The Candidates Witness Threadfall

T'bin's smile perks up. "Good. No insult intended, but games that are won first round are boring." He takes the dice back, and glances over his shoulder at the sky. "Soon. Better hurry." He tosses the dice.

Emlyn takes a moment to realize Maehryn is offering Ista's duty to her. She's in the midst of hoisting the sack to her shoulder. Once it's there, she says, "Oh, Ista owes me no duties, though I'm sure I appreciate the sentiment." Seeing Nya, Emlyn gives the goldrider a respectful nod and smile.

Merien waves and adds her own, "Ista's duty" as she hads the dice back to T'bin.

T'bin throws a three and a five, and passes it to Merien. "Your turn. Hi, there."

Jh'rin nudges Maehryn and murmurs, "Go give the Benden lady a hand, there, Candidate. She's weighed down, y'know."

Makeda walks out of the living cavern.

Makeda has arrived.

Above you, Couranth takes wing.

Above you, Couranth glides lower into the bowl, eventually backwinging gracefully near the living caverns to the southeast, scattering several firelizards on his way.

Couranth approaches from above, the wind from his wings stirring the air into a great rush as he lands.

Couranth has arrived.

Merien takes the dice and tosses them quickly. "A two and a three for five," she announces.

Makeda joins the rest of the Candidates in the bowl.

Bronia slips a leg over Couranth's neck and slides lightly down to the ground.

Bronia has arrived.

Pleiath settles among the unfamilar dragons. Her eyes are whirling slowly as she reclines.

Maehryn looks at Jh'rin, then at the Benden greenrider. He walks towards her cautiously, as if she'd bite. "Uhm, ma'am, I could, uh, help, if you tell me, uh, what you want?" He glances back at Jh'rin, as if asking the wingsecond if that was the right thing to say.

T'bin nods and takes the dice back, rolling them for another quick throw. Six and two. "Another eight. Here you go.....Is it time?"

Jh'rin grins crookedly at Maehryn and nods.

Merien takes the dice and shakes them quickly, then rolls out a 3 and a 1. "Four."

E'ryn steps out of one of the lower weyrs, arriving at the bowl's ground after turning to head down an inclined stair.

E'ryn has arrived.

T'bin draws it back rapidly, his whole body focused on the quickly moving, high risk game. Two threes. "Six." He passes the dice back.

Makeda glides over to the dice throwers, not noticing Pleianth among the dragons assembled. "Whatcha doing?" A general question to anyone who will answer.

Emlyn lifts an eyebrow as Maehryn offers his assistance. The heavy sack on her back seems fairly self-explanatory. With a grin, she swings it round, intending to unload it on the boy's back. "Here you go. It needs to be delivered to your weyr's steward. It's filled with messages and inventories and all other types of -very- important hides." She adds with a grin, "So don't drop it."

Parth arrives from the center of the bowl.

Parth has arrived.

E'ryn is brown Parth's rider, at Ista Weyr.

Merien laughs and says, "This is taking so long, compared to the other times." She shakes then tosses the dice, for a total of nine, then hands the dice across to T'bin.

Makeda has reconnected.

T'bin takes the dice back, and rolls, turning up a five and a six. "Eleven!" He smirks. "Just in time too....G'rel will have my head." He catches up the two eighth marks on the ground. "There."

Maehryn suddenly finds himself carrying a bag that is far heavier than he expected. "To... Jommel?" he gasps underneath its weight.

Lusani walks out of the living cavern.

Lusani has arrived.

Emlyn, freed of the bag, grins at Maehryn. "If you say so. I was told to deliver it to The Steward." She watches how the youngster struggles with the bag. After a moment, she confides, "It's about as heavy as the sacks most greenriders hoist for resupply during Fall."

Merien grins, not seeming to mind losing the marks, and stands up. She waves to Lusani as she brushes the sand from her trousers. "Heyla."

Sevanne walks out of the living cavern.

Sevanne has arrived.

Jh'rin calls to Emlyn as he moves closer to Siaroth, "You staying to lend us a hand, there, Emlyn? Yer lady's a fast one, I'd bet."

Shast walks out of the living cavern.

Shast has arrived.

Makeda looks up from the dice players spotting the Benden greenrider. She waves to Emlyn from the midst of the candidates. "Emlyn!"

Lusani rushes out into the bowl and over to the sacks, her hair disheveled and her face still paint-smudged. "Heya, Merien." she waves, smiling, as she chooses a sack and starts loading it with firestone.

T'bin stuffs the marks in his pocket and heads towards Ashroth at a jog. He yanks his riding jacket down from his straps and throws it on, despite the heat, and catches up a firestone sack.

Maehryn gives Emlyn a shaky smile that says he's not sure if she just insulted them or not. Then he disappears into the living cavern.

Merien stretches out her back, then pats Tesith lightly and says to her lifemate,

Shast hurries in and looks around for something he might be able to dol;

Emlyn turns toward Jh'rin and casts a glance up at the sky, almost as if she expected to see proof of the upcoming Threadfall. "Well, there's nothing over Benden today. Could you use another green in your wing?"

dol;=do

Merien says "DOn't get too worked up, dear. We're grounding it for this one.""

Nya moves over to those taking care of after fall medical treatment and begins checking the supplies.

Sevanne enters the fray, trying to look more 'perky' than she's feeling and rounding up candidates for firestone duty.

Jh'rin beams and puts a hand on Emlyn's shoulder. "You bet. Always, always. Timor's the finest wing, you bet." He winks at the Belior riders, then asks Emlyn, "You got proper gear here?"

Mercy walks out of the living cavern.

Mercy has arrived.

Makeda scurries over to Emlyn's side. "Are you staying. I get to help!" She nods at Jh'rin. "She's a wonderful green. I rode her first." Well it makes sense to the excited candidate.

Ashroth rumbles aloud, rumbling for Belior riders.

Faerth arrives from the center of the bowl.

Faerth has arrived.

Emlyn grins at Jh'rin and nods toward Pleiath. The green's straps are cargo duty,since she was bearing sacks. "I think this will..." Emlyn laughs as Makeda comes up and speaks. The greenrider gives the candidate a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.

Bronia catches Jh'rin's words and glances away from checking the weyrlings to shake a fist at him with a grin. "Hey, I may fly with the weyrling wing these days, but as an ex Belior rider I'll fight that out with you any day, Jhor"

Lusani's muscles are clearly outlined as she hefts stone into bags, her face screwed up in a grimace of effort. However, she is stronger than a good few of the other Candidates, and manages to fill three sacks very quickly.

Jh'rin smiles indulgently at Makeda, then gets settled with the business of feeding 'Stone to his green.

Rykel climbs down from Faerth, who kindly obliges with a foreleg for her

Rykel has arrived.

Melina walks out of the living cavern.

Melina has arrived.

Jereboam walks out of the living cavern.

Jereboam has arrived.

Maehryn slips back out of the living cavern, the missives from Benden having been delivered to Steward Jommel. He sees Lusani working with the firestone and hurries over towards her. "Need help?" he asks.

Merien begins walking among the weyrlings, clapping her hands for attention. "Form your wings! Now! Let's see those straps!"

Makeda hugs Emlyn quickly before returning to her duties with the other candidates.

Rykel hops down, and without much ado, greetings or much else, gets busy with plowing Faerth's awaiting maw with chunks of firestone.

Nya finishes discussing the healing supplies and checks over her flamethrower.

Jereboam moves towards the infirmary, helping with the large tubs of numbweed and redwort.

Makeda passes Nya on her way back to her group. "Do you need any help, Ma'am?"

L'tan salutes in general as he and Habrith appear, the Weyrleader speaking quietly to his dragon before he starts to watch the massing riders of his wing.

Shast decides to help out bagging stone, seeing as he's done it quite a few times and he's good at it.

Sevanne starts organizing the candidates into a chain, to help load firestone sacks onto awaiting dragons.

Lusani glances back over her shoulder at Maehryn, balancing a medium-sized rock on her hip. "Sure." she grins slightly. "I can always use a hand."

Emlyn notes where the riders are getting their 'stone. She brings a sack to Pleiath and begins the noisy process of feeding the green.

Jh'rin salutes L'tan and, as Siaroth chews and chomps her firestone, looks over the wings as well, already counting heads.

Melina trots over to Lusani and Maehryn, knowing nothing about healing to help in the infirmery, 'Can I help too?"

T'bin starts tossing firestone into Ashroth's maw, while keeping one eye on the rest of his wing.

Mercy shuffles in. A wary glance is cast to and fro, from riders to candidates to weyrfolk to dragons. And then Mercy spies Maehryn, Lusani, Shast, and Melina: firestone. To there she shuffles, echoing Melina's question. "Need another willing hand?" Paint-smeared face smiles.

Merien picks at a brown dragon's straps and says to his lifemate, "What the flaming egg is THIS? Look at it! It's half-unravelled!" She bends to say something more quietly to the young man, and then he blushes and nods. He and his dragon move from their wing to join the younger hatchlings and their lifemates, who are grounded and help fill bags.

Nya doesn't appear to notice Makeda.

Bronia runs a hand over Couranth's straps, the check mechanical, the starts to walk down the line of her group of weyrlings. "Dalla, that buckle's not tight, if Merianth swerves suddenly you'll be off. Come on, you ought to know better than this by now."

Makeda looks aprhensively at the line of candidates forming to carry stone. She tries once more. "Do you need help, Ma'am? Otherwise I better go help the others."

Maehryn hefts a full bag of stone with obvious effort and half carries it, half drags it towards the preparing dragons and riders.

Lusani has disconnected.

Shast nods to Mercy, "Yeah sure. Why don't you come over here and help me hold this bag open."

E'ryn walks over to Parth, quickly checking him out, before he walks over toward his wing of Weyrlings, as well, helping them to check on their dragons. His voice can be heard admonishing, "N'tral, loosen that girth, you'll suffocate your dragon that way."

Jh'rin waves toward the Candidates, calling, "We could use two sacks here, please. C'mon...time's a-wasting." He then takes a pebble and bounces it off Bronia's shoulder. "Belior," he grins.

Nya at least notices that Makeda is nearby. "Hmmm?"

Maehryn pauses at Jh'rin's call. He was moving towards the Quickfire dragons. "Uhm," he says, blinking, caught in an indecsive loop.

Melina finds a smaller bag and starts dragging toward Jh'rin valiantly. Her face is red but she makes no effort to ask for help as she pulls the bag across the bowl.

Sevanne nudges the nearest candidate toward Jh'rin. "Hurry up..."

Makeda casts a nervous glance at her group. "Do you need help, Ma'am, with the healing supplies?"

Emlyn taps a passing candidate on the shoulder. "Could you bring me another sack of this grade?" Pleiath, her eyes partly lidded, reduces a chunk to gravel with a bone-snapping crunch.

Nya shakes her head. "And please call me Nya. My name is not ma'am."

Mercy gives Shast a nod, quickly skirting around others to offer painted hands; don't mind the yellowish-white-greenish-brown. "Uh, okay, you fill, I hold?" As she speaks, fingers curve firmly about the bag's edges: fill away.

Jh'rin takes a few quick paces to Maehryn and with ease relieves the Candidate of his burden. "Thanks, lad," he grunts before attaching the bag to Siaroth's strap.

Makeda bops and nods. "Yes, Ma'am, er Nya." She hurries off to help with the stone."

Shast nods to Mercy, "Yep, thanks." And with that he begins picking up large stones now being able to use both hands, and placing them into the bag.

Rykel gently rubs Faerth's side as he chomps and mascerates his massive chunks of 'stone. Eyes catching a small nick in his straps, she pads over and starts in on a very quick once-over. She tugs and yanks and inspects, then nods her head curtly to herself while she silently await the beginning.

Melina pulls her bag finally up to Jh'rin and sighs, seeing that he already got his bag. She looks around, waiting for another call.

Jereboam grunts under the weight of twin buckets of numbweed.

Jh'rin waves to Melina, since he called for two bags. "Over this way, lass...that's great. Just the right size. C'mon."

Makeda joins the candidates. She holds a sack open while another candidate fills it up with firestone. Tying the sack closed she looks around, "Does anyone need more stone?"

Merien finishes with her group of weyrlings and leans to one side to peer at Bronia's group, then E'ryn's, then the other assistants', surveying them quickly but discreetly. Finally, she claps her hands again and says, "Weyrlings stand at the ready!"

Melina turns on a heal, hearing Jh'rin again. She smiles widely and begins to yank and pull, making the bag move towards him.

Maehryn nods to Jh'rin. "You're, uh, welcome, sir," he stammers, then quickly heads back to where the other Candidates are still bagging. Borad tosses him a bag easily and laughs as it nearly knocks Maehryn over.

Scattered like a shattered rainbow all over the bowl, the dragons of Belior crunch, their rumbling tones a low thunder to accompany the coming storm.

Makeda has partially disconnected.

Jh'rin again moves closer to the assistant and takes the bag easily. "Thank ya...got it."

Emlyn nods at Makeda. "Can you bring me two of that.. oh, thanks. Make that -one- bag of this size stone?" The sack just delivered she hoists to secure on Pleiath's straps.

Mercy watches, silent and thoughtful. As Shast fills, she holds; as the contents of the bag grow heavier, her fingers tighten their grasp.

Sevanne takes a bag, which is immediately taken by Jh'rin. "Need more?"

Melina looks up at the rider thankfully and smiles shyly, 'You're welcome, sir" She walks back over to the firestone and starts bagging some, not wishing to heft another bag just yet.

Ainsira walks out of the living cavern.

Ainsira has arrived.

L'tan brushes off his hands and mounts Habrith, giving the signal for Timor to mount as well while he looks up at the approaching storm.

E'ryn turns toward Merien, as soon as she issues her command. He draws erect right along with the Weyrlings, his eyes roving over them to make sure they follow procedure.

Watching L'tan with the corner of her eye as she finishes feeding Faerth, Rykel spies the signal and climbs up with a practiced ease.

Makeda is close enough to nudge Borad with an elbow. "That was mean," she hisses at him. "How would you like it if someone did that to you." Hearing Emlyn she hurries over with her sack. Well, as fast as she can with how heavy it is. "I hope this is the right size for Pleiath. I think it is, Ma'...Emlyn." A nervous grin followed by a giggle.

Bronia checks the last strap of herg roup. A single glance over the weyrlings, all standing tensely at attention, then she straights her back and turns back to Merien. "This wing are ready."

Jereboam doubles his efforts to transport the required amounts of numbweed and redwort, sweating heavily as he moves carefully with the tubs.

Shast finishes filling the bag within another minute and takes the top of it himself, and begins dragging it over to all the other full bags, showing he is straining but definatly not asking for any help.

"Thanks, Sevanne, but no." Jh'rin is all-business now, and spends a moment tugging at his green's straps before he, too, mounts.

G'rel, filling every image of the classic, heroic bronzerider, pulls himself into his straps. Straight backed, he looks over his wing, satisfied, then gives the signal to call his riders to mount. Sunlight creates a warm glow on his hair, haloing his head. It makes him even more impressive.

Rykel climbs up onto Faerth, settling into his neckridges comfortably.

Rykel has left.

Ainsira burrows into a corner so she won't be noticed.

Jh'rin uses the azure riding straps to pull himself astride Siaroth.

Jh'rin has left.

Nya eventually reaches Genneth's neck.

Nya has left.

Genneth croons softly once her rider is safely on her neck.

Emlyn uses Pleiath's forelimb as a step and seats herself between the green's neckridges.

Emlyn has left.

Sevanne nods, taking a step back and wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "All right, everyone, stand back so they launch."

From Genneth's neck, Nya buckles her straps as Genneth moves into place with the other queens.

On Pleiath, Emlyn bends to check straps, then pulls her goggles down over her eyes.

Light and darkness. T'bin scrambles up into Ashroth's straps, his riding helmet crafting long shadows across his shifty eyes, framing his weasel-like face. His black riding leathers eat the light. But he gives a wicked grin to his noble wingleader and looks ready to go cheat death one more time.

Makeda follows Sevanne's directions and scurries behind the rest of the candidates.

Makeda stands shading her eyes with one hand, caught up in the glorious sight of the wings rising. "Would you just look at that!"

Sevanne leans on a rock, rubbing her forehead.

As Shast moves away with the sack, "Need any help?" Mercy snatches another, drooping sack, mouth widened as her fingers open to reveal the empty depths: it needs to be filled. Stones are carefully placed inside, actions slowed as she fumbles to keep it the sack open, yet fill it at the same time. Multi-talented. At Makeda's announcement, she shifts her gaze upwards.

Melina pulls her hair out of her eyes as she looks up from the firestone sacks, making a long streak of firestone dust slash across her forehead. She smiles slightly, "It's beautiful"

Jereboam takes a quick look, as he sets the tubs down carefully. His jaw drops as he admires the assembled dragons...then he remembers his duty and continues to supply the Infirmary.

Merien nods to Bronia and says, "Thank you." She surveys the weyrlings again, then raises her hand in anticipation of saluting.

Atop Habrith, L'tan gazes about and behind him, settles his goggles on his eyes, and raises his fist in the time-honed gesture to ready the wings to rise. "Timor!" he calls deeply, voice reverberating about the bowl...then he drops his arm. As one, Timor Wing rises in its multi-hued glory.

Siaroth flies up into the air.

Siaroth has left.

Pleiath moves carefully through the people coming and going and joins Timor's ground formation. She leaps aloft with the wing.

Pleiath flies up into the air.

Pleiath has left.

Sevanne coughs, waving a hand in front of her face. "And dirty," she mutters.

T'bin settles into Ashroth's straps.

T'bin has left.

T'bin has arrived.

T'bin buckles himself tightly into the straps, checking to make sure they are secure.

Faerth flies up into the air.

Faerth has left.

Shast heads back towards Mercy to help her with the bag and in response to Makeda's comment he just says, "No thank you." And looks down, but unfortunatly manages to get quite a bit of dust from the takeoff in his eyes anyway.

G'rel nods, and gives the signal. "Belior!" They're off!

Ashroth flies up into the air.

Ashroth has left.

Genneth launches as Germaine give the signal for the queens.

Above you, Siaroth climbs higher toward the sky, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Siaroth soars upward on the changing air currents, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

Genneth flies up into the air.

Genneth has left.

Above you, Faerth climbs higher toward the sky, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Faerth soars upward on the changing air currents, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

Above you, Pleiath climbs higher toward the sky, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Pleiath soars upward on the changing air currents, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

Makeda pays the price for her admiration by choking on dust as the wings arise. She manages a scowl at Shast. "Worth it," she manages to choke out between coughs.

Merien salutes the wings as the rise, glancing behind her to ensure the weyrlings follow suit.

Above you, Ashroth climbs higher toward the sky, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Ashroth soars upward on the changing air currents, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Pleiath is always prone to excitement. Though Thread is deadly, she's never been injured, as far as she can remember, neither have any of her friends. A happy bugle emerges as she rises with the Timor dragons.

Ainsira walks into the huge living cavern.

Ainsira has left.

Jereboam sneezes firmly to clear his lungs...then grimly returns to his task..."Lal said several don't survive a Fall..."

Shast nods, "Yeah, sure. Just wait until you see it two hundred times." And with that he starts helping Mercy pile large stones into their bag.

High above the bowl, Habrith manuevers with powerful wingbeats to the point of the Timor formation, glistening and gleaming in the late-day light and bellowing with the challenge that every dragon issues to the hated Thread.

Bronia salutes the rising wings herself, her face half wistful, and her eyes unfocus with a silent exchange with her brown, then she comes back to herself with a start, her eyes running over her group one last time.

Sevanne pales dramatically and makes a dash for the infirmary.

Sevanne walks into the infirmary.

Sevanne has left.

Makeda glares at Jereboam. "That's a fine thought to send the wings out on." She starts stuffing rocks into a sack with much enthusiasm.

Merien glances to Shast then motions to the weyrlings in the grounded group to continue their bagging efforts. "Watch the bags. Don't overfill them or they won't be thrown straight. And not too big on those chunks!"

Above you, Genneth climbs higher toward the sky, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Genneth soars upward on the changing air currents, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Far to the West, Rukbat's large and heavy disk is obscured by the dark mass of westward-moving clouds, the still falling rain forming misty tentacles reaching down towards the shadowed sea. To the east, the rolling line of the mainland is obscured in the premature twilight, yet the haze of approaching thread is visible, catching what rays of the sun escape the cloudcover to the west then tossing it back in glimmering sparkles of mesmerizing orange light. And between the dangers from east and west, lies the small isle of Ista, its verdant greenery, having weathered one storm, now sits under the Red Star's baleful eye. Yet, there, rising from the maw of Ista's ancient volcano, defenders of life emerging from mouth of death, are the brilliant chromatics and gleaming metallics, blanketing the sky with their majestic forms. Then they are gone, disappeared as one, only to emerge heartbeats later off Ista's east coastline, whirling eyes on the ancient enemy being driven towards them by the light westerly wind and gravity's relentless pull, threatening the island and Weyr that the Istans call home.

High above the bowl, Ashroth cuts up sharply, but in exquisite formation for now. His rider is already scanning the sky, looking for opportunities, the flaw that that would split the game open and leave him with all the marks.

Jereboam looks at Makeda, surprised she heard him mutter that under his breath, "It's true though...and I'm going to help the Infirmary prepare to receive wounded so that none are lost that can be saved.

Shast looks up briefly at Merien, and rolls his eyes exageratedly before going back to his bag and continuing to throw in large chunky rocks.

High above the bowl, The dragons trumpet their greetings at the wondrous sight of Ista's queens aloft, winging upward with their weyrwomena and 'throwers, ready to annihilate Thread.

E'ryn does his own salute as the dragons rise, his eyes too roam over the Weyrlings. Sharply he elbows one of them that moved a little too late.

Makeda decides the best answer is no answer and just keeps sacking.

High above the bowl, The Istan Wings maintain their well-trained discipline, L'tan's Timor Wing at their fore, G'rel's Belior below and to the left flank. Quickfire mimics Belior, except on the right side. Rider and dragon watch the roiling mass of sinuous death that makes up the leading edge, each successive second growing longer and longer in that timeless moment when fear and apprehension mixes with anticipation and bloodlust. Not just a few riders have a feral smile stretching across their features as they watch and wait. Then time contracts, an elastic band snapping violently. Churning, silvery thread falls inexorably towards Siaroth, marking the beginning of battle.

Madelynda walks out of the living cavern.

Madelynda has arrived.

High above the bowl, Genneth answers in chorus with the other queens, though she is impatiently watching the approaching thread.

High above the bowl, Pleiath is being extra attentive to her formation flying. As Siaroth sends a silent instruction, the Benden green slips farther back, opening space between her and the nearest dragon.

Melina blinks over at Magel, hissing sharply at his misfortune. She moves to help him before getting back to her sacking.

Jereboam sighs softly, and looks at the winging dragons with admiration, and resumes transporting necessary items, then disappearing into the infirmary.

Shast is so intent on throwing large chucks of firestone into his bag that he doesn't notcie Madelynda come out from the lower caverns.

Jereboam walks into the infirmary.

Jereboam has left.

Makeda looks up at the sky. "Should we stay out here, or go inside?"

Maehryn pauses in his work, eyes darting upward towards the sky every now and then.

Madelynda hastily enters the bowl, arms laden with bandages and jars of numbweed. Quickly, she moves toward the dragonhealers and presents herself. They wave her in the appropriate direction and she obeys, carefully setting down her load, a wary eye glancing up at the greying sky.

Melina watches in wonder. No way would she go inside unless the fall was right upon them.

Merien is working with the weyrlings, checking the bags they're filling,

High above the bowl, L'tan gestures -well done- to Jh'rin as Habrith also steels himself for the onslaught, his powerful frame angling to catch the primary collection of ribbons in the leading edge. A gout of his flame turns the Thread to ash, letting it fall harmlessly to the ground below.

Shast looks up for a moment, knowing he'll probably be out here until the end of fall.

Mercy squints, face upturned to regard the rainbow of dragons-- and at the herald of Thread. "Uh..." is her only reply, task halted as she switches her glance from candidates to sky. With a clear of her throat, she piles more firestone into the sack, though a wary glance is cast sky-ward.

High above the bowl, Below, dark sand beaches give way to the steamy verdant green of Istas interior. Now the battle is fought in earnest, failure meaning the end of the green below, victory meaning the chance to defend it again. Dragons dance through the sky, the roars of the giant, enraged creatures keeping time to their dance of death. Flame erupts, brilliant reds and oranges leaving afterimages on the eye in the dim light. A Starscorcher's green is struck, a glancing blow, and she winks from existence, returning moments later. Yet that one brief instance allows a cluster of ominously twisting thread to slip through the formation. Only Ashroth and Genneth are close enough to protect the full and vibrant life below.

High above the bowl, The grey of the sky is now suddenly lit by intermittent flashes of Thread-searing flame. Intervals between the flashes at first can be measured in seconds, but in an instant, the leading edge has become a solid curtain, and the flickering is constant over the entire formation of airborne dragons.

Makeda goes home.

Makeda has left.

Madelynda gasps as Habrith chars the Thread into harmless black flakes, her pale face showing that her almost-one Turn at Ista hasn't made her used to Falls. Quickly, she unfreezes herself and begins to prepares bandages, slathering numbweed on the long thick strips.

High above the bowl, Genneth flies lower, waiting down below in case Ashroth doesn't see or misses.

High above the bowl, Ashroth twists and dives, following a long scarf of thread down in order to consume it all. His body is all coils, like a tunnelsnake, bones and wings and a long thin torso and tail.

Shast catches sight of Madelynda as he is looking up at the sky for a moment, and calls to her, "Hey Maddy!" He then just leaves Mercy to finish the bag and walks towards her.

Melina keeps her eyes on Jh'rin, watching him sear and wink in and out. Each time he winks *between* she hisses and holds her breath until he reappears.

E'ryn nods at his group of weyrlings as they arm their dragons with extra bags of firestone. A curt, "Magda, don't put so many on Serenith. You'll overload her."

High above the bowl, Genneth blinks between, avoiding the ashes, and returns seconds later.

High above the bowl, Pleiath finds herself gliding toward a clump of Thread. Just as she inhales the breath that will erupt in a cloud of fire, a gust of Ista's notorious wind buffets the Benden green, upsetting her careful balance. Turning her head sharply to one side, she belches out a larger-than-necessary burst. Emlyn hugs close to the green's neck, avoiding the flames and the char.

Merien turns to Bronia and E'ryn. "How does it feel to watch from down here?"

Madelynda has reconnected.

Bronia glances back to Merien. "Hard." her voice is flat. "He wants to be up there. And I never was very good at waiting."

High above the bowl, Siaroth finds herself buffetted by those selfsame winds but she has learned through practice what to do. Surfing the gusts with the surity borne of experience, she avoids any ill-aimed Thread and returns to her position in time to shoot a red and orange tendril of flame at the clump descending toward her. Scratch one group of Thread.

High above the bowl, The updrafts over the hot island below become more common and pronounced. Cool sea winds off the ocean are heated by air lifting off the surface of the island, creating a mix of normally violently unstable air. Yet, with the sun sinking ever westward, the sea winds are reversing, the hot air moving outward towards the ocean. The rolling, tumbling, sinuously twisting and snaking thread are blown back away from the well-trained Istan dragons. Then it's caught in various updrafts and downdrafts, the air becoming thick with thread as the leading edge becomes ill defined. Several strands of the perilous scourge are blown, from several different directions, with a violent gust of wind buffeting down from above, towards Faerth.

Shast glances up.

E'ryn considers. "Well. Parth doesn't like it. He's anxious to go and doesn't want to understand why we're hanging down here."

Madelynda has partially disconnected.

Madelynda looks up from the bandages, eyes wide and face pale, at Shast. She still slathers numbweed on the bandages on her lap where she is sitting, and then She mutters to Shast, "... doing?... should... doing... you not?"

High above the bowl, Ashroth surges foreward, expending heart and fire in persuing the thread. The setting sun shines off his watered bronze hide, glowing despite the clouds of ash and smoke in the air. His rider, 'Wildcard' emblasoned across his helmet, urges his dragon on with the manic eagerness that lives up to his nickname.

Shast shakes his head and whispers quietly, He mutters to Madelynda, "... Candie remember? I... do... need any... with this?"

High above the bowl, Tightening his form, Faerth catches sight of the wracked mess of tumbling menace and draws in tightly. Roaring a huge belch of flame, he banks catching the edge of the tricky clump, sending the rest of it careening down to the Queens.

E'ryn moves over to Parth quickly, gesturing to his Weyrling wing to do the same. "Mount up." He yells, giving the signal with his hand as well, in case they don't get the picture.

E'ryn easily climbs upwards onto Parth's proffered foreleg, then vaults the rest of the way to his neck where he seats himself comfortably. He looks down at the young brown and caresses his neck affectionately.

E'ryn has left.

High above the bowl, Pleiath does not like how the wind is tearing holes in the Thread. Her eyes have slid through the color scale from the green of excitement through a pale yellow of caution to a pulsing orange. A twisting tangle of death gusts upward into her path, a belch of flame (some of which gets dispersed in the wind), and a sooty cloud of clinging ash.

Mercy has reconnected.

Mercy has partially disconnected.

Bronia signals to her group. "Mount. Belior'll need us shortly."

Bronia climbs lightly up Couranth's side with the help of an offered foreleg and the riding straps and settles between two of Couranth's neckridges.

Bronia has left.

High above the bowl, Genneth dives in so Nya can flame a veritable cloud of thread, then dodges the clump which Faerth missed. A few seconds in between solves the problem, as she meets it further down.

Madelynda blinks at Shast, then curtly nods. "Here," she says through her tense and concentrated expression. "Slather the numbweed on these bandages, so they're ready when....if someone gets hurt." Her face darkens at a bad memory, which she shakes off with a fervent shudder before bending to her task again.

Shast nods slowly, watches Madelynda for a moment, and then begins putting numbweed on the bandages, following her example although not doing it nearly as well.

The wing behind E'ryn assembles as quickly as possible, though there are a few hesitant riders. Finally, everyone's mounted. E'ryn lifts his hand again, signaling to 'fly'. "Lets go!" He shouts at the same time.

High above the bowl, Genneth lands, and the other queens rearrange to make up for the absence.

Parth mounts the air, wings catching hold even as the various dragons following him do.

High above the bowl, Ashroth pursues a thread down, his eyes focused. A scream from a scored bluerider distracts his rider, who glances over his shoulder to check to make sure that she returns from between alive. It is enough for both dragon and rider to miss the broad web of thread that descends above them.

Parth flies up into the air.

Parth has left.

High above the bowl, Siaroth is at a good pace now, though at the bottom of her first supply of stone and has to await Jh'rin's hurried but careful refeeding to fight more Thread. Chew, chomp, masticate, grind...gulp. The pulverized stone is swallowed, digested, churned into a mass of gas, and readied for another go at the vile ribbons that threaten her beloved Pern.

Above you, Parth climbs higher toward the sky, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Parth soars upward on the changing air currents, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Parth arrives from between, along with the not so perfect formation of weyrling's arrayed behind him in the wing. They soar through the fall, heading toward Timor.

High above the bowl, Suddenly the air is filled with even more dragons; the weyrlings have arrived, adding to the chaotic mess that reigns in the air over the Ista Island. Riders and dragons clamber loudly for 'stone from the weyrlings, many unwilling to wait for E'ryn's charges to come to them.

Madelynda's eyes dart quickly upward as the too-familiar sound of a rider hit by threadscore floats down from above. In response, she slathers and untangles and prepares quickly, urgency in every movement.

High above the bowl, Mirth manages to maneuver beneath the clump left by Ashroth, and Gwyneth flames it with tidy precision.

Seated on Couranth's neck, Bronia turns to check the weyrlings behind her, eyes skimming the group. Seeing all to her satisfaction she raises her fist in the traditional signal to rise.

High above the bowl, The vibrant green below starts to slope upward, broken in places by outcroppings of dark rock. To the west, the eastern face of the ancient Istan volcano is a beacon to the riders who make the volcano their home. Yet more pressing concerns are to the east, where the thread's relentless march threatens the home beneath its forested canopy. Katabatic winds rush down the volcanoes slope, gaining speed until they strike the prevailing easterly and the rising hot air over the island. Dragons flame and whirl, blues and greens dancing as only those agile forms can, bronzes and browns, their huge forms a stalwart backbone to the Ista fighting wings, all battle their implacable enemy in a rain of hot ash. A sheet of thread about to be destroyed by tongues of fire from Timor's leaders is driven by a sudden updraft up and over Timor and tumbles down, seemingly in slow motion, on Parth.

Couranth flies up into the air.

Couranth has left.

Shast watches Madelynda a little as she frantically does her job. He puts his hand on he arm and says calmly, "C'mon Maddy. You have enough already, just take it slow. It's not like you're gonna be the one who's using them."

Merien glances up, then nods rather grimly and returns to the weyrlings. "Put that bag with the others. Why are you..." She pauses to listen then says, "Oh. You're perfectly right then. Empty it out and set the bag aside for mending. And thank you."

High above the bowl, L'tan's backward glance catches the adroit movements from Emlyn and Pleiath, and he salutes her as he realizes the fine job they are doing in the absence of the green normally in Pleiath's place.

Sevanne moves out of the shadows of the infirmary's entrance.

Sevanne has arrived.

Above you, Couranth climbs higher toward the sky, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Couranth soars upward on the changing air currents, his wings powerfully beating the air as he gains altitude.

Sevanne walks into the huge living cavern.

Sevanne has left.

High above the bowl, G'rel gives a warning shout to T'bin, causing Ashroth to look up. However, it does not look like there is enough time for the bronze to get Between. However, miraculously, the gusty wind tears the sheet of thread assunder, and half goes spinning down before and to the left of the bronze, the other half behind and to the right. Ashroth escapes without a scratch.

Jereboam moves out of the shadows of the infirmary's entrance.

Jereboam has arrived.

High above the bowl, Genneth resumes after a little while as a Weyrling returns with an empty canister. Another queen lands as she runs out as well.

Jereboam moves to those bagging Fire-stone, and begins helping transport the sacks where they need to go.

Madelynda shakes her head, eyes still on the bandages and numbweed: her silent and only response to Shast. Quickly, she sets aside three prepared bandages and, at a Healer's command, starts on another three.

High above the bowl, On green Pleiath's back, Emlyn's grin flashes white in her ash-covered face for a fraction of a moment as she sees L'tan's salute. She has no time to return it, however, as Pleiath folds her wings and drops stone-like toward a clump. The green opens her wings, arresting her fall, and simultaneously drenches the spinning knot of Thread in ash-making flame.

Kh'gar comes down the wide path from Kh'gar's weyr.

Kh'gar has arrived.

Kh'gar goes to the center of the bowl.

Kh'gar has left.

Shast decides to keep his hand on Madelynda's arm as he slowly does his job one handed, and about twice as clumsily as he was doing it before.

High above the bowl, Couranth appears from Btween. with Bronia's weyrling group in good order, although a couple of latecomers earn a warning glance from her and a disapproving rumble from Couranth. At her signal, the wing fans our, positioning ready to drop sacks to individual Belior riders as they signal for them, the throw and catch movements practised for so long on the ground now being used in their proper place.

High above the bowl, As the second group of weyrlings appears from nowhere, ranging out around Belior, the clump of thread tumbling and falling towards Parth is slammed away from the weyrlingmaster by a northward crosscurrent. Yet, as if it seeked the blood of weyrlings, it is thrust towards Couranth and his group.

High above the bowl, During the resupply, Pleiath has been darting across the Timor formation, destroying Thread allowed through the wing while its members secure stone, feed their dragons, and then return to their slots in formation. As Timor solidifies once more, Pleiath calls to Siaroth, her weariness apparent in her wavering tone.

High above the bowl, Ista's caldera lays below the fighting dragons now, the erratic wind formed by the bowl now adding to the roiling chaotic mess of dragon and thread. Updraft. Downdraft. Eddies of all types abound. Thread blows hither and yon, no dragon safe from its deadly bite. The leading edge is ripped apart as a strong wind slams into the dragons from the north, the cyclonic remnants of Ista's earlier storm. Belior's left flank is struck the hardest, yet Timor and the other wings are also affected. The suddenness of the wind gives no time for a formation change and Belior's small greens and blues are buffeted southward towards Timor's formation. In the sudden confusion, thread slips through all sorts of cracks where dragons have either drawn too far away from each other or are too close to each other to flame without endangering wingmates. Thread, buffeted by both southward wind and an updraft near caldera edge soar fast and dangerous towards Pleiath.

High above the bowl, Another weyrling flies up beside a rider of Timor, his bag of firestone going awry and not meeting the hands of the awaiting rider. Parth ducks sharply as thread comes almost sailing in his direction, letting out a puff of flame sharply where it once was but meeting nothing but air as the crosswind carries it away. Meanwhile, weyrlings empty their loads of firestone, most not as clusmy as some.

High above the bowl, Oerth takes wing.

High above the bowl, Pleiath senses rather than sees the clump of Thread gusting up at her underside. She yanks herself up in the air with an overhard pump of wing. At the same time, she drops her head under her forelimb to spit fire at the tangle of hissing death. A bit of hot ash adheres to her rearlimb, and she blinks between, emerging in a blink in her former place.

High above the bowl, Siaroth rids herself of the last bit of flame then, with reluctance and but with a deep-seated need to rest, she drops out of position, making a place for blue Pryth near Habrith and the other lead dragons. Wingbeats not quite as certain as those earlier on carry her lower and away from the danger of Thread, flanked by the other smaller greens who must depart before the winds are too strong for them to cope.

High above the bowl, Underneath the browns and blacks of the caldera are broken by the green canopy over the forest weyrs, which slowly slope down into darkening sea. End in sight, yet still some distance remains before thread will start falling safely out to sea, and the sea breeze from the west still battles with cyclonic winds from the receding storm. Belior, and to a lesser extent, Timor, struggle back into the formations and the amount of thread slipping through their formations is lessened as dragons and riders are able to return their full attention to the silvery rain of thread. A roiling clump is shattered by a sudden crosswind, thread rolling and bouncing, recombining into several smaller clumps, tumbling toward Ashroth, Parth, and Quickfire's green Maluketh. Maluketh, her body tilted slightly so her right wing is higher than left, is struck by the clump as she flames another clump that escaped Timor's dragons. Several strands rip through the soft wingsail high up her wing, near the shoulder, while several more slam into her body underneath the wing, gouging deep holes into her. Pulling her wings pulling in involuntarily, she writhes in agony as she plummets downward, her scream of pain and outrage deafening before suddenly stopping. A dreadful silence falls as her already dead body falls towards the Queens below. Her rider, Larania, can be seen hanging helplessly in her straps.

High above the bowl, Pleiath follows Siaroth down to rest.

Melina watches the green fall like a stone wide-eyed. She blinks and tears stream from her cheeks. She hands Magel her job and trots back to the barracks.

Melina goes home.

Melina has left.

Merien goes to the center of the bowl.

Merien has left.

High above the bowl, Faerth, his larger than average girth affording him ample stamina to last the entire fall, finally refuels enough firestone to begin fighting and flaming again in earnest. In mid belch, Faerth rips a shearing force out of the Thread's way and creels a piteous and agonizing cry as a Dragon is lost. Stalling in grief just a tad too long, he nearly gets clumped himself, and despite the agony of loss, flame he must. The battle rages on.

Madelynda gasps as the green dragon seems to fly straight into the ground, her eyes fastened helplessly on the hopeless sight. Face pale, jaw dropped, a shriek tears itself out of her and her hands fly up to her ears in anticipation of the inevitable sound to follow. Bowing her head, seems to furl into herself, blocking out her surroundings.

Jereboam drops his sack, running over with the healers to see if the rider perhaps survived the crash, yet doubting it.

High above the bowl, Pleiath staggers in mid-air at the emotional and mental shock of Maluketh's sudden, violent passing. Her own reserves of energy spent, she has no choice but to continue towards the ground.

Shast keeps one arm on Madelynda's arm and puts the other one over this face as he looks down sighing. Then he rises and pulls Madelynda up lightly too. Seeing that this has been enough for her. "Come on Maddy," he say, "Let's go inside alright?"

High above the bowl, Oerth glides lower into the bowl, her huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around her.

Above you, Oerth circles silently down from the sky, and her huge wings hold steady as she rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

High above the bowl, Pleiath glides lower into the bowl, her huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around her.

Above you, Pleiath circles silently down from the sky, and her huge wings hold steady as she rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

Above you, Pleiath glides lower into the bowl, eventually backwinging gracefully near the living caverns to the southeast, scattering several firelizards on her way.

Pleiath approaches from above, the wind from her wings stirring the air into a great rush as she lands.

Pleiath has arrived.

Above you, Oerth glides lower into the bowl, eventually backwinging gracefully near the living caverns to the southeast, scattering several firelizards on her way.

Oerth approaches from above, the wind from her wings stirring the air into a great rush as she lands.

Oerth has arrived.

Mercy slaps painted hands against painted face the moment the shriek echos to her ears. Stiffening for the death-wail of the others, eyes squeeze shut to block the descent of the dragon.

High above the bowl, Without bidding Siaroth jets downward, streaking toward the falling rider and dragon in a fruitless attempt to assist, but, of course, there is nothing the small green can do. Mouring the loss of the other green Siaroth continues downward, keening as she glides lower and lower, exhaustion her wingmate.

Madelynda mindlessly obeys, first giving the bandages to an equally-shocked Healer, and quickly trots toward the living cavern, eyes fastened to the ground.

High above the bowl, Green gives way to black sand beach, which stops abruptly in a beautiful vibrant blue, water below seeming to boil as fish feast upon falling thread. Almost before the trailing edge has passed further towards the west, following dark clouds, a fleet of fishing boats from Ista's Sea Hold converge on the roiling seas below, pulling in a bountiful supply of active fish. This, however, is not a concern for the tired Istan riders and dragons. Fall is safely out to sea, where it will cease as this side of Pern rotates away from the Red Star. Now it is the concern of the sweep riders, and the ground crews, and the fishing fleets. All eyes now turn to the Weyrleader, waiting for the signal to return home.

Alania holds tightly onto Oerths neckridges and swings down, lightly landing on the ground

Alania has arrived.

High above the bowl, Genneth and Mirth move to catch the green, while Germaine and Isadith also move in. Once the fall is stabilized, Isadith flies in close enough for Germain to shout a question. At the greenrider's answer, the two keening queens disappear between with dragon and rider, reappearing moments later with no burden.

Shast puts his arm around Madelynda's shoulders and leads her into the living cavern.

Pleiath is dropping fast, using very little wing to slow her descent. At the last, she backwings furiously and comes to a gentle landing. Some sand kicks up in twisting spirals.

Shast walks into the huge living cavern.

Shast has left.

Madelynda walks into the huge living cavern.

Madelynda has left.

High above the bowl, Siaroth glides lower into the bowl, her huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around her.

Above you, Siaroth circles silently down from the sky, and her huge wings hold steady as she rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

Above you, Siaroth glides lower into the bowl, eventually backwinging gracefully near the living caverns to the southeast, scattering several firelizards on her way.

Siaroth approaches from above, the wind from her wings stirring the air into a great rush as she lands.

Siaroth has arrived.

Jereboam stops, looking up as the Queens go between with their burden, and slumping as they return without one...

Alania slides off Oerth, an exhasted look on her face. Her knees buckle under her and she hits the ground with a thump. She buries her head in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

From between Siaroth's neckridges, Jh'rin removes his helmet and gloves and hurls them to the ground, cursing fluidly as he fumbles with the buckles on his riding straps.

Jh'rin eases himself off of Siaroth with the gracious aid of a lowered shoulder.

Jh'rin has arrived.

"Wine!" Jh'rin bellows in a strained voice. "Can I get some wine here? Blast it, are you all deaf??"

High above the bowl, Parth leads his wing of Weyrlings through to -between- Getting them out of the danger, and making them focus on duty and necesity, rather than the horror of a dragon's passing. Parth's kneen is only vanquished into the silence by the quick immersion of -between-.

High above the bowl, Parth glides lower into the bowl, his huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around him.

Above you, Parth circles silently down from the sky, and his huge wings hold steady as he rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

Parth arrives from the center of the bowl.

Parth has arrived.

Alania face is pale and tearstreaked as she stands, taking the straps off Oerth, and hooking them over her shoulder. She looks to the place where the queens went between, then looks over at Jh'rin.

Jereboam turns from where he stands numbly at Jh'rin's shout, and runs off to the supplies to get a large mug of wine, which he runs back to Jh'rin, "Here, sir..."

On Pleiath, Emlyn unfastens slowly, then swings one leg over the neckridge. She lingers there, however, a hand in contact with her dragon's hide. When she pushes her goggles up to her forehead, the ash on her lower face turns rapidly to an ugly grey sludge as fat tears drop down her face.

Parth lands after the weyrling wing comes from between, the rest of the dragons following. For the most part, they are unscared and unhurt, though one young bluerider's dragon must of caught some still-burning char. His dragon's flank is slightly abraded.

After a while, fingers spread apart, allowing Mercy a peephole to watch the activity. With a ragged sigh, fingers knotted together, she shuffles towards the knot of people, expectant. "Can I help...with anything?"

Jh'rin yanks the wine from Jereboam's grasp and takes a long, long drink, so long that it would appear he intends to drain the skin.

Alania turns to Mercy as she watches Oerth take off to a ledge "Wine!......please" she sighs, slumping once again back down on the ground.

High above the bowl, Couranth glides lower into the bowl, his huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around him.

Above you, Couranth circles silently down from the sky, and his huge wings hold steady as he rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

Emlyn slides down Pleiath's shoulder to her forelimb, then jumps to the ground.

Emlyn has arrived.

Oerth flies up into the air.

Oerth has left.

Above you, Oerth climbs higher toward the sky, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Oerth soars upward on the changing air currents, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Oerth lands by the Star Stones.

Couranth arrives from the center of the bowl.

Couranth has arrived.

High above the bowl, Faerth glides lower into the bowl, his huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around him.

Above you, Faerth circles silently down from the sky, and his huge wings hold steady as he rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

High above the bowl, Genneth glides lower into the bowl, her huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around her.

Above you, Genneth circles silently down from the sky, and her huge wings hold steady as she rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

Bronia slips a leg over Couranth's neck and slides lightly down to the ground.

Bronia has arrived.

Mercy skitters away with a slight nod to Alania, only to re-appear near the greenrider, flask in hand. Silently, the flask is surrendered, pressed into Alania's hand. And then she takes her steps back.

Above you, Genneth glides lower into the bowl, eventually backwinging gracefully near the living caverns to the southeast, scattering several firelizards on her way.

Genneth approaches from above, the wind from her wings stirring the air into a great rush as she lands.

Genneth has arrived.

Above you, Faerth glides lower into the bowl, eventually backwinging gracefully near the living caverns to the southeast, scattering several firelizards on his way.

Faerth approaches from above, the wind from his wings stirring the air into a great rush as he lands.

Faerth has arrived.

Nya dismounts from Genneth.

Nya has arrived.

Genneth croons softly once her rider is safely on the ground.

Rykel climbs down from Faerth, who kindly obliges with a foreleg for her

Rykel has arrived.

Nya slides off rather roughly and goes directly toward the injured dragons. Her bright eyes are certainly not caused by tears, oh no.

Jh'rin takes another long drink from the wineskin and caresses Siaroth's side, ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Alania smiles a slight smile in thanks to Mercy, taking a deep drink, dribbles of wine run down over her chin, and onto her jacket. As if through a haze she looks at Rykel, then takes another long drink.

Jereboam moves off, and provides Numbweed to the dragon healers as they work on the wounded dragons.

Bronia slides down from Couranth's neck, tears wet on her face, but turns to salute Merien. "All this group back safe. No scores. Few ash burns." She signals a couple of the candidates to take numbweed to the weyrlings with burnsm and rests her face against Couranth for a long moment. tears tricking from her closed eyes.

Rykel, face blackened from harmless traces of ash, rubs at her eyes just making a bigger smeary smudge. She doesn't much look like she cares, yanking her goggles, helmet and gloves off with harsh, striking motions. Faerth lowers his head, chest thrumming a throaty creel while he gently nuzzles Rykel in the back. Her eyes stare forward, take in Jh'rin and reach out for the 'skin. "I don't care if it's bad for me right now, I want some."

E'ryn twists his body, sliding along the side of Parth's neck and to his foreleg. He then hops down easily.

E'ryn has arrived.

Emlyn leans against her dragon, consoling and being consoled. Though she's a stranger to the dead rider, all deaths diminish. She swallows heavily.

Jh'rin gathers Rykel close and holds the wineskin away. "Ssssh, love, no, not now, not like that. Just...ssssh..."

Nya goes over instinctively to one of the more grieviously injured dragons, one who has been numbweeded but on whom no work has begun for absence of the necessary skills. Grimly she begins the repair on a nasty wound.

E'ryn also salutes Merien, as soon as he and Parth land, though his face is stony and grim of expression. "No scores here either, though there are some ash burns as well." He too moves to comandere a few candidates, "Can you bring that numbweed over here?" He commands.

Alania watches Jh'rin and Rykel and sighs softly to herself, taking another long drink of wine "Who cares if it's not good" she mutters. She looks up, as if wathing for someone. When noone appears she shrugs to herself and takes another drink.

Jereboam moves under a large tub of numbweed, hearing a call and moving towards its souce. His eyes are distant as he sets it near E'ryn, "Here, sir."

L'tan looks grim as he and Habrith arrive, then he remembers his duty and manners and thanks Emlyn gruffly for the fine assistance during the flight. "Our thanks to Benden, as always, greenrider."

Rykel's fingers lamely give from their grasping as Jh'rin's words soothe her. Still shedding no tears, her eyes stare with baleful intensity at the bowl floor, and she leans into Jh'rin even more.

Genneth croons soothingly as Nya works, some directed toward the pain-ridden down, and perhaps some directed toward her rider.

Jh'rin holds Rykel even tighter and discards the wine, finding more relief in her embrace than in the red liquid in the skin.

High above the bowl, Ashroth glides lower into the bowl, his huge size dwarfed by the immensity of the bowl around him.

Above you, Ashroth circles silently down from the sky, and his huge wings hold steady as he rides the air currents below the rim of the bowl.

Emlyn rallies to salute L'tan. "It was my and Pleiath's privelege to fly under your leadership, Sir. My own wingleader will be very interested when I tell her about your work under such adverse wind conditions."

Above you, Ashroth glides lower into the bowl, eventually backwinging gracefully near the living caverns to the southeast, scattering several firelizards on his way.

Ashroth approaches from above, the wind from his wings stirring the air into a great rush as he lands.

Ashroth has arrived.

Alania stands once again, and gathers up her riding straps, making sure the wineskin is securely in her other hand.

T'bin unbuckles himself from the straps, preparing to dismount.

Bronia gives her brown's muzzle one fierce hug, walks away from him to check her group of weyrlings, then satisfied that they're bring taken care over, goes over to Alania and takes the wineskin from her, taking a single gulp and returning it, then hugging the greenrider wordlessly.

"That would be Ursa, yes?" L'tan nods approvingly. "Right. Well, um, thanks. Clear skies."

E'ryn nods at Jereboam belatedly even as various Weyrlings take what numbweed they need in order to help pained dragons. He observes them; time for mourning later.

Wallowing in her grief, intensified by the fact that it cannot last long, Rykel cannot seem to tear her eyes off the bowl floor. Reveling in the feeling of loss, washing it over her features like a rain, she gives into the massive wave of pain for a few daunting moments, clutching Jh'rin tight.

Emlyn nods to L'tan and repeats his ritual salutation. "Clear Skies, Sir." The Benden greenrider's eyes roam quickly over the grief-stricken Istans. Another hard swallow causes her to clear her throat. With a nod toward her dragon's near eye, she moves to mount up and depart.

Alania hands the wineskin over and smiles at Bronia, hugging back fiercely, tears finally drying somewhat. "keep it Bronia, I've got more in my weyr"

Then, with remarkable clarity of thought, Rykel lifts her gaze and blinks, rubbing at her nose, her gesture of normalcy. She gives Jhor another tight squeeze and is back to rights, slouching against his body with fatigue now, and not pain.

Jh'rin draws Rykel into his lap and hugs her as tightly as he can, comforting her and taking comfort.

Nya finishes with the fiercest wound and methodically moves to a less serious one sustained by the same dragon. She is all business, while her dragon is gentle sympathy.

T'bin slides down, all firestone-begrimed, as he returns from sweeping to make sure there are no barrows in isolated areas. His smile doesn't reach his eyes, but is very white in his sooty face. "So, we came, we danced...now where are the holder girls who are dying to rain their many gifts upon us in gratitude and admiration?"

Emlyn uses Pleiath's forelimb as a step and seats herself between the green's neckridges.

Emlyn has left.

Pleiath warbles softly, not expecting an answer. She waits for a running candidate to clear her left wing, then leaps into the clear air.

Pleiath flies up into the air.

Pleiath has left.

Jereboam works with the Dragonhealers, using his knowledge of the materials from Beasthealing to supply the dragon healers with the necessary amounts of Numbweed, redwort, fellis in some cases, and feline-gut and curved needles in others.

Above you, Pleiath climbs higher toward the sky, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

High above the bowl, Pleiath soars upward on the changing air currents, her wings powerfully beating the air as she gains altitude.

T'bin has left.

T'bin smoothly slides down Ashroth's shoulder and along his leg.

T'bin has arrived.

High above the bowl, Pleiath disappears into Between.

Genneth sends a departing croon to the Benden green before turning her attention back.

T'bin says "No swooning holder girls? Shards."

Nya finishes the repair and even manages a kind word or two to the felis-dazed rider.

Bronia shakes her head. "No swooning holder girls" Her tone is ironic, slightly bitter. Wordlessly she offers T'bin the wineskin.

Jh'rin uses the azure riding straps to pull himself astride Siaroth.

Jh'rin has left.

Rykel climbs up onto Faerth, settling into his neckridges comfortably.

Rykel has left.

Siaroth flies up into the air.

Siaroth has left.

Faerth flies up into the air.

Faerth has left.

Nya checks out the other injuries, all of which are under control. Finaly she washes off her hands, which are still tinged from the redwort oil.

Alania grins at Bronia as she gathers up her straps from the ground.

E'ryn weaves in amongst mourning Weyrlings, giving those who need his support, what he can give. "ITs alright." He's heard comforting a young greenrider.

T'bin divests himself of his 'Wildcard' helmet and goggles and starts very carefully going over Ashroth for any scar or score. He talks while he's at it, a continuous banter, as he takes the wineskin. "Thanks, Bronia. You know, they say during the first falls of the pass, the girls came out with garlands of flowers for the riders, and more for the dragons. The second turn of the pass, they brought a boquet. The third turn, they brought a daisy or two. By the fourth, it was the odd numbweed plant. By now, they just wave poison ivy in our general direction and hope that we don't get them pregnant."

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