Red Star Rising by Naeryn

Rating: G
Uber Setting: The Dragonriders of Pern
Disclaimer: Pern, Thread, Pernese dragons, Weyrs, and all other Pern-related things/people/ideas are copyright Anne McCaffrey. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from this...Oh yeah, and Joss owns Willow and Tara. Bastard..
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Anyone else, just ask.
Feedback: In Faranth's name, please!
Author's Notes: In traditional Pern, women ride only gold and green dragons. In my Pern, they ride golds, greens, blues, and the occasional brown which is very rare. Willow is the first and only female bronzerider. Dragons and their riders can communicate telepathically; any colored and italicized font is what the dragon is saying. Font color corresponds with dragon color. Italicized writing is a rider's words in communication with his or her dragon.
For anyone who doesn't know the terms, go here.
For anyone who doesn't know the dragon colors, go here.
And I inevitably left some things out, so if you have any questions about what things are etc., don't hesitate to ask ^^
Special thanks goes to Chris Cook of Through the Looking Glass and Artemis for the title graphic at the top of the page. Thanks, Chris!
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: In a land of magic and dragon riders, Willow is the first and only female bronzerider. She and her dragon go in search of candidates for a gold queen, and find a gentle young woman named Tara.

Willow sighed darkly. There was a clutch on the sands, with a queen egg, and all the candidates were... well, if Willow were that gold, she certainly wouldn't have picked any of them. She leaned against the cool, sparkling bronze hide beside her, feeling intimately the connection between herself and Rayenth. The dragon curled around his wedge shaped head and nudged her arm. She smiled and reached up, scratching his neck ridges underneath the thick, sturdy riding straps.

She was a bronzerider. The highest ranking male dragon, the highest ranking rider except the queen. Well, type of rider, the Weyrleader and his Wingleaders had higher ranks than she, the only female bronzerider in recorded history. They were making her go out on Search. There was a clutch on the sands, barely a female candidate of quality to be found, and they said no one could be spared... but Ellira and Beth could have gone. The blonde was forever ditching her chores around the Weyr; she even avoided flying Fall when she could. Green Beth was just as bad, bullying the firelizards and drudges into bringing her meat when she couldn't be bothered to go kill a wherry or two herself.

Not only that, but she'd had Rayenth for three Turns now, and still he hadn't flown a single female, not even a green. Not even lazy Beth. Willow had mixed feelings about that. Part of her was relieved that she didn't have to wake up next to Ellira or any other post-proddy woman. But her bronze's reputation had suffered, he was known as the weakest bronze, even a brown had outflown him last time for Kishandra's Narenth.

With a bitter sigh, Willow gripped the straps around Rayenth's broad neck and swing herself up to settle between his last two neck ridges. Her first stop on Search – the chore of finding Candidates to stand on the sands while the dragons were hatching, usually relegated to blues and greens, and the occasional low ranking brownrider – was Fort Hold, the main hold beholden to Fort Weyr.

Come on, Rayenth. I don't want to do this any more than you do, be swamped by foolish Holders and hero worshipped... but the sooner we go, the sooner it's over. Maybe we'll find someone halfway decent this time.

Rayenth grunted in his draconic way, almost seeming to nod. Yes, Mine. Sooner done, sooner sunning on my ledge.

I stand corrected. Willow smiled as Rayenth pushed himself off the ledge in front of their weyr, powerful wing muscles carrying them out and up to soar above Fort Weyr. She reveled in this feeling of weightlessness, the whole world stretched before her and reachable within minutes, seconds even. She could go anywhere, do anything, free from the responsibilities and constraints of Weyr life. But then, if not for Weyr life, she couldn't have Rayenth, and she wouldn't give him up for anything in the world.

She shook her head, clearing it of extraneous thought and feeling. Clearly, she pictured the noon sky above Fort Hold, and directed Rayenth to take them between.

Willow would have gasped as the deep, bone-chilling cold of between made itself known, but the dark not-place was also airless. There was no sun, no light, no warmth, and though it was only where they were traveling between destinations, no longer than three heartbeats at any time, it felt like an eternity. Willow clung to the clear image in her mind and the leather straps in her hands, even though she couldn't feel them. If she lost the image for even a moment, she and Rayenth could be lost in the cold dark of between forever. She counted off the heartbeats, one, two, three, and then they were out. Together, she and her lifemate, her bonded Rayenth, burst out of between over Fort Hold. The dragon beneath her let out a loud bugle, announcing their arrival and identifying them to the watchdragon, an old blue by the name of Zuralth. Extending his wings, Rayenth caught the updraft with his sails, using it to glide slowly down to the great, grassless courtyard in front of the hold.

Tara winced as the heavy pot fell, splashing hot, but luckily not boiling, water all over the floor. She sighed and bent, picking it up carefully with now lightly scalded hands and righted it, setting it gingerly on the floor as she reached for the waterskin to refill and reboil the water for the evening's stew.

You would have thought she was a drudge. She worked in the kitchens, carried herself hunched over and looking at the ground, trying to remain inconspicuous. In actuality, she was the second daughter of Lord Holder Malleck, the man in charge of running Fort Hold. She remembered the day her elder sister, Yanna, had gotten married. She'd married well, as everyone knew she would. She was beautiful, long silky dark hair and matching eyes, pale skin unblemished from a drudge's work.

Not like Tara. Her hair was a nondescript shade of light, ashy brown, her skin too dark from being out in the heat of the sun, her eyes pale, almost colorless, not dark and vibrant like her sisters', and her hands were roughened from the work she immersed herself in to get away from her father.

He wasn't a cruel man, nor a heartless one. But something in Tara was too gentle for him. She wanted to do ridiculous things like take care of the watchwher when it was ill, despite knowing that it would attack her. It hadn't, much to everyone's surprise. Still, Malleck had thrashed her for it.

"Tara, Tara! Come see this! There's a dragon out on Search, and it's a bronze! With a female rider!" A little girl, Malleck's sixth and youngest child, came tearing into the kitchens.

Tara blanched. She'd heard of the mysterious redheaded woman who'd Impressed a bronze. No one knew why she was on the stands that day, she wasn't a queen candidate, but all of the dragons had insisted she be there. She remained an enigma, and most people resented her for usurping the rank that should have belonged to a man. "Nimme, you mean Willow?"

Nimme nodded. "She just landed. She's searching for candidates for the queen egg! Come on, maybe you'll get Searched!" Nimme may have been just ten, but she was no fool. She knew that Tara, her most beloved sister, didn't belong in the Hold. As a Holder's daughter, she should have been harsh, ruling those under her with an iron fist. But she showed no interest in that, instead spending what free time she had either roaming outside or hiding away in the kitchens.

With an indulgent smile, Tara slipped the waterskin back onto it's peg and followed the little whirlwind of a girl out of the kitchens and up through the maze of tunnels into the great dining hall, where the bronzerider, easily picked out from the others by her wherhide riding gear, was striding confidently around in a manner no hold woman would ever take on. She was looking around at the people assembled in the hall, trying to ascertain who would be worthy of standing on the sands during a Hatching.

Bright, sparkling green eyes danced with merriment as Willow scanned the crowd of holders and drudges, half of them hoping to be chosen, the rest of them afraid of it. Tara sighed wearily, not allowing herself to hope that she might be taken away from the drudgery of hold life. She'd hoped before, only to be sorely disappointed.

Tara closed her eyes, drifting into fantasy for a moment. She was in the world she always placed herself in at night, in that half awake period just before slumber. Tara could feel the wind throwing her long hair back, feel the powerful muscles rolling between her thighs as she rode a dragon, her own lifemate, soaring through a cloudless sky. There were others, other riders, scattered around her, flecking the sky with drops of color. She could look down and run her hands over the smooth, shining golden hide... she gasped; the sound echoed through the hall.

Wincing, Tara looked down and shuffled her feet. Her emotions battled within her, somewhere between shock at the strange way her fantasy had gone – her dragon had always been blue or green before, one of the smaller, more modest colors – and embarrassment at disturbing everyone. When she heard footsteps approaching, a stride she didn't recognize and so therefore must be Willow, the bronzerider, she kicked herself inwardly. Now she'd get raked over the coals in front of everyone, as well as the thrashing she was sure to get later from her father.

Two fingers reached out and lifted her head. Green eyes bored into her own crystalline blue. An age of silence reigned over the crowd in the hall. Moments passed, and then Willow nodded, seemingly to herself. Her eyes glazed over for a moment, and then she shook the look free. "Yes, Rayenth agrees. You'll do." Willow turned to face the holders that had backed off several paces. "I'm afraid I've found just one person suitable for this Hatching. She'll be coming with me. Send a couple of drudges to get her things – just a change of clothes, maybe a gather dress, she won't need much. And warm blankets."

Malleck's face clouded over with something between rage and wonder. He nodded to a woman on his left who whispered to two drudges of indistinct gender, or any real description aside from 'dusty', shuffled off. Then the Lord Holder's powerful voice boomed through the hall.

"Everyone who has not been Searched, return to your duties!" He didn't wait to see if the holders followed his command; he knew they would. Quickly, he stalked over to where Willow and Tara stood. "You will take my daughter from me?"

Tara gasped at her father's rudeness. No one spoke to a dragonrider that way. Willow merely smiled, however. "She is your daughter? You should be proud then. She will be a candidate for the queen egg, and Rayenth believes she has a decent chance of Impressing."

Impressing. Tara couldn't believe it. She really was being taken away from the hold. Carried off to Fort Weyr. On the back of a bronze, no less. Her father had never allowed her to attend a Hatching, though all of her siblings had been in the past, even little Nimme.

The cool, measured voice of her father broke through. "You will feast with us, and spend with us this night then?"

"I am afraid we cannot. The Hatching is imminent, and the candidates need time to familiarize themselves with the Weyr before Impression. Though I do thank you for your hospitality. Another time, perhaps?"

Malleck growled. He was either angry that his offer was refused, or relieved that his wayward daughter would be taken away immediately. Even he was unsure which. "Yes. Another time, you must grace us with your presence."

Willow rolled her eyes, not so subtly, and wrapped one arm around Tara's back, who still stood there, dumbfounded. "Ah, here come the drudges with her things." Indeed they had returned, carrying a smallish trunk between them. Recognizing it, Tara smiled. In it she kept her most precious things; a lock of hair from each of her siblings and her mother, a bundle of dried flowers her mother had given her, her first Gather dress given to her on her eleventh birthday by her mother. She imagined the drudges would have filled the remaining space with spare clothing and a dress that fit her. On top of the trunk were several blankets of varying colors.

Moments later, Tara stood out in the courtyard, beside the largest dragon she'd ever seen. He was four times as tall as she at the shoulders, and fifteen or sixteen times as long if she lay down beside him. Tara wondered what his wingspan must be. She reached out tentatively and patted the smooth, shining patch of hide beside her. When Rayenth didn't move to object, she smiled and began to scratch him. He made a low crooning sound, half closing his eyes, whirling a serene blue color.

"He likes that!" Willow laughed, smiling at Tara. She paused. "Hey, I never got your name." She held out her hand. "I'm Willow, rider of bronze Rayenth." She smiled absently, leaning against the bronze.

Tara blushed and looked down. "He's very nice. I'm T-Tara, second d-daughter of Malleck of F-Fort Hold." She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. Willow just smiled, reaching down and grabbing her trunk. Grimacing, she heaved it up onto Rayenth's back, strapping it down tightly. She pulled off the blankets and held them out to Tara.

"Here, you'll want these. It gets pretty damn cold between, and while they won't help you there, you'll warm up faster once we get out." Tara nodded and wrapped them around herself. She looked up worriedly at the back of the dragon that seemed to loom above her.

Willow slipped her hands into the straps and swung herself up to rest between Rayenth's last two neck ridges. Then she reached down to help Tara up. Rayenth, love, would you bend your foreleg for her?

Certainly, Mine. I like her, she's nice. Rayenth bent a little, turning his leg into a step up for Tara. She smiled and scratched his side again in thanks before stepping up. Willow grinned and swung her around to rest behind her.

"Hold on tight, Tara. I don't have any extra riding straps for you." Tara barely had time to slip her arms around Willow's small waist before Rayenth launched into the air. Tara was exhilarated; it was almost exactly as she'd fantasized and dreamed so many times. She could feel the dragon's muscles bunching and rolling beneath her, feel the wind tossing her hair around. She fought the temptation to let go of Willow and fling her arms out.

Rayenth carried them higher, higher, and then, between. It was a warm day, and Tara was shocked at the innate cold of between. It wasn't even cold, it was an utter lack of any sort of warmth. She couldn't feel Willow, though she knew the rider was there. She couldn't feel anything except a burning sort of frozenness. She would have shivered, but found that moving was entirely pointless in the infinity of between.

Then they were out. Rayenth bugled happily, announcing their presence and passing on the word to the other dragons that they brought a candidate. Tara moved one hand from around Willow's waist and pulled the blankets more tightly around her. With a happy smile, she looked down on Fort Weyr below her, looked forwards at the rider in front of her. Below, people were pouring out of the Lower Caverns to welcome the new candidate. There was no rejection or fear or even dislike in the atmosphere, and the skies around were dotted with dragons. Tara smiled broadly. She was home.

As they spiraled lazily down to the great Weyr bowl, Willow began to introduce Tara to the basics of Weyr life. "First Lanora will take you to the candidate barracks. She's the headwoman of the Lower Caverns, and our candidate master. Today all you'll really be doing is wandering around and familiarizing yourself with the Weyr. It can be a little intimidating at first, but the people here are really friendly, and everyone understands that you'll be a little freaked. Though, you might want a bath and to change your clothes. If that's the case, just tell Lanora and she'll take you to the bath and sweetsand."

Tara looked down between them at her own still damp, dusty and work-worn outfit, biting her lip at the sharp contrast between her dirty self and Willow's nearly immaculate garb. She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to spend much time with the bronzerider. Willow would certainly have duties to perform, as would she. "W-what about you?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'll be drilling. Practicing with firestone. After I drop you off, I've got to go Search again. There might be a couple of other holds with people who might make decent candidates."

Swallowing her disappointment, Tara nodded. "I g-guess I'll have some c-chores to do?"

"Yep. You'll be on rotation with the rest of the candidates; kitchen duty, caring for the dragons of the riders who are sick or injured enough so they can't do it themselves, stuff like that. It's really not that hard, you just have to get into the rhythm."

They touched down. Willow slid artfully off of Rayenth's back and extended her hand towards Tara as the dragon again bent his leg to give her a step. She smiled and scratched his side again, receiving an appreciative croon from the large bronze as she jumped from his back with far less grace than the practiced rider. All too soon, it seemed, Willow released Tara's hand, making her wonder at the empty feeling in her palm.

"Lanora! I've brought you another candidate to beat around!" Tara's eyes widened and she seemed to shrink in on herself, dropping her head and letting her hair fall delicately over her face, blurring her image.

The headwoman walked up, smiling jovially, until her gaze lighted on the demure woman. "Well now. She's a bit on the shy side, isn't she? And old for a candidate. Why Willow, she's almost your age!"

Willow nodded ruefully. "Yes, she's almost twenty one Turns. But she's a good candidate, at least according to Rayenth, and… I don't know. She was out of place there." Lanora quirked an eyebrow, and Willow continued, shrugging. "I couldn't leave her there. Call it dragonrider's intuition. Can't imagine how she was overlooked so many times."

She shook her head, smiling amiably, and held out one hand to Tara. "Come on then dear. Looks like you could use a nice hot bath. Dragonriders aren't known for their patience when it comes to getting ready to leave the hold. They like to just grab you and go." She chuckled, a bright, cheery sound that pulled the corners of Tara's mouth up into a half-smile. She looked up a little and slipped her hand into the headwoman's. "Well there you are. Oh, you're a pretty one too. Be careful, those bronze and brownriders are only after one thing!" Lanora chuckled again.

Tara just looked confused. Lanora blanched. "What, twenty one turns and you've never…? Gathers? Visitations? Fosterlings?" When Tara shook her head, she sighed. "Well, I suppose that'll make it easier on you if you Impress. Can't sleep with anyone, you know, until your dragon's a full Turn old. It can damage them, because of your connection."

"She speaks too!" Lanora smiled. "Yes, connection. You have a mental link with the dragon, you know. But you don't only talk to them through it, you share feelings, basic impressions, everything. That's why, when dragons rise in Flight, the riders get caught up in it too."

Tara's eyes widened in apprehension, and Lanora shook her head. "My my, you have been sheltered, haven't you? Well, no matter. We'll soon set you straight there." She smiled. "Come on now, we'll head off to the baths, and then I'll take you to see the eggs. They're quite hard now, should be hatching any day." She sighed bitterly. "Means we'll be losing Faith though. As soon as the Hatching's over, she'll between. Would have already, but Willow's Rayenth and J'net's Hearth kept her here. Now she's listless, poor thing."

"W-why? Why will the old q-queen go b-between?" Tara was shocked that the riders would simply let it happen.

Lanora eyed her curiously. "Kendra, her rider, died three days ago. Killed in a mine collapse." She waved a hand around at the people scurrying about their chores. "That's why everyone's a bit subdued. There's no fit queen at Fort now, just old Lanoth, and she's past clutching. We'll be having no clutches until the gold that shells from that queen egg out on the sands is mature enough to Rise."

Willow slipped her fingers around the riding straps and heaved herself up onto Rayenth's outstretched neck. Come on, love. Let's go back to the weyr. Heavy wingbeats carried them up and away from the wide terrace of Half-Circleseahold, after another unsuccessful Search. She had three or four more Holds to Search tomorrow, but though the day was relatively young in the area around Fort Weyr, she was tired from betweening so much. Clearly in her mind she visualized the deep bowl and rocky cliffs that made up Fort Weyr and popped into the cold dark of between.

When they reemerged over the Weyr, she sat archly upon her lifemate. She was lost in thought he carried her down to the rock ledge before their weyr. Rayenth had never flown a green because he couldn't be bothered to try, and he had never flown a queen because… she wasn't sure why. Was it a fault of her beloved bronze, or was it simply that the queens always wanted to be caught by someone else? If the latter were the case, she would have a decent chance when the little dragonet in the gold-tinted egg hardening on the sands reached maturity. Could she entice Rayenth to go after a green in the meantime with more vigor? She was confident in his flying skills; he was one of the most agile of the larger dragons in her entire Wing of thirty-four, and better than most in the other Fighting Wings as well.

A sigh bubbled from her lips as Rayenth lighted on the stone terrace and she slipped down from him. Why did she have to be the only female bronzerider in all of Pern? No one took her seriously, even now that she was Weyrlingmaster. She knew she was capable of all the things other bronzeriders were; if she wasn't, she wouldn't have impressed Rayenth.

She let out a sigh, stripping off her riding gear and pulling on instead her everyday wear: thin-weave bell sleeved shirt, tight leather pants and matching short vest, and heavy boots. Most of the female riders wore skirts when not flying, but Willow couldn't stand them. Flopping backwards onto her bed, she stared at the faint rock formations in the ceiling of her weyr. Before long, however, she felt her tummy begin to rumble and she headed downstairs to grab herself a cup of klah before dinner. Maybe she'd see Tara at dinner, she seemed nice, and enough of the riders were out on sweeps that the meal would be an informal occasion at best.

Freshly clean and in dressed in a plain white, belted candidate's robe, the garb they were required to wear for visiting the eggs, Tara shuffled across the Weyrbowl behind Lanora. The great cavern that housed the hardening clutch loomed ahead of her, making her drag her feet. Without a doubt, she knew, when she stepped inside, there would be no turning back. She was torn; behind her was a life that, while not particularly happy or joyful, was decent enough and was familiar. Ahead of her was a life that was full of possibilities, most of which terrified and exhilarated her at the same time.

They approached the yawning entrance to the well-lit Hatching Ground and Lanora stepped aside, smiling kindly. "You go on from here, dear. Non candidates aren't allowed onto the sands until the Hatching."

Tara swallowed nervously, compulsively, staring at the gaping maw that threatened to gulp her into some wild, militaristic lifestyle that she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to accept. Nevertheless, she gathered her courage and stepped over the threshold, half expecting for the great gold dragon to rear up and lunge at her for daring to intrude upon her nest.

As soon as she was inside, the light seemed to open up the whole of the cavern to her. She could see clearly, straight across the sands to where the behemoth queen lay curled around her eggs, seeming to hover protectively over the largest, the one tinted gold, even though she lay quite firmly upon the hot sand. The dragon's hide was dull and flaking in what Tara imagined must be an incredibly itchy way, but she made no move to scratch. If she hadn't seen the faint blinking of the gold's – what was her name? Faith? – eyelids and the subtle movement of her chest that marked the draw of breath, she would have sworn she was a statue, or dead.

Gingerly placing one foot in front of the other, she slowly approached the eggs. All of Tara's senses seemed hyperaware, and her feet burned from the heat of the sands. They seemed to be getting warmer and warmer every moment, heating up faster than she approached the eggs. Then she was there. Smiling nervously up at Faith, she reached out and lightly ran her finger along one of the large oblongs.

Growing bolder from her movement, she stepped forwards, carefully approaching the queen egg. Faith turned her head sharply and stared at her, and Tara inhaled sharply. She fought the urge to look down and away, instead meeting the dragon's eyes and attempting to communicate her desire, just to caress, not to harm, the egg cradled near the queen. A dull vibration thrummed quietly in her ears; Tara barely noticed it as Faith turned away in acquiescence and she reached out to lightly brush her fingertips against the shining shell.

The humming sound grew louder, lulling Tara into a quiet sort of complaisance as well as moving her into some sort of action. She looked around confusedly as the sound pulsed and throbbed around her, becoming more and more insistent. Her eye lighted on one of the smaller eggs, near the outside of the cluster in the middle of the hot sands. It rocked, hard.

Mine. Mine, it is starting. The Hatching is starting. Rayenth's voice in Willow's mind was quiet, but insistent. She slammed down her half-empty mug of klah and stood up sharply, turning and dashing out of the kitchens.

She tore up the long stone steps to her weyr, questioning the bronze all the way. How long until the first shell cracks?

Not long. Fifteen, twenty minutes, perhaps. People are slow; they are only now becoming aware of the Hatching. It was true; from her vantage point halfway up the steps, Willow could see candidates scurrying off to their barracks, changing swiftly into plain white candidate's robes and rushing off to the Hatching Sands. Soon, Willow reached the top of the stair and her weyr. Dashing inside, she tore her shoulder knot, denoting her as Fort's Weyrlingmaster, from her riding gear and fastened it to her left shoulder. Then she tied her hair back and, trusting the gathering of the plates of meat for hungry hatchlings to the drudges, mounted Rayenth.

Other people, all younger than her but wearing the same white robes of candidacy, flooded onto the sands. Dragons flew into the upper levels, carrying passengers from prestigious Holds and Halls. Tara couldn't see her father, and she wasn't surprised. She backed up a hundred paces from the eggs and watched, dumbstruck, as all the other candidates formed a loose semicircle around the eggs.

They waited. Two eggs were rocking, now three, but no more. The entirety of the cavern was silent as they waited with bated breath for the first dragonet to emerge, wet, weak and hungry, into the world of Pern. The silence began to grow oppressive, even through the dull humming that faded so easily into the background. Tara felt her earlier awareness double, then triple, and soon it had grown tenfold to immerse the whole of the Hatching Ground in a bubble of sensation that pressed against her.

Smells, sounds, everything took on a unique and oddly intimidating quality. Though her eyes were trained upon the gold tinted egg near the center of the clutch, she could see all of them peripherally. Abruptly, the humming stopped, leaving an empty quiet. Then, with a sound that would have been almost unheard anywhere else, the first dragon broke it's shell.

It spilled out onto the hot sand, creeling piteously. Even through the dampness, a bronzy shimmer could be seen. A great cheer went up from the watching crowd, and the silence was well and truly broken.

Whatever spell was on Tara seemed to shatter too. Though she remained hyperaware, she found herself able to break her gaze from the glistening queen egg. Another cracked, and another, and then there were three dragonets stumbling around, trying to find the one who should be theirs.

The first, the bronze, stumbled forwards and landed on the feet of a little boy who appeared to be about fourteen or so. With a gasp, he knelt before the young dragon, smiling joyously. "His name is Gulineth!" Ecstatic, he threw his arms around the creature and led it outside, never taking his eyes from the young bronze's.

Tara turned her head to her right and saw another small dragonet, a green, reach up with one clawed finger and paw at the robes of one of the girls. "Sapphith! Her name's Sapphith!" She too led the young one out, off the Hatching Grounds and into the Weyr Bowl where platters of meat awaited the hungry hatchlings.

Dragonet and rider were paired off, one by one, amidst raucous cheers and screams of new names and tears of joy. Rieundoth, one was called, and there was another named Cearth. "Kitteth!" one young boy called. "Smuth!" was another. "Netesath!" "Seboreth!" Soon, even the names were lost in the entrancing power of the moment.

Then the queen egg shook. Once, twice, then it violently rocked, so hard it nearly fell from the pile of sand it rested on. With an iridescent sparkle, it shattered, revealing a sparkling, damp queen dragonet. Tara bit her lip, hard, fighting not to fall to her knees from the sheer beauty of the moment. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, but she paid them no heed.

The little queen stumbled awkwardly forwards with a heartwrenching keen. One toe caught on the edge of her wing, causing the crowd to take in a collective gasp, hardly daring to breathe. Everyone seemed too petrified to do anything as the gold sat there, mewing and bleating in pain and fear.

Finally, it was too much for Tara. She broke the circle, throwing herself forwards. Carefully, unaware of the outright stares from the candidates and spectators, she made her way around broken shells to the side of the little queen. The small creature looked up at her, eyes whirling an agitated shade of yellow-orange, and let out another anxious sound, something Tara would almost have described as a draconic sob.

Tara tutted in her throat. "Shh... come on little one, I'm not going to hurt you." She kept her tone low and soothing as she reached slowly towards the miniscule dragonet. Gingerly, she lifted the little gold's toe from the tiny snag in her wing, resting one hand lightly, comfortingly on her back as she did so.

A tiny voice, clear and bell like, sounded within Tara's mind. Thank you. With those two simple words came a flood of emotions. Everything was suddenly bright and new again; the heat was twice as intense, the light was harsh and yet somehow thrilling instead of painful. She felt a stab of pain in a wing that was not hers, a sense of deep hunger and a raw sort of joy at finding the one she was meant to be connected to.

Through it all one feeling reigned supreme; that she would never be alone. Tara felt utterly complete and content in that moment, in spite of the pain and hunger she felt from the little dragonet at her side. The perfection of their unity was blinding. Tara hadn't been aware how alone, how empty she was before finding this beautiful creature. She felt a dozen or more of her insecurities fall away as she basked in the glow of faultless Impression.

The small part of her that retained coherency screamed for attention, and slowly, reluctantly, she was drawn out of the sudden joy she felt. Tara felt a smile split her tear streaked face when she realized the feeling would never fully dissipate, and she would always have her dragonet with her. She shook it off for the moment. "Numbweed! I need numbweed!" She cried out as the pain she was receiving from the little gold intensified. Someone brought a small jar of the numbing solution, which Tara applied liberally to the young queen's wound. It made her fingers tingle into unfeeling.

Thank you. That hurt. I don't like hurt. The young dragon's voice was plaintive, like a child's. Tara felt her heart swell with love for her.

I am Naliath. Is there food? My stomach feels very empty. Tara nodded, laughing happily now through the residue of emotion on her face, and drew Naliath away from the crowd that was waiting for the last three eggs to hatch. Carefully cradling the gold's wing, Tara led her out into the light of the Weyr Bowl, harshly bright after the muted orange hue inside the Hatching Grounds.

As they approached the table laden with meat, Willow stalked up to them, smiling jovially. "Hello. Shells, I'm glad to see I picked the right person out to stand here!" She reached out and rested her hand on Tara's shoulder. The new rider looked at her, confused.

"What... shouldn't you be inside?" She barely heeded the fact that her stutter had disappeared.

Willow shook her head, smiling at Tara. Already she felt a vague sort of attraction to the younger woman, and was happy to hear her speak without hesitation. "No. I'm the Weyrlingmaster. You'll be under my command for the next year and a half."

Tara smiled. She didn't know Willow well at all, but she was the closest thing Tara had to a friend in the Weyr. The redhead nudged a pot of oil over to Tara, observing that her dragonet's feeding was beginning to slow. "What's her name?"

"Hmm? Oh. Naliath." Tara smiled, tasting the word on her lips for the first time. "Naliath."

Willow's grin grew wider. "Lovely name. She's a pretty one, that's for sure. Well, when Naliath is finished eating, she'll want to be oiled. That is, you take the paddle and use it to rub the oil in the jar into her hide. Then you can take her in there," she gestured across the Bowl towards the Weyrling barracks, "and claim whatever area you want that hasn't been occupied yet. You'll be living there until you've learned how to fly, probably in eight or nine months. Not for a while yet, anyway. She'll want to sleep just about right away, and you probably will too. Impression is an amazing experience, but a tiring one." With that, Willow turned away from Tara and towards the head of the group, now including two more new pairs. It was obvious that no more were coming.

Tara bent and picked up the jar of oil and the small paddle that was attached to it. Swiftly, she began to smooth it over Naliath's hide.

Willow repeated the instructions she'd given Tara to the group as a whole, and then, smilingly, added "And I'll see you all out here tomorrow. Before the base of the sun rounds the horizon. You'll find that dragons can also make very handy alarms. Whatever job of oiling you do today will be fine, but tomorrow you'll perform the task under my eye, so I can ensure you're taking proper care of your dragon. You don't want his or her hide to split while between, and proper oiling will ensure that it doesn't."

As Tara led Naliath over to the Weyrling barracks, followed by several of the other new weyrling pairs, Willow swung herself up once more onto Rayenth's back. Love, take me to the lake, would you? Rayenth made a general sound of affirmation and launched himself from the ground.

Moments later, Willow stood on a rock outcropping that jutted over a deep area near the edge of the lake, skipping stones over the otherwise serene surface. She remembered her own Impression, the shock and joy of finding that not only was she worthy of a dragon – it would have been impossible for her to Impress if she was not – but she was to be bonded with a bronze, something no other female had ever done. They barely ever even Impressed browns! Somehow, the ridicule she'd faced because of it, all of the people telling her she was a man, she'd usurped the place that should have been theirs, or their friend's, or their son's... she shook her head.

She wouldn't give up Rayenth for a thousand Threadfree worlds. Dropping the last of her stones into the water by her feet, Willow turned and walked slowly off the rocks and down to the flat, sandy beach. Rayenth... I love you. She approached her dragon slowly and knelt before him, curling herself into the crook of his forearm where he lay in a patch of sun.

He stretched out his wing just a little, hugging Willow close to him. I know, Mine. I love you too.

Rayenth gave a deep rumble and a soft keen, and Willow sighed. Faith was gone. She couldn't be sad about it, however. The poor thing had been wanting to go for days. She could only be glad that she was at peace.

Tara lay on her side staring happily at Naliath. The two were the first to reach the girls' side of the Weyrling barracks, and so had their pick of 'rooms'. Really, they were just areas partitioned off on three sides that opened into a central hall. Tara and Naliath both seemed to have similar tastes; without a word they'd headed together to the back left corner section, furthest from the entrance.

The young queen, exhausted from her earlier hatching efforts, curled up on the large stone couch and fell asleep almost instantly. She didn't even take up half of the area set aside for the dragonet, but Tara knew she would grow to fill it soon. She'd curled up beside her, happy just to be next to Naliath. Tara didn't think she'd seen a more beautiful creature in her life. She reached out, lightly brushing her fingertips over the dragonet's smooth, soft hide in an almost reverent manner.

Voices drifted over to her from just outside the entrance to the barracks. Tara sat half up, propping herself on one elbow to look out and down the hallway. Three girls, probably two years younger than her, walked in, trailed by three green dragonets.

Remembrance hit her; Tara had seen them standing near her on the sands. They'd all Impressed that day. She found herself unable to remember any of their names, though she believed the green dragonet with the faint leafy pattern on her was Ree-something.

The tallest girl looked over at her and smiled. "Hello. You're the one who Impressed the queen, aren't you?" Tara nodded, feeling a blush creeping over her face. "Well, I'm Shannen," She gestured towards the patterned dragonet, "And this beautiful girl is Rieundoth." She gave Tara a welcoming grin. "You look a bit older than us, but I don't suppose that'll really matter to the Weyrlingmaster. We're all in the same wherry pot now!"

Tara nodded, the brown-haired girl's cheerful manner putting her at ease. "I guess so. Have you met Willow yet?"

The girl with the long black hair shook her head. "No, we haven't. Not really. She brought you in on Search just today, didn't she?" At Tara's affirmative nod, she whistled sharply. "Well that was lucky timing! I'm Ilirrie, by the way." She gestured to one of the greens, so dark she was almost black. "She's Seboreth."

Shannen tucked a lock of her cropped brown hair behind her ear. "This is going to be some crazy ride. I imagine we'll be spending a lot of time together, living in the same quarters and going through lessons together and all."

Tara nodded and stood up, brushing off the candidate's robes she still wore. She held out her hand. "I'm Tara, and lazybones over there is Naliath." She smiled affectionately over at the new queen.

"Shannen and Rieundoth, Ilirrie and Seboreth, and Lianne and Sapphith." Tara nodded to herself, then blushed a little. "I might forget, I'm terrible with names."

Shannen waved her hand in the air, dismissing Tara's confession. "It doesn't really matter, you'll remember eventually. Chances are we'll forget your name at some point too. There's 637 people in this Weyr alone, after all!" She shook Tara's still outstretched hand and grinned, looking around.

"It's a shame about old Faith. I can't be too sad, of course, she should have gone days ago. We all knew it was coming." Ilirrie sighed, settling herself down onto the bed in the area next to Tara's.

Shannen took the one across the central hallway from Tara, and Lianne took the one next to her, nodding along with Ilirrie's comment. "The timing was terrible, of course. It's always a shame, sort of dampens the cheer of a hatching some."

The three friends lapsed into silence as they went about emptying the small bags of clothing they carried with them from the candidates' barracks. Tara pulled her knees up inside her robe and wrapped her arms around them. Everyone in the Weyr seemed so confident and assured; it was intimidating. There was so much to learn, so much that everyone else seemed to know already and she hadn't a clue. Tara didn't like not knowing. She felt adrift, unsure. She didn't know what her place was anymore.

A faint smile broke over her face as a wordless sort of humming filled her mind. Naliath's spirit seemed to carry hers up, and anchor Tara. Of course she knew what her place was. It was here, with her beautiful queen. Everything else didn't really matter.

Across the hall, Shannen shook her head and yawned. "Wow... it's early yet, but I'm so tired."

Ilirrie and Lianne chimed in their agreement, citing the excitement of the Hatching as the reason for their exhaustion. Tara just smiled. She didn't really feel tired at all, but didn't mind the quiet. In fact, she reveled in it. And she may not be tired, but Naliath certainly was.

The other three girls seemed to know exactly what the routine was for preparing for bed, changing swiftly and easing into sleep almost immediately with a minimum of bustle. Tara marveled at their ability to fall asleep so quickly. She never could do that; she was the one who laid awake for hours, replaying in her mind every moment of the day. Trying to remain as quiet as she could, she too slipped under the covers and closed her eyes.

Tara picked absently at a loose thread on her shirt. Everyone was staring at her and Naliath. They were standing in the eastern end of the Weyr Bowl, waiting for Willow to show up for their lesson, and the other weyrlings, too preoccupied by their own lifemates yesterday to pay particular attention to the new goldrider who would become Weyrwoman, now found her fascinating.

Shuffling nervously from foot to foot, Tara muttered maledicts under her breath. "Shards Willow, in Faranth's name, will you hurry up?" She crossed her arms over her chest and looked steadily at the dust under her feet. As if in response, Willow appeared just then, followed by Rayenth.

A broad grin split her features. "All right, weyrlings. Today's lesson should be relatively simple. I want you all to come here and get a jar of oil from Lanora, and then oil your dragons. I'll walk around and make sure you're all doing it right... though I'm sure you'll be fine."

Lanora stepped out from behind Willow, laden with small jars of oil. All the weyrlings, save Tara, crowded around her, trying to grab a jar quickly so they could be the first to finish. Tara smiled nervously over at the weyrlingmaster, waiting for the crowd around Lanora to thin.

Willow returned the smile, trying to reassure her. She seemed awfully nervous, and terribly shy. It didn't seem to make a lot of sense that Tara had Impressed Naliath... but the dragon always knew. There was probably a lot more to the young woman than met the eye. Willow shook her head and leaned over the heads of some of the smaller weyrlings, grabbing a jar from Lanora and tossing it to Tara.

The blond smiled gratefully and knelt beside her gold, quickly smoothing the oil over her smooth hide.

Moments later, all the new riders were spread out over the barren drill field, massaging wherry oil into the hides of young dragonets. A chorus of contented croons rose from the reptilian creatures' throats.

Willow paced around them all, occasionally correcting someone's technique or pointing out missed spots. After making the rounds once, she stood in the middle of the group and whistled softly. Rayenth bugled once, quietly. Or, quietly for a dragon. It was plenty loud enough to draw everyone's attention to the large bronze. Seeing his gaze intent on Willow, they redirected their attention to the weyrlingmaster. "All right. You're all doing fine. Remember to listen to your dragons. They'll tell you if they're itchy, if you've missed a spot, or anything, really. Make sure you pay attention to everything they have to say. Some of you will probably even feel an extension of yourselves in your dragon; that is, you'll feel where they're itchy, if their wings are sore, even though your physiology is very different. It can be an unnerving feeling, so I'm giving you a heads up." She smiled. "You all can finish up oiling your dragons and then resume your chores." She turned and walked away, grinning.

I love this part, Rayenth. They're all so happy right now. She sighed softly. I wonder how many of them we're going to lose...

Tara let out a soft sigh, falling backwards onto her soft bed in the candidate barracks. It had been a grueling day. After the weyrling lessons, which she was pleased to find she caught on to very quickly, she would have sworn she changed every glow in the entire Weyr. After that there'd been more to do, going through the storage rooms and chucking out any spoiled food. She didn't mind, of course. She had to pull her weight like everyone else, but... it was exhausting.

She stared at the stone ceiling, her eyes tracing a faint pattern in the rock. The inside of the barracks was mostly smooth, not rough-hewn like the caverns at High Reaches, Igen and the others were supposed to be. But still, just over her head, there was a faint sort of undulation in the stone that made her think of waves crashing on a beach. If she focused on it for a moment and then closed her eyes, she could almost hear it, smell the salt in the air. Tara had been to the ocean once, on a trip with her father to inspect the smaller holds under his control.

One of her first friends had been made at Garren Hold. Winnie, her name had been. A whip thin girl, smaller than Tara in body but a few inches taller. She'd had the largest, softest doe eyes Tara had ever seen. Lit up like new glows when she got excited, tore at the heartstrings when she was sad. They'd run around together for the three or four days she'd been there, and had cried at their departure. She sighed, remembering her friend. Winnie had been killed, caught out in Threadfall. The dragons had stopped flaming because all the Thread was over the ocean, where it would drown and could do no harm... or they thought. All they'd found of her had been her small beltknife, of course. The only things Thread didn't consume were metal and stone.

Mine? Are you well? Naliath's tone was one of a faint concern. She wasn't overly worried, however. If something was seriously wrong, she would know. That big bronze, Rayenth, and his would be on their way already.

It's... I don't know. I saw a lot today, Naliath. Everyone's been here for so much longer than I have. They've all made friends already... I feel a little lonely is all. Tara curled around so she was lying on her side, feet tucked up behind her on the bed, so she could look into Naliath's calmly whirling eyes.

And I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world, love. But... I don't know. It's not quite the same thing as having a human friend. Someone you can talk to, share secrets with. Dragons think differently, it's not the same.

Tara couldn't resist smiling at the way Naliath insisted on referring to each rider by their dragon. She found it irresistibly adorable in the small golden queen. She reached out and touched Naliath's wingtip lightly, a soothing contact.

Oh, they're nice enough. But they're their own little group... I'd be intruding. There just doesn't seem to be anyone for me around here.

The weyrlingmaster? Oh, I don't know. I mean, she's so much more experienced than I am, and she's probably really busy. I doubt she'd have time for me.

Naliath gave what could almost be considered a draconic grin, the corners of her wide mouth turning up just a fraction, as far as they would go. The queen decided to remain mute on the issue, at least for the time being.

Another soft sigh bubbled from Tara's lips and she rolled over to stare at the wave in the rock again. It seemed to call her. She'd heard there was a small lake nearby; maybe, Tara thought, she'd go there when she had some free time. Smiling a little at that thought, she closed her eyes and drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

Willow folded her arms under her head, lying back on the two-person-sized bed in her weyr. She was happy, so far, with the new group of weyrlings. They were smart, attentive. She didn't dare believe, of course, that she wouldn't lose any in the first trip between... but that was a long way off.

Threadfall was due in Fort Weyr's beholden in three days. Willow smiled softly. She loved flying Thread, in spite of – or perhaps because of – the danger involved. If Thread hit you, you were pretty much guaranteed a massive scar, and if that was all you got, you were lucky. She'd seen riders pop between to duck Thread, only to come out in a tangle of it. It was a horrifying way to go.

The older group of riders would be on firestone duty, ferrying bags of the brownish black rock to the fighting wings. She thought she'd probably put Nirra and brown Mileth on the lead. She smiled, the girl had been so proud when her younger sister, Rinna, had also Impressed a brown in this round. She was a good leader, and a good mediator. Willow nodded to herself. She'd put Nirra in charge of the weyrlings' wing, and see how she took the responsibility.

The new group of weyrlings would assist the dragonhealer. There tended to be a lot of injuries during Threadfall, some of them bad enough to take a dragon permanently out of the fighting wings, placing him on watchdragon duty at a hold. Kellon could always use some help. She wondered how the new riders would take it. Some of them, being weyrbred, would have seen it already, dealt with the fear and horror that went along with seeing the keening of dragons in pain, riders with whole limbs seared off... though that was rare. Fort's wings were exceptionally well trained, fatalities and maiming injuries didn't happen that often.

Willow smiled softly. Already she had an idea who would freak out and who wouldn't. Some of them, she knew, would have a real problem dealing with the rawness of Threadfall, and all that it meant. But one or two, she suspected, would deal with it well. That group of new greenriders, Ilirrie, Shannen and Lianne. They would take it in stride, the way they seemed to take everything. Tara, too, she knew would have only one impulse, to take care of the injured. It was always a telling time however, and occasionally Willow had been wrong about the way people would react. Somehow, it wasn't something you could really calculate.

She frowned a little, thinking about Tara. Something about her seemed to draw Willow in, and she wasn't sure why, or what it meant. It was a little unnerving. She was just so desperately shy, it was almost difficult to think of her as an adult, let alone a goldrider. But then, even in the short time since she'd dropped Tara off with Lanora, she'd seen changes. Impression did that to you. Brought you out of your shell, leveled your head, made you walk a little taller and speak a little louder. Knowing that you always had someone to back you up, no matter what... it did amazing things to a person.

Rolling her head to the side, Willow took in Rayenth, curled up in his stone couch, fast asleep. The great bronze did love to sleep, and lie in the sun... but he reveled in flying Thread as much as she did, bugling and bellowing as he flamed away. Willow had been known to let out a scream in the heat of the moment, too. No one ever really expected it, though she'd been enjoying herself immensely in it for some years now. She was so calm, cool and collected when not in the fighting wings, it took everyone by surprise that she could be so utterly untamed. She lost any and all trace of self-consciousness, she knew that she fit when she was flying. She was free, completely. So why shouldn't she let go a little?

Inwardly, Willow suspected Tara would do a little of the same. Not to the extent she did, of course, but some. The blonde reminded Willow of herself, before she'd Impressed Rayenth. Quiet, shy, mousy, afraid of her own shadow. Tara was obviously a different person, with different traits and personality, but Willow knew that she'd lose herself in flying. That was always one of her favorite lessons, the first flying lesson... the look on the weyrlings' faces when they landed was priceless.

She smiled again, thinking about what lay in store for the weyrlings under her. Tomorrow was a new day, a new lesson. She couldn't wait.

Closing her eyes, she slipped into a calm sleep, an image of a smiling blonde flashing through her mind.

Tara smiled softly. She was lying on her stomach in the grass beside the lake, a hundred lengths down the slope of the old volcano from the Weyr. She was alone, except for Naliath. It was a rough hike to get there, around back of the lake. Most of the weyrlings stuck to the front, barely knowing of the twisting trail through the trees to the far side. There was a small clearing here, and then a wall of trees, and then a stretch of beach before the lake. She lay in the middle of the three length by five length clearing, the trees on three sides and sheer, rocky cliffs, pockmarked with tiny caves, on the side facing the lake.

She picked a blade of grass, twirling it around in her fingers. Four sevendays, she'd been in the Weyr. Four sevendays, and she'd barely made any friends. Sure, Shannen, Illirie and the rest were nice enough, but…there was no one she really connected with. Apart from Naliath, of course. It amazed her how fast the little gold was growing. Already she was four, five times the size she was at Hatching.

They'd learned a lot together, too. It had started with basic dragon care, of course. Oiling, washing. A few trips down to the lake for bathing. They'd even done some stretching exercises, to prepare for flying lessons. They wouldn't be for a long while yet though. Willow had taken them to the firestone room once. They weren't to do their lesson there yet, but she'd wanted them to get used to the ‘reek' of it. Tara giggled, remembering the way the weyrlingmaster had wrinkled up her nose at the smell.

Five days ago they'd begun working on their flying gear. There was a lot of it, so they had to start well before flying and between lessons. It was a whole outfit, and if you made one mistake you had to start the whole piece over with new leather. If you didn't, it could be fatal. Tara sighed. She'd had no idea how much work was involved in Weyr life. Still, she wouldn't give it up for all Pern.

Soon she'd have to go for her private lessons with the old Weyrwoman. While the other weyrlings were helping their dragons learn to chew firestone, she'd be learning how to operate a flamethrower. She figured it would be pretty easy, the ones used from dragonback couldn't be that much different from the ones she'd used while out on ground duty.

Tara rolled over onto her back, tucking both arms behind her head. Closing her eyes, she smiled softly, feeling the sun beat down on her. I think I understand why you enjoy sunning so much, Naliath.

The quiet beat of wings willed Tara's eyes to open. She looked around for a moment, confused. Finally, she looked up. The body of a dragon was fast approaching, the sun shining off the bright bronze hide. Naliath bugled a happy greeting. Love, who is it?

Tara smiled softly and stood up, backing away a little to give Willow more room to land. She wondered at Naliath's response; the young queen seemed very excited to see Willow and Rayenth. Was she lonely out here with just Tara? She shook her head and sighed, dismissing that thought entirely. It was just because they were nice, that was all.

Willow leapt down from Rayenth's back, looking around a moment. Spotting Tara, she grinned. "Hey! Tara!" She waved the young woman over.

Approaching with a happy bounce to her step, Tara waved back. "Um, hi Willow. Do you want some, um, time alone? I can leave..." she gestured over her shoulder with her thumb.

"No, that's all right. Wanted to say hi." She smiled, patting Tara's shoulder affectionately. Willow leaned back against Rayenth, tilting her head back to feel the sun on her freckled face. "Having red hair kind of sucks sometimes."

"I don't tan, I freckle. All over the place. I mean, look at this." She rolled up one sleeve and stuck out her arm. It was, indeed, covered in freckles.

The redhead lifted one eyebrow and shook her head. "It's annoying is what it is."

With a heavy thump, Tara flopped back down on the grass, leaning back to brace herself on her hands. She smiled up at the weyrlingmaster. "So, what brings you out here on such a fine day?"

Willow grinned. "I was thinking of going for a swim. It's damned hot back at the Weyr, out of the shade, and especially in these clothes."

Tara eyed Willow's heavy riding leathers and nodded. "So swim away." She gave a cheeky grin.

Willow grabbed the hem of her tunic and tugged it up over her head. Within moments she stood there entirely naked. Not for long did she remain, however, turning and running into the cool water. Up to her thighs in the lake, she launched herself forwards, ducking her head beneath the surface. She came up, spluttering only a little, and turned to face the shore.

Tara was staring, wide-eyed at Willow. She'd agreed to swimming, but hadn't thought of all that entailed. If there was one thing Tara could never do, it was strip in public. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shook her head at Willow's questioning look. "I, um, changed my mind. I think I'll just stay up here."

"Come on, Tara. What, nervous about stripping?" She giggled. "Trust me, Tara. In the Weyr, that'll go away soon enough anyway. After your first flight..." she trailed off, wondering at the pang of jealousy that shot through her. She shook it off. "You'll never be embarrassed like that again."

"No people here. Just you and me." She threw herself backwards in the water, kicking her feet. "Nobody here but us wherries."

Tara slipped her fingers under the hem of her shirt. Casting a nervous glance around, she bit her lip and tugged it off, stripping as quickly as she could and bolting into the water. Once in, she ducked low so only her head and shoulders broke the surface. Tara fixed Willow with a glare when the redhead nearly fell over with laughing.

Willow's laughter was infectious. Tara couldn't keep the glare in her eyes, and fought to suppress a giggle. Shortly she was too busy in hysterics alongside Willow to be self- conscious.

Willow lay back on the grass, Rayenth curled around her. The sun was just beginning to set over the trees. Tara and Naliath had left a few minutes ago, meaning to hurry back to the Weyr before dark. Being unable to fly, they had to leave before Willow did.

I'm glad we ran into Tara, Rayenth. I was looking for some time to be alone…but I think it was better with her here.

Egg robber. Don't you go getting any ideas, love. She reached up and scratched Rayenth's broad side. You're enough of a handful, I don't need to go waking up next to some post-proddy goldrider who'll either be ridiculously clingy or run away in embarrassment. With Tara, probably the latter.

Rayenth made a huffing sound, resting his head down on the grass beside his rider. People could be so strange sometimes. His and Naliath's felt attraction for each other. He could feel it, even Naliath, young as she was, could feel it. He huffed again. People were the strangest creatures.

Willow sat bolt upright in bed. Thread? Now? But it wasn't supposed to fall until this afternoon!

Yes, yes of course. Willow threw herself out of bed, grabbing her riding gear from where she laid it out the previous night, on the chair near the entrance. Quickly, she tugged on the thick, protective leathers. Rayenth was already perched outside, waiting for Willow to finish dressing and fly down to the Bowl.

Love, tell the older Weyrlings to assemble, and they'd better all be there before I am. Tell the younger ones to gather at the eastern end of the Bowl, that's where the injured dragons will go. They'll be helping the Weyrhealer and Dragonhealer.

Tearing out of her weyr, Willow launched herself astride Rayenth, riding straps in hand. He dropped off the ledge, carrying them quickly down to the waiting fighting wings.

Tara sat perfectly still. She was perched on the edge of her bed, staring in Naliath's direction without really seeing the gold. Ilirrie, Shannen and the rest of the female weyrlings were clustered around her, trying to get her attention.

She'd been standing when the news came, imminent Threadfall near the Weyr. She'd frozen, her features the picture of shock. And then the news came that the leading edge was north of the Weyr and moving south, towards the water. It didn't look like it would fall right over the Weyr itself, passing a little to the east. Tara had…collapsed, onto the edge of her bed. That was fifteen minutes ago, and she hadn't moved since, not even to blink. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest indicated that she was alive at all.

Her thoughts were moving too quickly to comprehend anything outside of her mind. Threadfall, Tara's worst fear, and so close. Since Winnie's death, she'd been terrified of the thin white filaments. Strange, they appeared so innocuous, and were so incredibly deadly. Tara was a fool to ever think she could handle living in a Weyr, the pain…How could she be expected to fight Thread? She was only a Holder's daughter, granted a prominent Holder, but she herself had been little more than a drudge!

Mine…mine…mine…mine…mine... Naliath's insistent words finally broke through Tara's catatonia.

Shannen smiled, reaching out and hugging her briefly. Then, taking hold of the bewildered Tara's hand, pulled her to her feet. "Come on, we've got to get ready. We're helping the Weyr- and Dragonhealers. She patted Tara softly on the back. "It's all right. They know what they're doing, and don't get injured very often anyway."

Illirie looked over at her and, her own hand held tightly in Lianne's, addressed her with wide, fake-wise eyes. "We're Weyrbred. We know stuff."

Willow took her place in the A-formation wing, third from the point, right behind the wingleader's best friend. He was a bulky brownrider, who particularly enjoyed belittling Willow for Rayenth's apparent inability to fly so much as a green. He wasn't one of the best trained either, and had only achieved his position in the formation due to his close relationship with the wingleader. Willow fumed inwardly, she despised being placed behind the man.

He tended to make mistakes. Slipping out of formation, just a little, coming out of between just a little too close to someone. Luckily the rest of them had paid close attention during their fighting lessons, and so could duck between in time to avoid a collision, which could be disastrous.

The leading edge of Thread glistened on the horizon. It was awfully close to the Weyr this time. Willow hated it when that happened, if someone got injured, the new weyrlings would be able to hear it. Some of them would never get over that, for a threadscored person's scream was pure agony.

The wingleader, J'net, flung his arm forwards, giving the signal to rise. In perfect sync with the rest of the wing, save S'rith, the brownrider in front of Willow who was just a split second ahead of everyone else, the wing as a whole rose from the earth of the Bowl.

In a unit, they turned and hovered for a moment, waiting for the other eight active wings to meet them. They would be the highest elevated wing, since they had all the best trained fighters - save one - and therefore would be the ones to flame the most Thread. Willow frowned at S'rith's back. He wasn't holding his position, moving back and forth like a faintly swaying pendulum. That kind of lack of discipline could kill an entire fighting wing.

Then the signal came, and Willow abandoned all thought of S'rith, flying determinedly towards the leading edge with the rest of her wing.

Tara sat, off to the side but near the rest of the weyrlings. She could see the older group over near the firestone room, quickly bagging the rock and tossing the bags along a line to a few green and blue riders who were perched on their dragons, waiting to ferry the stone up to the fighters.

They weren't exactly busy. One or two of the riders from the wings had betweened down to get brief treatment for a slight score, and then gone up again, but that was all. Shannen had been right, it seemed. They didn't get seriously injured often, no one had been hurt so badly it would leave a scar yet.

She stood and turned, scanning the horizon. The leading edge was closer now, practically on top of the Weyr, save that it was over to the east and moving south. Unless the wind made a sharp change very suddenly, they wouldn't be struck by it.

Tara could see the dragons flying amongst the silvery storm, they all appeared to be about an eighth their actual size and flying in an incredibly disorganized way. She knew that wasn't the case though, she simply couldn't see all of each wing due to the amount of Thread. She sighed, hoping everyone was all right.

Her eyes narrowed. What was going on? That uppermost wing, she could see almost all of them through a gap in the Thread. Someone near the point of the formation was bobbing and weaving around, contrary to what everyone else was doing. He popped in and out of between repeatedly, each time seeming to fall further and further out of formation.

He almost crashed into the rider behind him, who ducked between to avoid a collision. Then he burst back out, out of formation. Of course, the stupid rider hadn't moved and was now occupying two positions. Her eyes widened as she saw a clump of Thread blow towards the indistinct out-of-formation rider.

A hoarse, piercing scream rent the air. The very weight of the sound alone nearly brought Tara to her knees, but the sight that soon followed completed it. She hit the ground with a thud that seemed to resound in the sudden, oppressive silence.

Most of the dragons remained in the air; the battle against Thread could not be put on hold. Four riders, however, descended from the sky. Two of them supported an injured dragon, one carried his rider. The fourth was S'rith, trailing the other three with his head down, looking thoroughly chastened and more than a little afraid.

J'net, the wingleader, carried the injured rider draped over his arms. Facedown, as the rider's back was red and raw, all the thick wherhide eaten away. Blood ran in sinuous rivulets over charred edges of leather and muscular arms.

The injured dragon was almost as bad; the edge of one of his sails had been seared, leaving it rough and uneven. A grid like pattern of burnt lines crossed his back, just below the rider's seat. Both rider and dragon were unconscious.

Having regained use of her legs, Tara lunged forwards, dreading the worst. The riders of the two blues who'd carried the injured dragon looked on soberly for a moment before remounting and taking off to rejoin the fight. If she could have spared a thought for them, Tara would have marveled at their willingness to go back. As it was, her entire attention was focused on the helmet and goggles obscuring the face of the petite injured rider. Who was it? She feared she already knew.

As J'net laid the rider on one of the pallets set up for those who were injured, Tara reached shaking hands forwards. Nervously, she eased the helmet from the rider's head. The dragonhealer was already tending to the injured dragon, and the weyrhealer was gathering fellis juice, numbweed and bandages. Tara gasped at what she saw when the leather and straps came away, revealing the identity of the injured rider.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she focused on the rider's face, the voices of J'net berating a shameful S'rith.

Red hair was plastered to Willow's face by copious amounts of sweat. Helmet tucked under one arm, she ran her hand through her hair, trying to wring some of the liquid out. Threadfall had ended about an hour ago, and she'd escaped with little more than a slight score on her left forearm. It would leave a scar, certainly, but not a large one, and not a particularly ugly one.

It could have been her who was injured like that. The wind was gusty, and they had different arrangements for those conditions. If they hadn't given the order to rearrange the wings, it would have been her who was stuck behind S'rith. It would have been her who's back got half eaten by the parasite.

She sighed, striding into the Lower Caverns and down to the healers' hall. They'd sent C'ten, one of the riders who'd brought down the injured, to Masterhealer Menael. Hopefully they would arrive soon. Willow dropped to her knees beside Tara, who sat hunched over the cot.

Tara brought up one bloody hand, wiping the back of it under her eye in a vain attempt to stop up the tears. "He's…I don't know. I've never s-seen an injury like this one. He…he just won't stop b-bleeding." Her hands fell futilely into her lap. Her work clothes were stained with so much blood now. "Oh, Willow, I just…I don't know what to do. I want to know, but I…I don't..."

Willow wrapped her arms around Tara's shoulders and pulled her close. "Shh, shh. Hey, it's okay. He's a strong guy, he'll make it through this. The Masterhealer is coming too. You've done all you can."

Sighing, Willow wrapped her hand around Tara's upper arm and tugged her to her feet. "Come on, you need to get out of here." As two more young riders scrabbled over to the man's pallet, Willow nodded. "See? He'll be plenty cared for. Come on, we're going for a walk."

Tara sat down on a large boulder beside the road out of the Weyr. Willow crouched in front of her, hands resting on Tara's knees. She sighed, looking down at her lap and letting her hair curtain around her.

Willow reached out and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "Hey, hey. You okay?"

"The Weyrleader, Willow! He could die, and then…then…what? What would we do then?" Tara's voice edged on panic. Willow furrowed her brow.

"We'd deal with it. The next ranking bronze rider - J'net, in this case - would take over until the Queen flew. We don't have an active queen, right now the old goldrider is acting as Weyrwoman, so..." She trailed off. "Well…I guess if G'dor did die, then J'net would take over for the next year and a half, until Naliath matures…and then whoever flies her would be Weyrleader, like usual."

"Flying? Um…mating flight. And the rider of the dragon that flies Naliath will also…sleep with you. Sort of the way it works." Willow's voice toughened. "And that person will then be in charge of the Weyr. Theory is the rider of the strongest dragon takes over. Strongest dragon means strongest rider, but that's not always true."

"O-oh." Tara looked down and to the side, her eyes looking through the entrance to the Weyr and beyond, towards the gaping hole that was the tunnel into the Lower Caverns. "The Weyrleader. I've never seen…I mean, Thread, it's…bad, but..."

Willow reached up and placed one hand on Tara's shoulder. "Hey. Have you…you haven't…lost anyone to Thread, have you? It's just, your reaction…most people don't react the way you did. It's bad, yeah, but it's not so…personal."

Eyes squeezed shut, Tara looked away from Willow again and bit her lip. "Winnie."

"When I was a girl, my father took me on a trading trip to Garren hold. We were there for a few days only, maybe a sevenday at the most. I don't really remember. I met Winnie there. She was…she was really nice. First person that was ever really nice to me. I was…awkward, you see. Big and clumsy. No one liked me at Fort Hold. We left…I never saw her again. A little after that she got caught out in it. The dragons stopped flaming, thought it was fully over the water, but some of it gusted back…when the ground crews went out, they found her knife and the buckles from her boots."

Willow opened her mouth to speak, but found that she couldn't say a thing. Moments passed, and a faint shadow was cast over the two. It disappeared as quickly as it came, trailed by the eyes of both girls.

Tara wrapped her arms tightly around herself, smiling softly. The Weyrleader was going to live. His back would be badly scarred, but both he and Tarnith, his dragon, would survive. The Masterhealer's visit had been short. She'd left one of her apprentices here, someone by the name of Anya who, though an exceptional healer, had a terrible bedside manner. She didn't seem to understand that talking about 'imminent death' and 'mortal wounds' weren't comforting in the least.

She lay back on her bed, Naliath asleep beside her. She was nervous now, in a year and a half someone would…some complete stranger. She understood that it would likely be a bronze rider who flew Naliath and therefore bedded her…she frowned. It would be her first time. Part of her hoped that someone would come here to fly their dragon. Maybe if she watched what happened - at least at first, she wouldn't be allowed to watch…later activities - she would be a little more prepared.

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Red Star Rising

by Naeryn

Copyright © 2005

astarael_ebony@hotmail.com