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Nyaranau lay an ungloved hand on that warm, sunny hide. Mictecath smelled like sunshine and meadows and love and safety- it was so familiar, so essential to the young woman that she might have dawdled, pressed against her dragon, all day.

But there were lessons to do. They were finally allowed to Between unsupervised now, and her heart raced with excitement. This was sure to be a triumph for the pair: Nya already pictured the two of them returning home to rousing applause from the Weyrlingmasters, for her mother and father to stand proudly in the weyrbowl, watching them land… oh, shoot. She had missed what V’res had been saying.

Focus, girl! This is serious business. Cue mental cheek slapping.

Even now, Mictecath was relaxed and ready. She was not fazed by the prospect of death- mostly because she never imagined it happening to her. She curled around Nyara’s mind, wrapping her up in that warm, familiar love that had formed their bond from the very first.

All will be well, my love. Worry not.

Who’s worried? Nyara grinned, nodding as she received her route instructions, and patting Mic’s leg before mounting. Not me. She strapped herself in, put on her helmet and tested the straps. Are you ready, my dear? Here is the visualisation for the Weaver Hall at Southern Boll. Her heart was racing. She knew the place so very well- she’d studied the maps and images so hard, and had practiced… well, quite a number of times!

With a musical croon, Mictecath beat her wings and lifted from the ground, gaining altitude before blinking Between. Here we go!

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Four?

Five…

Nyaranau started to panic,uncertainty plaguing her mind. Shards! It was meant to be three! Three!

And then sunlight hit them square in the face, Mictecath bugling her arrival, Nyara gasping for breath. Beneath them, the Weaver Hall sprawled just as she had imagined it.

Nyara...Mine? This is… something isn’t… I can’t… Where is Mama? And Papa?

What?

Where is my Mama? My Papa? My Uncle? I cannot hear them? I cannot hear my siblings! Nyara, this isn’t right! No, no! We must go back. We must go back right now.

Wait! Wait one second. Let me… She pushed away the rising fear that threatened her composure, forcing herself to visualise the bowl as it was, as it would be, as it should be. Now, my love!

Mictecath didn’t need to be told twice. There had been no Weyrlingmaster dragon to greet them- no familiar face or mind to reach out to- they had been somewhere very wrong. Mictecath flickered across time and space, reaching a present-day High Reaches with a bugle riddled with fear and worry. Gone was her usual musical notes, but she settled to the ground grey-eyed, as ashen as her rider had turned.

Nyaranau slipped from the straps in a fluid motion, rushing to her dragon’s head. My dear, look, we are home! The grin was gone. There was none of her humorous spark in her eyes, none of her usual good cheer. Nyara was as shaken as her bondmate.

Mictecath leaned into her, and for a moment rider and dragon shook in unspoken fear together.

Keogh Hold was next. Nyaranau hadn’t managed to bolster her confidence anymore, and was desperately trying to keep herself from panicking. Mictecath’s eyes whirled quickly, flecked with yellow and grey. Ask- ask them to check for us, please. I won’t lose us Between, I won’t.

Of course… The frantic edge of her bonded’s voice concerned Mic, but she reached out to another dragon to have her coordinates corrected once again. It seemed like her rider was slipping- more shaken than even she would admit to. It will be okay… Trust me... Mictecath soothed her, taking flight once more before Betweening.

The air at Nabol was a little dry, but still warm. That, in itself, was reassurance. Just as Nyara began to smile in appreciation of their feat, Mictecath let loose a low, blood-curdling keen. Eskharath! NO! MY BROTHER! A jolt of mental pain passed between them as Mictecath reeled for a moment, unsteadied by their sudden loss. Nyaranau clenched her teeth, reaching out to thump her dragon’s neck.

It will be okay! It’ll be okay, my dear! Hold on, let’s get you back! She brought High Reaches clearly into mind and reeled her dragon’s emotions inwards, forcing them away. Go!

High Reaches again. It was a welcome sight. Mictecath hurried to land, her eyes white with their loss. Not moments later she keened again, and Nyara pressed a hand against her cheek, forcing back tears. Aviforth! No... The deaths stabbed at their hearts, a pain far greater than any they had suffered heretofore. Mictecath's voice lifted in an unending, high-pitched keen, as if somehow that would summon her siblings back to the world of the living.

Mama… please… take away the hurt in our lives... Mictecath was the embodiment of sorrow, her world broken by the deaths of her family.

Nyara couldn’t fight the tears anymore. They slipped down her pale face, her head lowered as she stood by her dragon. She’d knitted K’ell one of her stupid scarves, as a graduation present… he’d tried so hard, and had overcome so much pain and torment… she’d seen him grow as a weyrling, and had so desperately wanted to see him become a fully-fledged dragonrider… a gentle sob tore past her lips.

That scarf- she’d dyed it in Esk’s colours.

At least they were together forever, now.

The goldpair did not continue their route- neither were in any state to think coherently at all.