Xhinna appeared and walked briskly toward the cluster, looking anxiously around for Taria.

“I’m sorry, Fiona, I was—”

“—just looking at the eggs,” Fiona finished for her, smiling. “That’s what you’re here for.”

“Taria and I are supposed to be watching—”

Fiona cut her off with an upraised hand. “Have you seen Lorana?”

Xhinna’s brows rose in surprise and she shook her head. “I think she was here earlier,” she said, glancing around.

“She left,” Taria said, approaching with a gaggle of youngsters trailing behind. “She was here earlier.”

“Where?” Xhinna asked abruptly.

“I don’t know,” Taria replied, sounding cross herself.

Fiona sensed Kindan glancing at her pointedly, but she didn’t need the harper’s presence to guess that the two had been quarreling. She’d heard some rumblings through Mekiar and Shaneese already; apparently Taria was convinced that Xhinna would Impress a queen and leave her, while Xhinna feared exactly the same of Taria.

Fiona searched for something to say to defuse their fears, but gave up with a shrug: Finding Lorana was more important to her at the moment. With an arch look, she turned and strode out of the Hatching Grounds, heading for her quarters.

Thread! Zirenth called as they entered the air over Crom, diving suddenly to avoid the menace, then turning and twisting back up while at the same time flaming, charring and burning the threatening Thread with sinuous grace.

T’mar had only a moment to wonder at the speed of the assault before he was completely engaged in the instant-to-instant fight against the streams of falling Thread that threatened his life and his planet.

He heard and grunted in surprise at each injured bellow, keeping a half-count in his head as dragon after dragon went between to freeze off tenacious Thread, trying to count back all who returned to the fray, but he was too overwhelmed by his own efforts and those of his bronze to keep any more than a vague number in his head.

Dive, rise, turn, twist, bend, flame. Reach down, grab a bag of firestone, haul it up, toss the stones into Zirenth’s open maw, turn back to scan the skies overhead and flame again.

Too much, too quick, T’mar thought in a sudden, grim, chilling realization. He peered from side to side and then over his shoulder, craning to count the dragons of his wing and the wings on either side of him.

Call in the others!

A new group of dragons suddenly appeared, the reserves. With an eager bellow, the twenty fresh dragons joined the fray and for a moment, T’mar felt safe. And then—

“They’re too heavy with firestone,” T’mar growled to himself as first one, then two and finally three dragons screamed in pain and blinked between. Only two returned.