N'ton and Lioth appeared on the Star Stones, Lioth bugling for silence as the Weyrleader raised his arm. Fort's four queens flanked the big bronze, larger than he but, in Jaxom's eyes, only enhancing his magnificence with their brilliance. Dragons on all weyr ledges listened to Lioth's silent orders and then the wings formed. Jaxom needlessly tested the fighting straps that held him securely to his ridge seat on Ruth's neck.
We are to ride with the queens' wing, Ruth told his rider.
«All of the weyrlings?» Jaxom asked, since he'd heard nothing from K'nebel about a change of position.
No, just us. Ruth sounded pleased but Jaxom wasn't at all sure of the honor.
His hesitation was noticed by the weyrlingmaster, who gave him a curt signal to take his assigned position. So Jaxom directed Ruth upward to the Star Stones. As Ruth landed neatly on the left hand side of Selianth, the youngest Fort queen, Jaxom wondered if he looked as silly as he felt, dwarfed by the golden dragon.
Lioth bugled again and the Weyrleaders took off from the Star Stones, dropping far enough for wing room before rising on strongly beating wings to the sky. Ruth needed no room at all for takeoff and hovered briefly before taking his position beside Selianth. Prilla, her rider, waved an encouraging fist and then Ruth told Jaxom that Lioth was giving him the command to go between to meet Threadfall.
When they emerged above the barren hills of northern Ruatha, Jaxom found himself responding to an exhilaration he had never before experienced on Ruth. The wings of the fighting dragons spread above and all around his lower level position in the queens' wing. The sky appeared to be full of dragons, all facing east, the highest wing the first to contact the imminent Fall of Thread.
Jaxom snuffled back the mucus, irritated that his condition was dampening this personal triumph: Jaxom, Lord of Ruatha Hold, was actually going to fly his white dragon against Thread! Between his legs, he could feel Ruth's body rumbling with the stored gas and wondered if the feeling were in any way analogous to his own congested, heavy headed state.
In a burst of speed, the uppermost wing moved forward and Jaxom had no further time for speculation as he, too, glimpsed the filming of the clear sky, that graying that heralded the advent of Thread.
Selianth wants me to stay above her at all times so her flamethrower won't singe me, Ruth said, his mental tone muffled as he retained fire breath. He altered his position and now all the wings began to move.
The gray film visibly turned into the silver rain of Thread. Gouts of flame blossomed in the sky as the forward dragons seared their ancient mindless enemy into charred dust. Jaxom's excitement was tempered by the endless drills he had performed with the weyrlings, and by the cold logic of caution. He and Ruth would not return Threadscored today!
The queens' wing nosed slightly earthward, to fly under the first wave of dragons, set to destroy whatever shred might have eluded the first flames. They flew through patches of fine dust, the residue of crisped Thread. Wheeling sharply, the queens' wing tamed back and now Jaxom did spy a silver strand. Urging an all too willing Ruth upward, Jaxom heard his white dragon warn others off as the novice team encountered and demolished Thread in proper style.
Proudly, Jaxom wondered if anyone else noted the economy of Ruth's deadly flame: just enough, no more than was necessary. He stroked his friend's neck and felt Ruth's delight in the praise. Then they were told off on another tangent as the queens' wing headed for a heavier concentration of Thread, eluding an easterly flying wing.
From that moment onward, throughout the Fall, Jaxom had no time for further thought. He became aware of the rhythm to the queens' wing pattern. Margatta on her golden Luduth seemed to have an uncanny instinct for those heavier patches that could escape even the closest flying wing. Each time the queens would be under the silver rain, destroying it. It became apparent to Jaxom that his position in the queens' wing was neither sinecure nor protective. The golden dragons could cover more territory in the air, but they were not as maneuverable. Ruth was. Ever maintaining his upper position, the little white dragon could flit from one side of the queens' V formation to the other, assisting wherever he was needed.
Abruptly, the Thread stopped falling. The upper reaches of the sky were clear of the graying mist. The highest wing began to circle down leisurely, to begin the final phase of the defense, the low level sweep which assisted ground crews in locating any trace of viable Thread.
The exhilaration of combat drained from Jaxom and his physical discomfort began to manifest itself. His head felt twice its proper size, his eyes were unaccountably filled with grit and ached hotly. His chest felt tighter, his throat raw. The illness had a good hold on him now. He'd been a fool to fight Thread. To compound his miseries, he didn't even have any sense of personal achievement after four hours of bloody hard work. He was thoroughly depressed. He earnestly wished that he and Ruth could retire now but he had made such an issue of flying with the fighting wings that he must complete the exercise. Dutifully he continued on above the queens.
The big queen says we must go, Ruth said suddenly, before the ground crews see us.
Jaxom glanced down at Margatta and saw her signal of dismissal. He could not suppress the sense of injury that gesture gave him. He hadn't expected a round of cheers but he did think that he and Ruth had acquitted themselves well enough to rate some indication of approval. Had they done something wrong? He could not think with his head hot and aching. But he obeyed, directing Ruth to change flight to the Hold when he saw Selianth rise toward him. Prilla gave her right fist the pumping motion that signaled well done and thanks.
Her recognition reduced his grievance.
We fought well and no Thread passed us, Ruth said in a hopeful tone. I was quite comfortable sustaining my flame.
«You were marvelous, Ruth. You were such a clever dodger, we didn't have to go between once.» Jaxom slapped with affectionate force the flight extended neck. «Do you have more gas to exhale?»
He felt Ruth cough and just the merest trickle flicked beyond his head.
No more flame but I shall be very glad to be rid of the fire ash. This is the most firestone I have ever chewed!
Ruth sounded so proud of himself that despite his general discomfort, Jaxom laughed, his own spirits buoyed up by Ruth's ingenuous satisfaction.
It was also obscurely comforting to find the Hold occupied by a few drudges only. The other Thread fighters were hours away from the rewards he could now enjoy. While Ruth drank long and deep at the courtyard well, Jaxom asked a drudge to bring him any warm food available and a mug of wine.
As Jaxom entered his own quarters to change out of his stinking fighting gear, he passed his worktable and, seeing the cove sketch, remembered his promise of the previous evening. He thought longingly of the hot sun in that cove. It'd bake the cold out of his bones and dry the wetness in his head and chest.
I would like to swim in the water, Ruth said.
«You're not too tired, are you?»
I am tired but I would like to swim in the cove and then lie in the sand. It would be good for you, too.
«It'd suit me down to the shell,» Jaxom said as he stripped off the fighting clothes. He was pulling on fresh riding furs when the drudge, tapping nervously on the half open door, arrived with the food.
Jaxom gestured toward the worktable and then asked the man to take the discarded clothing to be cleaned and well aired. He was sipping the hot wine, blowing out against the sting of it in his mouth, when he realized that it would be hours before Lytol returned to the Hold and so he couldn't inform his guardian of his intention. But he needn't wait. He could be there and back before Lytol had returned to the Hold. Then he groaned. The cove was halfway on the other side of the world, and the sun which he had wanted to bake the illness out of his body would be well down now on the cove's horizon.
It will remain warm enough long enough, Ruth said. I really want to go there.
«We'll go, we'll go!» Jaxom gulped down the last of the hot wine, and reached for the toasted bread and cheese. He didn't feel hungry. In fact the smell of the food made his stomach queasy. He rolled up one of his sleeping furs, to keep the sand off his skin, slung the small pack over his shoulder and started out of his quarters. He'd leave word with the drudge. No, that wasn't sufficient. Jaxom whirled back to his table, the pack banging against his ribs. He wrote a quick note to Lytol and left it propped up between mug and plate where it was clearly visible.
When are we going? Ruth asked, plaintive now with his impatience to be clean and to wallow in the warm sands.
«I'm coming. I'm coming!» Jaxom detoured through the kitchens, scooping up some meatrolls and cheese. He might be hungry later.
The head cook was basting a roast and the smell of it, too, made him feel nauseated.
«Batunon, I've left a message for Lord Lytol in my room. But, if you see him first, tell him I've gone to the cove to wash Ruth.»
«Thread is gone from the sky?» Batunon asked, ladle poised above the roast.
«Gone to dust, all of it. I'm away to wash the stink from both our hides.»
The yellow tinge in Ruth's whirling eyes was reproachful but Jaxom paid that no heed as he scrambled to the dragon's neck, loosely fastening the fighting straps which would need to be soaked and sunned as well. They were airborne in such haste that Jaxom was glad he had the straps about him. Ruth achieved only the barest minimum of wing room before he transferred them between.
CHAPTER XIII
A Cove in the Southern Continent, 15.7.7 15.8.7
JAXOM ROUSED, felt something wet slip down from his forehead across his nose. He irritably brushed it aside.
You are feeling better? Ruth's voice held a volume of wistful hope that astonished his rider.
«Feel better?» Not quite awake, Jaxom attempted to lift himself up on one elbow but he couldn't move his head, which seemed to be wedged.
Brekke says to lie still.
«Lie still, Jaxom,» Brekke ordered. He felt her hand on his chest preventing his movement.
He could hear water dripping somewhere nearby. Then another wet cloth, this one cool and aromatic with scent, was placed on his forehead. He could feel two large blocks, padded because they lay along his cheeks to his shoulder, on either side of his head, presumably to keep him from moving his head from side to side. He wondered what was wrong. Why was Brekke there?
You've been very sick, Ruth said, anxiety coloring his tone. I was very worried. I called Brekke. She is a healer. She heard me. I couldn't leave you. She came with F'nor on Canth. Then F'nor went for the other one.
«Have I been sick a long time?» Jaxom was dismayed to think he'd needed two nurses. He hoped that the «other one» wasn't Deelan.
«Several days,» Brekke replied, but Ruth seemed to think a longer period of time. «You'll be all right now. The fever's finally broken.»
«Lytol knows where I am?» Jaxom opened his eyes then, found them covered by the compress and reached to pull it away. But spots danced in front of his eyes, even shielded by the fabric of the compress, and he groaned and closed his lids.
«I told you to lie still. And don't open your eyes or try to remove the bandage,» Brekke said, giving his hand a little slap. «Of course Lytol knows. F'nor took word to him immediately. I sent word when your fever had broken. Menolly's has too.»
«Menolly? How could she catch my cold? She was with Sebell.»
Someone else was in the room because Brekke couldn't speak and laugh at the same time. She began quietly explaining that he hadn't had a cold. He'd had an illness known as fire head to Southerners; its initial symptoms were similar to those of a cold.
«But I'm going to be all right, aren't I?»
«Are your eyes bothering you?»
«I don't really want to open them again.»
«Spots? As if you were staring at the sun?»
«That's it.»
Brekke patted his arm. «That's normal, isn't it, Sharra? How long do they generally last?»
«As long as the headache. So keep your eyes covered, Jaxom.» Sharra spoke slowly, almost slurring her words but her low voice had a rich lilt that made him wonder if she looked as good as her voice sounded. He doubted it. No one could. «Don't you dare look about. You've still got that headache, haven't you? Well, keep your eyes closed. We've got the place as dark as we can but you could do permanent damage to your eyes if you're not careful right now.»
Jaxom felt Brekke adjust the compress. «Menolly got sick, too?»
«Yes, but Master Oldive sent word that she's responding to the medicine very well.» Brekke hesitated. «Of course, she hadn't flown Thread or gone between, which aggravated the illness for you.»
Jaxom groaned. «I've gone between with a cold before and got no worse for it.»
«With a cold, yes, not with fire head,» Sharra said. «Here, Brekke. This is ready for him now.»
He felt a reed placed at his lips. Brekke told him to suck through it as he should not lift his head to drink.
«What is this?» he mumbled around the straw.
«Fruit juice,» Sharra said so promptly that Jaxom sipped warily. «Just fruit juice, Jaxom. You need liquid in your body right now. The fever dried you out.»
The juice was cool in his mouth and so mild in taste that he couldn't figure out from which fruit it came. But it was just what he wanted, not tart enough to irritate moisture starved tissues in his mouth and throat, and not sweet enough to be nauseating to his empty stomach. He finished it and asked for more, but Brekke told him he'd had enough. He should try to sleep now.
«Ruth? Are you all right?»
Now that you are yourself again, I will eat. I will not go far. I don't need to.
«Ruth?» Alarmed by the thought that his dragon had neglected himself, Jaxom injudiciously tried to raise his head. The pain was incredible.
«Ruth is perfectly all right, Jaxom,» Brekke said in a stern voice. Her hands had already pushed his shoulders flat to the bed. «Ruth's been covered with fire lizards, and he's been bathed regularly morning and evening. He's never been more than two lengths from you. I've reassured him on every concern.» Jaxom groaned, having completely forgotten that Brekke could speak to any dragon. «F'nor and Canth have hunted for him because he wouldn't leave you so he's by no means the skin and bones you are. He'll hunt now, none the worse for the waiting. You go to sleep.»
He had no option and suspected as he drifted away from consciousness that there had been something besides fruit in that drink.
When he woke, feeling rested and restless, he remembered not to move his head. He began to cast back through distorted memories of being hot and cold. He distinctly remembered reaching the cove, staggering into the shade, collapsing at the base of a redfruit tree, struggling to reach the cluster of fruit, longing for the liquid to cool his parched mouth and throat. That must have been when Ruth realized he was ill.
Jaxom could vaguely recall fevered glimpses of Brekke and F'nor, could remember pleading with them to bring Ruth to him. He supposed they had erected some kind of temporary hold for shelter. Sharra had said something to that effect. He extended his left arm slowly, moved it up and down, without contacting more than the frame of the bed. He extended his right arm.
«Jaxom?» He heard Sharra's soft voice. «And Ruth too fast asleep himself to warn me. Are you thirsty?» She didn't sound contrite that she'd been asleep. She made a small sound of dismay as she touched the now dry compress. «Don't open your eyes.»
She removed the bandage and he heard her dipping it in liquid, wringing it out and then he shivered at its touch on his skin. He reached up, holding the bandage against his forehead, lightly at first and then with more confident pressure.
«Hey, it doesn't hurt «
«Ssssh. Brekke's asleep and she wakes so easily.» Sharra's voice had been muted; now her fingers closed his lips.
«Why can't I move my head from side to side?» Jaxom tried not to sound as startled as he felt.
Sharra's low laugh reassured him. «We've got two blocks wedging your head so you can't move. Remember?» She guided his hands to them, then moved the restraints aside. «Turn your head, just a little now, from side to side. If your skin is no longer sensitive, you may be over the worst of the fire head.»
Gingerly he rotated his head, left and then right. He made a bolder motion. «It doesn't hurt. It actually doesn't hurt.»
«Oh, no, you don't.» Sharra grabbed his wrist as he reached for the compress. «I've a night light on. Wait till I shield it. The less light, the better.»
He heard her fumbling with a glow basket shield. «All right now?»
«I'm only permitting you to try,» she stressed the last word as she covered his hand on the bandage with hers, «because it's a moonless hour of night and you couldn't do any harm. If you see even the tiniest patch of glare, cover your eyes instantly.»
«It's that dangerous?»
«It can be.»
Slowly she peeled the bandage back.
«I don't see anything!»
«Any glare or spots?»
«No? Nothing. Oh!» Something had been obscuring his vision for now he could see dim outlines.
«I had my hand in front of your nose, just in case,» she said.
He could make out the dark blur of her body beside him. She must be on her knees. Slowly his sight improved as he blinked sandy incrustations from his lashes.
«My eyes are full of sand.»
«Just a moment.» Suddenly water was dribbled carefully into his eyes. He blinked furiously, complained loudly. «I told you to hush, you'll wake Brekke. She's worn out. Now, does that clear the sand?»
«Yes, it's much better. I didn't mean to be so much trouble.»
«Oh? I thought you'd planned all this on purpose.»
Jaxom caught one of her hands and brought it to his lips, holding it as fast as his weakened condition permitted because she gasped at the kiss and withdrew her hand.
«Thanks!»
«I'm putting your bandage back on,» she said, the reproach in her voice unmistakable.
Jaxom chuckled, pleased to have disconcerted her. His only regret was the lack of light. He could see that she was slender. Her voice, despite her firmness, sounded young. Would her face be lovely enough to match that voice?
«Please drink all this juice,» she said, and he felt the straw against his lips. «Another good sleep now and you're over the worst of it.»
«You're a healer?» Jaxom was dismayed. Her voice had sounded so young. He'd assumed she was a fosterling of Brekke's.
«Certainly. You don't think they'd entrust the life of the Lord of Ruatha Hold to an apprentice? I've had a lot of experience getting people through fire head.»
The familiar floating sensation induced by fellis juice flooded him and he couldn't have answered her no matter how urgently he wanted to.
To his disappointment, when he awoke the next day, Brekke answered his call. It didn't seem courteous to inquire where Sharra was. Nor could he ask Ruth since Brekke could hear the exchange. But Sharra had evidently told Brekke of his middle of the night awakening because her voice sounded lighter, almost gay as she greeted him. To celebrate his recovery, she permitted him a cup of weak klah and a bowl of moistened sweetbread.
Warning him to keep his eyes closed, she changed the bandage but the replacement was not as dense and when he opened his eyes, cautiously, he could distinguish light and dark areas about him.
Midday he was allowed to sit up and eat the light meal Brekke provided, but even that slight activity exhausted him. Nonetheless he complained petulantly to Brekke when she offered him more juice to drink.
«Fellis laced? Am I expected to sleep my life away?»
«Oh, you'll be making up for this lost time, I assure you,» she replied, a cryptic remark that puzzled him as he drifted off to sleep again.
The next day he chafed further at the restrictions imposed on him. He chafed but, when Sharra and Brekke assisted him to the bench so they could exchange rushbags on the bed, he was so weak after sitting up a few minutes that he was very grateful to be down again. He was all the more surprised then, that evening, to hear N'ton's voice in the other room.
«You look a lot better, Jaxom,» N'ton said, walking quietly up to the bed. «Lytol will be immensely relieved. But if you ever,» N'ton's harsh voice reflected his anxieties, «attempt to fight Thread again when you're ill, I'll I'll I'll throw you to Lessa's mercies.»
«I didn't think I'd more than a stuffed head, N'ton,» Jaxom replied, nervously poking at grassy bumps in his bedbag. «And it was my first Fall on Ruth»
«I know, I know,» N'ton said, his tone considerably less reproving. «You couldn't have known you were coming down with fire head. You owe your life to Ruth, you know. F'nor says Ruth has more sense than most people. Half the dragons on Pern wouldn't have known what to do with their rider delirious; they would have been totally confused by the confusion in their riders' minds. No, you and Ruth are in very good odor at Benden. Very good! You just concentrate on getting your strength back. And when you're feeling stronger, D'ram said he'd be glad to bear you company and show you some of the interesting things he found while he was here.»
«He didn't mind me and Ruth following him?»
«No.» N'ton was genuinely surprised at Jaxom's question. «No, lad, I think he was surprised that he'd been missed and gratified that he's still needed as a dragonrider.»
«N'ton!» Brekke's call was firm.
«I was told I couldn't stay long.» Jaxom could hear N'ton's feet scraping on the ground as he rose. «I'll come again, I promise.» Jaxom could hear Tris complaining and he visualized the little fire lizard clutching N'ton's shoulder for balance.
«How's Menolly? Is she recovering? Tell Lytol that I'm very sorry to cause him worry!»
«He knows that, Jaxom. And Menolly's much better. I've seen her, too. She had a lighter touch of fire head than you did. Sebell recognized the symptoms almost immediately and called in Oldive. Don't be in a rush to get up, though.»
As glad as he'd been for N'ton's visit, Jaxom was relieved that it had been short. He felt limp and his head began to ache.
«Brekke?» Could he be having a relapse?
«She's with N'ton, Jaxom.»
«Sharra! My head is aching.» He couldn't help the waver in his voice.
Her cool hand touched his cheek. «No fever, Jaxom. You tire quickly, that's all. Sleep now.»
The reasonable words, spoken in her gentle rich voice lulled him and, though he wanted to remain awake, his eyes closed. Her fingers massaged his forehead, descended to his neck, gently smoothing the tension, all the while her voice encouraged him to rest, to sleep. And he did.
The cool, moist sea breeze roused him at dawn, and he fumbled irritably to cover his exposed legs and back for he'd been sleeping on his stomach, tangled in the light blanket. Having rearranged himself with some difficulty, he couldn't drop back to sleep again though he had closed his eyes, expecting to do so. He opened them again, fretfully gazing beyond the raised curtains of the shelter. He exclaimed in surprise, tensing, just then aware that his eyes were no longer bandaged and his vision was unimpaired.
«Jaxom?»
Twisting around, he saw Sharra's tall figure swing from the hammock, noticed the length of dark hair streaming about her shoulders, obscuring her face.
«Sharra!»
«Your eyes, Jaxom?» she asked in a hushed worried tone and walked swiftly to his bed.
«My eyes are just fine, Sharra,» he replied, catching her hand in his, keeping her where he could see her face clearly in the dim light. «Oh, no, you don't,» he said with a low laugh as she tried to break his hold. «I've been waiting to see what you looked like.»
With his free hand, he pushed aside the hair that covered her face.
«And?» She drawled the word in proud defiance, unconsciously straightening her shoulders and tossing her hair back.
Sharra was not pretty. He'd expected that. Her features were too irregular, in particular her nose was too long for her face, and though her chin well shaped it was a shade too firm for beauty. But her mouth had a lovely double curve, the left side twitching as she contained the humor which her deep set eyes echoed. She arched her left eyebrow slowly, amused by his scrutiny. «And?» she repeated.
«I know you may not agree but I think you're beautiful!» He resisted her second attempt to free her hand and rise. «You must be aware that you have a beautiful speaking voice.»
«I have tried to cultivate that,» she said.
«You've succeeded.» He exerted pressure on her hand, pulling her still closer. It was immensely important to him to determine her age.
She laughed softly, wriggling her fingers in his tight grasp. «Let me go now, Jaxom, be a good boy!»
«I am not good and I am not a boy.» He had spoken with a low intensity which drove the good natured amusement from her expression. She returned his gaze steadily and then gave him a small smile.
«No, you're neither good nor a boy. You've been a very sick man and it's my job,» she stressed the word just slightly as he let her withdraw her hand from his, «to make you well again.»
«The sooner, the better.» Jaxom lay back, smiling up at her. She'd be nearly his height when he stood, he thought. That they would be able to look eye to eye appealed to him.
She gave him one long, slightly puzzled look and then, with a cryptic shrug, turned away from him, gathering her hair and twining it neatly about her head as she left the room.
Although neither of them mentioned that dawn confidence, afterward Jaxom found it easier to accept the restraints of his convalescence in good grace. He ate what he was given without complaint, took the medicines, and obeyed instructions to rest.
One worry fretted him until he finally blurted it out to Brekke.
«When I was fevered, Brekke, did I I mean»
Brekke smiled and patted his hand reassuringly. «We never pay any attention to such ramblings. Generally, they're so incoherent they make no sense whatever.»
Some note in her voice bothered him, though. «so incoherent, they make no sense?» He had babbled his head off, then. Not that he minded about Brekke if he had said something about that dratted queen egg. But if Sharra had heard? She was from the Southern Hold. Would she be as quick to discount his ramblings about that double blasted shard shelled egg? He couldn't relax. What wretched luck to fall ill when you had a secret that must be kept! He worried over that until he fell asleep, and picked right up on the same train of thought the next morning, though he forced himself to be cheerful as he listened to Ruth bathing with the fire lizards.
He comes, Ruth said suddenly, sounding startled. And D'ram brings him.
«D'ram brings whom?» Jaxom asked.
«Sharra,» Brekke called from the other room, «our guests have arrived. Would you escort them from the beach?» She came quickly into Jaxom's room, smoothing the light blanket and peering intently at his face. «Is your face clean? How are your hands?» «Who's coming that has you in a flurry? Ruth?» He's pleased to see me, too. Ruth's sound of surprise was colored with delight.
Jaxom was forewarned by that remark, but he could only stare, stunned, as Lytol came striding into the room. His face was tense and pale under the flying helmet, and he hadn't bothered to unfasten his jacket on the walk up from the beach, so perspiration beads formed on his forehead and upper Up. He stood in the doorway, just looking at his ward.
Abruptly, he turned toward the outside wall, harshly clearing his throat, stripping off helmet and gloves, unbelting his jacket, grunting in surprise when Brekke appeared at his elbow to relieve him of the gear. As she passed Jaxom's bed on her way out of the room, she gave him such an intense look that he couldn't fathom what she was trying to convey.
She says that he is crying, Ruth told him. And that you are not to be surprised or embarrass him. Ruth paused. She is also thinking that Lytol is healed, too? Lytol hasn't been ill.
Jaxom didn't have time to sort out that oblique reference because his guardian had already recovered his composure and turned.
«Hot here after Ruatha,» Jaxom said, struggling to break the silence.
«You want a bit of sun, boy,» Lytol said at the same moment.
«I'm not allowed out of bed, yet.»
«The mountain is just as you sketched it.»
They spoke again simultaneously, answering each other's comments.
It was too much for Jaxom, who burst out laughing, waving Lytol to sit beside him on the bed. Still laughing, Jaxom grabbed Lytol's forearm, holding it firmly, trying in that grasp to apologize for all the concern he'd caused. Abruptly he was engulfed in Lytol's rough embrace, his back soundly thumped when the man released him. Tears sprang to Jaxom's eyes, too, at the unexpected demonstration. Lytol had always been scrupulous in caring for his ward but the older Jaxom had grown, the more he had wondered if Lytol really liked him at all.