Oianth gazed wistfully up at the skies above her ledge, knowing that soon they would be filled with dragons preparing to fly against today's Fall. And she wouldn't be with them.

You know, you could go fight with them, Gisoa suggested, hobbling out onto the ledge of their weyr. Her leg was almost healed, but the healer insisted that she use the crutch until the break had been completely repaired. I may not be able to walk, but I can stay on your back as long as I'm strapped into the harness.

Oianth sighed. The healers would be up there pulling you down, and we'd be stuck on the ground for longer.

Gisoa cast an annoyed look at her leg. They'd have to catch us first, she scoffed, though she knew they would not fight today.

We'll be up and around soon, Oianth promised, nuzzling Gisoa's cheek. I don't mind waiting so much. I just wish we weren't waiting so sharding long. It'll be our first fall, you know.

How could I forget? Gisoa grimaced. She had broken her leg a few days before the senior weyrlings had been allowed to fight. It was just as infuriating now as it had been then to watch other dragons fighting, even if these were the dragons of Quinalt, not Dark Moon. I'm sorry for being so clumsy, she sighed, stroking Oianth's muzzle.

You couldn't have avoided it, Oianth told her, as she had been assuring her rider since her leg had broken and they had been told they could not fight nearly two months ago.

Gisoa managed a weak smile. I'll keep telling you I couldn't have and you'll keep telling me I could for the rest of out lives, huh?

Probably.