I appreciate your help, Brekke, Tbor said. I really do.
I wonder if other arrangements ought to be made, Fnor suggested tentatively.
What do you mean?
Oh-ho, thought Fnor, the mans touchy. For hundreds of Turns, Dragonriders managed to get well in their own Weyrs. Why should the Southern ones be burdened with wounded useless men, constantly dumped on them to recuperate?
Benden sends very few, Brekke said quietly.
I dont mean just Benden. Half the men here right now are from Fort Weyr. They could as well bask on the beaches of Southern Boll . . .
Trons no leaderTbor said in a disparaging tone.
So Mardra would like us to believe, Brekke interrupted with such uncharacteristic asperity that Tbor stared at her in surprise.
You dont miss much, do you, little lady? said Fnor with a whoop of laughter. Thats what Lessa said and I agree.
Brekke flushed.
What do you mean, Brekke? asked Tbor.
Just that five of the men most seriously wounded were flying in Mardras wing!
Her wing? Fnor glanced sharply at Tbor, wondering if this was news to him, too.
Hadnt you heard? Brekke asked, almost bitterly. Ever since Dnek was Threaded, shes been flying . . .
A queen eating firestone? Is that why Loranth hasnt risen to mate?
I didnt say Loranth ate firestone, Brekke contradicted. Mardras got some sense left. A sterile queens no better than a green. And Mardrad not be senior or Weyrwoman. No, she uses a fire thrower.
On an upper level? Fnor was stunned. And Tron had the nerve to prate how Fort Weyr kept tradition?
Thats why so many men are injured in her wing; the dragons fly close to protect their queen. A flame thrower throws down but not out, or wide enough to catch airborne Thread at the speed dragons fly.
That is without doubt . . . ouch! Fnor winced at the pain of an injudicious movement of his arm. Thats the most ridiculous thing Ive ever heard. Does Flar know?
Tbor shrugged. If he did, what could he do?
Brekke pushed Fnor back onto the stool to reset the bandage he had disarranged.
Whatll happen next? he demanded of no one.
You sound like an Oldtimer, Tbor remarked with a harsh laugh. Bemoaning the loss of order, the permissiveness ofof times which are so chaotic . . .
Change is not chaos.
Tbor laughed sourly. Depends on your point of view.
Whats your point of view, Tbor?
The Weyrleader regarded the brown rider so long and hard, his face settling into such bitter lines, that he appeared Turns older than he was.
I told you what happened at that farce of a Weyrleaders meeting the other night, with Tron insisting it was Terrys fault. Tbor jammed one fist into the palm of his other hand, his lips twitching with a bitter distaste at the memory.
The Weyr above all, even common sense. Stick to your own, the hindmost falls between. Well, Ill keep my own counsel. And Ill make my weyrfolk behave. All of them. Even Kylara if I have to . . .
Shells, whats Kylara up to now?
Tbor gave Fnor a thoughtful stare. Then, with a shrug he said, Kylara means to go to Telgar Hold four days hence. Southern Weyr hasnt been invited. I take no offense. Southern Weyr has no obligation to Telgar Hold and the wedding is Holder business. But she means to make trouble there, Im sure. I know the signs. Also shes been seeing the Lord Holder of Nabol.
Meron? Fnor was unimpressed with him as a source of trouble. Meron, Lord of Nabol, was outmaneuvered and completely discredited at that abortive battle at the Benden Weyr Pass, eight Turns ago. No Lord Holder would ally himself with Nabol again. Not even Lord Nessel of Crom who never was very bright. How he got confirmed as Lord of Crom by the Conclave, Ill never understand.
Its not Meron we have to guard against. Its Kylara. Anything she touches getsdistorted.
Fnor knew what Tbor meant. If she were going to, say, Lord Groghes Fort Hold, Id not be concerned. He thinks she should be strangled. But dont forget that shes full blood sister to Larad of Telgar Hold. Besides, Larad can manage her. And Lessa and Flar will be there. Shes not likely to tangle with Lessa. So what can she do? Change the pattern of Thread?
Fnor heard Brekkes sharp intake of breath, saw Tbors sudden twitch of surprise.
She didnt change Thread patterns. No one knows why that happened, Tbor said gloomily.
How what happened? Fnor stood, pushing aside Brekkes hands.
You heard that Thread is dropping out of pattern?
No, I didnt hear, and Fnor looked from Tbor to Brekke who managed to be very busy with her medicaments.
There wasnt anything you could do about it, Fnor, she said calmly, and as you were still feverish when the news came . . .
Tbor snorted, his eyes glittering as if he enjoyed Fnors discomposure. Not that Flars precious Thread patterns ever included us here in the Southern continent. Who cares what happens in this part of the world? With that, Tbor strode out of the Weyr. When Fnor would have followed, Brekke grabbed his arm.
No, Fnor, dont press him. Please?
He looked down at Brekkes worried face, saw the deep concern in her expressive eyes. Was that the way of it? Brekke fond of Tbor? A shame she had to waste affection on someone so totally committed to a clutching female like Kylara.
Now, be kind enough to give me the news about that change in Thread pattern. My arm was wounded, not my head.
Without acknowledging his rebuke, she told him what had occurred at Benden Weyr when Thread had fallen hours too soon over Lemos Holds wide forests. Fnor was disturbed to learn that Rmart of Telgar Weyr had been badly scored. He was not surprised that Tkul of High Reaches Weyr hadnt even bothered to inform his contemporaries of the unexpected falls over his weyrbound territories. But he had to agree that he would have worried had he known. He was worried now but it sounded as if Flar was coping with his usual ingenuity. At least the Oldtimers had been roused. Took Thread to do it.
I dont understand Tbors remark about our not caring what happens in this part of the world . . .
Brekke put her hand on his arm appealingly. Its not easy to live with Kylara, particularly when it amounts to exile.
Dont I just know it! Fnor had had his run-ins with Kylara when she was still at Benden Weyr and, like many other riders, had been relieved when shed been made Weyrwoman at Southern. The only problem with convalescing here in Southern, however, was her proximity. For Fnors peace, her interest in Meron of Nabol couldnt have been more fortunate.
You can see how much Tbor has made out of Southern Weyr in the Turns hes been Weyrleader here, Brekke went on.
Fnor nodded, honestly impressed. Did he ever complete the exploration of the southern continent? He couldnt recall any report on the matter coming in to Benden Weyr.
I dont think so. The deserts to the west are terrible. One or two riders got curious but the winds turned them back. And eastward, theres just ocean. It probably extends right around to the desert. This is the bottom of the earth, you know.
Fnor flexed his bandaged arm.
Now you listen to me, Wing-second Fnor of Benden, Brekke said sharply, interpreting that gesture accurately. Youre in no condition to go charging back to duty or to go exploring. You havent the stamina of a fledgling and you certainly cant go between. Intense cold is the worst thing for a half-healed wound. Why do you think you were flown here straight?
Why, Brekke, I didnt know you cared, Fnor said, rather pleased at her vehement reaction.
She gave him such a piercingly candid look that his smile faded. As if she regretted that all too intimate glance, she gave him a half-playful push toward the door.
Get out. Take your poor lonely dragon and lie on the beach in the sun. Rest. Cant you hear Canth calling you?
She slipped by him, out the door and was across the clearing before he realized that he hadnt heard Canth.
Brekke?
She turned, hesitantly, at the edge of the woods.
Can you hear other dragons?
Yes. She whirled and was gone.
Of all theFnor was astounded. Why didnt you tell me? he demanded of Canth as he strode into the sun-baked wallow behind the weyr and stood glaring at his brown dragon.
You never asked, Canth replied. I like Brekke.
Youre impossible, Fnor said, exasperated, and looked, back in the direction Brekke had gone. Brekke? And he stared hard at Canth, somewhat disgusted by his obtuseness. Dragons as a rule did not name people. They tended to project a vision of the person referred to by pronoun, rarely by name. That Canth, who was of another Weyr, should speak of Brekke so familiarly was a double surprise. He must tell that to Flar.
I want to get wet. Canth sounded so wistful that Fnor laughed aloud.
You swim. Ill watch.
Gently Canth nudged Fnor on the good shoulder. You are nearly well. Good. Well soon be able to go back to the Weyr we belong to.
Dont tell me that you knew about the Thread pattern changing.
Of course, Canth replied.
Why, you, wher-faced, wherry-necked . . .
Sometimes a dragon knows whats best for his rider. You have to be well to fight Thread. I want to swim. And there was no arguing with Canth further, Fnor knew. Aware hed been manipulated, Fnor also had no redress with Canth so he put the matter aside. Once he was well, his arm completely healed, however . . .
Although they had to fly straight toward the beaches, an irritatingly lengthy process for someone used to instantaneous transport from one place to another, Fnor elected to go a good distance west, along the coastline, until he found a secluded cove with a deep bay, suitable to dragon bathing.
A high dune of sand, probably pushed up from winter storms, protected the beach from the south. Far, far away, purple on the horizon, he could just make out the headland that marked Southern Weyr.
Canth landed him somewhat above the high-water mark in the cove, on the clean fine sand, and then, taking a flying leap, dove into the brilliantly blue water. Fnor watched, amused, as Canth cavortedan unlikely fisherupting out of the sea, reversing himself just above the surface and then diving deeply. When the dragon considered himself sufficiently watered, he floundered out, flapping his wings mightily until the breeze brought the shower up the beach to Fnor who protested.
Canth then irrigated himself so thoroughly with sand that Fnor was half-minded to send him back to rinse, but Canth protested, the sand felt so good and warm against his hide. Fnor relented and, when the dragon had finally made his wallow, couched himself on a convenient curl of tail. The sun soon lulled them into drowsy inertia.
Fnor, Canths gentle summons penetrated the brown riders delicious somnolence, do not move.
That was sufficient to dispel drowsy complacence, yet the dragons tone was amused, not alarmed.
Open one eye carefully, Canth advised.
Resentful but obedient, Fnor opened one eye. It was all he could do to remain limp. Returning his gaze was a golden dragon, small enough to perch on his bare forearm. The tiny eyes, like winking green-fired jewels, regarded him with wary curiosity. Suddenly the miniature wings, no bigger than the span of Fnors fingers, unfurled into gilt transparencies, aglitter in the sunlight.
Dont go, Fnor said, instinctively using a mere mental whisper. Was he dreaming? He couldnt believe his eyes. The wings hesitated a beat. The tiny dragon tilted its head.
Dont go, little one, Canth added with equal delicacy. We are of the same blood.
The minute beast registered an incredulity and indecision which were transmitted to man and dragon. The wings remained up but the tautness which preceded flight relaxed. Curiosity replaced indecision. Incredulity grew stronger. The little dragon paced the length of Fnors arm to gaze steadfastly into his eyes until Fnor felt his eye muscles strain to keep from crossing.
Doubt and wonder reached Fnor, and then he understood the tiny ones problem.
Im not of your blood. The monster above us is, Fnor communicated softly. You are of his blood.
Again the tiny head cocked. The eyes glistened actively as they whirled with surprise and increased doubt.
To Canth, Fnor remarked that perspective was impossible for the little dragon, one hundredth his size.
Move back then, Canth suggested. Little sister, go with the man.
The little dragon flew up on blurringly active wings, hovering as Fnor slowly rose. He walked several lengths from Canths recumbent hulk, the little dragon following. When Fnor turned and slowly pointed back to the brown, the little beast circled, took one look and abruptly disappeared.
Come back, Fnor cried. Maybe he was dreaming.
Canth rumbled with amusement. How would you like to see a man as large to you as I am to her?
Canth, do you realize that that was a fire lizard?
Certainly.
I actually had a fire lizard on my arm! Do you realize how many times people have tried to catch one of those creatures? Fnor stopped, savoring the experience. He was probably the first man to get that close to a fire lizard. And the dainty little beauty had registered emotion, understood simple directions and thengone between.
Yes, she went between, Canth confirmed, unmoved.
Why, you big lump of sand, do you realize what that means? Those legends are true. You were bred from something as small as her!
I dont remember, Canth replied, but something in his tone made Fnor realize that the big beasts draconic complacency was a little shaken.
Fnor grinned and stroked Canths muzzle affectionately. How could you, big one? When we-men-have lost so much knowledge and we can record what we know.
There are other ways of remembering important matters, Canth replied.
Just imagine being able to breed tiny fire lizards into a creature the size of you! He was awed, knowing how long it had taken to breed faster landbeasts.
Canth rumbled restlessly. I am useful. She is not.
Id wager shed improve rapidly with a little help. The prospect fascinated Fnor. Would you mind?
Why?
Fnor leaned against the great wedge-shaped head, looping his arm under the jaw, as far as he could reach, feeling extremely fond and proud of his dragon.
No, that was a stupid question for me to ask you, Canth, wasnt it?
Yes.
I wonder how long it would take me to train her.
To do what?
Nothing you cant do better, of course. No, now wait a minute. If, by chance, I could train her to take messages . . . You said she went between? I wonder if she could be taught to go between, alone, and come back. Ah, but will she come back here to us now? At this juncture, Fnors enthusiasm for the project was deflated by harsh reality.
She comes, Canth said very softly.
Where?
Above your head.
Very slowly, Fnor raised one arm, hand outstretched, palm down.
Little beauty, come where we can admire you. We mean you no harm. Fnor saturated his mental tone with all the reassuring persuasiveness at his command.
A shimmer of gold flickered at the corner of his eye. Then the little lizard hovered at Fnors eye level, just beyond his reach. He ignored Canths amusement that the tiny one was susceptible to flattery.
She is hungry, the big dragon said.
Very slowly Fnor reached into his pouch and drew out a meatroll. He broke off a piece, bent slowly to lay it on the rock at his feet, then backed away.
That is food for you, little one.
The lizard continued to hover, then darted down and, grabbing the meat in her tiny claws, disappeared again.
Fnor squatted down to wait.
In a second, the dragonette returned, ravenous hunger foremost in her delicate thoughts along with a wistful plea. As Fnor broke off another portion, he tried to dampen his elation. If hunger could be the leash . . . Patiently he fed her tiny bits, each time placing the food nearer to him until he got her to take the final morsel from his fingers. As she cocked her head at him, not quite sated, though she had eaten enough to satisfy a grown man, he ventured to stroke an eye ridge with a gentle fingertip.
The inner lids of the tiny opalescent eyes closed one by one as she abandoned herself to the caress.
She is a hatchling. You have Impressed her, Canth told him very softly.
A hatchling?
She is the little sister of my blood after all and so must come from an egg, Canth replied reasonably.
There are others?
Of course. Down on the beach.
Fnor, careful not to disturb the little lizard, turned his head over his shoulder. He had been so engrossed in the one at hand, he hadnt even heard above the surf sounds the, pitiful squawks which were issuing from the litter of shining wings and bodies. There seemed to be hundreds of them on the beach, above the high-tide mark, about twenty dragon lengths from him.
Dont move, Canth cautioned him. Youll lose her.
But if theyre hatching . . . they can be Impressed . . . Canth, rouse the Weyr! Speak to Prideth. Speak to Wirenth. Tell them to come. Tell them to bring food. Tell them to hurry. Quickly or itll be too late.
He stared hard at the purple blotch on the horizon that was the Weyr, as if he himself could somehow bridge the gap with his thoughts. But the frenzy on the beach was attracting attention from another source. Wild wherries, the carrion eaters of Pern, instinctively flocked to the shore, their wings making an ominous line of Vs in the southern sky. The vanguard was already beating to a height, preparing to dive at the unprotected weak fledglings. Every nerve in Fnors body yearned to go to their rescue, but Canth repeated his warning. Fnor would jeopardize his fragile rapport with the little queen if he moved. Or, Fnor realized, if he communicated his agitation to her. He closed his eyes. He couldnt watch.
The first shriek of pain vibrated through his body as well as the little lizards. She darted into the folds of his arm sling, trembling against his ribs. Despite himself, Fnor opened his eyes. But the wherries had not stooped yet though they circled lower and lower with rapacious speed. The fledglings were voraciously attacking each other. He shuddered and the little queen rattled her pinions, uttering a delicate fluting sound of distress.
Youre safe with me. Far safer with me. Nothing can harm you with me, Fnor told her repeatedly, and Canth crooned reassurance in harmony with that litany.
The strident shriek of the wherries as they plunged suddenly changed to their piercing wail of terror. Fnor glanced up, away from the carnage on the beach, to see a green dragon in the sky, belching flame, scattering the avian hunters. The green hovered, several lengths above the beach, her head extended downward. She was riderless.
Just then, Fnor saw three figures, charging. sliding, slipping down the high sand dune, heading as straight as possible toward the many-winged mass of cannibals. Although they looked as if theyd carom right into the middle, they somehow managed to stop.
Brekke said she has alerted as many as she could, Canth told him.
Brekke? Whyd you call her? Shes got enough to do.
She is the best one, Canth replied, ignoring Fnors reprimand.
Are they too late? Fnor glanced anxiously at the sky and at the dune, willing more men to arrive.
Brekke was wading toward the struggling hatchlings now, her hands extended. The other two were following her example. Who had she brought? Why hadnt she got more riders? Theyd know instantly how to approach the beasts.
Two more dragons appeared in the sky, circled and landed with dizzying speed right on the beach their riders racing in to help. The skyborne green flamed off the insistent wherries, bugling to her fellows to help her.
Brekke has one. And the girl. So does the boy but the beast is hurt. Brekke says that many are dead. Why, wondered Fnor suddenly, if he had only just seen the truth of the legend of fire lizards, did he ache for their deaths? Surely the creatures had been hatching on lonely beaches for centuries, been eaten by wherries and their own peers, unseen and unmourned. The strong survive, said Canth, undismayed.
They saved seven, two badly hurt. The young girl, Mirrim, Brekkes fosterling, attached three; two greens and a brown seriously injured by gouges on his soft belly. Brekke had a bronze with no mark on him, the greens rider had a bronze, and the other two riders had blues, one with a wrenched wing which Brekke feared might never heal properly for flight.
Seven out of over fifty, said Brekke sadly after they had disposed of the broken bodies with agenothree. A precaution which Brekke suggested as a frustration for the carrion eaters and to prevent other fire lizards from avoiding the beach as dangerous to their kind. I wonder how many would have survived if you hadnt called us.
She was already far from the others when she discovered us, Fnor remarked. Probably the first to hatch, or on top of the others.
Brekked had the wit to bring a full haunch of buck, though the Weyr might eat light that evening. So they had gorged the hatchlings into such a somnolent state that they could be carried, unresisting, back to the Weyr, or to Brekkes Infirmary.
Youre to fly home straight, Brekke told Fnor, in much the way a woman spoke to a rebellious weyrling.
Yes, maam, Fnor replied, with mock humility, and then smiled because Brekke took him so seriously.
The little queen nestled in his arm sling as contentedly as if shed found a weyr of her own. A weyr is where a dragon is no matter how its constructed, he murmured to himself as Canth winged steadily eastward.
When Fnor reached Southern, it was obvious the news had raced through the Weyr. There was such an aura of excitement that Fnor began to worry that it might frighten the tiny creatures between.
No dragon can fly when he is belly-bloated, Canth said. Even a fire lizard. And took himself off to his sun-warmed wallow, no longer interested.
You dont suppose hes jealous, do you? Fnor asked Brekke when he found her in her Infirmary, splinting the little blues wrenched wing.
Wirenth was interested, too, until the lizards fell asleep, Brekke told him, a twinkle in her green eyes as she looked up at him briefly. And you know how touchy Wirenth is right now. Mercy, Fnor, what is there for a dragon to be jealous of? These are toys, dolls as far as the big ones are concerned. At best, children to be protected and taught like any fosterling.
Fnor glanced over at Mirrim, Brekkes foster child. The two green lizards perched asleep on her shoulders. The injured brown, swathed from neck to tail in bandage, was cradled in her lap. Mirrim was sitting with the erect stiffness of someone who dares not move a muscle. And she was smiling with an incredulous joy.
Mirrim is very young for this, he said, shaking his head.
On the contrary, shes as old as most weyrlings at their first Impression. And shes more mature in some ways than half a dozen grown women I know with several babes of their own.
Oh-ho. The female of the species in staunch defense . . .
Its no teasing matter, Fnor, Brekke replied with a sharpness that put Fnor in mind of Lessa. Mirrim will do very well. She takes every responsibility to heart. The glance Brekke shot her fosterling was anxious as well as tender.
I still say shes young . . .
Is age a prerequisite for a loving heart? Does maturity always bring compassion? Why are some weyrbred boys left standing on the sand and others, never thought to have a chance, walk off with the bronzes? Mirrim Impressed three, and the rest of us, though we tried, with the creatures dying at our feet, only managed to attach one.
And why am I never told what occurs in my own Weyr? Kylara demanded in a loud voice. She stood on the threshold of the Infirmary, her face suffused with an angry flush, her eyes bright and hard.
As soon as I finished this splinting, I was coming to tell you, Brekke replied calmly, but Fnor saw her shoulders stiffen
Kylara advanced on the girl, with such overt menace that Fnor stepped around Brekke, wondering to himself as he did so whether Kylara was armed with more than a bad temper.
Events moved rather fast, Kylara, he said, smiling pleasantly. We were fortunate to save as many of the lizards as we did. Too bad you didnt hear Canth broadcast the news. You might have Impressed one yourself.
Kylara halted, the full skirts of her robe swirling around her feet. She glared at him, twitching the sleeve of her dress but not before he saw the black bruise on her arm. Unable to attack Brekke, she turned, spotting Mirrim. She swept up to the girl, staring down in such a way that the child looked appealingly toward Brekke. At this point, the tension in the room roused the lizards. The two greens hissed at Kylara but it was the crystal bugle of the bronze on Gsels shoulder that diverted the Weyrwomans attention.
Ill have the bronze! Of course. The bronzell do fine, she exclaimed. There was something so repellent about the glitter in her eyes and the nasty edge to her laugh that Fnor felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.
A bronze dragon on my shoulder will be most effective I think, Kylara went on, reaching for Gsels bronze lizard.
Gsel put up a warning hand.
I said they were Impressed, Kylara, Fnor warned her, quickly signaling the rider to refuse. Gsel was only a green rider and new to this Weyr at that; he was no match for Kylara, particularly not in this mood. Touch him at your own risk.
Impressed, you say? Kylara hesitated, turning to sneer at Fnor. Why, theyre nothing but fire lizards.
And from what creature on Pern do you think dragons were bred?
Not that old nursery nonsense. How could you possibly make a fighting dragon from a fire lizard? She reached again for the little bronze. It spread its wings, flapping them agitatedly.
If it bites you, dont blame Gsel, Fnor told her in a pleasant drawl though it cost him much to keep his temper. It was too bad you couldnt beat a Weyrwoman with impunity. Her dragon wouldnt permit it but a sound thrashing was what Kylara badly needed.
You cant be certain theyre that much like dragons, Kylara protested, glancing suspiciously around at the others. No ones ever caught one and you just found them.
Were not certain of anything about them, Fnor replied, beginning to enjoy himself. It was a pleasure to see Kylara frustrated by a lizard. However, look at the similarities. My little queen . . .
You? Impressed a queen? Kylaras face turned livid as Fnor casually drew aside a fold of his sling to expose the sleeping gold lizard.
She went between when she was frightened. She communicated that fright, plus curiosity, and she evidently received our reassurances. At least she came back. Canth said shed just hatched. I fed her and shes still with me. We managed to save only these seven because they got Impressed. The others turned cannibal. Now, how long these will be dependent on us for food and companionship is pure conjecture. But the dragons admit a blood relationship and they have ways of knowing beyond ours.
Just how did you Impress them? Kylara demanded, her intentions transparent. No ones ever caught one before.
If it got her out of the Weyr and kept her on sandy beaches and off Brekkes back, Fnor was quite agreeable to telling her.
You Impress them by being there when they hatch, same as with dragons. After that, I assume the ones which survive stay wild. As to why no one ever caught any before, thats simple; the fire lizards hear them coming and disappear between. And, my dear, may it be a warm night between before you catch one.
Kylara stared hard at Mirrim and so resentfully at Gsel that the young rider began to fidget and the little bronze rustled his wings nervously.
Well, I want it clearly understood that this is a working Weyr. Weve no time for pets who serve no purpose. Ill deal severely with anyone shirking their duties orShe broke off.
No shirking or tramping the beaches until youve had a chance to get one first, huh, Kylara? asked Fnor, still grinning pleasantly.
Ive better things to do, She spat the words at him and then, skirts kicking out before her, swept out of the room.
Maybe we ought to warn the lizards, Fnor said in a facetious way, trying to dispel the tension in the Infirmary.
Theres no protection against someone like Kylara, Brekke said, motioning the rider to take his bandaged blue. One learns to live with her.
Gsel gave an odd gargle and rose, almost unsettling his lizard.
How can you say that, Brekke, when shes so mean and nasty to you? Mirrim cried, and subsided at a stern look from her foster mother.
Make no judgments where you have no compassion, Brekke replied. And I, too, will not tolerate any shirking of duties to care for these pretties. I dont know why we saved them!