Shynandoath, otherwise known as Shyn, had a formidable name for such a small dragon. Resting quietly in the dragon-sofa at the side of her young rider's cot, she was a picture. Her hide the colour of emeralds and the sea, she rarely objected to anything and was happy to follow others in their games and during classes. Almost a sevenday old now, she had developed into the sweetie of the clutch.

"Shynnie?" Liztara called to the little green. "You awake?"

The groggy response came, I am. Is it time for class?

"Almost. I'll give you a quick oiling if you want, before we go."

Shyn was suddenly bright-eyed and awake, stirring to stand on all fours. Of course! I mean, if you insist, she demurred.

Smiling to herself, Liztara reached for her pot of oil, noticed it was nearly empty and made a mental note to ask the Weyrlingmaster for more after class. They went through it surprisingly fast, but the little hatchlings were growing at an abominable speed! They were really hardly hatchlings any more.

Liztara patiently rubbed the special sweet-smelling substance into any rough patches she found in Shyn's hide almost erotically. It was hypnotic. She'd heard that new parents often massages their young babies in much the same manner to promote growth and healing and calm the infants.

Shynandoath crooned with pleasure, relaxing completely into her rider's touch.

Grinning at the little green's reaction, Liztara finished on one particularly scratchy spot and slipped the lid back onto the pot.

Shyn opened vivid blue-green eyes with a faint disappointment. Finished?

"Finished," the weyrling repeated. "We'll be late for class. C'mon."

Sighing hugely but accepting her fate, the little green rose without complaint. After a few mournful steps, she brightened to the prospect of class - they were to learn about the history of dragonriders on Pern, and she looked forward to it eagerly.