Sixty-six! That was the total fighting strength of the Weyr at this moment. There were nearly as many injured, but only the thirty-five least wounded could be expected to fight again in the next thirty days.

In the past two Falls, the strength of the Weyr had fallen by more than a full Wing.

Xhinna heard others muttering darkly that Telgar was unlucky, that it was taking a far greater strain than the other Weyrs, that timing it was killing dragon and rider. There was a certain truth in that last moan; it was evident that timing it left both dragon and rider more exhausted and less able to fight a Fall than those who didn’t time it.

The second Fall, the last one over Igen, had been the worse of the two last Falls, causing twenty-one casualties, including ten lost—the majority of the losses occurring when the fighting dragons timed it back to fight again.

Xhinna wondered how anyone could force themselves to jump back in time knowing already that it would mean their death. But the brave words of B’len were echoed time and again by dragonriders, bright-eyed with repressed sorrow as they assured themselves and their lovers that it was for the best; that they were glad to actually know it was their time, that they were glad to have a chance to give a proper farewell.

Xhinna wasn’t sure if T’mar’s practice of allowing enough time between the original fight and the timed return to the Fall made it easier or harder for the riders. Clearly, resting up from a Fall was important, but she wondered if it really helped the riders who knew that they were leaping back in time to their death.

Darri stirred again and Xhinna absently hummed a little melody to ease the child back to sleep even as her eyes darted to the entrance of the darkened Hatching Grounds; she could just make out the first gloaming of morning. She would have to get up soon. Carefully she schooled her worries away, knowing that the little ones would be looking to her for guidance.

She heard Taria stir beside her and smiled; perhaps there would be time for a quick, heartening cuddle before the work of the day overtook them. But Taria was in no cuddling mood, her eyes suddenly going wide as she sprang up, crying, “Get up! Get up! They’re Hatching!”

“Quickly, quickly, put this on!” Fiona urged as she threw the white robes toward Kindan and immediately busied herself dressing him.

“We can manage,” Lorana called from the bed, rolling over and sitting upright with some difficulty. At just over twenty weeks, Lorana’s belly was only beginning to show a bulge with her pregnancy, but she was careful not to jostle the baby and handled her movements protectively. “You go on!”