Free A Gift of Dragons by Anne McCaffrey

healing her husband.
    Thus abjured, Dowell swallowed the dose, closing his eyes at the pain even that minor movement caused his swollen flesh.
    Barla saw Aramina’s tender concern. “The numbweed will be taking effect soon. I am truly grateful to this Mende. I think a spoon and one of the sandstone bowls. A woman can never have too many of them.” She sighed. “I am truly grateful to her. And . . .” She turned to Dowell, who had closed his eyes in tacit accord. “I think that we must be grateful to you, daughter . . . in spite of the fact that you seem to have forgotten all we have tried to instill in you of manners and conduct.”
    Aramina bowed her head, assuming a contrite pose. Then she realized that although her mother’s voice was sharp, there was no bite to her words. Discipline required a scolding, but this time it was only the form that was obeyed, not the spirit. Aramina looked up and tried not to smile at this unexpected absolution.
    “’Mina, if Lord Asgenar . . . ,” Dowell began in a voice no stronger than a whisper, speaking in short phrases between the shallow breaths he took, “. . . favors us . . . with his presence again . . . we must request . . . formal permission to stay . . . in this cave . . . until I am able . . . to continue our journey.”
    “I’ll tell him. And I’ll mention it to the guard as well.”
    Dowell nodded again, closing his eyes, his mouth beginning to relax a little as fellis and numbweed gave him surcease. Barla rose and, motioning Aramina to follow her, left his side.
    “It is a good dry cave, ’Mina,” she said, as if this were the first chance she had had to inspect it. “There are guards? We must not fail in hospitality.”
    “Pell remembered to offer, Mother, and they say they have their own rations.”
    “That is not to the point, ’Mina, and you know it. Would there be more roots in the patch Nexa found yesterday? And nuts, too? For they make a tasty flat bread.”
    Aramina schooled her features not to betray her dismay, for it took a great many nuts to make a decent quantity of nut flour, and the grinding took hours.
    “I’ll get nuts, and there may be some wild onions, too,” she said, aware of her narrow escape from punishment and determined to be dutiful today.
    “Where’s Pell? He ought to accompany you.”
    “He’s with K’van, Mother.” Aramina picked up her sack, cleaned her belt knife, and sheathed it. She glanced about in the habit of someone used to thinking ahead on chores before she left.
    Pell was not with the guards, nor was K’van, although Heth’s bronze hide was visible through the trees.
    “The boys have gone off to set a wherry snare,” the older guard told Aramina with a grin for such youthful pastimes. “There’s roosts there.” He pointed over the rocky saddle leading to a farther dell.
    “A roast wherry would be a real treat for all of us,” Aramina said, smiling to include both guards.
    “Oh, aye, that it would, young lady.” When Aramina started toward the nut plantation, he caught her by the arm. “It’s you we’re guarding. Where are you going?”
    “Only over that ridge”—Aramina pointed to the south—“for nuts.”
    “I’ll just have a look-see.” The guard strode along with her, past the sleeping Heth, and up the long slope.
    He halted, catching her arm again, as he looked down into the peaceful grove. The nut trees, well grown, were so thick-branched that they had inhibited any undergrowth that the acid of the nut mast had not killed. The approach of humans had sent the wood snakes scurrying, and only the last vestiges of the summer’s insects flitted about. Nuts were visible in plenty.
    “I’ll give you a hand,” the guard said, seeing that it was a matter of scooping up the fallen tree fruits.
    With two willing pairs of hands, Aramina’s sack was filled in short order.
    “How much do you need?” the man asked when Aramina began to make a carryall of her jerkin.
    “Mother has a mind