text: More hours than it should have taken later — considering that we had both the Melismatic Tempest and a real tempest behind us — we landed at St. Ploque-Dar Hospital. Not Naliere Hospital, which is what you get when you ask a gendarme in Pourride Avenue "Where is the hospital?" rather than "Where is Ploque-Dar Hospital?" We took hoven size, which was harder for Tarcuna than Nrararn and me. Technically, she was already hoven size, but she had to deal with the flight harness that fell off me. That is fair because she's (1) my minion, and (2) the reason I wear a flight harness anyway. It's unfair because (-3) she has only one working hand. Of course (4) I don't have working hands at all, and (5) I was supposed to go do some healing.
  
  The secretaries and priest welcoming patients into the hospital were not very impressed. "Ah. More dragons. You must be here to see about the patients in room 71."
  
  "That would be Bthera, Grauzeng, and family?" I said.
  
  "The survivors."
  
  "Who was here before?" asked Nrararn.
  
  "The orange and brown one who styles himself our overlord," said the priest. Which is to say, Llredh.
  
  "Where is room 71?" I asked. And got directions, and scrabbled my claws on slippery oilstone floors 'til we got there.
  
  There was healing to be done, of course. Three bullet wounds in the girl; I don't think she would have died of them, unless one got infected. Only one in the younger boy, who might have died without healing. Five in Dr. Grauzeng's husband, who was in quite bad shape indeed.
  
  The older boy and Dr. Grauzeng had been dead when they got to the hospital. Bthera had been alive, but had died not quite an hour before, as two doctors worked to save her life. Llredh probably could have saved her, but he was trying to hammer healing spells into Dr. Grauzeng at the time instead.
  
  So I bit his tail. "Llredh, you are the useless drake! You let my friend die!"
  
  He bit my muzzle. "Jyothky, you are the unwise dragoness! My useful professor, she is the one I need to be alive!"
  
  "You are not going to make your hovens any happier with your reign by letting them die when you're standing in room," said Nrararn.
  
  "Nrararn, you are the irrelevant drake! My hovens' happiness, of her you understand nothing!"
  
  "He's right, though. You should have healed them," I said.
  
  Llredh hissed, "The great fool of Dorday, she is Jyothky! For hoven happiness, it is slaying she should do here, not healing!"
  
  "And what do you mean by that?"
  
  "These children, this man, my doctor, your spare whore — hoven rebels killed them. You and I, we are too much trouble. The hovens who work with us, the hovens who side with us, they are the ones to die." Llredh pointed to a short spear on a table. Tied to its shaft was a flag, on which "Death To Every Cunya" was stencilled.
  
  "What's a cunya?" asked Nrararn, and cast the Word-Fox. He stared at Tarcuna. He must be good enough to get etymologies with his spells.