It had been impossible to forget that this Fall would be the first Fall where more than three score weyrlings from the Weyr’s last clutch would be flying. The fact that T’of and Makhmilith were also flying made it a little easier for them not to worry about the newest rider pairs, as did the knowledge that the weyrlings would not, for the most part, be flying where the worst of Fall happened, but it was still impossible to forget that today more than a hundred individuals would be fighting the age-old enemy for the first time, and statistically at least a few would not survive the battle.

We could not keep them from it, even so, Makhmilith pointed out. Anyone who was not privy to the dragon’s emotions would have thought him indifferent, but T’of knew that the dark blue dragon ached to do just that, if it would protect the younger dragons. Even those with metallic hides and arrogance enough to fill the skies.

“I know that,” T’of replied. But…

He did not have to finish his thought. Around the edges of it crept the increasingly complicated swirl of emotions Makhmilith had quickly come to recognize as the result of his rider’s thoughts on a particular pair of weyrlings. Specifically the human half of the pair. Makhmilith, himself, was not disinterested in either of the two, but his interest in the dragon was much like that of a concerned older cousin. Like his rider, he found it simpler to interact with the dragon’s rider, who was old and experienced enough to hold conversations on complex topics.

Yes, Makhmilith replied. I know. We’ll check on them afterward, but we have to survive Fall, too.

T’of grimaced at his dragon’s mild rebuke. Makhmilith, was correct, of course. Just because they had been fighting Thread in a wing for more than a turn did not make it safe for them to spend too much time with their thoughts elsewhere. Nobody was that experienced. Thread was almost certainly not an intelligence, nor was it possessed of any actual malice, but it was damn dangerous and seemingly designed for evasive maneuvers. Fortunately, dragons had been designed to counter that.

Briefly, T’of saw a flutter of light blue swoop low beside his ear and heard an accompanying hiss before feeling the heat from a brief fan of flame close by, although not aimed in his direction. Shiver, his firelizard, fighting Thread with a valiance that belied his name and the rest of his behavior in general. Despite his reluctance to interact with anyone beyond T’of and Makhmilith, and his tendency to tremble with unmistakable terror when forced to do so, the little blue was fierce when it came to attacking the silvery menace of Thread. His diminutive size and extreme agility made him quite the asset during Fall, though like all firelizards he was required to either remain close to his bond or keep his distance from the entire wing to avoid becoming a distraction or hazard. Usually Shiver preferred to keep close.

For the duration of Fall nothing worthy of note happened to T’of, Makhmilith, or Shiver, and the trio landed at the end of their shift weary and windblown, but uninjured. Beneath his riding leathers T’of was slick with sweat, and by the time he’d removed Makhmilith’s harness all the bluerider could think of was getting out of his soiled clothing and into a piping hot bath where he could scrub himself vigorously with sandsoap until his skin smarted from the combination of friction and hot water. After Fall or practice, that was always the first thing T’of did after he’d removed Makhmilith’s harnesses and made sure the blue wasn’t injured. Knowing his rider’s need for cleanliness, Makhmilith was quick to reassure him that all was well.

I will see what I can find out about how the weyrlings fared, Makhmilith informed T’of.

Do that, T’of agreed. “Shiv?”

The blue firelizard, having worn himself out in the fight sometime since, had spent the last portion of Fall perched on T’of’s left shoulder with his tail coiled loosely around the human’s throat for supplementary support. It had taken T’of some time to get used to that, and to having the firelizard flaming any Thread that got too close while perched very close indeed to T’of’s face. Fortunately, T’of had no particular concerns about fire, though he was unable to help being put off by the look of skin that had been damaged by it. It too closely resembled something infectious for the comfort of his stomach.

In response to T’of’s query and implied command, Shiver released his throat and took to the air once more. There had been instances where his flight after Fall had been shaky because he had exhausted himself utterly doing his part to fight Thread, but this time the blue had demonstrated good sense and rested toward the end, and so he had the energy to fly on his own, and thereby permit T’of to begin the process of disrobing as much as decency allowed on the way to the baths. By the time he got there, T’of wore only his leather trousers, and those he shucked as quickly as possible once he got to the thermal pools. Modesty was far less important than being clean. Most things were, to his mind.

So, Makhmilith said, addressing T’of from elsewhere in the Weyr, possibly even their own weyr. Our favorite weyrlings are flying in the second wave, so we are unlikely to know how they fare unless they wind up injured and in the infirmary.

T’of waited for Makhmilith to elaborate, and when the dragon declined to do so he prompted him: And?

And so far they do not seem to have done so. There are, however, a number of other weyrlings here. This has been a hard Fall for them, it seems.

Unspoken, but nevertheless obvious to T’of, was Makhmilith’s resentment that his body could only endure for so long during Fall, despite all the training he put it to. If it would have spared even a single one of the injured weyrlings their wounds,both dragon and rider would have willingly flown longer had Makhmilith’s size and strength permitted it.

I am sorry to hear it, T’of replied truthfully. I hope that the second wave has safer skies.

For once, Makhmilith declined to tease him about his reasons for hoping such. He knew that while T’of might be particularly concerned with the wellbeing of a certain weyrling pair flying in the second wave, his hope had been genuinely meant for the lot of them.

As do I, Makhmilith agreed before mentally withdrawing and leaving his human to his thoughts and vigorous ablutions.

Word Count: 1,152 words