The dragon gave a sudden snort and whipped his head around to see what they were doing to him. When he darted his head toward Thymara she thought she was going to die. She couldn't find breath to shriek.

Instead the dragon nosed at the oozing injury. He pressed his nose flat to the swelling, forcing the pus from it. For a moment he worked at it, starting at the top of the gash and pushing his snout along it. The smell was terrible. Flies buzzed excitedly. She closed her nostrils as much as she could and lifted her hand, pressing the back of her wrist against her nose. 'At least he's trying to help us clean it,' she said through clenched teeth.

Abruptly, the dragon lost interest and turned back to his feeding. Thymara seized the opportunity to wet the rag again and wipe the pus away from the injury. Three times she rinsed out the rag and cleansed it, until she feared the water in the bucket was as foul as the stuff she was trying to wipe away.

'Here. Use this.'

She turned to find a grim-faced Sedric offering her a thin-bladed knife. She stared at it; she'd been expecting him to bold out salve or bandaging. 'For what?' she demanded.

'You need to cut away the proud flesh. Then we need to bind it closed. Perhaps even stitch it closed. Otherwise, it's not going to heal well.'

'Proud flesh?'

'That swollen, tough looking stuff at the edges of the wound. You need to cut it away so that you can bandage it, fresh cut to fresh cut. So the flesh can heal together.'

'Cut away the dragon's flesh?'

'You have to. Look at it. It's all dried out and thick. It's already dead, really. It can't heal that way.'

She looked at it and swallowed sickly. He was right. From the palm of his hand, on a flat fold of clean cloth, he offered her the shining knife.

'I don't know how to do this,' she admitted.

'I doubt that any of us do. But we know it has to be done.'

She took the proffered knife and tried to grip it firmly. She set her free hand flat on the dragon's tail. 'Here I go,' she warned them, and gingerly set the blade to the ridged flesh at the edge of the wound. The knife was very sharp. Almost without effort, it slid into the flesh. She watched her own hand move, carving away the stiffened skin at the edge of the injury. It came away like shrivelled rind from a dried-up fruit. It was caked with dirt and scales; the moving knife bared dark red flesh. It oozed blood in slow, bright droplets, but the dragon went on snorting through his food, as if he didn't feel it.

'That's it,' Sedric said in a low, excited voice. 'That's right. Cut that piece free and I'll get it out of your way.'

She did as he bade her, scarcely noticing how he deftly caught it in a gloved hand. Alise had gone silent, either raptly watching or intently not watching. Thymara could not afford to look at her to find out which. She had cleared one edge of the wound of proud flesh. She took a breath, steeled herself again, and set the blade to the other side.

A trembling ran through the dragon. She froze, the razor-sharp blade set in the rubbery edge of his injury. He didn't turn his head toward her. He hissed low. 'Fight.' The word barely reached her ears; it was spoken with a childish inflection, without force.

Dread edged the word. She wondered if she had imagined it.

'Fight?' Alise asked him gently. 'Fight what?'

'What?' Sedric asked, startled.

'Fight - together, fight. No. No.'

Thymara stood absolutely still. She had begun to think the silver had no intelligence beyond animal instinct. It was almost a shock to hear him speak.

'No fight?' Alise said as if she were talking to a baby.

'Fight what?' Sedric demanded. 'Who's fighting?'

It was an unwelcome distraction. Thymara caught her breath before she could lose her temper and said quietly, 'She isn't talking to you. The dragon mumbled something and it's the first time we've been aware of him speaking. Alise is trying to talk to him.' She took a breath, recalled her task, and moved the sharp knife steadily through the stiffened flesh at the edges of the wound.

'Concentrate on what you're doing,' Sedric suggested, and she found herself grateful for his support.

'What's your name?' Alise said quietly. 'Lovely silver one, dragon of the stars' and moon's colour, what is your name?' She put cajoling music into her voice. Thymara felt a subtle difference in the dragon. He didn't speak but it felt as if he were listening.

'What are you doing?' Tats demanded behind Thymara. She jumped but didn't let the twitch reach her hand.

'What I said I would do. Taking care of the silver.'

'With a knife?'

'I'm cutting away the proud flesh before we bind it.' She felt a small satisfaction in knowing the right term to use. Tats crouched beside her and surveyed her work intently.

'Still a lot of pus there.'

She felt a moment of annoyance with him, as if he had criticized her, but then he offered, 'Let's clean it again. I'll go get more water.'

'Please,' she said, and felt him leave. She carved carefully and again, as the ridge of dried flesh and clinging scales fell away, Sedric caught it and whisked it out of her way. As she gave the knife back to him, she realized her hands were trembling. 'I don't think we should do anything else until we've washed it a bit more,' she suggested.

He was stowing things away in his case, working quickly and carefully, as if that were more important than tending the dragon. She caught a strong smell of vinegar and heard the sound of glass on glass. 'Probably not,' he agreed.

She had pushed Alise's murmuring voice into the back of her awareness. Now she listened as the woman said, 'But you'd like to go somewhere, right? Somewhere nice. Go where, little one? Go where?'

The dragon said something. It wasn't a word, and suddenly Thymara realized that it had never been 'words' she had been hearing. Her mind had imposed that reference. The dragon didn't 'say' anything to her, but he remembered something strongly. She recalled a flash of hot sunlight beating on her scaled back; the scent of dust and citrus flowers floated in the air on the distant music of drums and a softly droning pipe.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the sensory image faded, leaving her bereft. There was a place, a kindly place of warmth and food and companionship, a place whose name was lost in time.

'Kelsingra.'

The silver had not spoken. The name came to her from at least two of the other dragons. But it was like a frame falling around a picture. It captured and contained the images the silver had been trying to convey. Kelsingra. That was the name of the place he longed to be. A shiver ran over him, and when it had passed, he felt different to her. Confirmed. Consoled, almost.

'Kelsingra,' Alise repeated in a low and soothing voice. T know Kelsingra. I know its leaping fountains and spacious city squares. I know its stone steps and the wide doors of its buildings. The river banked with grassy meadows, and the well of silver water. The Elderlings with their flowing robes and golden eyes used to come to greet the dragons as they landed in the river.'

Alise's words fed the silver dragon's coalescing awareness. Without thinking about it, Thymara reached to put a hand on the creature's back. For a fleeting moment, she sensed him, like brushing hands with a stranger in a market crowd. They did not speak with words, but shared a longing for a place.

'But not here!' he said plaintively, and Alise murmured, 'No, dear, of course not here. Kelsingra. That is where you belong. That is where we have to take you.'

'Kelsingra!'

'Kelsingra!'

The shouts of agreement from other dragons took Thymara by surprise. She had been crouching by the silver's tail. She rose to her feet now and became aware that the dragons had finished eating. Another one suddenly stood briefly on his hind legs, roared 'Kelsingra!' and came down with a thud.