'Some of them are just children,' her father complained. He had followed at her heels.

'And Rapskal was right. All of us are heavily marked. Except for Tats.' She did glance at her father now. 'And that explains why most of us are young,' she said simply. Neither she nor her father needed to be reminded that those who were heavily marked from a young age seldom lived long into their thirties.

Her father caught her wrist. 'Like lambs to the slaughter,' he said quietly, and she wondered at his strange words and how tightly he held on to her. Then he added, 'Thymara, you don't have to do this. Stay home. I know that your mother makes things difficult for you, but I—'

She cut him off before he could say anything more. 'Papa, I  do  have to do  this!   I  signed  a  contract.  What do we always say? A Trader is only as good as his word. And I've done more than just given my word, I've signed my name to it.' She thought of her dreams of a dragon bonding with her. She would not speak those. Rapskal's extravagant fancy still echoed in her mind. She took a deeper breath and added pragmatically, 'And we both know that I do need to do this. Just so I can say that I stepped up and did something with my life. I love being your daughter, but that can't be all I ever am. I need to—' She groped for words. 'I need to measure myself against the world. Prove that I can stand up to it and be something.'

'You're already something,' he insisted, but the strength had gone out of his argument. When she put her hand over his, he released his grip on her wrist. She stopped where she was. Tats, ahead of them, looked back curiously. She shook her head at him slightly and he moved on.

'We should say goodbye here,' she said suddenly.

'I can't.' Her father seemed horrified at the idea.

'Papa, I have to go. And this is a good time for us to part. I know you'll worry about me. I know I'll miss you. But let's part now, at the beginning of my adventure. Tell me "good luck" and let me go.'

'But—' he said, and then suddenly he hugged her tight. He whispered hoarsely into her ear, 'Go on then, Thymara. Go on, and measure yourself. It won't prove anything to me because I already know your measure, and I've never doubted you. But go find out what you have to find out. And then come back to me. Please. Don't let this be the last time I see you.'

'Papa, don't be silly. Of course I'll come back,' she said, but at his words a prickle of dread had run up her spine. No, I won't. The thought was so strong that she couldn't voice it. So she hugged him tightly and then, as he released her, she pushed her small pouch of money into his hand. 'You keep this safe for me, until I come back,' she told him. Then, before he could react to that, she turned and darted from his embrace. She wouldn't need the money on their expedition. And perhaps, if she never came back, it would be helpful to him. Let him hold it now, and think it meant a promise to return.

'Good luck!' he called after her, and 'Thanks!' she called back. She saw Tats look at her father in surprise. He turned as if he, too, would go back to say his farewells, but at that moment, the man with the scroll demanded of him, 'Do you want your chit or not? You won't get your supply pack without it!'

'Of course I want it,' Tats declared, all but snatching it out of his hand.

The man shook his head at him. 'You're a fool,' he said quietly. 'Look around you, boy. You don't belong with these others.'

'You don't know where I belong,' Tats told him fiercely. Then he looked past Thymara and asked, 'Where did your father go?'

'Home,' she said. And she avoided his eyes as she stepped up to the man, showed her contract and said, 'I'll need my supply pack chit now.'

The supply packs were barely worthy of the name. The canvas bags were roughly sewn and treated with some sort of wax to weatherproof them. Inside were an adequate blanket, a water skin, a cheap metal plate and a spoon, a sheath knife, and packets of cracker-bread, dried meat and dried fruit. 'It makes me glad I brought my own supplies from home,' Thymara commented thoughtlessly, and then winced at the look on Tats' face.

'Better than nothing,' he commented gruffly, and Rapskal, who had attached himself to them like a tick on a monkey, added enthusiastically, 'My blanket's blue. My favourite colour. How lucky is that?'

'They're all blue,' Tats replied, and Rapskal nodded again.

'Like I said. I'm lucky my favourite colour is blue.'

Thymara tried not to roll her eyes. It was well known that some who were heavily marked by the Rain Wilds had mental problems as well. Rapskal might be a bit simple, or simply have an aggressively optimistic outlook. Right now, his cheerfulness bolstered her courage even as his chattiness grated on her nerves. She was baffled by how easily he had attached himself to her and Tats. She was accustomed to people approaching her with caution and maintaining a distance. Even the customers who regularly sought out her family at the market kept her at arm's length. But here was Rapskal, right at her elbow. Every time she turned to glance at him, he grinned like a twig monkey. His dancing blue eyes seemed to say that they shared a secret.

They squatted in a circle on a patch of bare earth, twelve marked Rain Wilders, most in their teens, and Tats. They'd come all the way down to the ground to receive their supply packs. The contents, they'd been told, should sustain them for the first few days of their journey. They'd be accompanied upriver by a barge that would carry several professional hunters with experience in scouting unfamiliar territory and more supplies both for humans and dragons, but each dragon keeper should attempt to learn to subsist on his own resources as well as maintain his dragon's health as quickly as possible. Thymara was sceptical. As she studied those who would become her companions, she speculated that few of them had ever had to find their own food, let alone consider feeding a dragon. Uneasiness churned in her belly.

'They told us we were to help our dragons find food. But there's nothing in here that's useful for hunting,' Tats observed worriedly.

A girl of about twelve edged a bit closer to their group. 'I've heard they'll give us fishing tackle and a pole spear before we depart,' she said shyly.

Thymara smiled at her. The girl was skinny, with thin hanks of blonde hair dangling from a pink-scaled scalp. Her eyes were a coppery brown, probably on the turn to pure copper, and her mouth was nearly lipless. Thymara glanced at her hands. Perfectly ordinary nails. Her heart went out to the girl abruptly; she'd probably seemed almost normal when she was born and had only started to change as she edged into puberty. That happened sometimes. Thymara was grateful that she had always known what she was; she'd never had real dreams of growing up to marry and have children. This child probably had. 'I'm Thymara, and this is Tats. He's Rapskal. What's your name?'

'Sylve.' The girl eyed Rapskal, who grinned at her. She edged close to Thymara and asked even more quietly, 'Are we the only girls in the group?'

'I thought I saw another girl earlier. About fifteen. Blonde.'

'I think you might have seen my sister. She came with me, to give me courage.' She cleared her throat. 'And to take the advance on my wages home. Money won't be any good to me where we're going, and my mother is very sick. It might get her the medicines she needs.' The girl spoke with unself-conscious pride. Thymara nodded. The thought that she and Sylve might be the only females unnerved her a bit. She covered it by grinning and saying, 'Well, at least we'll have each other for intelligent conversation!'

'Hey!' Tats protested, while Rapskal peered at her and said, 'What? I don't get it.'

'Nothing to get,' she reassured him. Then turned to Sylve and rolled her eyes in Rapskal's direction. The other girl grinned.