I’m not a hold’s lord, or a craft’s master,
Yet I have always been proud of that wise,
And very beautiful daughter of mine.
How proud I was on the day she was searched.
The apple of my eye would soon stand ‘fore
The golden egg of your queen dragon’s clutch.
But tragedy struck on the hatching grounds
Found unfit to be a dragonrider,
My daughter was slashed, and left on the sands.
My heart all but shattered at what I saw;
She’d been killed at your dragon’s daughter’s hand!
Listen, Weyrwoman: I’ll never forgive.
I’ll e’er loathe Weyr, drake, rider, my blood cold,
Most especially thy queen dragon gold.
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