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returned with lunch—it seemed to take forever—Kindan was sweating with effort and Master Zist was nearly shaking with rage.
    “Leave the food here,” Master Zist told him, “and take yourself away.”
    Instead of breaking for lunch, Master Zist insisted that Kindan continue his singing. No matter how hard he tried, Kindan could not master the song.
    In the end, red-faced and bellowing, Master Zist threw up his hands. “You are not listening to me! You do not pay the slightest attention. You
can
master this song, you just choose not to. Oh, you are such a waste! To think your mother died giving birth to you! You’re not worth it at all.”
    Kindan’s fists clenched and his eyes flared with rage. He turned on his heel and ran out of the cottage. He got only a few feet before he was stopped by his sister.
    “Kindan, how is it going?” she asked, too excited to notice his expression. “Isn’t it great that Master Zist is here? Did you know that mother said he taught her our favorite song?”
    Kindan took one look at her cheerful face as her words registered in his brain—and inspiration struck.
    “Excuse me, Sis, I’ve got to get back to practicing,” he said before he turned back to the cottage. Over his shoulder he added, “Everything’s going great.”
    He barged back into the cottage where Master Zist still sat, waiting. Kindan pulled himself up to a proper singing posture, drew in a breath, and began to sing:
    “In early morning light I see,
A distant dragon come to me.
Its skin is bronze, its eyes are green;
It’s the loveliest dragon I’ve ever seen.”
    Encouraged by the Harper’s silence, Kindan continued through the whole song. In the end, he looked truculently at the Master and said, “I can, too, sing. My sister says that I can sing as well as my mother. My sister says that I
am
worth it. And my father, too. And they should know—they were there when I was born.” Tears streaked down his face, but he didn’t care. “My sister said that my mother’s last words were that I wouldn’t need much caring but I’d be worth it.”
    Master Zist was in shock. “That voice,” he muttered to himself. “You have her voice.” He looked up at Kindan and there were tears in his eyes, too. “Lad, I’m sorry. I should never have said . . . I had no right . . . Could you sing it again, please? You have the same lyric quality she had.”
    Kindan wiped his tears and drew breath, but his throat was still choked up with grief and anger. Master Zist raised a hand to stop him and went into the cottage’s kitchen. He returned with a cup of warm tea.
    “Drink this, it’ll ease your throat,” he said in a much kindlier and more subdued voice. While Kindan was drinking, Master Zist said, “I drove you too hard, lad. I have never driven a student so hard. I shouldn’t have done it to you, either. It’s just that—that I want this to be the best day for your sister and your father. I want to give them that.”
    “So do I,” Kindan said.
    Master Zist lowered his head toward him and nodded. “I see that you do, lad. I see that you do.” He held out his hand. “So, let’s start over and we’ll do the best we can, together, eh?”
    Kindan placed the cup beside him and shyly put his hand in the larger hand of the MasterHarper. “I’ll do my best,” he said.
    “That’s all I will ask of you,” Master Zist promised. “And, with your voice, I think we’ll both be proud of the result.” He looked out the window. “We haven’t much time, however, so we’d best concentrate on what you know, hadn’t we?”
    Kindan nodded in agreement, but his expression was bemused. Master Zist grinned at him. “Why don’t we work ‘The Morning Dragon Song’ into the ceremony instead of that solo?”
    Kindan’s eyes widened. “Could we do it just as Dask flies over?” he asked enthusiastically. “It’d be perfect!”
    “The watch-wher can fly?” Zist was surprised.
    Kindan nodded.
    “Can all