is still vacant. Deserted, needing repairs, for no one under Fax’s holding prospered. Would you prefer to return there? Lord Asgenar”—Asgenar bowed at his name—“is also interested in anyone with wood mastery.”
    Barla looked from one to the other. “Ruatha is ours by right.”
    “So be it, Lady Barla,” Lessa said, and, from the way her mouth twitched, Aramina was certain that she applauded the answer.
    “However, Lord Asgenar, I am certain that my husband would be glad to build you a Gather wagon . . . to acquit our lodging here.”
    “Only if he also accepts the marks his Craft allots for the labor,” said Asgenar with a wide grin.
    “Of course, Aramina is for Benden Weyr,” Lessa went on, her eyes now fixed on Barla’s face.
    “But I want to go home, to Ruatha!” cried Aramina, clinging to her mother now; clinging, too, to the dream on which she had been nourished from childhood, the return to the place of her birth, where her family belonged.
    “A girl who hears dragons belongs to the Weyr,” said Barla, firmly taking Aramina’s hands and pressing them hard.
    “It’s not as if you can’t visit any time you want to,” Lessa said lightly. “I do. Though we of Ruatha serve our Weyrs whenever we are called to.”
    Please, ’Mina
. Heth’s tremulous whisper invaded her conflicting thoughts.
Please come to Benden with me and K’van. We’d love to have you
.
    You will be most welcome in Benden Weyr
, said the dark, black, rich voice of Mnementh.
    “There are eggs hardening on Benden Hatching Ground right now,” Lessa went on, her voice persuasive. “Benden needs a girl who can hear dragons.”
    “More than my family needs me?” asked Aramina perversely.
    “Far more, as you’ll discover,” said Lessa, holding her hand out to Aramina. “Coming?”
    “I don’t have a choice, do I?” But Aramina smiled.
    “Not when Lessa, and Benden’s dragons, have made up your mind for you,” said F’lar with a laugh.
    From the track, dragons bellowed an emphatic agreement.

T enna topped the rise and paused to catch her breath, leaning forward, hands on her knees to ease her back muscles. Then, as she had been taught, she walked along the top on what flat space there was, kicking out her legs and shaking the thigh muscles, breathing through her mouth until she stopped panting. Taking her water bottle from her belt, she allowed herself a swig, swishing it around in her mouth to moisturize the dry tissue. She spat out that mouthful and took another, letting this one slowly trickle down her throat. The night was cool enough to keep her from sweating too heavily. But she wouldn’t be standing around long enough to get a chill.
    It