text: Several of the doctors, at the same time, were discussing how sure they were that they were seeing the etiology of Chapifou's Lesion — a large, horrible lesion of the interior of the throat and chest, cause previously unknown, only discovered during autopsies of (usually) patients who were generally asymptomatic before death. "Because, if dying cyoziworms really do cause Chapifou's Lesion, we've got a great deal of epidemiological information about them. There must be tens of thousands of case records... a wealth of facts, now that we know what we're seeing," said Prof. Wulpmegarn.
  
  Prof. Grauzeng fiddled with a slide rule. "That operation took, let us say, a quarter of a day. Eight dragons for healing, assume we can work them full time and speed the matter up manyfold... that's a hundred cyoziworms a day. How many are there?"
  
  "Tens of thousands in Trest alone. I'm sure they can reproduce faster than that. Even if you could get all the dragons to work," said Tarcuna.
  
  "Which you can't," said Arilash. "I'll do a few, maybe, as a favor to Jyothky or Llredh, but not my share of a hundred a day."
  
  "Pretty hopeless," said Tarcuna, and flopped into a chair miserably.
  
  Llredh's angry, despairing red breath was a column of consuming fire reaching many miles into the night sky, and brought fear to grands of hovens and meltation to a section of the side of Duschafle Hall. I bit his tail. He kicked my head and crushed the side of my skull. Nothing worth noting there.
  
  "We shall have to find another approach," said Dr. Wulpmegarn. "No brilliant ideas come to mind instantly... but half a day ago I should have believed the problem wholly fictional. I'm sure that there is some reasonable answer around, waiting for us to find it."
  
  "Take not overlong! If I cannot heal them, I shall kill them. My revenge, she will come!"