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watch-whers fly?”
    “I wouldn’t know,” Kindan answered honestly. “But weren’t they supposed to be made from fire-lizards, the same as dragons?”
    “Not much is known about watch-whers,” Master Zist said. “For example, we know that they don’t like light. But some people say that it’s because of their big eyes while others say that they are nocturnal. Their wings look too small to support them.”
    “I’ve only seen Dask fly when it’s late,” Kindan said. “My father said something about how the atmosphere condenses at night, and air gets thicker.”
    Master Zist nodded. “That’s so. I’ve heard the dragonriders say that it’s dangerous to fly too high at night—the air has gotten thinner there. Perhaps the watch-whers are adapted to fly at night, and have smaller wings because the air is thicker then.”
    Kindan shrugged. The Harper made a note to himself to pursue the matter with the Harper Hall.
    “Well,” the Harper continued, “I think it would be marvelous for you to sing ‘The Morning Dragon Song’ when Dask flies over.
    “Are you ready to begin now?”
    “I’m ready, Master Zist.”
             
    At the end of two hours, Kindan’s back was drenched with sweat. Master Zist’s instructions were more cordially delivered and Kindan obeyed them more readily than before, but they were still doing hard work—both of them, Kindan noted, as Master Zist wiped beads of sweat from his brow.
    They were interrupted by a knock on the cottage door.
    “Get the door, lad,” Master Zist said in a kindly tone. “I’ll make some tea. Unless I miss my guess, that’s your father come to be sure that you’re still alive and with your good clothes as his excuse.”
    Master Zist was not wrong.
    “I’ve brought your clothes,” Danil said. His face broke into a huge grin. “Ah, lad! This will be a grand day, won’t it?”
    Coming from his father, the words were practically a speech.
    “Master Zist’s gone to get some tea,” Kindan said. “He says that it’s good for the throat.” He didn’t add that Master Zist had said that it was good for the nerves, as well.
    “I’ve been with Jofri all day,” Danil told his son. “We’ve got the wedding platform properly raised and the whole square ready for the party.”
    “Where will the bride and groom spend the night?” Master Zist asked, entering the room with a tray. There were not just three cups of tea, but also some dainty pastries.
    Danil blushed. “Oh, there’s a trader custom that a bride and groom must spend the night in a caravan. Apparently Crom’s MasterTrader instructed the journeyman in charge of this caravan to be sure that Terregar and Silstra followed
their
custom.”
    “Of course,” Zist added with a wry look and a shake of his head, “anyone marrying cross Hold would be relying on a trader to move them, so no one would dream of upsetting them on that matter.”
    Danil picked up one of the dainties off the tray and bit into it. “This is good! And still warm! Did Jenella send them?”
    Master Zist nodded. “Aye, they were just delivered.” Kindan remembered that he’d heard the sound of a door opening shortly after his father had entered the front room.
    Danil nodded. His face had gone serious. “Kindan, step outside for a moment,” he said.
    “Take your tea and a dainty with you,” Zist said. Kindan scooped up one of his favorites, grabbed his tea, and headed outside.
    Milla, who did all the baking and cooking up at Natalon’s hold, loved making the tiny little snacks she called dainties. Milla’s dainties were always different; sometimes they were confections, other times they were small, meat-filled pies, and yet other times they were deliciously spiced vegetables. The warm dainty Kindan had scarfed was made of spiced meat wrapped in a flaky pie crust.
    Outside, the sun was well past noon, but its warmth did little against the fall chill that had settled into the valley. He shivered. It would be