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chest.
    Only then did Aramina hear the hoarse grunt and half sob, as she realized that her mother was attempting to lever the wagon bed off her stricken husband.
    “Mother!”
    “I cannot lift it, ’Mina!” Barla sobbed, leaning exhaustedly against the pole. “I’ve been trying and trying.”
    Wasting no words, Aramina threw her weight onto the lever, and though Barla gave every remaining ounce of her strength, the two women could not summon enough mass between them to shift the wagon more than a finger’s breadth.
    “Oh, ’Mina, what can we do? Even if we had Pell and Nexa, they couldn’t help enough. . . .” Defeated, Barla slumped onto the ground, weeping.
    “
We
lifted it enough. If Pell and Nexa were here, they could pull him free. . . .” Aramina swung ’round to her father, his tanned face pale with shock, the pulse in his neck beating slowly but reassuringly. “Pell’s found a cave. It’s not too far up the track. I’ll be right back.”

    Giving Barla no chance to protest, Aramina started up the track again as fast as she could run. Pell and Nexa just
had
to be strong enough. She didn’t dare believe anything else. And they must hurry. The sun glancing into her eyes warned her that time was very short if they were to rescue Dowell and get the wagon up the trail to the cave. She couldn’t consider any other problems then, only the most immediate ones, and she almost ignored the sight of the dragon gliding overhead. She stopped so fast that she almost fell.
    Dragon, dragon, hear me! Help me! HELP ME!
Aramina had never attempted to communicate with the dragons, but a dragonrider would be strong enough to help her. Surely a dragonrider would not ignore her need.
    Who calls a dragon?
    She recognized the voice of Heth.
    It is Aramina. Down on the logging trace, above the river in the forest. Please help me. My father is trapped beneath our wagon. And Thread will fall soon!
She jumped up and down in the middle of the trace, waving frantically.
Oh, please help me!
    No need to shout. I heard you the first time. My rider wants to know who you are.
    To her relief, Aramina saw the dragon change directions, circling down toward the track.
    I told you, I’m Aramina.
    May I tell him?
    Such consideration rarely came Aramina’s way.
    Yes, yes, of course. Are you Heth?
    I am Heth. My rider is K’van.
    How do you do?
    I’d do better if we could see you.
    But I’m right here. In the middle of the trace. And the wagon is large. . . . Oh, my father painted it green. If you’ll just fly lower . . .
    I’m a dragon, not a wherry. . . . K’van sees the wagon.
    Aramina crashed through the underbrush to reach the wagon at the same time as dragon and rider. Barla looked about to faint with shock at their sudden appearance.
    “It’s all right, Mother. They’ll help us. They’re much stronger than Pell and Nexa would be.” Then Aramina realized that Shove and Nudge were taking great exception to the proximity of a dragon. She tied them tightly down by their nose rings to the tether stone, giving them more immediate pain to occupy their stupid brains.
    Fortunately, the dragonrider directed Heth to land behind the wagon, out of the dray beasts’ immediate sight.
    To her dismay, Aramina realized that both dragon and rider were young. She’d always thought that bronze dragons must be big, and, indeed, Heth had seemed enormous, outlined in the sky. But now she could see that he wasn’t fully grown and that his rider, K’van, was both undersized and younger than herself.
    As if K’van sensed her disappointed appraisal, he straightened his shoulders and jerked his chin up. He walked forward, taking in the lever propped against the boulder and looking down at the prostrate Dowell.
    “We may be weyrlings, but we can help you,” K’van said without ostentation. He turned to Heth. “What I want you to do is to put heave on this, Heth, with your forearms. C’mon, Aramina.”

    Aramina stopped staring at the bronze