F’lar let the sharp retort die on his lips as he watched, breathless. Ramoth suddenly folded her wings, a golden streak diving through the sky. Effortlessly she pulled out at the critical point and soared upward again.

Mnementh deliberately called to mind their first wildly acrobatic flight. A tender smile crossed F’lar’s face, and suddenly he knew how much Lessa must have longed to fly, how bitter it must have been for her to watch the dragonets practice when she was forbidden to try.

Well, he was no R’gul, torn by indecision and doubt.

And she is no Jora, Mnementh reminded him pungently. I’m calling them in, the dragon added. Ramoth has turned a dull orange.

F’lar watched as the flyers obediently began a downward glide, the queen’s wings arching and curving as she slowed her tremendous forward speed. Unfed or not, she could fly!

He mounted Mnementh, waving them on, down toward the feeding grounds. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Lessa, her face vivid with elation and rebellion.

Ramoth landed, and Lessa dropped to the ground, gesturing the dragon on to eat.

The girl turned then, watching Mnementh glide in and hover to let F’lar dismount. She straightened her shoulders, her chin lifted belligerently as her slender body gathered itself to face his censure. Her behavior was like that of any weyrling, anticipating punishment and determined to endure it, soundless. She was not the least bit repentant!

Admiration for this indomitable personality replaced the last trace of F’lar’s anger. He smiled as he closed the distance between them.

Startled by his completely unexpected behavior, she took a half-step backward.

“Queens can, too, fly,” she blurted out, daring him.

His grin broadening to suffuse his face, he put his hands on her shoulders and gave her an affectionate shake.

“Of course they can fly,” he assured her, his voice full of pride and respect. “That’s why they have wings!”

PART III

PART III

Dust Fall

The Finger points

At an Eye blood-red.

Alert the Weyrs

To sear the Thread.

“YOU STILL DOUBT, R’gul?” F’lar asked, appearing slightly amused by the older bronze rider’s perversity.

R’gul, his handsome features stubbornly set, made no reply to the Weyrleader’s taunt. He ground his teeth together as if he could grind away F’lar’s authority over him.

“There have been no Threads in Pern’s skies for over four hundred Turns. There are no more!”

“There is always that possibility,” F’lar conceded amiably. There was not, however, the slightest trace of tolerance in his amber eyes. Nor the slightest hint of compromise in his manner.