It was late the next evening when T’mar collected his weary Wing and urged them back into the skies—and back in time to fight the Threadfall they’d already fought.

“At least we know the worst,” B’len, T’mar’s latest wingsecond allowed with a grim look as they mounted their dragons once more.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” T’mar asked the brown rider.

“We know that I already did,” B’len said. He straightened as he looked toward Lareth, his brown. “I’ve had time to say good-bye, and that’s more than J’lantir had.”

B’len had come to Telgar as J’lantir’s wingsecond; they’d flown together for many long Turns.

“You know,” B’len said philosophically, “it’s really true that knowing you’re going to die gives you a greater appreciation for all that’s good in life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” B’len told him. “I’ve had a good life and I know that I’ll die the way I wanted—taking Thread with me.”

“And saving Pern,” T’mar said. “If I had known, B’len, I wouldn’t—”

“Don’t say it, Weyrleader!” B’len cut him off, clapping him on the shoulder. “You would have done it, because it was needed. And still is needed.”

T’mar groped for words, found none, and shook his head in mute sympathy for the brown rider who would shortly go back in time to his death.

“B’len!” Fiona cried, running up to him and wrapping her arms around the brown rider’s waist, enveloping him—as best she could—in a tight hug.

“Weyrwoman,” B’len said, returning the hug. After a moment, he pushed away from her. “It has been a pleasure knowing you.”

“And you,” Fiona said, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. “Somewhere, somewhen, if there is something beyond between, we’ll meet again.”

“It will be a merry meeting,” the brown rider replied with a weary grin.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Not too soon, I hope, Weyrwoman,” B’len told her. He caressed her cheek softly and she leaned into it. “You have Turns yet, and more, before your time.” He grinned, adding, “Not to mention children of your own to raise.”

Fiona could say nothing in reply, nodding mutely. B’len turned away and climbed up to his mount on brown Lareth.

“I’ll see you later,” Fiona said to T’mar, embracing him fiercely. T’mar hugged her back but was unable to suppress a weary yawn and Fiona called, “I’ll have klah ready!”

Later, in the dark night as she lay awake, worried, Fiona felt the warm, wet tears of the Weyrleader who had led his men back in time to death.

She moved slowly and softly against him, shushing any protests he made as she gave him all the comfort she could.