Even so, they were tired and wing light. The spare Wing was heavy with firestone sacks, ready to rearm the fighting dragons or drop them and join the fighting Wings as replacements, as needs be.

M’tal looked up, scanning the heavens above him for the silvery shimmer of Thread. Beneath him Gaminth rumbled ominously.

It feels wrong, the bronze declared. M’tal said nothing in response; he felt the same. He scanned to the left and right, extending his vision to the distant right and left horizon. Perhaps Thread had been blown off course, he considered nervously, his throat going dry in the hot morning air.

Have the others keep a lookout, M’tal said. Remind them that we’re early on purpose.

Gaminth relayed his thoughts even as M’tal wondered if they could be that early. A gust of wind blew Gaminth to one side and M’tal heard shrieks behind him to indicate that the rest of the Wing had been similarly buffeted.

The wind. Always the fardling wind! It broiled off the ground below, rose and billowed in ways that were unpredictable. He craned his neck to look directly above him, wondering if perhaps the Thread had been blown back up by the heated wind and had only an instant to cry, Shards!

And then the clump of Thread engulfed him and it was too late.

Gaminth gave one horrified shriek and disappeared between, taking himself and his lifelong mate to a cold beyond forever.

S’maj had only a moment to wonder why Gaminth had cried before the Thread struck, lacing into his dragon’s back and then they, too, were between.

The rest of the three Wings disintegrated as their Weyrleader and wingleaders were engulfed from behind by the fickle Thread.

Help! One forlorn cry went out, from whom or where, no one could later say.

Help! Lorana heard the cry. Fiona heard her gasp and turned toward her in surprise. They were in the Hatching Grounds performing their morning check—and praise—of the two queens and their charges.

Ista! Ista needs help! Lorana responded, her words sounding louder than Fiona had heard before.

“We’re not ready!” Fiona cried in warning, as she heard the anxious bellows of dragons echoing around the Weyr Bowl. “T’mar’s drilling, they’ve no firestone!”

Help comes, Lorana called. She turned to Fiona. “They need help now, at this instant.”

Fiona felt the blood draining from her face as she realized what Lorana was saying.

T’mar, she called with no reluctance, we need you to come back and then to time it.

She felt a rustle of surprise and then nothing as the bronze dragon and rider were suddenly no longer where she’d found them. She turned to race toward the Weyr Bowl even as she heard more dragons bellowing outside.