D’ram snorted and F’lar looked at him quickly, but the Istan leader’s head was turned toward M’rek. F’lar caught Lessa’s eye and nodded imperceptibly.

“There was talk about an expedition to the Red Star,” F’lar replied in a casual tone. Apprehension made the Telgar Weyr man’s face more mournful than ever. “But there’re more immediate undertakings.” F’lar straightened cautiously. He couldn’t get comfortable. “And the Lord Holders and other craftsmen will be here soon to discuss them. D’ram, tell me frankly, do you object to placing riders in Holds and Crafthalls while we can’t pattern Thread—that is, until we can find another reliable form of quick communication?”

“No, F’lar, I’ve no objections,” the Istan Weyrleader replied, slowly, not looking at anyone. “After yesterday—” He stopped and, turning his head, looked at F’lar with troubled eyes. “Yesterday, I think I finally realized just how big Pern is and how narrow a man can get, worrying so much about what he ought to have, forgetting what he’s got. And what he’s got to do. Times have changed. I can’t say I like it. Pern had got so big—and we Oldtimers kept trying to make it small again because, I guess, we were a little scared at all that had happened. Remember it took us just four days to come forward four hundred Turns. That’s too much time—too much to sink into a man’s thinking.” D’ram was nodding his head in unconscious emphasis. “I think we’ve clung to the old ways because everything we saw, from those great, huge hour-long sweeps of forests to hundreds and hundreds of new Holds and Crafthalls was familiar and yet—so different. T’ron was a good man, F’lar. I don’t say I knew him well. None of us ever really got to know each other, you know, keeping to our Weyrs mostly and resting between Threadfalls. But all dragonmen are—are dragonmen. For a dragonman to go to kill another one—” D’ram shook his head slowly from side to side. “You could’ve killed him.” D’ram looked F’lar straight in the eye. “You didn’t. You fought Thread over Igen Hold. And don’t think I didn’t know T’ron’s knife got you.”

F’lar began to relax.

“Nearly made two of me, in fact.”

D’ram gave another one of his snorts but the slight smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair indicated his approval of F’lar.

Mnementh remarked to his rider that everyone was arriving at once. A bigger ledge was needed. F’lar swore softly to himself. He’d counted on more time. He couldn’t jeopardize the fragile new accord with D’ram by springing distasteful innovations on the man.