F’nor shrugged as he rose. “I’ll fly the hazard, O inscrutable one!” Then he laughed as F’lar glared at him in angry reproach. “Sorry. Like the rest of Pern—the north, that is—I trust you.” He gave them both a jaunty salute and left.

“The day F’nor doesn’t tease you I’ll start to worry,” Lessa said, encircling his neck with her arms. She laid her cheek against his for an instant. “It’s T’bor,” she added, moving away just as the new High Reaches Weyrleader strode in.

The man looked as if he hadn’t slept enough but he carried his shoulders back and his head high which made the Benden Weyrleader more aware of the worried and wary expression on his face.

“Kylara’s—” F’lar began, remembering that she and Meron had been gabbling together all the last night.

“Not Kylara. It’s that T’kul who thought himself such a great Weyrleader,” T’bor said with utter disgust. “As soon as we brought our people up from Southern, I had the wings do a sweep check, really more to familiarize themselves with the coordinates than anything else. By the first Egg, I don’t like seeing anyone run from dragonmen. Run. And hide!” T’bor sat down, automatically taking the cup of klah Lessa handed him. “There wasn’t a watch fire or a watchman. But plenty of burn sign. I don’t see how that much Thread could have got through. Not even if smokeless weyrlings were riding the sweep. So I dropped down to Tillek Hold and asked to see Lord Oterel.” T’bor gave a low whistle. “That was some greeting I got, I want to tell you. I nearly had an arrow through my belly before I convinced the guard captain that I wasn’t T’kul. That I was T’bor and there’d been a change of Leaders at the Weyr.”