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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.

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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. :)

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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.