The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [47]
“Either eat less so you’ll sleep less or stop outgrowing your hide overnight.”
She chanted dutifully as she rubbed in the oil, “The dragonet must be oiled daily as the rapid growth in early development can overstretch fragile skin tissues, rendering them tender and sensitive.”
They itch, Ramoth corrected petulantly, squirming.
“Hush. I’m only repeating what I was taught.”
Ramoth issued a dragon-sized snort that blew Lessa’s robe tightly around her legs.
“Hush. Daily bathing is compulsory, and thorough oiling must accompany these ablutions. Patchy skin becomes imperfect hide in the adult dragon. Imperfect hide results in skin ruptures that may prove fatal to a flying beast.”
Don’t stop rubbing, Ramoth entreated.
“Flying beast indeed!”
Ramoth informed Lessa she was so hungry. Couldn’t she bathe and oil later?
“The moment that cavern you call a belly is full, you’re so sleepy you can barely crawl. You’ve gotten too big to be carried.”
Ramoth’s tart rejoinder was interrupted by a low chuckle. Lessa whirled, hastily controlling the annoyance she felt at seeing F’lar lounging indolently against the archway to the ledge-corridor.
He had obviously been flying a patrol, for he still wore the heavy wher-hide gear. The stiff tunic clung to the flat chest, outlined the long, muscular legs. His bony but handsome face was still reddened by the ultra-cold of between. His curiously amber eyes glinted with amusement and, Lessa added, conceit.
“She grows sleek,” he commented, approaching Ramoth’s couch with a courteous bow to the young queen.
Lessa heard Mnementh give a greeting to Ramoth from his perch on the ledge.
Ramoth rolled her eyes coquettishly at the wing-leader. His smile of almost possessive pride in her doubled Lessa’s irritation.
“The escort arrives in good time to bid the queen good day.”
“Good day, Ramoth,” F’lar said obediently. He straightened, slapping his heavy gloves against his thigh.
“We interrupted your patrol pattern?” asked Lessa, sweetly apologetic.
“No matter. A routine flight,” F’lar replied, undaunted. He sauntered to one side of Lessa for an unimpeded view of the queen. “She’s bigger than most of the browns. There have been high seas and flooding at Telgar. And the tidal swamps at Igen are dragon-deep.” His grin flashed as if this minor disaster pleased him.
As F’lar said nothing without purpose, Lessa filed that statement away for future reference. However irritating F’lar might be, she preferred his company to that of the other bronze riders.
Ramoth interrupted Lessa’s reflections with a tart reminder: If she had to bathe before eating, could they get on with it before she expired from hunger?
Lessa heard Mnementh’s amused rumble without the cavern.
“Mnementh says we’d better humor her,” F’lar remarked indulgently.
Lessa suppressed the desire to retort that she could perfectly well hear what Mnementh said. One day it was going to be most salutary to witness F’lar’s stunned reaction to the knowledge that she could hear and speak to every dragon in the Weyr.
“I neglect her shockingly,” Lessa said, as if contritely.
She saw F’lar about to answer her. He paused, his amber eyes narrowing briefly. Smiling affably, he gestured for her to lead the way.
An inner perversity prompted Lessa to bait F’lar whenever possible. One day she would pierce that pose and flay him to the quick. It would take doing. He was sharp-witted.
The three joined Mnementh on the ledge. He hovered protectingly over Ramoth as she glided awkwardly down to the far end of the long oval Weyr Bowl. Mist, rising from the warmed water of the small lake, parted in the sweep of Ramoth’s ungainly wings. Her growth had been so rapid that she had had no time to coordinate muscle and bulk. As F’lar set Lessa on Mnementh’s neck for the short drop, she looked anxiously after the gawky, blundering queen.
Queens don’t fly because they can’t, Lessa told herself with bitter candor, contrasting Ramoth’s grotesque descent with Mnementh’s effortless drift.
“Mnementh says to assure you she’ll be more