«IF HE ISN'T clean enough now,» Jaxom told N'ton as he gave Ruth's neck ridge a final swipe with the oiled cloth, «I don't know what clean is!» He wiped his sweaty forehead on his tunic sleeve. «What do you think, N'ton?» he asked politely, suddenly aware that he had spoken without due regard for his companion's rank as Weyrleader of Fort.

N'ton grinned and gestured toward the grassy bank of the lake. They squelched through the mud created by rinsing soapsand from the little dragon and, as one, turned for a full view of Ruth gleaming wetly in the morning sun.

«I've never seen him cleaner,» N'ton remarked after due consideration, adding hastily, «not to imply that you haven't always kept him immaculate, Jaxom. However, if you don't ask him to move out of that mud, he won't stay clean long.»

Jaxom passed on the request hastily. «And keep your tail up, Ruth, till you are on the grass.»

From the comer of his eye, Jaxom noticed that Dorse and his cronies were creeping away, just in case N'ton had any further hard work for them. Jaxom had somehow managed to keep the smugness he felt under control all during Ruth's bath. Dorse and the others hadn't dared disobey the dragonrider when N'ton had blithely pressed them into service. To see them sweating over the «runt,» the «oversized fire lizard,» unable to tease and taunt Jaxom as they'd planned to do this morning, had raised Jaxom's spirits considerably. He entertained no hopes that the situation would last long. But, if today the Benden Weyrleaders decided Ruth was strong enough to bear his weight in flight, then Jaxom would be free to fly away from the taunts he'd had to endure from his milk brother and his cronies.

«You know,» N'ton began, frowning slightly as he folded his arms across his damp spattered tunic, «Ruth isn't really white.»