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Frelt was quenching his thirst in his chilly parsonage he had the whole of the next ten years clear in his mind, beginning with trudging all the way back down the road again tomorrow to speak to Selendra before she left for Benandi with Penn.
     
7. AMER’S PLEA
    Penn had passed on Frelt’s good wishes for the journeys to his sisters in Avan’s presence. Avan, waking early the next morning and flying down to the meadows to bring back a beef for breakfast, was therefore astonished to see Frelt making his slow way down the road over the mountain. A night’s sleep had not changed Avan’s feelings about the forthcoming lawsuit, nor had it made him feel better disposed to the parson who had decided for his brother-in-law against him. All the same, it is much easier to bear the weight of a grudge in the evening than on a fresh summer morning, so Avan flew over, the beef clutched between his claws, and greeted Frelt cheerfully enough.
    “What a beautiful morning,” he called.
    Frelt had woken full of his new resolution, and had walked the footsore miles back over the mountain pondering his best approach. He had not noticed the sparkling dew, except as a damp inconvenience, nor the glorious sun, except as a source of too much light, nor the familiar beauty of the towering crags. He had to crane hisneck to look up at Avan, gliding carelessly through the blue sky from which Frelt was barred. He did not envy the young dragon, or he told himself he did not, but he would have liked some acknowledgment of the sacrifice he was making, or at any rate the effort it entailed. “Veld made the world for our use, but Jurale in mercy added the beauty,” he recited piously.
    Avan was as religious as the next young dragon with his way to make in the world—which is to say that he held many traditional beliefs which he had never paused to examine, attended church because it would have seemed strange not to, rarely paid much attention when he was there, and found piety out of the pulpit thoroughly misplaced. If pressed, he would have been forced to stand with those who held that religion should be restricted to Firstday, though he would in all other ways have shunned such radical company. He was no free-thinker, but the place religion held in his life could be described as traditional rather than spiritual. He enjoyed the familiar Firstday service because it was familiar rather than because it was a service, and he made sure to attend a church in Irieth where the parson was famous for keeping his sermons short. This sanctimonious response to his greeting thus brought back all his irritation with Frelt. He said no more, banked his wings, and prepared to fly back up.
    “Stay,” Frelt called. Avan paused and circled, already much higher and drifting farther up on an updraft. He looked down inquiringly. “I am coming to pay a call on your family,” Frelt said, of necessity shouting to be heard.
    “I can’t stop you,” Avan said, giving way to rudeness, but under his breath. “You know the way,” he said, more resonantly, and flew off to warn his sisters.
    Selendra and Haner had been up late the night before attempting to comfort each other for the loss of their father. It was not thefirst loss their family had suffered, but the other losses had happened when they were so young as to leave them almost untouched. Their mother had died shortly after they were hatched, they scarcely remembered her. They were not yet truly aware how much they had missed her guiding hand in their upbringing. Avan’s clutch-mate, Merinth, had been lost before they were of the age of understanding. They had seen misfortune come to other families, and thought they had come to know through his long illness what their father’s death meant. It was only now that they realized that there is nothing that can really be a preparation for death.
    The beautiful morning that had lightened Avan’s heart seemed almost mockery to Selendra, that the sun could shine when her