-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Threadfall Over Benden Hold Date: July 30, 1997 Places: Benden Weyr's North Bowl, and Sky Above Benden Hold. Game: PernMUSH Copyright Info: The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kassi's Note: T'fian did an absolutely fantastic job in coordinating this 'Fall. The @emits were marvelous, everyone seemed to have a great time--it was the epitome of what a 'Fall should be. I enjoyed myself immensely. That said, on to the technical foo: anything prefixed by <*> takes place away from Lysseth while I'm riding her. Some dragon chat has been left in, but most has been clipped; same for knot chat. Enjoy. :) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Log: K'tyn nods at K'nan and Asrai and T'fian, returning salutes as needed as he meticulously goes over Prometh's fighting straps. "Heya, all. Kassi," he says as the green and her rider land nearby. Asrai stands before K'nan, looking more then a little guilty. Seeing the others arrive she salutes/waves to them as needed. K'nan salutes casually, "Heya Boss." Leaning down, he plants the lightest of kisses on Asrai's forehead..smiling. "It's all right, really." Regardless of that, he does look just a bit tired. Kindre follows Herath by a few paces, busy with checking her gear for more-than-normal wear and tear. As a new flamethrower is laid beside the gold, Kindre offers a weak smile and greeting. "Evening everyone...heyla Kassi," and then studies the wand and level. Kassima slides nimbly down from Lysseth's straps, immediately snapping salutes towards K'tyn and T'fian. "Evening, sirs, everyone," she greets. Though it seems likely that she checked her gear before coming down, she nevertheless turns to examine the straps again as several others do. Asrai smiles brightly then turns to the Weyrleader, "So, I get to fly in the queens wing, right?" Forget the fact that she's expecting triplets, been grounded, and those tanks are /heavy/. T'fian satures Kindre and K'tyn as he comes out of the living cavern. "Weyrleader. Weyrwoman," he says stiffly, then approaches K'tyn. "Sir, T'nnar reports the Fall is nearing the Benden Range's summit." Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Cygnith notes to everyone that she will be tagging along to @emit the NPC Raysin, rider of Blue Creth. :) K'tyn nods at T'fian. "Good. That's to be expected--any abnormalities?" he asks as he he pulls a buckle shut. K'ti comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. Kindre nods a bit absently at the salute, that half smile still in place. "Shards...I'll never get so used to this not to get those v-tols in my stomach," she notes with a small chuckle and shrugs. Tugging Herath's straps a few more times, she begins to stretch her arms out of nervous habit while listening to the Weyrleader and Weyrsecond speak. T'fian shakes his head. "None so far. Perfect weather, actually," he says. "Should be no problems at all, sir." K'ti skirts the edges, greeting as appropriate until she reaches Jaralth. Dragon> Brynarth bespoke Threadfall Comm with << Not Flakey Brown Branth? >> K'ti steps up on Jaralth's foreleg and swings up with a small leap to settle between two neckridges. Jaralth turns his head to look at K'ti with a small croon. Asrai nods, as if that's been settled and goes over to check Cygnith's straps. One might note that they are indeed her Fall straps, as if she planned to try this. She then goes over to Kindre, same bright smile, "So, where do I get my tank? From the cavern as if I were on ground crews?" Jaralth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. Zuseth backwings for a landing. K'tyn grins at T'fian. "I'd be nice to see it so, Si--Tiffy." He laughs a little at himself. "Not much more to do, save get ready," he says reassuringly--more for himself than to anyone else. "K'ti!" He calles out, espying the red-haired rider, who apparently does not hear him. He shrugs, continuing with his checks of his straps. Maarie pats Zuseth's neck before unstrapping and sliding down to the ground. Kassima finishes her check of Lysseth's straps, and gives them one last tightening tug. "Good. I doubt many ever do, Kindre," she notes over to the goldrider with the briefest of wry smiles, before glancing over to see how the Thunderbolt dragons fare in their preperations. Vidarth backwings for a landing. One of the healers comes out of the infirmiry and sees Asrai trying to slip in with the others. Walking with purposeful steps she takes the tiny rider by the arm and leads her off, "Oh /no/ you don't lass. You know better then to pull that. You've been grounded, and those tanks are /way/ too heavy with you having triplets. Don't look at me like that...just cuz you deal with a midwife, doesn't mean we don't talk. Now away with you." Asrai gives a disappointed sigh, but heads towards the lower cavern. R'val slides down from Vidarth's back and lands in a crouch. R'val leaps off Vidarth's back hurriedly, and turns to help Ofira down. Ofira slides down off Vidarth's back, landing as neatly as possible. T'fian nods and salutes K'tyn. "If you will excuse me, sir, I must prepare Meroth." He walks over to his pale blue and starts feeding him chunks of firestone from a sack given to him by a passing weyrling. Kindre, who apparently had her mind on her preparations, blinks up at Asrai. "Get your what? Are they letting you...?" Auburn brows arch in question to the young, and pregnant, bluerider. Flicking that same glance to K'tyn, she then nods at the Healer's words. "True enough," is then offered to Kassima with a more genuine smile. Ofira hurries inside, quickly hugging R'val. "Stay safe," she whispers and then takes a quick lok at the assembled riders, wishing them all well. Ofira walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern. R'val hugs Ofira back, and hurriedly turns to begin feeding Vidarth firestone. Kassima whistles sharply to flag down one of those passing Weyrlings, neatly catching the sack tossed to her. After quickly checking to make sure it contains chunks of a suitable size for her dragon, she pulls out a piece and passes it into Lysseth's waiting maw. The crunch of rock can be heard from the green's direction, her eyes gaining speed and red with her relative impatience. Pleiath backwings for a landing. Emlyn slides down Pleiath's shoulder to her forelimb, then jumps to the ground. R'val spots Pleaith and Emlyn, and casts his friend a quick, warm smile as he feeds Vidarth a large chunk of the stone. Kindre offers Emlyn a quick wave and smile before preparing to pull herself atop Herath and buckle up her 'thrower. Kindre gives Herath a soft, loving pat on the side. Humbling her oft high- held muzzle, Herath dips close to the ground and Kindre half-steps, half- tugs herself up with courtly ease. An unusally easy and contented glint is in her eyes as her lifemate bestrides her. Raysin also flaggs down a groundcrew member handing out sacks. Taking an extra she secures it to Creth's straps and opens the other. Taking out a good sized chunk she begins to feed her lifemate the fire producing rock. Emlyn sees R'val's smile and returns one of her own. While Pleiath warbles warmly to the other dragons, Emlyn goes to get sacks of firestone. She secures the proper size on her dragon's straps then begins feeding stone to the small green. Public announcement: T'fian announces "In five minutes, Benden Weyr will be flying Fall over Benden Hold. As it's a Fall and nobody'd be outside anyway, watchers should +watch benden-cy. Thank you." Siraeth backwings for a landing. Pleiath sees Herath and, although she's being fed stone, she makes every effort to fold her wings -just- like the gold's, to mimic her dam's movements. J'cob hops down Siraeth's side to the ground, using her straps as handholds. Dulath lumbers here from the south. C'vadan slides off Dulath's shoulders to the ground, turning to give his lifemate a quick salute and then an affectionate pat on the neck. C'vadan leans tiredly against Dulath's foreleg. K'tyn looks over the rest of Skyfire, nodding approval of their apparent readiness. He bites his lip, debating something a moment, then shakes his head. "Stone, please," he calls out urgently to one of the passing groundspeople who shift several of the heavy bags to Prometh's side. Kiat opens one, and hefts the rest to the appropriate hooks on Prometh's straps. Creth rumbles as he slowly, methodically chews the offered rocks from his rider. Concentrating on his second stomach, he sends the mash downward. C'vadan salutes those that are in the position to require that action, then steps over to Maarie. "How's things look for the Wing?" he asks her. From her gold Herath, Kindre twists a bit as she leans to secure all the straps which will keep her flamethrower firmly in place. One of the younger goldriders seems to be having a problem with one strap, and Kin makes a slow motion with her own to help the other woman. Herath, on the other hand, snorts almost impatiently, her eyes a whirling replica of the Red Star itself. Emlyn is feeding Pleiath stone. She nods to C'vadan and Maarie, her wing's 'seconds, to show that she and her dragon are ready. C'vadan heads back to Dulath and starts feeding his lifemate firestone. Brynarth backwings for a landing. Raysin finishes up, securing the unused stone next to the other sack on Creth's straps before also nodding the pairs readiness to K'tyn. K'tyn clears his throat, looking at those assembled in the bowl. "Ah, my apologies for interupting," he says with a grin. "But, I think that I need to tell you about the conditions we're about to face. That is, if I can have your attention, please?" T'fian watches Raysin carefully, then turns to face K'tyn. J'cob waves to Maarie, and retires to the LC. J'cob walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern. From her gold Herath, Kindre, seeming nearly satisfied with everything, regards the Weyrleader and smiles, nodding to indicate she's listening. Astride her blue Brynarth, Sionelle quirks an eyebrow at K'tyn and his apologies, his 'thinking', and his 'please'. P'tran never said please. Imediately turns her full attention towards the Weyrleader. Creth focuses one whirling eye on him as well. Maarie crosses to the opposite side of Zuseth to hear K'tyn across the bowl better. Kassima manages to procure several more stacks from the various Weyrlings, securing them to Lysseth's straps with the ease of long practice at just that task. The empty sack, she tosses back before moving to place sacks on the other side of her lifemate; once this is finished, she slaps Lysseth's neck and turns to pay K'tyn her full attention. Emlyn places a hand on Pleiath's jawhinge. The green stops chewing, which cuts down on some small bit of hte noise in the bowl. T'fian crosses his arms, standing beside Meroth and watching the Weyrleader without expression. Dulath and his rider give the Weyrleader their full attention, as do everyone in the Dawnslight Wing. K'tyn smiles, and it is only by the churning of his hands about his belt that anyone might notice his agitation. "Today's fall will be over Benden Hold," he says clearly. "I've had reports from T'nnar's advance riders, and the weather is clear, for once." He clears his throat. "Aerie should be returning momentarily; Our job will be to take over from where they've left off..." Kiat looks at a hide in his hand. "T'nnar says that the winds are from the Northeast--blowing east to southeast." K'tyn looks at his fellow riders intently. "It should be fairly straight forward; though the Benden Range," he nods in the direction of the geographical feature, "And the surrounding hills will make for some unpredictability. I repeat--The 'fall will pass directly over Benden Hold and continue on into Igen's territory; our transfer point is at Fork's Hold." He smiles, "Any questions?" Emlyn has none and shakes her head. R'val shakes his head wordlessly. C'vadan shakes his head. Gracefully astride Herath, Kindre also shakes her head. T'fian corrects with a small cough. "Winds blowing west, south-west, sir," he says. T'fian pulls himself up Meroth's foreleg, grasping the blue's riding straps, and settles between his neckridges. Raysin shakes her head, her eyes taing a cold light as she mentally prepares for the Fall. Her only response to the correction by the weyrsecond is a single blink. R'val uses Vidarth's side straps to mount up agilely, settling onto the little blue's back and straightening. He pets his lifemate's head once as Vidarth rumbles excitedly, ready to fly. Emlyn uses Pleiath's forelimb as a step and seats herself between the green's neckridges. K'tyn looks at his note, the well crumpled hide with scribbled ink well blurred. "Ah, right. West-Southwest. Huh. T'nnar's 'w''s look like 'e's." Adonith backwings for a landing. C'vadan climbs up onto his lifemate's shoulders and gives Dulath an affectionate pat on the shoulders before checking his straps. Raysin makes her way up onto Creth's back with the aid of an offered foreleg and a strong grip on the riding straps, settling between his neckridges. Kassima joins in the general headshaking, though she glances at T'fian at the correction. "West, south-west," she repeats under her breath, re- checking her position in the formation before turning to view that of her wingmates. Some receive brief nods of approval; others, she gestures to tighten up their positions before swinging herself aboard Lysseth. You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly. You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered foreleg. <*> From her gold Herath, "Surprised you could even read it, Weyrleader," Kindre grins before pulling helmet and gloves into place. <*> Sitting her dragon with an easy grace, Sionelle waits patiently until K'tyn's speech is completed and until the time for asking questions seems to have stretched on long enough for her tastes. A small frown curves one side of her lips downward as T'fian corrects the weyrleader. Or perhaps it's 'as the weyrleader makes a mistake'. Then she shouts to the scurrying weyrlings: "Just because the weather's been reported as -clear-, Lords and Ladies, doesn't mean there won't be Thread and it doesn't mean there won't be wind... Whichever way it chooses to blow. So stay sharp. <*> Maarie quietly gives directions to a couple of the younger Dawnslight riders, then a reassuring smile before she turns to mount Zuseth. <*> Jehrina comes down the stairs from the Weyrwoman's Ledge. <*> Alyssa slides down the beautiful purplish blue flank of her lifemate to come to a rest on the ground, Adonith swinging his head around to regard her adoringly. <*> From Vidarth's back, R'val glances towards Maarie from his seat on Vidarth and nods to her slightly. <*> Leilanth backwings for a landing. <*> K'tyn laughs at Kindre as Prometh bellows his readiness at Kiat's question. <*> On Pleiath, Emlyn looks over at Sionelle's shouted reminder. Graceless though it was, there's truth in it, so she nods. <*> K'tyn uses both oiled straps and an extended foreleg to mount Prometh. Once settled into Prometh's bronze neckridges, K'tyn thanks Prometh politely, recieving a basso rumble in return. <*> Mounted on his dragon, T'fian nods at Sionelle's words. "Winds have been known to sometimes be tricky over Benden Hold," he adds. "So be careful." <*> Alyssa lands rather breathlessly and salutes the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman. "My apologies for coming in tardy from sweeps. Rough winds north of here." <*> Seated upon Dulath's neckridges, C'vadan looks over his section of the Wing and smiles at their readiness. He then pulls on his gloves and waits for the call to wings. <*> Seated upon Prometh, K'tyn returns the salute. "Are you too tired to go aloft again?" <*> Up between Creth's neckridges, Raysin makes one last check on Creth's straps, then waits patiently to be off. <*> Alyssa shakes her head but notes, "We might make it only partway through 'Fall, sir." Buckling herself securely into place, Kassi adjusts her helmet minutely, making sure none of her hair is loose. She pulls her goggles and turns to face forward, after a final backward glance at the Thunderbolt dragonpairs in her section of the Wing. <*> Jehrina nods at Alyssa's report, "Keep that in mind folks, we know how fast those winds can get to where we are." She finishes adjusting Leilanth's straps, doublechecking the tanks. <*> Between Meroth's neckridges, T'fian takes a deep breath after strapped in before pulling on his helmet and goggles. Then he looks towards K'tyn at the head of the Skyfire formation. <*> Jehrina climbs up onto Leilanth, using her extended foreleg as support. <*> Alyssa uses the oiled straps and an extended foreleg to mount Adonith and, once settled between his neckridges, she rubs his hide adoringly and receives, in return, a loving warblecroon. <*> Mounted on Dulath, C'vadan checks his bags of firestone, then pulls on his helmet and adjusts his goggles. Once he's ready, he looks over the Dawnslight Wing with some pride, then back at the Weyrleader. <*> Wedged within Prometh's neckridges, K'tyn waits for everyone to get seated and strapped in. He looks at Prometh, nods to his Wingleaders and raises his arm to signal readiness. Prometh bunches his haunches, preparing to leap upward. <*> From Vidarth's back, R'val puts on his helmet, snaps his goggles in place, and sits back, eyeing those around him thoughtfully as he waits. <*> Prometh takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. <*> Meroth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. <*> On Pleiath, Emlyn tightens the fastenings holding extra sacks to her dragon's straps, then nudges the green aloft. <*> Adonith takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. <*> Pleiath takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry her aloft. <*> Creth's tail lashes slowly in impatience, then gives a short *BUGLE* before launching. <*> Vidarth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. <*> Lysseth springs from the ground, the air from her wings churning up dust as she takes to the skies. You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the bowl floor to carry you aloft. <*> Creth rises up from the bowl. <*> Dulath rises up from the bowl. <*> Leilanth rises up from the bowl. <*> Herath rises up from the bowl. <*> Brynarth rises up from the bowl. <*> Zuseth rises up from the bowl. <*> Prometh disappears into Between. <*> Zuseth disappears into Between. <*> Dulath disappears into Between. <*> Pleiath disappears into Between. <*> Meroth disappears into Between. <*> Vidarth disappears into Between. <*> Lysseth disappears into Between. Between You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats... Black... Blacker... Blackest! You suddenly emerge... <*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Brynarth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Adonith emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Creth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Leilanth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Herath emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Vidarth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Amrieth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> Adonith wings his way adroitly to his proper position flanking the larger Prometh while Alyssa glances behind her, reflexively, to ensure that Skyfire is positioned properly. <*> Only a few high, wispy white clouds mar the pristine, cerullean sky. The golden sun, far above the western horizon shines down over the Benden Hold courtyard, strangely silent and motionless for this bustling time of a spring day. Metal shutters, tightly drawn over windows, give the Hold a desolate, haunted look, souls trapped inside, daring not to venture forth. Suddenly the sky over the courtyard is rent asunder by the shimmering forms of hundreds of dragons that all appear as one, triangular formation upon triangular formation, green and blue filling the heavens, darker browns and huge bronzes contrasting, drawing the eye by both size and magnificience. And below them, huge forms dominating the sky, fly the pride and joy of Benden, the Queens Wing, sinuous and graceful, the rulers of the skies. All eyes, goggled and faceted, face northeast into the cool, light wind, where the foothills rise up to the tall Benden Range, snow- covered peaks obscured by a distant, strange glimmering haze, punctured by brief, bright flashes of reddish light. <*> Pleiath moves to her usual place on the outer fringe of her wing's formation. She's ready to zip across to take care of the remains of charred chunks. <*> Leilanth angles downward, taking position far enough below to catch stray strands. <*> Vidarth sounds a brassy, bellowing call of rage and challenge, eyes whirling heatedly as he sees the Thread falling. <*> Lysseth settles smoothly into her place in the formation, tail lashing lightly with her impatience to begin battle. Her rider turns her head, looking back over Thunderbolt's formation; finding no error, she too settles herself in preparation for he fight. <*> Wedged within Prometh's neckridges, K'tyn looks over his shoulder, pleased and proud to see the Benden Wings come from Between in formation. Prometh roars his rage at the ancient nemesis, eyes turning a brilliant red as he watches the thread approach. <*> Dulath bugles once as his rider checks first on the Wing, then looks out to the age old menace of Thread. Leaning forward, he prepares to take his section of the Dawnslight Wing ahead into this battle. <*> Meroth's pale form flies easily along near the rear of the Skyfire formation, flying in Quinath's normal place. His rider looks eastward towards the mountains and the thread that hangs there ominously. <*> Amrieth watches the silvery rain fall silently in the distance, eyes whirling red at the ancient foe that she comes to hunt, only this time with fire, a desiring need to coruscate in flame and turn fungoid to dust. <*> Herath glides several wingbeats behind the senior queen and to her left flank, Herath tries to keep angled precisely in her usual position although Leilanth's larger wings cause the smaller gold to pump more often. <*> From the forward section of Skyfire's wing, Adonith masticates noisily to catch up with the other dragons, downing his firestone hurriedly as his rider stares toward the oncoming rain of silver death. <*> Creth takes his normal position off to the side of the Skyfire wing, where his inate agility will be the most usefull. His lifemate is rock steady as she too looks upon the oncoming thread. One might expect to see mirroring flashes of red in her own eyes. <*> Zuseth falls into place at the trailing edge of Dawnslight's formation, the vantage point giving both rider and dragon an excellent position to gauge the leading edge and performance of the other wingriders as the ride in the draft of the larger dragons. Benden Weyr> Jehrina says, "Are you trying to say my dragon's a whale, Kindre?" Benden Weyr> Felinar says, "No, just the rider. Er. . . I mean." Benden Weyr> Jerissa heehees Benden Weyr> Kindre gahs, heck no! :) Benden Weyr> Kassima gets a mental image of Jehrina riding a floating killer whale through the sky. Benden Weyr> J'cob says, "Its obvious you're twice the weyrwoman she is-- literally! =)" <*> As the Benden dragons drive eastward, the slowly falling line of haze becomes more distinct, recognizable as the roiling chaotic mass of the leading edge. Eerily it sparkles under the light of the sun, the sinuous twinings of individual strands into clumps mesmerizing despite the danger thread poses to life and crop. T'nnar's tired Aerie Wing, having played a foreguard action ever since the Fall came overland far to the east, break off as the full might of the Benden Wings approach. With a wave to the magnificient bronze leading the arriving formation, T'nnar sends his troops Between, just as the sky darkens onimously. A brief, timeless moment as dragons and riders regard their ancient enemy, then bright tongues of flame burst around Skyfire Wing, and the battle is engaged, far to the east of Benden Hold. Benden Weyr> C'vadan laughs. <*> Brynarth sweeps in high but slowly, taking his place near the rear of the formations to watch the flight, and the stone carrying weyrlings, from above. His rider grits her teeth and tightens her gloves, secretly hoping an errant clump or two will require the blue's swift attention. She hates to watch her charges at this stage and would welcome the distraction. <*> Leilanth wings steadily forward, her rider firing the 'thrower's wand carefully and steadily. Her speed increases, as quick, efficient bursts of flame char thread remnants. Benden Weyr> Jehrina SMAKS Felinar:p:) <*> Pleiath has to fight her usual impulse to range straight out at the clumps. Her role is to wait, however, and her rider holds her steady in the formation. <*> Wedged within Prometh's neckridges, K'tyn pumps his arm skyward, urging Skyfire, and more generally, Dawnslight and Thunderbolt into the fray. <*> Dulath has been chewing on the 'stone for an eternity and is more than ready to char the Thread. Moving into position ahead of several blues to help them with his draft. C'vadan has more stone ready for his lifemate. <*> Lysseth trumpets her own challenge to the unheeding rain of silver destruction, eyes blazing carmine as she readies her fire. Red-gold light flickers, meeting a clump of silver and turning it to blackdust, crackdust--a cloud of ash that she and her rider dodge successfully before seeking out the next tangle in line to die. <*> Vidarth deftly assumes his set place in the Dawnslight formation, after chewing another hunk of stone just to be safe. When the Thread descends low enough, he bugles, rising to meet the challenge. <*> From her gold Herath, Kindre's grip upon the wand is firm and steady as Herath and she gauge the skies above and around themselves for whatever strips of silver-gray may come to fall. <*> A line of Wings, each in their standard v-formation, stretches for a few kilometers to the north and south, three Wings deep, facing the long, shimmering grey mass of the leading edge, made up of thousands upon thousands of deadly spore. The mild wind drives the edge westward and downward in a simple, predictable patterns, yet still light strands break are pummeled and driven out of their clumps, a warning to riders that no fall is as easy as it appears. Several twining clumps fall to the north on Dawnslights left flank, leaving Zuseth and Pleiath closest to intercept. <*> Pleiath silently folds her wings to drop more rapidly on the clump falling north of Dawnslight. She opens her wings at the last moment and belches out a boiling cloud of flame that sears the thread to ash. Her rider ducks against her neck to avoid the hot char. <*> From atop Leilanth, Jehrina glances over her shoulder, gauging her junior's position relative to her. A quick nod, and back upwards her gaze returns. Leilanth banks rapidly after a faltering dragon is blown off course by a gust of wind. <*> Pleiath pumps her wings hard to get back up into position. Her eyes are turning with intense satisfaction. <*> Dulath dips and swerves to char what little Thread comes his way. C'vadan leans over to get some more firestone for his lifemate, managing to drop some of it to the ground. He curses himself silently, then feeds Dulath as much as he can take in preparation for the next wave. <*> Zuseth rises up to fill the gap left between Pleiath and the remainder of the wing, the burst of bright flame issued from her finding it's mark as bits of charred Thread fall to the ground below. The strike brings a cry of elation from her rider before both fall back into formation, wary of any straggling silvery threads. <*> Meroth dances in his position, agilely darting this way and that yet never far enough to endanger his wingmates. Bright licks of flame emerge from his muzzle, charring to ash several small clumps that get through the large dragons (and Adonith and Pliarth) leading Skyfire. <*> Vidarth meets a crazily spinning clump of Thread in mid-descent, searing it with a well-aimed burst of flame. <*> Lysseth struggles briefly against a gust of wind, then lets it aid her in soaring upwards to intercept a sudden patch blown within her range. The emission of flame from the green's maw burns brightly, sustained until naught remains of the Thread but char and cinder. Lysseth drops back into formation with a bugle, turning her head to accept more 'stone from her lifemate. <*> Slow and steady, Prometh surges forward--His mouth is open wide as he waits, timing the movement just right, to sear a large slow falling clump that threatens the verdant vines and crops below. Ash, glittering red-gold and brilliant yellow, flutter backward as Prometh ducks ash and pops between, returning above and well behind his former position. <*> Brown and bronze fly strong and steady, powerfully bright flashes of flame searing huge amounts of thread, then break off, to circle around and approach the leading edge again, driven inexorably eastward towards the Hold by the relentless mass of silvery thread. Agile greens and blues, dominating the sky, dart this way and that, searing, flashing between, returning to flame again. A large, rolling clump is broken apart by a sudden crosswind, and like an explosion, small, silvery spore are scattered everywhere, clumping, breaking, catupulting erratically towards Brynarth, Adonith, and Vidarth. <*> Vidarth is aware of the clump heading his way, moving in its eratic, deadly fashion, and he swerves to meet it unflinchingly, belching a wide swath of flame to destroy the intruding, offending blight upon the beautiful sky. <*> Leilanth rumbles warningly as the thread falls in stranger, tangled clumps. Jehrina just nods, face obscured by flight gear, her 'thrower sweeping steadily back and forth. <*> Creth keeps his position, darting in where needed to get this trailing clump or that. He is a steady flyer, all business with little 'show'. <*> Adonith inhales deeply, chest expanding, while the gasses in his second stomach churn the devoured firestone; moments later, as he makes a nauseatingly sharp upward jolt, he belches out a strong gout that eliminates the Thread threatening his lifemate, his wingmates, his weyr... his Pern. <*> Brynarth sweeps his wings backwards with a quick jerk, his rider compesating for the increase in his speed almost the instant he makes it good. She leans instinctively against his neck as he flames, a long hard burst of phosphine fire. The Thread flutters away as harmless cinder, and the weyrlingmaster bushes the soot from her goggles to watch for the first group of young dragons and riders replacing spent stone. <*> Pocketing the stronger bursts of wind beneath her wings, trying to use them to some advantage, Herath rumbles her hatred briefly at the skies above. The writhing ribbons of steal are momentarily mirrored in the gold's eyes while her rider continues to watch the wispy air about them for tangles which may fall through. <*> Prometh eyes the dull, glittering mass of thread that writhes in the air before him. He roars, a brassy challenge to this foe that dares to try and harm that which is under his protection. Angered at this personal affront, Prometh gleefully sears the threads with abandon. <*> A tangle of Thread approaches Lysseth swiftly at *just* the wrong moment, and Kassi's shout of warning is all that lets Lysseth turn her head back in time to see it. The pair blink *between*, emerging a few seconds later perfectly in place and unharmed--though you couldn't tell it from Kassi's invectives or Lysseth's roar of anger. The fact that a Thunderbolt wingmate catches the missed clump neatly only mollifies either slightly, and they set to the task of flaming and charring with even more determination than before, if possible. <*> Amrieth tilts her wingtip, slipping easily through the sky to attack this deadly threat to the land below her. With a roar of challenge, she flames the silvery thread that wriggles in front of her, charring it to naught but dust. <*> Pleiath lifts her left wing and veers sharply back across the line flown be her wing. She spits small clouds of searing flame at the strands of Thread that have made it through the line. The sweep complete, the small green stations on the opposite wing of the formation. <*> Dulath turns suddenly, almost dislodging his rider, as he flames some Thread that was missed by one of the younger dragons. C'vadan holds on for dear life, realizing now he's not as alert as he needs to be. Getting Dulath more 'stone, he signals to one of the Weyrling's to toss him another bag. Catching it, he secures the bag, then waits for Dulath to fall back into formation. <*> Rukbat's greenish-yellow disk slowly slips further down the horizon, the hills and valleys below flattening gradually towards the fields and cotholds surrounding Benden Hold, as wave after wave of the deadly foe push westward. Meeting each wave are the Benden dragons, efficiently charring the twining strands to ash, wheeling around, giving the wings behind their chance to combat this timeless enemy. Yet the graceful competence of the dance is suddenly shattered as Thunderbolt wheels around, a perfectly choreographed maneuver under P'tran's capable leadership, leftward and downward, away from the leading edge, letting Phantom Wing replace them. Phantom's wingleader, however, instead sends his wing too far to the south. A large sheet of sinuous thread slips through the gap formed, straight towards Thunderbolt's exposed right flank and Lysseth and Amrieth. Some more thread, buffeted by the wind downward, also gets below Thunderbolt, snaking down in a course towards the Queens Wing. <*> From Vidarth's back, R'val pumps his arm in a salute to the others of his wing as he stops Vidarth's upwards climb to feed the blue much-needed firestone. The dragon's eyes whirl with impatience, ready, eager, needing the action and the motion and the victory. As soon as the clump of firestone is devoured, the dragon soars upwards with a pound of his mighty wings into a nearby silvery hail of thread, flaming it. <*> Creth keeps his burst of flame short, just enough to do the job without waste. Dilligently he works his area of the wing, making sure that nothing gets past. One troublesome clump requires a sharp bank, but the older Blue is more then up to the task. <*> From atop Prometh, K'tyn urges his bronze to turn his head and accept more Firestone to keep the flame at maximum strength against the acidic foe. He shouts a warning, espying the gap and the ensuing deadly mass that threatens the queens below. <*> Herath trumpets in warning as the hated menace burrows its way down toward her and her wingmates. Kindre, at the ready, lifts the nozzle of her 'thrower as Herath banks towards the west, within reach of one small twisting mass. Scarlet tinged orange erupts to the front of Herath's right wing as her rider manages to char the silver strands into ebony dust. <*> Lysseth executes one of her famed bone-rattling manuevers, snapping her wings to full extension and wheeling on a wingtip to meet the falling Thread with an assault of flame. Hissing silver strands turn black and dead in less time than it would take a man to cough, roasted, toasted, and burnt to a crisp by the intensity of Lyss's sweeping flame--which is skillfully manuevered so as not to endanger any of her wingmates nearby. <*> From atop Leilanth, Jehrina sends her queen banking once more, waving a signal at Kindre and pointing at the gap. With a wide fan of spray, threads char and burn to cinder before reaching the gold. <*> Meroth bugles a warning towards the Thunderbolt dragons, but the sound is abruptly cut off as he is forced to flame at clump that slips by him. <*> Adonith readjusts his position after dropping away from Prometh's flank, once again soaring and winging along gracefully. He has recently returned from sweeps, yet he flies strongly, surely, certainly, a deliberate flaunting of his youth and prowess. <*> A section of the Dawnslight formation breaks away from the rest of the wing flawlessly. The brown and blue pair dissipate an erratic clump to the south of the other wings before falling back in formation and restocking on firestone. <*> Amrieth dips her wing, swinging her precious hide out of the way of that deadly meanace. In a brief flicker of time, she tilts back, twisting her neck sinuously to flame what she can of the the silvered substance -- silver turns to red, which eventually cools to black, -- but still, some escapes towards the golds below and the ground that beckons below them. She bugles out a warning to the queens, unable to do much more than warn. <*> With a hearty rumble, Rubanth flames a sliver of Thread. Or most of it, as his theatrical wing actions swirl a large clump of the menace towards Dulath, whose attention is on the blue and rider ahead of him. Both the brown and his rider scream out in agony as the silvery strands bite into skin and hide. Very quickly, Dulath goes *between*, returning in an instant. The Thread did its damage to the brown's flawless hide. But it also severed part of the straps holding C'vadan in. The brownrider dangles below the bleeding belly of his dragon, seemingly unconscious. Dragon> Vidarth bespoke Benden dragons with << DULATH! >> Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Amrieth bugles << Dulath?! Is he awake? My rider says can you hear him?! >> Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Dulath is confused. << Pain. My rider! >> Dragon> Benden dragons sense that Herath keeps the panic she must feel almost completely free from her voice. << Dulath?! >> Dragon> Leilanth bespoke Threadfall Comm with << Herath, be ready for a catch. >> Dragon> Prometh bespoke Threadfall Comm with << Dulath! Respond! Your rider is in danger! >> Dragon> Herath bespoke Threadfall Comm with << We are ready... >> Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Dulath warbles in confusion. << He won't respond! >> <*> From atop Leilanth, Jehrina sends Leilanth *between* to reappear below Dulath and his dangling rider. Dragon> Amrieth bespoke Threadfall Comm with << We need to get him home. I'll met you there! >> Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Prometh sound urgently calm, if such a thing is possible. << Dulath. Allow Leilanth and Herath to assist you! >> <*> Dulath flies lower, his strength ebbing as he bleeds. Valiantly, he tries to remain aloft until assistance comes. <*> Quick action is taken by the remainder of the Dawnslight wing. A smaller bronze shifts towards the front while the formation slowly forms from a leading edge V to a multi-leveled diamond in the immediate area of Dulath to continue fighting while protecting their injured wingmate. Riders are heard shouting amongst one another along the eddies of the wind and in addition to the silent communication that must be happening between their dragons. <*> From Vidarth's back, R'val looked briefly tempted to urge Vidarth out of formation to rescue C'vadan. As the job is taken, the dragon ascends, back into the fray. A crazily spinning, if small, clump of the deadly rain is intercepted and blown into dust by the flame the little blue spurts. <*> Meroth's rider watches the brown and dangling wingsecond, but soon is engulfed in a life or death battle of flame and ash and burning dangerous thread, unable to give C'vadan and Dulath any more thought. Dragon> Leilanth bespoke Threadfall Comm with << We're below you. If he falls, we will catch. Home. Now. >> Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Creth rumbles with experience come from age, << Be at ease Dulath, let the Queens aid your rider. You must remain calm, for his sake. >> <*> Herath follows right behind her Dam, eyes whirling with the determination and heat that fills her emotions. <*> Pleiath slips sideways to help fill the gap in the formation. She's small, but she's maneuverable and scrappy. Slowing her forward motion, she sweeps her flame left to right to burn the deadly Thread from in front of her. The green's use of her flame is uneconomical, as is her expenditure of energy. She will need relief soon. <*> Lysseth trumpets with alarm as the screams of pain resound, her rider's horrified eyes turning briefly to brown and rider. Attention is broken, though, as another clump falls towards them; both dragon and rider are forced to turn away, back to the fight at hand. Lysseth's next lash of red-gold flame sears the Thread past the point of death, and could most definitely be defined as overkill. <*> Prometh trumpets his frustration, turning as he must to flame a silvered roiling mass with new fury, charring it to unseemly ash in seconds. <*> Dragons dance their familar dance, flame bursting and vanishing, leaving strange afterimages flashing in the eye. Hot ash -- the residue of implacable thread -- blankets everything, dusting through the air, covering goggles, coating the wingsails. Each beat of powerful wings causes a corona of fine ash around each dragon, through which snakes the malignant strands of silvery death. Several individual strands, blown about by the wind, converge on Creth from different directions. <*> Amrieth drops down out of formation, allowing one of the other Thunderbolt greens to take her place. With a bugle of frustration at having to leave that silvery menace behind, she disappears between <*> Amrieth disappears into Between. Dragon> Adonith bespoke Benden dragons with << My rider wishes to know if she is needed, Amrieth? >> Dragon> Zuseth bespoke Benden dragons with << We go home at Amrieth's bequest. >> <*> Zuseth disappears into Between. <*> Dulath disappears into Between. <*> Leilanth angles deftly below Dulath and C'vadan, close as she may come. Jehrina carefully eyes the distance, thrower wand dangling from a forgotten strap. <*> Leilanth disappears into Between. <*> Settled between Adonith's neckridges, Alyssa turns to watch the rescue, tight-lipped, pale, then, with a sigh, she turns back to the matter at hand. Adonith has already resumed the hunt. <*> Pleiath drops down into the queen's wing. During the descent, she accepts stone from her rider. The green takes up position on Herath's right flank. Dragon> Benden dragons sense that Amrieth warbles gently << Gentle, Gentle, Dulath. We will help you. Leilanth, we'll be on the ground. >> <*> Creth keeps his wits about him as thread comes at him from different directions at the same time. Folding his wingsails he drops like a stone...but for a dragonlength and no more. an audible *SNAP* resounds as his wingsails open once more to break the decent. Hissing tangles of thread hit and converge in the space that only a moment before was occupied by the older Blue. Raising his muzzle he lets loose a burst of flame that turns the menace to ash, the char floating harmlessly overhead of his current position. South Bowl> Above, Leilanth bugles down to the floor of the bowl, keeping just below the Dulath until he's close enough to the ground. <*> Prometh soars the skies with seemingly new vigor, fairly charging at the hissing clumps of death that spiral down from above. Kiat looks at the thread, and at his friend... He nods a reassurance to himself as Jehrina and her great gold dragon help the injured two home. <*> Herath falls back into position, her rider's frown barely discernable as the injured dragonpair are taken home. The gold trumpets at Pleiath before she again finds concentration with the tangle of sky decending upon them all. Kassima leans close to her lifemate's neck, a cloud of cinder-dotted char passing over her by the narrowest of margins. Quickly, she unslings another bag and tears it open to restoke the furnace in her lifemate's stomach, keeping a wary eye out for more Thread in the vicinity. Lysseth folds her wings and dives down to catch a tangle missed by another, managing to sear it even with her weakening fires. North Bowl> Maarie agilely slips down from Zuseth's neckridges and lands softly on the ground below. North Bowl> C'vadan slides off Dulath's shoulders to the ground, turning to give his lifemate a quick salute and then an affectionate pat on the neck. <*> Pleiath is no gold dragon, though she greatly admires Herath. Even so, she attempts to take on the duties of the departed Leilanth. The small green darts over to sear a widely dispersed bit of Thread that has drifted down through the wings. North Bowl> C'vadan lays on the ground, bleeding and unconscious. <*> An inhuman scream rips through the air, a bellowing that turns blood to ice. L'maren's green Canmisth writhes in the air, long furrows down her neck and shoulders from which dark ichor flows. She drops downward, her Skyfire wingmates efficiently closing the gap left by her descent out of the formation. Canmisth vanishes Between, returning only heartbeats later. Wounds apparently superficial, she has controlled her descent and wings her way back into the formation. Yet, as she retakes her place, the fighting harness holding L'maren snaps, having been scored by the thread that struck his green. Rider and straps slip off the small greens neck, flailing uselessly as they plummet downward towards Herath and Pleiath. North Bowl> Maarie is on the ground in a matter of moments, hands hastily finding pockets for goggles and gloves. North Bowl> From atop Leilanth, Jehrina growls, and checks to see that C'vadan's being attended to. Benden Weyr> R'val says, "My, this is quite the harrowing fall, isn't it?" North Bowl> Leilanth rumbles, and gathers herself to launch again. North Bowl> Leilanth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry her aloft. <*> Leilanth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! Benden Weyr> Caitria peers at that emit, and gadzooks. Benden Weyr> Kassima says, "Rah, action and bloodshed! ;)" <*> Leilanth bugles her return, her rider groping for the previously forgotten wand. A spurt, and then another full flame streams from the 'thrower. North Bowl> Jerissa lithely jumps down off of Amrieth. Her eyes glaze for a brief moment and she smiles, whilst the green whuffles her hair affectionately. North Bowl> A healer is already on the scene, nervously awaiting the riders. When he sees the large brown land, he dashes for the fallen rider, a couple of apprentices in tow. North Bowl> Jerissa rushes over to Dulath and C'vadan, quickly assessing the brown's condition. <*> Adonith again readjusts his position to help cover the changes in the wing from Canmisth's disappearance, pausing long enough to chomp and swallow another bag of 'stone. His eyes wheel red hatred for the Thread, his muscles bunch and unbunch in visible tension. <*> Pleiath bugles in alarm as a rider plummets toward her. Unable to get her back under the rider, she dips her head under L'maren, attempting to break his fall. She deflects the man's descent toward the larger Herath. <*> Herath snaps a trumpet towards her daughter, though the intelligent, more agile green has an equally quick grasp of the situation as another dragonpair fall tot he perils of Thread. Her larger size able to accommodate the dragon, Herath moves in beneath to stop the fall, Kindre laying flat against the gold's neck. North Bowl> Maarie is not far behind on Rissa's heals, her appraising eye systematically taking in the injury. <*> To the west, a large, granite peak, rising three hundred meters above its surroundings, proves to be an obstacle standing in the way of the whirling, piroutting dragons their roiling enemy. The second and third ranks dance in towards the leading edge from, then bank off in choregraphed movements, leaving the wings behind to repeat the movement. The Leading edge cuts into the tall peak, as it has thousands of times before, unable to eat through the rock. Speed of impact of the individual strands cause them to be inbedded harmlessly in granite. As the leading edge passes around the peak, Skyfire, Dawnslight, and Thunderbolt are there to meet it, continuing the dangerous dance as they start passing over the civilized fields around the Hold. <*> Lysseth bugles as the rider falls, far out of her range--then snaps her jaws shut on the sound as a snarl of Threads falls towards her right wing. Spinning about again, she hauls the threatened wing out of danger and aims her fire towards the silver attack-strands. The gold of her flame meets the silver--and, as always, proves itself the better as the latter of the two falls from the sky as lifeless dust. <*> Creth moves quickly to cover the now empty slot in the wing formation, 'tightening up' with the other members as injuries send some of the others home. North Bowl> Jerissa frowns in concentration, looking upwards at the large brown. Hrm. Carefully she helps the healers remove the unconcsious rider from the straps, leaving him to their care. Then, beckoning Maarie over, she indicates the wound, "Your assessment?" <*> Prometh bugles 'welcome back' to Leilanth and her rider, even as K'tyn waves and pumps his arm at their return. Prometh eases right, turning to sear a sudden nasty clump that blows his way in the unpredictable winds. At the sight of a second rider's straps breaking Kiat shakes his head, grateful to see Herath and the capable Pleiath there, at the right time. <*> Meroth quickly and with great agility, banks sharply towards the other side of the Skyfire formation, just as a green from other side does. They pass each other, passing within mere meters then slide back into each other's former position. <*> From Vidarth's back, R'val emeges from Between in a blast of explosive cold air, upon his dragon, who bugles his concern for his fellow Benden dragon as he is injured, and R'val stares in shock as the rider plummets and is caught. All this happens in the blink of an eye, before another clump of Thread is upon R'val and Vidarth, forcing them to evade, and sear in passing, getting most but not all of the clump. <*> Astride her blue Brynarth, Sionelle is silently fuming. She's never had any tolerance for mistakes or bad luck, especially when either one endangers a dragon. The weyrlings can expect a long, long lecture on the importance of strong straps this evening. But in the meantime, she turns her attention to the matter at hand, and feeds her blue more 'stone as he sweeps closer to the fray to assist. <*> With the peak slipping away eastward, the wind starts to get strange. An oscillating pattern forms from wind passing over the granite upcropping, driving the thread up and down in rolling waves, with irregular crosswinds from the air passing around the sides of the foothill peaks. The Benden wings suddenly find themselves in a roiling mess, with silvery thread, sparkling orangeish-yellow in the setting sun, whipped violently this way and that. A large clump, individual strands curled and twined about each other in a huge, deadly rat, slip by Thunderbolt with only Lysseth close enough to save the fertile lands below. <*> Pleiath folds wing and dives after L'maren, even though he's headed for Herath. That wonderful gold dragon, however, is busy with the unlucky L'maren's dragon. The rider bounces off her shoulder and continues to plummet. Pleiath, her eyes whirling with determination, falls more rapidly, not having run into the gold. She manages to grab him in her foreclaws. <*> From atop Leilanth, Jehrina shakes her head as winds begin taking their toll on dragons, one eye on Herath and her rescue attempt, the other on covering the younger queen from thread headed her direction. Kassima turns to assess her section of the Wing's formation, and gestures emphatically to a few riders who have allowed themselves to slide. She is sharply jostled as Lysseth banks unexpectedly, dodging the thick clump by the thinnest of margins and craning her head to sear it before it can continue its path. The rider's straps creak in protest, but seem neither to stretch or crack as the green veers to tail the wind-blown snarl with her flame until it's been completely erased from existance. <*> Settled between Adonith's neckridges, Alyssa twists a bit as she hears the odd creaks of wings and sinews behind her, noting without much pleasure the near miss between Meroth and the green. Though no collision occurs, she frowns heavily before a jerk from Adonith returns her attention to the clumps of greyish destruction still streaming from the skies, the Red Star's poison for planet Pern. North Bowl> Maarie frowns as she replies, "Muscle and vein damage, possible further internal injury..." her voice trails as she strains to see the complete wound, "And those straps are burned, embedded into his skin." <*> Pleiath turns her eyes on Herath. When the gold blinks between, the green follows. North Bowl> Jerissa nods, lines furrowing her brown, "Indeed. How do you feel about treating that wound whilst I see what I can do about these" she gestures "straps?!" <*> Herath moves away from the wing, dropping several hundred meters and, once sure Pleiath is ready, slips into the blackness of *between*. <*> Herath disappears into Between. <*> Pleiath disappears into Between. North Bowl> Above, From the Benden Star Stones, M'nar's mint green Gelth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to gold Herath and her rider, Kindre, welcoming them home. North Bowl> Above, From the Benden Star Stones, M'nar's mint green Gelth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to green Pleiath and her rider, Emlyn, welcoming them home. North Bowl> Above, Pleiath drops at dizzying speed toward the infirmary. She's got a human being in her foreclaws. North Bowl> Pleiath backwings for a landing. North Bowl> Maarie nods, turning to look for the faithful apprentice bringing supplies. She is quick to pull out the redwort and cleans her hands, a glance managed for the skies above before back to the work at hand. North Bowl> Herath backwings for a landing. <*> Creth, despite his age, doesn't tire. There is work to be done, and it is his job to do it. Slicing through the winds, he turns them to his advantage, letting them lift him to the next clump. Letting loose a stream of red and gold, Creth destroys an erratically falling clump before it can slip through. North Bowl> Herath arrives with L'maren's dragon bestride her back, Kindre ducking close to the gold's neck as hot, firestone breath threatens to singe her hair. North Bowl> Pleiath zooms in low over the crowd here, backwinging fiercely. Her lower limbs drop down, and she comes to an uncharacteristic, inelegant landing. In fact, she rolls over her left shoulder, but ends up upright. L'maren, in her foreclaws, does not get damaged, though her own rider, Emlyn, gets pretty badly bruised in the maneuver. North Bowl> J'cob comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. North Bowl> J'cob emerges from the Living Cavern covered in gruel and carrying a wherry drumstick. North Bowl> Lil darts at J'cob, seizing the wherry leg from his grasp. North Bowl> Gracefully astride Herath, Kindre, still crouched low on Herath, catches Pleiath's valiant attempt not to injure L'maren as she lands. "Shards...Em! You..." she begins to call over when another sticky, hot breath brushes her neck. North Bowl> J'cob guards the drumstick, and the firelizard only gets part. North Bowl> Maarie moves closer to Dulath, taking another appraising look over the wound, murmuring softly to the large brown. Her second assessment complete, she begins to cleanse the wound, following with numbweed. North Bowl> Pleiath lets L'maren down into the care of the rapidly arriving healers. Her rider acknowledges Kindre's shouted warning, but there's nothing to be done. She calls back, "Can Herath let her down, or do you need help?" North Bowl> A younger apprentice drifts behind Maarie, the large container of numbweed and reasonably sized paddle handed to Maarie when prompted to do so. North Bowl> Jerissa washes her hands thoroughly, before rinsing them in redwort. Covering them with oil, a protection mechanism against the numbweed, that she now slathters other the straps. Head tilting to watch the green and gold, sherowns and nods. <*> This fall pattern brings thread directly over Benden Hold and this where the Benden Wings now find themselves. Chaos still reigns with the dangerous winds only growing stronger and stronger. A sudden burst of flame marks a shift in wing formations, now with Dawnslight slipping behind and below Skyfire, and the Weyrlings moving upward to resupply Prometh's wing. Forming the head of the second tier, Prometh leads his Skyfire ahead, towards a dense cluster of falling thread, which suddenly vanishes, caught in a strange wind pattern that often occurs over Benden Hold. The thread is pushed violently downward, then starts circling back up, bringing the dense clump towards the Weyrlings and Brynarth. If left uncharred the thread will continue to be carried quickly, flying death, straight towards the exposed underbellies of the dragons towards the rear of Skyfires formation. <*> Spin, dive, and twirl? These aren't the senior queen's preferred methods of fighting a 'fall. Careful, steady, always watching the fighting wings, that's the proper way. Leilanth and her wing cross the lower formation, wands ready. North Bowl> J'cob climbs under Siraeth's wing and chews on his drumstick. North Bowl> From her gold Herath, Kindre's hands are trying to protect her neck as Herath tries to slide the injured green a bit away from her nearly charred rider. "We may need help...Faranth, but her breath stinks..." Squinting around the black dust covering her goggles, she hears rather than sees the Senior Dragonhealer. "Is it alright to slide her off?" <*> Lysseth is a larger green and unable to match her smaller sisters for natural dexterity. Still, her dual determination to protect her rider from injury and the lands below her from Thread have led her to hone her aerobatic abilities as finely as it may--and this shows as she whirls sharply in the air, getting the best aim possible for a nearby tangle. It doesn't die a pleasant death, as the ruddy flames eclipse it in their glow and burn it completely away. <*> After restoking his great bronze hulk, Prometh roars as he arrows for a oily shimmering sheet of thread, his mouth wide open as he prepares to blast the destested spore from the sky, only to have the sheet clump apart and twine back together in a dangerous writhing mass. Anger on his face plainly visible, Kiat urges Prometh toward the clump to sear it from the sky even as another clump heads for the Weyrlings and the stout Brynarth. Ash flares brightly, then dims as a fair portion of the clump evades the Bronze's fiery blast. North Bowl> Jerissa nods to Kindre, lifting a hand so her dinminuitive form might be seen and then verbalsising th ecomment aas swell, "Sure, Kindre, just take it easy!" Turning back she pauses in thought over Dulath's straps, wonderin how in Faranth's name to remove them?! North Bowl> Pleiath is in a hurry to get back. She watches the healers attending to L'maren, then hops back to get wingroom for leaping aloft. The small green is waiting for the gold. <*> Vidarth pauses briefly to be refuelled, chewing voraciously upon chunks of firestone, one, and then a second, as his dragon leans over him, darting eyes up to the continuing silver rain of Thread. Once he's done, the lithe blue darts back into formation, and sears a passing swath of thread with vigour. <*> Certh's sharp eyes follow the circular pattern of this latest clump. Calling out a loud warning to the others sharing the back formation of the Skyfire wing. The Weyrlings must be protected. the older Blue practically stands on his snout, flaming a controlled burt towards the thread coming up under his belly and towards the vunerable young ones. <*> Brynarth's stentorian bugle cuts across the wind and the rustle of leathery wings, even as the blue surges forward to join the younger, smaller dragons. Buffetted by the wind, the weyrlings respond to the bellowed instruction, and the startled riders, some barely more than children, fasten the sacks they'd been ready to hand off as their mounts sweep upward. Thin lines of flame streak toward the Thread, and the crisp voice of Sionelle shouts: "Don't hit the dragons, you hedgecreeping pack of half-blind watchwhers!" She's merely worried. North Bowl> From her gold Herath, Kindre chuckles a bit, wiping some dust from her goggled eyes. "Sorry...gah, though, thank Faranth Hera doesn't chew this stuff," she tries to say lightheartedly. <*> Creth does well in thinning out the dense mass that makes its way towards the weyrlings. The resulting leftovers are much more managible then they would have been if the older Blue had been one moment slower. North Bowl> Pleiath is actually quivering with fatigue, something she'd been attempting to hide from her rider. Her rider is badly disoriented from the rolling, falling landing. <*> The Benden River sparkles below the dragons, green fields silent and motionless, as if holding its breath in fear of the thread that whips and whirls through the skies. The upper arc of the huge, invisible ferris wheel strikes the underside of Skyfire Wing and the small, almost unprepared greens and blues at the rear of the formation are driven upward several meters, straight towards a falling clump of the silver death that would have fallen towards the second wave of Benden wings. Yet now Creth, Meroth, and Adonith find themselves in a life or death position. Thread also slips easily through the shorn Skyfire Wing, falling down towards Dawnslight and Queen's Wing. North Bowl> Maarie rapidly works to stem off the venous bleeding of ichor from Dulath. The metal of her tools flashing in the dying rays of Rukbat as it sets. Her brow is furrowed and attention set on mending the damaged veins and cleaning the wound of excess blood. <*> From atop Leilanth, Jehrina pulls Leilanth to what seems to be almost a stop with respect to the rest of the wings, waiting for the thread to come down to her. North Bowl> Herath warbles almost tartly towards Pleiath. Kindre, at her lifemate's reverberation, lifts her goggles to regard Emlyn with hard study. "Em? I think mayhaps you and Pleiath should stay here...you got quite a shake-up with that landing." Although she doesn't order the young greenrider, the steadiness of her voice leaves no doubt she expects the woman to stay put. <*> Adonith lunges forward to assist Prometh in his powerful and fiery dismissal of Thread from the sky, catching the clump's last trail as it drifts downward. Now badly out of position and a bit too close to Prometh's far-larger bulk, the blue backwings hurriedly to avoid the Weyrleader's bronze, who is returning to his former point position. With a bellow of alarm (which he will later dismiss merely as warning for Prometh), the blue sideslips past Prometh's tail to scoot beneath and around him, near enough for K'tyn to count the marks on Alyssa's goggles...then, suddenly, they pop out free and clear, just in time to catch the wave approaching the wing. Inhale, pause, exhale...FLAME! And just like that, his section of Thread is gone. North Bowl> A suggestion from a goldrider might as well be a written order, as far as Pleiath and Emlyn are concerned. The greenrider, after only a second of defiant thought, lifts a hand in salute. "Yes, Ma'am." North Bowl> Jerissa ponders the straps problem for some time, then seems to have an idea. She takes one of the sharp knives from her belt and slices through excess straps, letting the drop to the bowl floor. Seeing that they are really too burnt into his hide, she doesn't even attempt a removal, the natural exfoliation of the hide, should take care of that. Taking some of the aloe, she slathers it on, putting it on in such quantities that it might actually slip under the leather of the straps and aid the healing process. Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Pleiath's mental voice is haggard with exhaustion. << Herath orders us to remain at Benden. We will not be back to finish the fall. >> <*> Lysseth trumpets in warning to Chymeth, behind her, as V'dan's green seems oblivious to a patch descending on her right side. The green blinks *between* hurriedly, returning just in time to be caught in a gust of wind that requires her to force herself back down into place--no doubt jostling V'dan mercilessly in the process. Satisfied with the near miss, Kassi and Lyss wing slightly to the left to meet a thick twirl of twining Thread travelling towards them. It is soon but a mere memory, destroyed in Lysseth's rhythm of inhaling oxygen and exhaling fire. <*> Brynarth belches out a short, roundish burst of flame, incinerating the clump remaining between him and the weyrling dragons. The younger group, disoriented by their close brush past the trailing edge of the fighting wing, but exhiliarated by their moment of heroism, forms a ragged mass behind the older blue, all their careful work on formations forgotten in the heat of the moment. Sionelle turns in her seat. "If this is a V, then I'm Jim Fardling Tillek. Get yourselves in line. Feed your dragons stone. By the First Egg, anyone would think you're holders' daughters fresh from a drunken gather." The weyrlings, in the midst of this harangue, form up with more regularity, and Brynarth has time to query Prometh as to how he'd like to use the new wing. <*> Leilanth roars in defiance at the falling tangles. Jehrina pauses for the briefest instant, and then a spray of fire erupts from her flamethrower, turning the deadly menace into ash falling harmlessly below. North Bowl> Nestled in her familiar spot on Herath, Kindre, for the first time since everyone gathered in the bowl, smiles. "Thank you," she syas genuinely. Herath, with some help of healers and another dragon or two, help the green slip carefully from her back towards the ground. Dusting the black wisps of her lightly charred collar away, Kindre pulls off her helmet and goggles. "Jerissa? Need some help? Well, what help I can give, but I think we'll not be rejoining them." <*> Meroth bugles in alarm as he's driven upward despite his struggles to remain in position. But the wind was strong and hit him in a bad position. Suddenly swirling thread is everywhere, and the dragon is frantically flaming, backwinging, trying to get out of this any way he can. Dragon> Herath bespoke Threadfall Comm with << We are remaining to help as well. >> North Bowl> Jerissa looks up at Kindre and smiles, "Can you see that all the injuries are slathtered with nubweed? That'd be a great help!" <*> Struggling to both fend off thread and get back into their positions, the Skyfire dragons let several dangerously spinning strands and clumps slip through and past. Recognizing the situation, Thunderbolt circles around in a dangerous maneuver, lead dragons exposing flanks and sides to thread if not for the flame of the smaller Thunderbolt blues and greens as they move in to cover Skyfires airspace and let the torn wing regroup. A clump, caught in a cross wind, is shorn apart, then reforms into several smaller clumps fall ominously towards Prometh and Vidarth. Benden Weyr> Jehrina says, "If Meroth falls, Leilanth will catch and get him home:) I *have* to go get something to eat before my stomach chews its way out. :) Later folks.:)" <*> Vidarth unerringly spots that clump descending towards him, and angles his lithe body at it, hurtling upwards unflincingly in the direction the Thread clump falls in. Without hesitation, he sears it, flying through the ashes, causing his rider to duck. <*> Wedged within Prometh's neckridges, K'tyn looks about in utter dismay as he wing basically falls apart as a mass of thread invades the grouping. Frowning, he waves at those riders closest to him --Three blues, a brown and a lone green, urging the smaller, more agile dragons to turn and char the deadly menace as his own Bronze barn angles about as quickly as he can. Prometh bellows angrily at the thread's seeming maliciousness, his roar a challenge and a promise. North Bowl> Gracefully astride Herath, Kindre bobs her head quickly before sliding down. "Of course," are her agreeing words as she hits the ground. North Bowl> After some intensive work, the ichor subsides and Maarie can get a better look at the muscle and possible internal injuries, yet another of the continual reassessments that Maarie makes, the clamps apparently doing a good enough job of stemming any more bleeding to allow for so. Assessing no injuries to the internal organs, Maarie reaches behind her for needle and thread. She carefully begins the process of first repairing the damaged vessels. North Bowl> Kindre gives Herath's neck a loving rub before she slips down with the polished ease of familiarity. The gold's eyes seem to burn through Kindre until she is certain her lifemate is sure-footed on the ground, then turn equally as hot to the surroundings in a quick survey. North Bowl> Pleiath moves out of the way and belches out the remainder of her flame. That done, she passes her ash, then rises up to her ledge. <*> Creth just finishes clearing the area that would have taken his belly when the terror from above makes itself known. He too is thrown into an odd contortion as he tries to keep the menace from his back. Twisting he almost flips the pair, having to backwing frantically to remain in control. Red streaks of angry vengence belch forth from his muzzle to kill the menace. <*> Meroth opens an ash filled space all about him, then folds back his wing and drops straight downward. Once out of the immediate danger, he unfolds his wings, catching himself and levelling out, banking back around. His rider pats his chest with his hands as if checking for injuries. Then he shakes his head and slips Meroth back into formation. North Bowl> Pleiath takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry her aloft. Dragon> Prometh bespoke Benden dragons with << You, you and you! Get it! >> Prometh bellows to the remains of the wing. << Adonith, Meroth! Be wary! Turn and char! Creth! It is there! Sybinth! Delanth! Turn! >> Dragon> Creth bespoke Benden dragons with << I fly, I fight, I char! >> North Bowl> Kindre takes cares to find water and redwort and cleanses herself up to her elbows before going near the numbweed. Slathering the back of her neck with a bit to cool the slight burn there, she then moves to attend to L'maren and his green. "She's not bad, but you, my friend," she frowns at the barely conscious Weyrling, "are doing pretty well for someone who came to the ground between the claws of another one." North Bowl> Jerissa wanders around, helping some of the other dragonhealers assess injuries where need be, assisting others. <*> Another sweep of fire can be seen on Lysseth's side as she tilts her head to catch Thread that approaches her from a most dangerous angle. Flame running out, she's forced to dodge *between* to avoid a tangle from above that falls too quickly towards her--and she bugles in thanks to S'cot's Kilth, who flames the errant strands. Turning her head for one more refueling, she crunches and swallows as quickly as possible. <*> Creth angles back upwards, using his experience to lead the younger, more agile blues and green upwards. Using the banking and turning that is in their very ichor...they clear a path in short order....but not without some tense moments. <*> Astride her blue Brynarth, Sionelle's goggles turn upward at the sound of Meroth's bugle. Without waiting for Prometh's instruction, she signals the weyrlings to go back to their stone delivery. But Brynarth rises toward Skyfire's ragged ranks as his rider shouts instructions aloud that he certainly relays mentally. One never knows if a weyrling will think for two. "Burn any Thread that you safely can but do NOT flame near a dragon. And for Faranth's sake, look sharply. You'll be in the way, so get out of it. Be helpful, not daring." <*> Adonith bugles his response to Prometh and releases a bright breath of firestone-stoked fire toward a clump, catching only part; the rest breezes backward, spraying his rider with just-charred ashes and slicing across her jacket. They disappear /between/ at once, emerging just as a very un- Alyssaish curse can be heard. She is brushing at her jacket, no harm done, and Adonith goes back to business as usual. <*> Red under the huge glowing sun lays Fork Hold, the end in sight. Over Fork is a dim cloud that seems to oscillate up and down, slowy, a brief glint of bronze flashing in the Rukbats light: Igens Wings, distant but signalling the ending of Bendens tired dragons responsibility. But many kilometers lies yet between the two Weyrs dragons and silver spore still falls from the sky, a spinning, twining, deadly rain. Bronzes and browns still flame, huge licks of fire searing all the thread which they touch, yet the length and time are taking their toll upon smaller blues and greens. Even as the end approaches, the screaming of blue Vonremeth reminds all that the air is still filled with chaotic thread. Performing a banking motion along with the rest of his wing, Vonremeth's rider missed a large sheet of thread which ripped through the creature's left wing, near the shoulder. The speed and force of impact, plus the strain of the blues bank rip Vonremeths wing back, then the whole thing is sheared off in an explosion of ichor and the blue drops downward like a stone. Meanwhile the sheet of thread responsible has found new potential victims in Prometh, Adonith, Vidarth, the weyrlings, and Brynarth. Benden Weyr> R'val considers being gruesomely injured just to go with the flow here ;) Benden Weyr> Caitria wonders how many PC casualties there are? Benden Weyr> T'fian hes. Benden Weyr> Kassima says, "Aiyaiyai. And to think, just yesterday I was saying we don't get much bloodshed here...." Benden Weyr> Emlyn says, "Hundreds, Tria. But none of them were Cow lovers." Benden Weyr> Alyssa wasn't grusomely injured, just dusted with ash and grazed by Thread caught in her jacket. Never did that before. :) Benden Weyr> Suzot says, "Woo, who all's hurt?" North Bowl> Prefeth backwings for a landing. Benden Weyr> Caitria says, "Happy now, Kassi? ;)" North Bowl> Aphrael climbs down from Prefeth's neckridges with practised ease. Benden Weyr> Jerissa says, "Dulath and Cav I know of" North Bowl> Maarie finally removes the clamps from the veins, discarding them on an empty tray. She picks up a cloth and soaks it in redwort, moving along the length of the wound as she cleans it. <*> Creth slides tiredly back into position, he is out of direct harm's way...for now. But he stands ever ready to converge on and thread that passes through the other's flight paths. Benden Weyr> Jerissa says, "Who Maarie is stitching up right now :)" Benden Weyr> Kassima nodnods! And shows the Thread her Cowmopolitan button, so manages to escape unscathed? North Bowl> Alexi comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. Dragon> Threadfall Comm sense that Brynarth's usually soft tenor is full of all the command a bronze might muster as he orders, << Weyrlings, between! Benden. Home. >> A vividly sharp image of the Star Stones accompanies the voice, together with a sense of immediacy. North Bowl> Aphrael slides hastily to the ground, peering about and wincing as she spots Dulath. "How bad is he?" She asks faintly as she moves closer to watch Maarie. <*> Vidarth bellows a resounding challenge for the murderous enemy, his eyes whirling with hatred and rage. R'val's face is contorted with a similiar powerful anger at the sight of so many injured. Hurtling head on into the cloud of Thread billowing down towards him, he sears it with a savagely long gout of flame. <*> Prometh bellows again, relaying his rider's attempts to reform the ragged remains of his wing into a coherent whole. Distracted thusly, and only for a moment, Prometh veers too closely to the roiling sheet of thread. His bellow of rage changes to that of pain, and they blink between. <*> Adonith is tired and is not quite up to snuff now; the sheet that has just done hellish damage to another dragon and is threatening his side of the wing must be obliterated, yet...no. He's in a poor position, and even his grace and speed in flight cannot compensate for his placement in the formation and for his weariness. After a moment, he blips out into /between/ again, sounding frustrated and annoyed at himself as he pops back into the air above the hold. North Bowl> Kindre wipes her brow and moves closer towards where Maarie is administering Dulath. "Is he...alright," she wonders while caring for another young weyrling who managed to get her cheek slightly burned. <*> Lysseth roars in absolute fury as another dragon drops from the sky, and her flaming of Thread takes on the manner of a personal vengeance. Eyes whirl a bright red-orange the same shade as her fire as she efficiently and mercilessly hunts down all patches within her range and sends them all to the land of the dead. <*> The weyrling wing disappears, one by one by one, into the safety of dark between, a few riders dragged from the scene by the levelheaded thinking of their mounts, too dumbstruck by the sight of Vonremeth's injury to give the command themselves. Brynarth roars out at the sheet of Thread, his raw-throated bugle surrounding a burst of flame that chars the edge of the vicious sheet, but misses the mass of the threat. He too regroups by travelling between, to come out below the falling Thread. North Bowl> Alexi watches in stunned silence. North Bowl> Maarie frowns as some ichor built up around the larger vessels, she pays extra careful attention to cleaning it away, muttering to the bluerider, "It's real bad, Aph. Real bad. He's just lucky it didn't reach the organs, I think." Her slight form is nearly gulfed by the wound in the browns stomach, "But I'm going to need some more numbweed after this..." her voice trails as she lapses into concentration. North Bowl> Aphrael winces visibly at Maarie's words, and nods faintly, hurrying over to grab a bucket full of numbweed, which she places down next to the greenrider, biting her lip as she watches. <*> Creth sees the sheets that have made their way through, despite the valient efforts by the others of the wing. Tired, but not willing to give up..Creth surges forward, flaming well and true. Blinking out and back in, below, he gives what was left of his portion of the sheet another go... destroying the bulk and only letting a few strands live to reach the Queen's wing. <*> Prometh returns from *between*, ichor running down his flank as Kiat clutches at his face. The Bronze opens his mouth wide to sear a huge swath of thread to ash, ducking between once more as the brilliant fiery flecks glitter past. North Bowl> Kindre's frown is deep as she overhears and simply nods absently. Spying Alexi, she waves. "Do they have you doing something already, or can you help me," she querries. Dragon> Meroth bespoke Threadfall Comm with << Prometh! Are you injured? >> <*> Vidarth blinks out of between with a savage roar, though his hide is tinged with the gray of encroaching exhaustion. He is directly under a patch of thread. A lift of his supple neck, a brief spray of bright, killing flame, and the enemy is no more! North Bowl> Alexi says "Anything you need ma'am." North Bowl> Maarie's gaze drifts towards Jerissa's efforts as she prepares to start with the numbweed all over again. She quickly pours a bit of oil in her hands and rubs them together before picking up the paddle and dipping it into the numbweed, applying it once again to the surface of the wound. North Bowl> Alexi says "I was just working on staying out of the way." Dragon> Herath bespoke Threadfall Comm with << Prometh is hurt? >> Dragon> Prometh bespoke Threadfall Comm with << It is not bad. A sting, at best! >> <*> Meroth surges forward, his rider's eyes on Prometh. Slipping up over the tired left flank of Skyfire he approaches Adonith, then ducks between the larger blue and bronze, his rider calling over to the Weyrleader, but his words are ripped away in the wind. <*> Adonith bellows as the Weyrleader and his bronze are injured, Alyssa straining to see what has happened and how bad the injuries are. <*> The number of dragons in the sky seem to double, tripple, suddenly, more dragons than can be counted. Wheeling and darting, the fresh Igen dragons have entered the fray, their flame a welcome sight to the tired Benden riders. In a maneuver, gained from long practice, the weary Benden slip down beneath the Igen Wings, leaving the main brunt of the leading edge to the reinforcements. Small streamers still fall, slipping below the new dragons into the Benden formations, needing to be flamed before they can fall to Fork Hold below, but for the most part this gives the Benden dragons to regroup before the return home. Igen riders salute the Benden dragons, in recognition of their long fight, honoring the Benden dead and wounded. Then they are wheeling around, and the bright tongues of fire fade slowly westward as the leading edge passes. North Bowl> Kindre smiles and nods, though the curl of her lips is more distracted than anything. "Would you do me a favor, please," she says, "We're going to need some wine, especially with this many injuries. Can you bring a few skins?" North Bowl> Ofira comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. Dragon> Adonith bespoke Benden dragons with << Prometh, you and your rider should go back now, my rider says. The wings will be behind you soon. >> <*> Brynarth's eyes, like his rider's, are on the Thread and the Thread alone. Clutching at her straps as the blue surges upward, Sionelle leans forward to his neck, like a jockey in a runner race, bounced by the wind as if by gullies on the path. The blue, quick though weary, flames a path through the mass of silver missed on his first pass, craning his head around to cacth the last strands as his firely breath gutters out, the stone in his belly spent. Only then, as the Igen riders join, does Sionelle notice the Weyrleader. And her lips set in a thin, disapproving line. North Bowl> Suzot comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. North Bowl> Alexi says "Aye ma'am, I'll have it right back to you..." North Bowl> Alexi walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern. North Bowl> Ofira hurries into the bowl, wincing at the smell of blood and char. "Can I be of help to anyone?" she calls. <*> From atop Prometh, K'tyn waves to the rest of his wing to show his state of health, he grins his relief at the sight of the Igen wings approaching. Circling his arm, he indicates that he is returning to Benden Weyr. North Bowl> J'cob hides under Siraeth's wing. <*> Creth uses some of the last of his energy reserves to call honor to the Igen dragons. His *BUGLE* resounding in sky, giving hope to those left of the Benden wings. North Bowl> Suzot comes down, having dropped her mug on the way. She looks around for someone whose injuries are light enough that even she could handle them. North Bowl> "Thank you," Kindre says with a quick nod before continuing Jerissa's instructions of numbing the lesser wounds attributed to Threadfall. North Bowl> Alexi comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. North Bowl> The size of the wound at best is extensive and the exposed muscle that Maarie has to stitch together difficult. She softly asks Aph, "If Jerissa doesn't have you set to anything else, can you wash up and help me stitch the muscle?" North Bowl> Alexi returns with every half filled wine skin from the kitchen. "The store rooms are locked, so I could only get these." <*> Settled between Adonith's neckridges, Alyssa salutes her wingleader and Weyrleader, trying to look unconcerned as she turns toward T'fian. North Bowl> Ofira looks around, seeing if anyone needs any help. <*> Prometh disappears into Between. North Bowl> Above, From the Benden Star Stones, M'nar's mint green Gelth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to bronze Prometh and his rider, K'tyn, welcoming them home. North Bowl> Prometh backwings for a landing. North Bowl> Ofira frowns and hands Alexi her keys, "Here. The third storeroom to the right, the top shelves." North Bowl> Alexi says "Aye ma'am!" North Bowl> "Thank you very much, Alexi," Kindre says earnestly and smiles briefly before returning to numbweed duty. Spotting the bronze and his rider, she looks up. "Weyrleader? You and Prometh are alright, I hope? Herath...?" <*> Lysseth drops willingly below the Igen Wings, only now allowing her weariness to show; the coating of grey 'dust' over her hide seems to have thickened, the greyness of exhaustion making it look as though she'd been rolling around in the ashes of a hearth. She nonetheless directs a bugle up to the reinforcements, as Kassi snaps her own salute before checking to be sure that the wing members around her are properly assembled once more. North Bowl> Aphrael nods quickly, glancing at Jerissa for confirmation as moves over to wash her hands in redwort several times. Dragon> Meroth bespoke Threadfall Comm with << Igen has taken over. Aerie will ride sweep. The rest of us should return. >> North Bowl> Alexi disappears back into the Living Caverns again. <*> Vidarth drops from the fray as the fresh Igen wings take the place of the exhausted Benden dragons, his hide deeply gray now, as he moves into the proper place in formation with his wing. North Bowl> Suzot goes around hunting for injuries small enough for her poor skills to handle. <*> From her customary place between Brynarth's neckridges, Sionelle tugs at her gloves and fusses with her straps as Brynarth sinks below the Igen wings. Her mind is at Benden, with the weyrlings, and she's impatient for her body to join it. North Bowl> Ofira goes over to Jerrisa, "Can I assist in anyway? Get you supplies, spread numbweed?" she asks, looking worriedly at all the injured. North Bowl> Seated upon Prometh, K'tyn slumps against Prometh's neckridges, the great bronze landing quite carefully, avoiding putting pressure on his hind left leg. "Ah, Kindre. Just a scratch or two. Nothing too much!" North Bowl> K'tyn slides down Prometh's fiery bronze flank to come to rest on the ground. Prometh swings his head around to regard his lifemate gently. <*> Meroth slips easily into the space vacated by Prometh, his small blue form looking tiny compared the afterimage of the huge bronze who normally occupies the position. He looks around at his tired, ash-covered dragons and nods, lifting his arm, signalling the riders to return home by dropping it. <*> Creth regains his palce in the tattered remnents of the skyfire wing, ready to head back...only the dulling of his normally rich hue demonstrate just how exhausted the old Blue is. <*> Vidarth disappears into Between. <*> Creth disappears into Between. <*> Brynarth disappears into Between. <*> Adonith disappears into Between. <*> Lysseth disappears into Between. Between You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats... Black... Blacker... Blackest! You suddenly emerge... <*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! <*> From the North, From the Benden Star Stones, M'nar's mint green Gelth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to blue Adonith and his rider, Alyssa, welcoming them home. <*> From the North, From the Benden Star Stones, M'nar's mint green Gelth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to green Lysseth and her rider, Kassima, welcoming them home. <*> Creth flies downward towards the north end of the bowl. Benden Weyr> Alyssa cringes. Returnspam. Poor Gelth. Benden Weyr> Kassima offers Gelth some Sucrets for that sore throat she's sure to have. <*> Brynarth flies downward towards the north end of the bowl. <*> Vidarth flies downward towards the north end of the bowl. <*> Lysseth trumpets a weary return to Gelth, hanging in the air for but an instant before she furls her wings and heads downwards to the North. You fly downwards towards the north end of the bowl. You fly downwards towards the ground. You backwing for a landing on sands of the bowl. <*> Asrai comes out with more wine skins, her face showing concern for the finally returning wings. <*> Maarie blows a stray lock from out of her face and her shoulders droop just a bit. Obviously Maarie was not prepared for the dual effort of both healing and fighting that she has experienced. She takes a step away from Dulath to allow Aph an unobstructed view and she calls, "Rissa?" <*> K'tyn moves for Prometh's haunch, staring at the slowly oozing wound for a moment before asking, in a raspy voice, for numbweed. Blood trails from the shallow scoring on the weyrleader's other cheek, a symmetric mark to match the old one already healed on the other side of his face. <*> Jerissa calls out her thanks to Ofira and turns to Suzot, "Can you make sure there's enough numbweed, please?" she asks and then turns to Maarie. "Yes?" <*> Aphrael carefully coats her hands in oil, moving up along side Maarie as she examines the wound closely, wincing faintly at the large nature of it. "You look a little tired, Maarie.. do you need me to take over?" She asks the greenrider as she sets out some numbweed nearby. <*> Ofira presses the wine into K'tyn's hands as Suzot goes for tne numbweed, and then moves ont to pass skins ot others. <*> Suzot nods, running back for more supplies of the stuff in various strengths. She runs as fast as her long legs can carry her. <*> Alexi moves among the recently returned riders, helping Ofira distribute skins of wine. <*> Adonith backwings for a landing. <*> Astride her blue Brynarth, Sionelle strips off her helmet, goggles and gloves in an instant, her free hand unfastening her straps with practiced dexterity as she casts a critical gaze over the results of the Fall and searches out weyrlings in the mass of returned dragons. <*> Ofira moves swiftly from rider to rider, handing out wine as necessary and suddenly finds herself looking at R'val. 'Oh! Are you alright?" she exclaims. <*> Asrai also helps distribute the skins of wine. Once done she steps in where needed to give hand or comfort as the situation calls. <*> Maarie seems almost disappointed as she admits, "Aph is right....I don't think I was quite prepared for such an injury. If you would prefer, I will attend to the smaller injuries and have Aph finish Dulath?" <*> Adonith lands with a decided lack of his usual grace, but his rider wastes no time in stripping off her goggles and helmet before sliding off the ground. "Kiat? Prometh?" <*> Lysseth lands without much grace, folding her wings closely to her body as Kassi occupies herself with unfastening the straps around her waste and the now-empty sacks. Both green and rider seem unharmed, though the former is more grey than green due to the combination of her exhaustion and natural coloration. <*> Alyssa slides down the beautiful purplish blue flank of her lifemate to come to a rest on the ground, Adonith swinging his head around to regard her adoringly. You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles, cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully. Jerissa smiles, patting Maarie's shoulder, "You've done well enough! Take a weel deserved rest and have a seat for the moment, there's others that can help with the other injuries Aph? You mind finishing off whilst I check out that brown's wing?" Kindre frowns, "Jays, K'tyn..." she says quietly before moving towards the bronze and rider alike. "Here, let me help? I'm already up to my elbows in numbweed...oh, um," Her eyes seek Jerissa and Alyssa, "You both are more experienced. Mayhaps I'll concentrate on the lighter injuries?" K'tyn smears the numbweed against his dragon's shallow wounds, patting a bit against his face along the way. His voice nearly gone, he pulls a lad close to him, directing to go to the other wingleaders to ask them to report to him at their leisure. Kassima tugs off her helmet and gloves, brushing ash off of the former and her jacket as well. Casting a glance around at the various injured dragons, she shakes her head and turns to make am almost methodical examination of her dragon's straps. R'val leaps from Vidarth's back hurriedly, and slips off Vidarth's straps, trembling as he examines his dragon hurriedly for injuries, heyes skimming here and there, his hands unconsciously caressing, soothing his exhausted blue. Alyssa is stripping off gloves and jacket, letting them fall where they may as she strides purposefully toward the injured dragons, eyes searching out the wounded as well as the Senior Dragonhealer. She's ready to help if need be. Suzot returns, still running, with pots of numbweed to hand to the Healers. Along with those are several bandages, some needlethorns and thread for sewing up the worst of the injuries, and a skin of clean water. "I'll get more water," she says as she deposits all her goods on the hastily-erected table. Maarie wanders slowly away, acknowledging Rissa with a nod. She moves to duck under the occupied wing of Siraeth, Zuseth's muzzle crowding in as well. Aphrael licks her lips faintly, eyes on the large wound on Dulath's belly as she nods to Jerissa's question. "Sure, I can do it." She murmers, taking a few steps up onto the short ladder for a closer inspection of the wound. Asrai places a hand on Kassi's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before offering her one of the leftover wineskins. "Here, you look like you could use a swig....or two." K'tyn grins at Kindre, allowing her to help him put the smelly stuff on his face. "Thanks, Kindre. That was...not... what I expected. Rougher than I would have thought." His voice is a low, raspy whisper from the overuse its gotten in the past hours. R'val holds Ofira to him in a crushing, quick hug, murmuring in her ear, "A terrible, terrible Fall, love, but I'm allright and so is Vidarth." Brynarth stands where he is, whuffing softly as his barrel chest heaves in and out, but his rider threads her way through the assemblage, making progress toward a group of weyrling come back from the Fall and thrilled with their success. A lecture starting with the snap of "Take a look around you and laugh again, T'rellan..." adds its own noisy rhythym to that corner of the Bowl. "Wine for the Weyrleader," Alyssa instructs with the quiet surety she displays in post-Fall moments. "K'tyn, Kindre...how's Prometh?" Ofira embraces R'val tightly, for just a moment and then steps away and nods. "he's nearly gray." She pushes the wine into R'val's hands and then moves off to distribute more of it. Alexi looks up at K'tyn, "Sir, I havanae been here long enough to tell who is who, except for the Kitchen staff... R'val takes a deep drink of the wine, which quiets his shaking somewhat, and moves to dust off his dragon, glancing up at his face worriedly. Asrai leaves the one skin with Kassi, grabbing another to place in K'tyn's hands. "Sir, wine...drink." Ofira goes over to Alexi, "What do you need help with?" "Alyssa, Prometh is well. Just a scratch....well, three. Shallow, all of them." The weyrleader nods at Alexi. 'I'll do it, lad. Just give me a moment to catch my breath..." Kassima accepts the wineskin gratefully, conjuring up a smile for her friend. "I could. 'Twas a harsh Fall, Asrai... 'tis sheerest luck, methinks, that Lyss and I got away with naught more than a stretch and an ash-burn in her straps. She's so hard on those sometimes...." The rider trails off, tilting her head back to drink from the skin rather than ramble. Aphrael takes a deep breath. "I think," She says slowly, "I'll need some clamps, to help hold the wound together while I stitch," She murmers as she glances away from the wound, asking a nearby assistant to pass up two surgical clamps. She carefully applies them to the wound, equidistant from the center, and careful not to clamp near the stitched veins. She hops back down to the ground, moving the ladder over to one side before climbing up again. She accepts the sterilized needlethorn and thread from her assistant, threading it through the eye before turning to the wound. Alexi moves to Ofira, "The Weyrleader wants me to have the Wingleaders report to him at their leisure, but I know not who they are!!" He's getting a little edgy. J'cob smiles at Maarie and tugs the wing down to cover things up as he tells his tale of woe Alyssa squints a bit, rubbing at a red mark on her own cheek left by ash minutes earlier, then she nods. "Right. Kindre...give me a hand with Prometh when you're finished here, please?" Kindre manages a grin, bobbing her head again as she dots some 'weed on the Weyrleader's cheek. "Indeed, but all considered I think it went as well as could be expected." Silvery-blue eyes study the bronze, "Kiat, is he alright, though? You're sure they're just scratches?" she wonders while squinting over his hide. Looking at Alexi, she calls, "Don't worry...we can all help to point them out." Alexi snarls at himself, sure he botched the first chance he had to set a good impression with the Weyrleader... Ofira pats Alexi on the back, "Don't worry about it...I'll see if I can find them." She hurries off again. Asrai lays a hand on Alexi's shoulder, speaking to both him and Ofira, "Don't fret alexi, I'll do that." she smiles encouragingly at the boy. Suzot, having divested herself of her numbweed and bandages, runs back to get clean water for washing wounds. The kitchen helpers have been boiling it steadily for awhile, so it's /truly/ clean. Asrai grins as Ofira darts off, "See, Alexi, plenty of people to help out. Not to worry, you'll know faces and such soon enough. After a fall is always a hectic time. Kindre bobs her head at Alyssa and moves away from K'tyn to her side. "I've helped a bit with the minor injuries," she notes, though the red staining her skin nearly to the elbows betrays that already. "What would you like me to do?" Ofira waves over an apprentice with a tray of meatrolls, "Get them to the uninjured - so they can start getting their strength back!" Prometh rumbles urgently as Kiat sinks against him, dizzy for a moment. He drink from teh skin handed to him, the Benden red as sweet as nectar. Taking some initiative, Alexi begins draging unattached Firestone sacks away from the fray and piling them off to the side. He seems to be muttering to himself. Aphrael leans over to peer towards Dulath's head, noting the speed of his eyes. Beginning at the bottom lip of the wound, she threads the needle through and across to the upper half, before looping the thread twice over and pulling it tight. Peering closely at her work, she nods satisfaction as she repeats the process, attempting not to stitch too tightly as she begins to move her way along the wound. Sionelle has made her way back over to the injured dragons, having cowed the weyrlings into submission. Their hands are now employed in gathering up empty sacks. "Of course he knows they're just scratches," she says upon overhearing Kindre. "I should think he'd know enough not to endanger his own dragon's hide with boasting or dismissal." She watches the weyrleader through slightly narrowed eyes. Vidarth rumbles tiredly, laying his head down on his paws, breathing like a furiously working bellows, his eyes lidding tiredly. Suzot returns with two buckets of water, taking them to the Healers dealing with the worst injuries. Behind her come five more kitchen helpers, each with two more buckets (except the last little one, who's only able to carry one). Ofira sees the food is being distributed and goes to find the wingleaders for K'tyn. Kassima settles down on Lysseth's foreleg, holding onto the wineskin and hanging back from the various activities in the Bowl. Lysseth doesn't indulge in panting, but her head does droop as she rests from her long flight and fight. Benden Weyr> Jerissa welcomes Maarie to capable dragonhealing status. Well done! :) Alexi calls, "Suzot, I brought some clean towels, they're over there." Kindre simply rolls her eyes and nods. "Of course, Sionelle. The Weyrlings are doing well enough, I hope?" Benden Weyr> Caitria yay Maarie! Benden Weyr> Kassima woos! Congrats, Maarie! :) Benden Weyr> R'val cheers. Congrats. Benden Weyr> T'fian yays for Maarie. As she glances at trio of marks on Prometh Alyssa replies quietly and with some relief, "Disinfect the scores with redwort, then apply numbweed as quickly as possible. They won't require stitches." Suzot nods, beckoning Alexi over near a Healer. "Give...two towels to each one, and then bring more," she orders, as she's seen this operation before. Aphrael reaches the first surgical clamp, which she removes carefully and drops down onto the tray before resuming her stitching. Pausing halfway through, she jumps back down to the ground and moves the short ladder over slightly, clampering back up to the top as she continues to thread, loop, and knot each successive stitch. As she comes to the second clamp, that too joins the first on the tray. Alexi begins distributing towels to those who are mending the wounded. When he runs out, he races back inside to get more. Ofira makes her way over to Alyssa, "K'tyn said to find you and the other wingleaders and to tell you he'll want your report shortly." Prometh peers over his shoulder at his haunch, looking the scoring with interest. Kiat grins at Prometh. "It does feel much better now, hm?" He gains his feet again, strength returning as he munches on meatrolls. Alyssa glances over her shoulder at the Weyrleader and her wingleader, then smiles quietly at Ofira. "Keep him drinking that wine. Tomorrow's early enough for him to hear the report. He's dead tired and both he and Prometh hurt." Sionelle catches the roll of Kindre's eyes out of the corner of her won as she turns back for the answer. Mockery doesn't sit well with her, though she'll take it from the Weyrwoman, especially after a Fall. Some things can be forgiven. "The weyrlings are fine, no thanks to any elegant formations in Fall," she informs Kindre. "So I suspect they need a bit more training before we hurl them at the Thread again. But I thank you for the inquiry. And I'll keep them out of the way while this work gets done. Myself as well, since I'm largely useless here." Ofira nods to Alyssa, "Very well," she says, listening intently to the instructions. Suzot continues to direct the kitchen helpers to deliver the buckets of clean water, replacing them with fresh when needed. K'tyn grins at Alyssa. "I'm well enough, Lys. Nae need to protect me so, hm? Sionelle, That was good work up there that you did," he says as he overhears the WLM's report to Kindre. Aphrael stitches the final thread, looping it around and knotting it before cutting off the excess thread. Placing the needlethorn down on the tray, she grabs up some of the numbweed with the paddle, spreading it across the length of the wound. With a faint nod, she climbs back down to the ground, taking a deep breath as she peers back up at her work. Kindre returns her attention to Alyssa and her words. Nodding her head to convey she understands, she rinses the wounds and begins applying redwort carefully to each scratch even while Sionelle speaks. You'd think she'd've learned as a weyrling. "I'm sure they'll do well under your teaching," she says honestly before her eyes refocus to the task at hand. Numbweed next, she again applies with caution. R'val sags wearily agains Vidarth for a moment in weakness, then straightens. He moves towards the other dragonhealers, stopping at Jerissa's side, "If I can help...I will." Ofira passes by Aphrael and pales sllightly at the sight of what she's doing, but doggedly continues to press food and wine on he exhausted riders. Asrai comments loud enough so that Sionelle can hear, though she is talking to everyone around the weyrleader. "I'm sure the only reason they did as well as they did...coming back alive...is due to the training they've already had under you, ma'am." she then hands the wineskin back to the weyrleader, "Here, drink some more, you look like you need it." "This is not protecting you," Alyssa remonstrates softly, though she manages a faint smile. "You know I only care about Prometh. So, if you please, Weyrleader, sit and calm him so Kindre can work?" Jerissa turns her attention from the wing she's about done fixing, and grins at R'val, "Why don't you grab that numbweed pail and slather some on this fine looking brute whilst I go check some of the other's work?" Alexi returns with more towels. As he passes Ofira he reports, "There's extra wine mulling on the hearth. It's awfuly damp out here..." Sionelle salutes the Weyrleader in response to his praise, but shakes her head at the same time. "We may have muddled through with no tragedy, sir, but I'd hardly call it admirable. More like blind luck and a lot of shouting." She inclines her head to indicate her appreciation of his words, though, and leaves him to the care of the healers, not wanting to agitate him more than necessary. R'val nods to Jerissa, and takes the pail. he begins painstakingly slathering on the numbweed over the injured hide. Aphrael rubs at her eyes, first glancing about for any sign of C'vadan before she calls over to Jerissa, "Jerissa? Would you mind checking over Dulath's stitching for me?" Jerissa steps down the ladder and quickly walks over to Aphrael, "You've done?" she asks glancing up. Asrai smiles faintly as her own comment goes unheaded...some things were just not ment to change it seems. she turns back to Kindre, "Do you need anything while I'm here, Kin?" "Oh, I am crushed, bluerider," Kiat says to Alyssa. "But I will do as you ask, only since that great bronze beast /is/ becoming agitated. Prometh! Tis naught but redwort! Settle down, lad." Ofira nods to Alexi, "Good...can you go and tell the apprentices to bring another tray of meatrolls?" Alexi says "Aye, ma'am." Alexi disappears back into the Living Cavern, returning moments later with buckets of water. He is followed by an apprentice with a tray of Meatrolls. "A steadier hand and less fidgity dragon," Kindre half-kids at Asrai's query. Managing a smile, she checks each scratch to be sure it is completely free from dirt before attempting to reapply numbweed. "Alyssa? Would you check these for me when you can?" Aphrael nods to Jerissa as she moves aside the tray with the clamps and needlethorn on it. "Yah," She responds as she gestures upwards towards the stitched wound, covered slightly in numbweed. Alexi begins removing emptied numbweed jars... Sionelle casts another long glance over the injured dragons, counting the number that were under her care as weyrlings. With a slight frown and a shake of the head, she stalks off to the current set with redoubled determination. Not to mention a few choice words. Alyssa smiles at K'tyn, her regard and concern clear, then she nods to Kindre and takes care to study the marred haunch of the great bronze. "You might want to add a touch more 'weed there, Kindre," she murmurs, then, in a louder voice, asks, "K'tyn? Can you ask Prometh if the pain's all gone?" Suzot looks around and starts to carry off the used towels in empty buckets (to be boiled clean for next Fall). Asrai giggles softly and nods, making her way over to Aph's side. Snagging a meatroll from a passing tray she holds it up before Aph's mouth. "Here, take a bite. No don't touch it, your hands are ichy." Jerissa,checking that her hands are still clean, climbs up the ladder, and gently runs a hand down the brown's stitched side. "Nice, neat job" she comments, "What's your diagnosis for recovery?" Kindre's head bobs again as she does as Alyssa indicated. Wiping a bit of the weed on the back of her neck, also, she returns to carefully slathering the scratches on Prometh's hide. "What does Prometh say," she murmurs, echoing her friend. R'val stands, straightening, "Jerissa, this one's got all the numbweed he'll need. Anything else you'd like from me?" K'tyn grins at Alyssa as the Bronze rumbles confused assent. "His is, aye. But this scratch here," he touches below the new score on his face, "Is paining him. I told him 'how can it be paining him if I canna feel the pain?" Absently, he drinks from the new skin that Asrai? handed to him as he stares at the bronze. "Tis a pain that he sees, he said. Gad! What a daft beast ye are, Prometh!" Aphrael glances down at her hands, covered in redwort and oil, before she grins wryly and takes a bit of the offered meatroll. "Thanks, Asrai," She mumbles as she chews, swallowing hastily at Jerissa's question. "He's got a good chance, if the stitching in the veins holds out. He won't be back up in the air though for.. likely four to six sevenday, depending on how fast the wound heals." Alyssa smiles and gently scratches Prometh's uninjured hide before telling Kindre, "Well done, weyrwoman. Any thoughts about how long our erstwhile Weyrleader will be out of commission?" Prometh rumbles at his rider, blinking slowly. "Aye, Lys. Tis all gone. Save when he looks at me. Bah! Dinna look at me, then!" The weyrleader is not feeling anything, not with two and a half skins of wine in him. Jerissa nods slowly, thinking as she climbs down the ladder, careful of her oily hands, "At least, yes, and then he'll be doing slow flight. Good job Aphrael, can you make a report for me?" Ofira looks around, satisfied that everyone is getting enough to drink and eat and hurries back to the kitchen to see that enough water is boiling, enough wine heating. Ofira walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern. "Well," Kindre muses while looking over both dragon and rider, "We should keep those scratches covered and clean for at least a few days, I'd think. And dry." Trying to hold her smirk at K'tyn's slight babblings, she continues. "Then I suppose leave them uncovered and be sure not infection sets in?" Above, From the Benden Star Stones, M'nar's mint green Gelth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to blue Meroth and his rider, T'fian, welcoming them home. Asrai smiles at her friend as Aph obediently takes a bite of the meatroll. But her eyes show concern as the glance over Dulath's newly stitched hide...then over the others gathered and recieving aid. "So many...If only Cygnith and I could have been there to help, perhaps.." Her words trail off as she shakes her head. Meroth backwings for a landing. Alexi asks Kindre, "is there anything else you need from me, or should I go in to help Ofira get ready for the onslaught in the Living Cavern?" T'fian quickly slides down Meroth's foreleg and jumps to the ground. Aphrael nods hastily to Jerissa's words. "I will do that. I'll find C'vadan and let him know, too." T'fian slips wearily down Meroth's foreleg and looks around. Grabbing the shoulder of the nearest rider he demands in a voice, made impatient by his wearines. "Where is the Weyrleader?" Benden Weyr> Jerissa congraulates Aphrael on reaching her dragonhealing capable status too :) Well done :) Kindre smiles warmly at Alexi. "I don't need any more help...except perhaps getting the Weyrleader off to bed," she kids. "If Ofira needs you, by all means, go help her. Thank you." Benden Weyr> Caitria yay Aph! Alexi nods and turns towards the Cavern. Alexi walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern. K'tyn is leaning against Prometh talking nearly coherently to Dragon and those about him. "Bed? I have to get reports, Kindre," he says stoutly. Alyssa nods her concurrence. "Three days sounds about right for...." Her voice falters a moment at T'fian's strident tone, then she continues softly, "for starters. Though you can certainly rest in your weyr, K'tyn. Nicely done, weyrwoman." Kassima quips drolly to Asrai from her perch on her dragon's foreleg, "Mayhaps you'd be among the injured as well. 'Twould nay concentrate on the might-have-beens were I you, Asrai; you just couldn't be there, and you're nay t'be blamed for that." She glances over as B'ald, nabbed by the Weyrsecond, points a finger towards where Kiat and Prometh are. "There, sir. They're over there." Benden Weyr> Asrai cheers for APH!! K'tyn laughs at Alyssa, draining the last of his wine. "I'm NOT goin' ta me weyr. Nope!" Benden Weyr> Kassima wooooooooos! Yay, Aphsie! Felicitations! :) T'fian looks around and spots Prometh's form. He nod at Kassima's help, then walks over to the Weyrleader, stopping next to Alyssa. "Sir," he says with a sharp salute. Benden Weyr> Aphrael snugs you all. Thanks. :) Asrai looks over at Kassi and nods, "I know, I know." She then gives K'tyn an odd look, followed by a speculative one for T'fian. A small sigh of relief escapes Kindre's lips and she smiles wide at Alyssa. "Thank you." Quirking a brow at the Weyrleader, she suggests, "Mayhaps those reports will be easier to write," and most likley more legible she resists saying, "in the morning?" Jerissa smiles to Aphrael, "It might be awile before he is awake once more, the Healers said he'll be fine, just knocked himself senseless!" Leaning 'close' to Lys, Kiat points out, "It's full a' creepy crawlers and spi--hic--spinners. T'fian," he says as sharply as he can. T'fian gives K'tyn an odd look. "Crawlers, sir?" he asks, taken aback by the Weyrleader's response. He shoots a look at K'tyn's wingsecond. Alyssa says nothing further to K'tyn, though a frown assserts itself, one of worry as she waits to see what T'fian will say. Her eyes, however, dart toward Meroth to assure her that he's all right. Suzot comes back with two clean buckets of water and one empty one. Meroth sits away from the other dragons, not having moved from where he landed, looking grey and tired. Aphrael chuckles faintly to Jerissa's words and nods. "Okay.. maybe Prefeth could help Dulath into the infimary, in that case," She suggests, glancing towards the brown. "Sir," Kindre says, "you're welcome to use that extra cot in my weyr, as I said the other evening, if the crawlers worry you so much..." K'tyn blinks as the blueriders look at each other, frowning as something he's been trying ot remember crosses the pathway from his brain to his mouth. "B-burrows. That was it! Any burrows, T'fian?" He turns to smile at Kindre. "Better that couch of yourn than that chair in the records' room." Suzot looks around for who may need clean water. R'val walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern. Jerissa nods, "I think he'll need some help at least, he's likely a little unsteady on his feet." Asrai sees that her work is done and heads back to Cygnith. Asrai makes her way up onto Cygnith's back with the aid of an offered foreleg and a strong grip on the riding straps, settling between his silvery neckridges. Cygnith takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. T'fian sees Skyfire's wingsecond looking away, so instead looks back at K'tyn. "Sir," he drawls sharply. "You are in no position to worry about reports. I will have them available on the morrow for you are more coherent." He salutes, then turns on a heel and walks back towards Meroth. Kassima adds to Kindre's statement, "And m'weyr's nay being used at the moment, save as a fire-lizard haven, so 'twould be suitable; I've been cleaning it out periodically, and the fire-lizards keep it from being infested." A sudden thought strikes her, and she wonders, "Mayhaps if'n I let the Swarm loose on your bug population, they'd make short work of it. Some of them like insects. Can't say I understand *why*, but they do." Aphrael nods and glances towards Prefeth, the blue lumbering closer and extending a wing to help balance out Dulath on one side as they head into the infirmary. Jerissa mumbles something about going to check something in the infirmary Jerissa moves beneath the rocky overhang that protects the Infirmary entrance. "You're welcome to it," Kindre says before twisting her neck a bit. Removing her jacket, she sighs. "Well, so much for this," is noted while glancing over the burned edges of it. Grinning at Kassima, she nods. "You know, that's not a bad idea! I'm sure the Swarm will clean them up nicely." K'tyn frowns uncertainly. "I did it again, dint I?" he asks his bronze sadly. "No wonder thy think I'm nay good for this. I can only try, I guess." He looks over at Kassima, smiling. "I'd appreciate it, Kassi. Just don't tell me when ye'll have them in there. I canna stand that chittering." Alyssa glances at Kindre, then K'tyn, and excuses herself to follow the Weyrsecond to his dragon, as if ensuring both are hale and hardy. "The creeper's chittering that is," Kiat adds. T'fian grabs Meroth's riding straps, leaning against the small, tired blue, looking just as worn and beat as the large creature. Kassima chuckles at the Weyrleader, and nods. "I'm certain 'twould nay take them long, sir. That's one benefit to having so many--very rarely do I have to worry about bugs at all. They won't do aught about the webs, though, I'm afraid; none of them find *those* appetizing. They might just tear them up a bit." After another glance at K'tyn, ensuring Kindre and Kassima are looking after him, Alyssa touches T'fian's arm and murmurs, "You look barebones and grey, worse than usual. What's wrong?" Kindre wrinkles her lips in thought before shrugging. "Well, once the critters are gone, I'm not opposed to helping clear their debris. If need be, o'course." T'fian doesn't jump, yet Alyssa obviously startles him. He turns towards her, then at her hand, then back at the Skyfire wingsecond's face. "Just been a long day," he says. "And a long 'Fall. And the Weyrleader being scored's always a bad sign." K'tyn sighs, and sinks down into the hollow of Prometh's forelimbs, nodding at Kassima. "Webs are just webs. A broom will take care of them," he rambles on. "Poor lads and lasses lost today. Naught I could have done...naught. And C'vadan. Hurt, Dulath hurt. My fault, I think. P'tran would have done better." "I know," Alyssa replies, backing away from T'fian as she makes another cursory study of Meroth. "You two should get some rest, Weyrsecond." Suzot returns after carrying off another load of soiled, bloodied towels. T'fian glances upward, towards his ledge, looking for Quinath's form. He looks back down at Alyssa and shakes his head. "I'm okay. Just... well, Rosalen gave birth today," he says, looking to add more, but instead he looks towards K'tyn hearing something he said. "Excuse me," he says to Alyssa and strides over to the Weyrleader. "Sir!" he snaps. Kassima gets up from her seat on Lysseth's foreleg, giving the grey dragon--well, green, but it's rather hard to tell that--a slap on the shoulder before she wanders over to Kin and Kiat so as not to have to yell halfway across the Bowl to them. "You led well enough, sir. There could easily have been more casualties than there were. 'Twas, frankly, a bad Fall all around--and there are always casualties in those." She starts at the snapped words from the Weyrsecond, nearly spilling her wine. K'tyn looks up, his eyes red and bleary with drink. "Aye, Si--Weyrsecond?" Kindre, mayhaps out of instinct reaction from her weyrling days, visibly winces at the Weyrsecond's sharp word. Nodding once she recovers herself to Kassima's words, she agrees. "It was a hard 'fall, K'tyn..." then quiets as T'fian breaches the distance between them all. Suzot passes by Prometh's shining, damaged lumpness with her bucket half- full of bloodied or ichored towels. T'fian looks coldly at the Weyrleader. "Yes," he says after a moment of intent examination of the young man, "P'tran would have done better. Because --" he raises one finger "--he wouldn't be standing around saying 'S'drel could have done better.' Or 'F'hlan would have done better.'" "He's right, Weyrleader," is added softly by the goldrider. "There's nay point in self-depriciation," Kassi thirds quietly. K'tyn smiles at T'fian. "I am well and truly rebuked. For that, I thank you. Tis just...that twas a hard fall, and I was...feeling maudlin. My apologies to you all. Twas a moment of self-indulgence." Alyssa watches from a distance, then, swallowing, steps forward to K'tyn's side again and speaks up, quietly vocal where she is usually silent. "Feeling the loss like that is understandable, K'tyn," Alyssa murmurs. "Shouldering the responsibility of every dragon's action and every rider's action, things beyond your control, is not understandable. It's all right." T'fian shakes his head. "Riders get scored," he says. "It happens. It happened when P'tran was Weyrleader. Riders and dragons get scored. Riders and dragons die. It's the nature of what we do. They died when P'tran was Weyrleader. They'll die when you're Weyrleader. They'll die after you're done being Weyrleader." Alexi comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. K'tyn nods at the others, their comments finding appropriate chinks in the wall of his argument. "It may not be logical, Lys, but..tis understandable. I canna help but feel responsible. People died for my action or lack of action." Somehow, K'tyn finds the will to get to his feet as Suzot passes near. "Suzot, lass. You're nay hurt, I hope?" He glances at T'fian. "That doesna mean that I'll not be hurting any less, simply because you say that tis inevitable. I understand that here, in my head." he gestures to his brow, then to his chest. "My heart says otherwise, and right now, the two are bickering most ardently." Suzot turns. "Na, na, Weyrleader, I'm only helpin' the Healers. Can I help you?" Despite the nonchalant words, an undercurrent of tension gives the lie to the smoothe surface. Kindre simply bobs her head in agreement, too weary to think of words to aptly assure the Weyrleader. Sighing, she then manages a smile. "They're both right, you know. You can't blame yourself, K'tyn." Touching the back of her neck, her nose wrinkles up. "That may smart in the morn. Forgive me for departing so early, but I'm terribly tired. Again, if you're needing a less creepy-infested place to sleep, I've the room Weyrleader." T'fian adds, "It doesn't make it right or wrong. It is more than just is, too. We feel for each rider or dragon's death. They keen, mourning the passing of one their own. So should we, but it's going to happen and we have to understand that." Hesitant to interrupt, but knowing it's necessary, Alexi announces, "There is hot wherrie broth, mulled wine and fresh klah in the Living Cavern." Alyssa withdraws quietly, silently, moving back to her exhausted blue, letting the more experienced riders help ease the Weyrleader's concerns. T'fian glances towards Alexi and nods. "Thank you," he says to the young man, whom he doesn't seem to recall. "Beating yourself up over every injury or death wouldn't do either heart or head much good," Kassi notes, nodding absently to Alexi without seeming as though she really hears. Kindre receives a brief smile. "Clear skies, then, goldrider--and fair be the wind t'you and your sky-lady." Adonith lumbers south. Alyssa walks south. T'fian excuses himself quickly from K'tyn and walks southward. T'fian walks south. K'tyn shakes his head. "Aye, I know that you are all right....Just let me sleep the wine off. There's a reason the Weyrwoman forbade it to me." He nods at Alexi, acknowledging the lad's announcement as he turns after Kindre. "If ye dinna mind...I'll go with you. I'm...overly tired." Kiat smiles at Su. "I'm glad you're home again," he says simply. Alexi walks beneath the lintel and disappears into the living cavern. "And to you, too, Kassi, K'tyn," Kindre returns the parting words before adding a nod to the latter. "I don't mind. I've the room, to be true, and you're certainly welcome to it." Smiling at Suzot, she concurs. "It's wonderful to have you home, indeed," before moving towards the stairs leading to her weyr. Aphrael sighs and rubs faintly at her eyes as she pushes herself away from Prefeth, yawning visibly. "Shards, but I'm exhausted.. I think I'll go relax.. somewhere." Herath walks up the stairwell to Herath and Kindre's weyr. Suzot nods. "I'm glad t'be home." Then she steps off to assist in removing used towels and already-soaked bandages. Kindre walks up the stairwell to Herath and Kindre's weyr. Prometh walks up the stairwell to Herath and Kindre's weyr. Kassima smiles and lifts her own empty wine-skin in an ironic sort of toast. That she seems cold sober after drinking it all is nothing short of astonishing. "For all that you've drunk, sir, methinks you're nay doing too badly. G'night and clear skies t'you as well." She walks back over to her dragon, resuming her seat on the green foreleg with a sigh. K'tyn walks up the stairwell to Herath and Kindre's weyr. Kassima closes her eyes, leaning back against Lysseth's leg. "Where're you going, Aph?" she asks without looking at the Dragonhealer. Aphrael pauses by Prefeth's head, glancing over with a faint, if tired, smile. "Oh.. nowhere in particular. Figured we might head over to Boll.. or maybe to Shipfish. Somewhere warm, at any rate." Kassima nods slightly, eyes still closed. "Warm. Warm is good," she agrees. Bradamante walks here from the south. Bradamante quietly says "um hi..." Kassima's eyes crack open at the unfamiliar voice, and she looks over at its owner. "Benden's duties t'you and yours," she replies, plainly weary but nevertheless polite. Aphrael glances up and smiles in greeting to Bradamante, standing beside Prefeth's head as she rubs at the blue's eyeridges. Bradamante is obviously sneaking in where she isn't supposed to be to catch a look at real dragons Lysseth may be a real dragon, but she's certainly an *exhausted* real dragon of the grey tone of her hide is any judge; she's much more grey than green, really. She eyes the newcomer with a hint of wariness, then snorts and lowers her head to return to her rest. Prefeth's eyes are firstlidded, head resting comfortably on his forelegs as he humms faintly in the back of his throat. Meroth opens his eyes, staring at everybody yellowishly. T'fian walks here from the south. T'fian pulls himself up Meroth's foreleg, grasping the blue's riding straps, and settles between his neckridges. Meroth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. Suzot waves after T'fian and Meroth, still cleaning up the dregs of the healings and wing repairs. Bradamante follows the dragon's flight with her whole body, her eyes tracking every wingbeat Bradamante breathes a quiet "oooooooh" of wonder Suzot is, currently, hauling two buckets of used towels and bandages, covered with blood from injured Riders and ichor from dragons. It's a gooey, smelly mess, and some of it has escaped the buckets to slosh onto the tall girl's hands, arms, and legs. Bradamante walks over to Suzot "Umm can I help?" Suzot pauses. "Aye." She looks at your shoulders for an identifying Knot, but doesn't see one. "Start by picking up the wineskins, empty buckets, and towels. Put them in that pile," she says, gesturing with one elbow, "and the kitchen help will take them back for cleaning. If you see a pool of blood, scoop it up in the buckets, but try not to get it on the wineskins. Bradamante starts to stack the wineskins, buckets and towels in seperate piles. Suzot's voice is one of those low altos that could easily sound like a teenaged boy's tenor if you hadn't caught a /good/ look at her beforehand and made reasonably sure that she was a girl instead. Bradamante almost slips in a pool of blood and slides to a stop, shuddering. Bradamante gulps, making repeated swallowing motions and looks a little green. Suzot drops her two full buckets onto the pile and picks up another empty pair, brought by a kitchen helper, who then takes two full ones back to the Weyr. Suzot goes about, picking up smaller and smaller debris till there's very little left at all that wasn't here to begin with. Bradamante scoops up her pool of blood into a bucket, then puts it where Suzot left hers. Bradamante says "How do I get blood off the bottom of my boots?" Kassima seems to have fallen into a doze, but she does crack open an eye to suggest, "Wipe them off with a towel, or wash the bottoms off in the Lake. That should work." Suzot turns to the girl, face streaked with grime and sweat. "Aye...and you'll need to wash your clothes. The Healers are particular about washing blood off after the Fall." Bradamante takes the corner of a half-used towel and gets as much as she can off, being really picky about getting it on her hands. Bradamante blushes "Umm, what do I wear when its washing. I only have these clothes right now." Suzot doesn't bother frowning in disdain. Instead, she sets her buckets on the edge of the pile and heads for Kassima. "Kassi, have you gotten care from the Healers?" she asks, looking the Greenrider over. One of the kitchen helpers waves to the unfamiliar girl. "You can borrow somebody's dress," he suggests. Aphrael lets out a yawn as she clambers up Prefeth's side. "I think I'll go get some sleep... night all." Aphrael uses Prefeth's extended foreleg to climb up onto the blue dragon's neckridges. Bradamante waves back to the kitchen helper "Thanks" Prefeth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry him aloft. Kassima blinks awake again, apparently having a hard time keeping herself from sleep. "Eh? Healers? Oh, I'm nay hit, Suzot. Lyss and I weren't 'scored." Blinking foggily at the newcomer, she manages to put her thoughts together and finally suggests, "Ask Salless where the spare clothes are? She'd like as nay know." Bradamante walks south. Suzot frowns, brows drawing together. "Kassima, you're tired enough you'll injure yourself without the help of Thread, if you don't get to your weyr." Kassima quirks up an eyebrow, and grins wryly. "Ach, I'm nay the one who's tired. Lysseth's tired. Since she's tired, I feel like I am... but as she's the one who did most of the work, that's dubious." Suzot frowns, thinking that over. "You think you're tired because she is?" "Well, partially," Kassi admits. "I'm tired of my own right too, but nay as exhausted as it seems. I feel her hunger, pain, anger... makes sense that I should feel her weariness too. But we're both all right, and she's a lot better for a few hours' rest." Suzot nods, glancing all around. Everyone's worked so hard that there's nothing to do now but wait for rain. Kassima glances around the blood and ichor-stained sands, and sighs. "I hope the next 'Fall won't be as bad as this one was. Mayhaps you're right about me returning to my weyr; Lyss, at least, should get more rest than she can out here." Suzot nods gravely. "Do you need help gettin' into the straps?" Kassima shakes her head in negation, climbing to her feet. "Nay, nay--I'm just a bit wearied, nay quite decrepit yet. That'll come when I'm older." She winks, then peers at the empty wineskin in her hand. Clearly unsure what to do with it, she stuffs it in a pocket for now before mounting her dragon. You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly. You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered foreleg. Kassima settles herself in, buckling herself in place with slightly fumbling fingers. "Thankee, Suzot, for the offer, though," she calls down. "And for the help you gave during the 'Fall. Might nay be m'place to thank you, but I thought someone should." Oh, yeah, you can tell she's exhausted and has consumed a skin's worth of wine tonight. <*> Lysseth springs from the ground, the air from her wings churning up dust as she takes to the skies. You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the bowl floor to carry you aloft.