The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [449]
“Mirrim!”
Jaxom heard the coldness in N’ton’s voice; it matched the sudden freezing in his own guts. Mirrim’s petulant comment resounded over and over in his ears.
“You know what I mean, N’ton . . .”
Just like Mirrim, Jaxom thought, not to heed the warning in N’ton’s voice.
“You ought to,” she went on with the impetus of grievance. “Wasn’t it you who told F’nor and Brekke that you doubted if Ruth would ever mate? Where are you going, N’ton? I thought you were going . . .”
“You don’t think, Mirrim!”
“What’s the matter, N’ton?” The sudden panic in her voice afforded Jaxom some consolation.
Don’t stop, Ruth said. The itch is still there.
“Jaxom?” N’ton’s call was not loud, meant to reassure, but the sound carried back.
“Jaxom?” Mirrim cried. “Oh, no!” Then Jaxom heard her running away, saw the glow basket jolting, heard her weeping. Just like the girl, speak first, think later and weep for days. She’d be repentant and hanging on about him, driving him between with her need to be forgiven her thoughtlessness.
“Jaxom!” N’ton was anxious.
“Yes, N’ton?” Jaxom dutifully continued to scratch Ruth’s backbone, wondering why Mirrim’s cruel remark did not rankle as it ought. Sexless runt! As he saw N’ton striding toward him, he was aware of a curious sense of relief, of relaxation deep inside him. The memory of those riders, waiting for the Fort green to mate, flashed through his mind. Yes, he’d been relieved then that Ruth had proved disinterested. He could somewhat regret that Ruth would be deprived of that experience; but he was relieved that he would never be called upon to endure it.
“You must have heard her.” There was a tinge of hope in N’ton’s voice that Jaxom hadn’t.
“I heard. Sound carries near water.”
“Blast the girl! Scorch the girl! We were going to explain . . . then you took the fire-head, and now this. The opportunity hasn’t presented itself . . .” N’ton’s explanations came out in a rush.
“I can live with it. Like Mirrim’s Path, there are other things we can do.”
N’ton’s groan came from his guts. “Jaxom!” His fingers closed tightly on Jaxom’s shoulder, trying in the contact to express his inarticulate regret.
“It’s not your fault, N’ton.”
“Does Ruth comprehend what was said?”
“Ruth comprehends that his back itches.” Even as Jaxom said it, he found it curious that Ruth was not the least bit upset.
There, you have the exact spot. Harder now.
Jaxom could feel the slightly flaky dryness in the otherwise loose and soft hide.
“I think I guessed, N’ton,” Jaxom went on, “that time at Fort Weyr, that something was wrong. I know K’nebel expected Ruth to rise for the green. I thought that Ruth, being born small, maybe would mature later than other dragons do.”
“He’s as mature as he’ll ever be, Jaxom!”
Jaxom was rather touched by the genuine regret in the bronze rider’s voice.
“So? He’s my dragon and I’m his rider. We are together!”
“He’s unique!” N’ton’s verdict was fervent, and he stroked Ruth’s hide with affectionate respect. “So, my young friend, are you!” He gripped Jaxom’s shoulder again, letting the gesture stand for words unsaid. Lioth crooned in the darkness beyond them and Ruth, turning his head toward the bronze dragon, made a courteous response.
Lioth is a fine fellow. His rider is a kind man. They are good friends!
“We are ever your friends,” N’ton said, giving Jaxom’s shoulder a final, almost painful squeeze. “I must get to Wansor. You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Go along, N’ton. I’ll just settle Ruth’s itch!”
The Fort Weyrleader hesitated one more moment before he pivoted and walked quickly toward his bronze.
“I think I’d better oil that patch, Ruth,” Jaxom said. “I’ve been neglecting you lately.”
Ruth’s head came around, his eyes gleamed more brilliantly blue in the darkness. You never neglect me.
“I have too, or you wouldn’t be patchy!”
There has been much for you to do!
“There’s a fresh pot of oil in the kitchen. Hold tight.” His eyes accustomed to the tropic darkness, Jaxom made his way to the Hold, found