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Just like that prim little whiterider had reported, the wind picked up for the next day’s fall. If it had been steady, it would have been less troublesome, but the direction of its icy gusts and swells were unpredictable. Less than an hour into it, they were down several more riders and dragons than their usual average due to Threadscore and a rash of burns caused by windblown flames—a few of them riders accidentally flamed by their own dragons. The healer team had set up a heated tent in the bowl for quick and easy access, and the comfort of those who needed treatment.

K’ienn took Yisketh up to get a good overview of the Trespassers’ status, watching for gaps in formation that needed filling while the bronze sent word of the need to their seconds, who in turn quickly sent reinforcements. It was hard not to notice the flash of white hide as a certain small dragon swooped in and out between his fellow wingmembers, admittedly saving a few from a nasty scoring. But, as expected, he quickly petered out and dropped down to rest while his rider assisted the current batch of weyrlings on firestone duty.

The bronzerider watched the younger riders for just a moment, appreciating their practiced competence in their work. Within the next couple of months, they would be something of a buffet for the Wingleaders to choose from to draft into their wings. K’ienn, like all of the other leaders, had his eye on a few likely morsels. He was impressed with C’ryn, but fairly certain that he was already unofficially claimed for the Hurricanes, as well as taking up a slot on every other leader’s shortlist. So he had contented himself with consideration of the brown weyrlings—excluding the vocal nonconformist. The other two were close contenders for his interest. G’ran was a stolid individual who reminded him of D’cimus, while Le’x, though a bit of a woolgatherer during free time, had proven to be quite reliable when on duty. He’d be putting a lot in for both, and then hopefully take at least one.

He tensed as the wind abruptly flung a sizable clump of thread toward one of the Trespassers below. Thankfully, several others also spotted the clump, and their dragons joined with Yisketh in a hasty command: BETWEEN! The endangered rider and dragon instantly disappeared, then reappeared safely in an open area nearby. The scenario was becoming almost routine, it had happened so often that day.

When there was a visible break in the wave, K’ienn and Yisketh flew over their wingriders and dropped down to take point of the formation. Yisketh reveled in facing Thread head on, expertly aiming his flame in concert with the wind’s direction.

From the skies above fell an impressive bundle of writhing silver Thread, more than enough of it to envelop a person in a heartbeat. Man and dragon both saw the clump descending upon them, and the bronze lifted his snout toward it. He was just on the verge of flaming when the wind suddenly blew straight back into them, putting his rider directly in the line of fire. They had a few seconds to make a decision. After a quick back and forth with the greens flying just behind them, they chose not to break formation by going between, instead dropping down a bit, out of the way of the greens, who could flame from a safer angle.

The air above them was filled with fire and smoke enveloped them as the other dragons destroyed the offending clump with prolonged bursts of flame. They’ve gotten all of it, Yisketh reported. When the smoke had been blown clear, they went back into position.

All seemed well, until a dragon cried directly into K’ienn’s mind… just as the white hot pain seared his flesh.

BETWEEN!



They transferred in over the healers’ station, K’ienn slapping the frozen Thread from the back of his upper arm as if trying to rid it of a swarm of crawlers. Yisketh had barely touched down when his rider dismounted, gripping a strap and sliding down to slow his descent enough to avoid a turned ankle, wanting to get some numbweed as soon as humanly possible. The Threadscore was excruciating.

The Healer who looked at K’ienn’s wound was gruff, and tired. After dealing with the visible scoring with a slathering of numbweed, he jerked the Wingleader around by his shoulders, turning him this way and that. “You’re lucky. The back of your jacket looks like a herdbeast after a dragon’s been at it.” He muttered something quite negative about dragonmen and their heroics before giving K’ienn a shove toward the heated tent. “Get yourself in there, where it’s warm. You’re not going back up without a thorough check… and a new coat. If you’ve managed to avoid frostbite so far, you’ll definitely get it if you fly off dressed like that.”

The statement made the rider realize how cold he really was. There was a definite draft in the region of his shoulderblades.

Our seconds are aware, and have everything under control, Yisketh said, answering the question before K’ienn even asked.

Thanks, Yisketh. I’ll keep this as short as possible. He nodded to the healer and strode into the tent. Inside, individual stations had been set up around the fire that warmed the enclosure. Each was made up of a small table, a bench, and a cot, and a few were set up near large wooden tubs full of water. Those would be emergency dunk tanks for live Thread or freezing riders, as dunking in the lake could prove fatal in such bitter cold. Most of the stations were occupied, so K’ienn took a seat on an empty bench next to one of the tubs, ready to wave over the next available healer.

Shall I tell Fianth that your heart rate has significantly increased? Yisketh’s tone was pert, almost laughing.

K’ienn gave him a mental shove, unimpressed by the sass. Shall I tell Olliah what you’re thinking about Fianth? He felt the bronze shrinking back in defeat, but still trying valiantly to contain his amusement. “Sure,” he said, and began to shuck his tattered jacket, trying not to grin as he did so. This was a slightly altered version of a reunion scene he had long hoped for, being a little more public than he liked. At any rate, he was quite comfortable disrobing in front of this particular healer, and did so in a slow, almost lazy manner.

He was a little less smug when the jacket came off of his scored shoulder, brushing it and smearing the numbweed, but he managed to refrain from making any vulgar sounds by clenching his teeth. He was more prepared for the pain when the layers underneath came off. Then he piled the clothes next to him and sat, hands clasped against the edge of the bench between his knees, waiting for his exam. It wasn’t his first Threadscore, but as the handful small scars across his torso and arms would show, he’d been quite good at avoiding it thus far. This was certainly the first time he’d had to completely replace a garment, though.

Speaking of… Yisketh, have someone bring down another of my jackets, would you?

Of course.

She’d warned him it was going to sting, so he was ready. He focused instead on Olliah’s touch, knowing from experience how softly she worked. Any pain just seemed a tiny pinprick, but he found that he would have preferred her to be harsher, if it meant she might actually speak full sentences to him. What was she up to these days, he wanted to ask. It stung much more than her poking about his open wounds when he realized that he really had no idea. They had been in the same space many times since he took on a Wingleader’s knot, at leadership meetings, celebration events, and the like. Those occasions never really offered a chance to talk about personal things, and certainly never allowed for one on one conversation. Not with so many social and administrative demands on the both of them. At least, he hoped that was it. At any rate, he hadn’t been purposely trying to avoid her.

Everything was just dandy until that wound was disturbed, causing him to inhale sharply and tense up. It took every ounce of his self-control to remain still and let the woman work. He was thankful that he had listened to the crotchety Healer outside even though he hadn’t felt anything amiss once the numbweed had been applied. He had much pride, sometimes too much, admittedly—but he wasn’t foolish.

At Olliah’s question, K’ienn went into his mind for a few moments with Yisketh, who gathered information from the witnesses. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to gather. “Most likely secondary, but no one saw exactly what happened. A large clump got flamed above us, and when the smoke cleared, my jacket already looked like eye cheese.” He shrugged his good shoulder, his next words spoken half to Olliah, and half to Yisketh. “I’d guess they missed a bit of it, after all.”

He’d given his account of the incident, then bent slightly, resting his chin on his fist. Yisketh kept him updated with the Trespassers’ status, assuring him the wing was doing fine. Though he felt the pull of the skies and Yisketh’s desire to fly and flame, he wasn’t as restless as he usually was when forced out of action. Again, he felt a strong urge to talk with Olliah about something other than business, while he had the opportunity. He opened his mouth to ask—

—And then she shrieked his name, and he was heaved face-first into the neighboring dunk tub. He was almost completely under water, his boots caught and hooked over the edge of the tub. There was a moment of sheer, dumb surprise as he marveled at her unexpected strength before instinct kicked in and he thrashed. Because of the awkward positioning, Olliah easily kept him down, and just long enough for him to have a moment of pure panic—was she seriously going to drown him?—before she was pulling him out again.

The moment his feet got purchase, K’ienn was up, sopping wet and sucking in deep breath of air, letting it out in an infuriated squawk loud enough to draw the attention of many of the others in the tent.

“OLLIE!”

His palms shoved at the water, sending a liquid curtain at Olliah. Part of him knew exactly what had happened and why, but he had been genuinely unprepared for the unpleasant surprise, and his response was utterly petulant. “Shardit, Ollie! What were you trying to do, drown me? Just say something next time and I’ll jump in myself!”

His glare would appear furious to any who were spectating, but only Olliah would be know him well enough to spot that telltale squint in one eye, and that little wrinkling of his nose… this was a first-class pout.

K’ienn, she just called you a baby.

His scowl deepened, and he mentally kicked Yisketh in the shin. As if he’d done it in person, physically, his dragon just laughed with gleeful impunity, fully enjoying his unusual discomposure. K’ienn just looked at the towel held out in front of him, then back at Olliah before snatching it with a peevish swing of his arm. But he didn’t use it, and didn’t take her up on the invitation to sit down again. His veins were still pulsing with adrenaline, and it was all he could do to stay silent and let the woman talk. She even had the gall to smile at him.

Olliah smiled at him. And when she threatened to throw him in the tub again, her golden eyes alight with humor, his dark eyes, quite suddenly, became soft.

He bent and scrubbed at his head with the towel to hide the smile that broke out across his face, unbidden and irrepressible. He couldn’t help the laugh, though. A rare, mellow-sounding version of his usual scoff. Then he straightened, tossing his still-damp hair back.

He had control of himself again, but the hardness that had dominated his former expression was gone. He wiped the worst of the wet from his body, gingerly avoiding the wounded shoulder, then sat back down on the bench.

"Thanks, Olliah," he said, idly twisting the towel between his hands. "So... How have you been lately?"

Olliah’s answer was… disappointing. She was still distancing herself. It wasn’t as if K’ienn could blame her for it, though. For a lot of reasons—not least of which being that they were both on duty just then. But still… he wanted to at least make an attempt at making good with her, while he had the chance. But what was there to talk about, besides work? Just one thing, really. It wasn’t ideal, by any stretch of the imagination, but it would have to do.

“Me? Well… I… just met someone… my son. Falienn.” The name felt strange to say. Almost wrong, somehow. “He just came in from Ruatha. He’s seventeen, already a man, and I never even knew he was… No one ever told me about him.” And why hadn’t they? The letter announcing his abrupt arrival had been nothing but cordial. There was nothing in it to suggest that the boy’s mother had anything against him, or any reason to keep Falienn a secret. In seventeen turns, not even a letter to inform him, or ask for any help? He would have gladly sent anything they needed. It didn’t make sense.

K’ienn shifted, leaning an elbow on his knee as he pensively stared at the still-rippling water in the nearby tub. “I just… I really would have liked to know.”

Even as he spoke about his son, he felt Yisketh mentally curling in on himself, “looking” at his rider with a bit of disbelief and no small amount of disgust. Why even bring him up? The boy is worthless. I doubt he was even properly Searched.

It seemed that Olliah also found this topic somewhat unwelcome. She’d been most gentle with his wound, but something he said had caused just enough of a twitch to scrape something that hurt bad enough to make his eyes bug out with the effort of controlling his reflexes. Thankfully, the growl that escaped him was only a mental one—though more in frustration than pain. He’s adjusting, Yisketh. He’s obviously not used to rules or taking orders. He’ll be fine in time.

You can’t even convince yourself of that.

Olliah moved away to do something at the wash basin, then returned and began coating his wound with a salve. Redwort—it stung a bit, but not as bad as before. Just when he’d thought she’d be silent for the rest of their time together, the dark-haired woman spoke up, her voice soft. Something in her tone sparked a small flare of hope, but at the same time gave K'ienn an odd sense of quietness inside. He wished for her sake that his meeting with Falienn had been wonderful, his own flesh and blood becoming an instant friend and ally... but it hadn't turned out anywhere near as well.

“He's... not really happy to be here. He tried to hide it at first, but, well... he looks like me. He sounds like me. And when he realized he couldn't fool me, he stopped trying to pretend.” The memory of that conversation was not at all pleasant. In fact... “I think I could have loved raising a son under my wing, but Falienn... he's been openly rebellious right out of the gate. And I think he hates me already. It's no wonder they couldn't cope with him at Ruatha.”

"I'm sure you would have made a good one," Olliah said. A good what? K’ienn wanted to turn around and look at her. He almost did, shifting and turning his head halfway, as if listening raptly to her voice. There was only one thing that could fit in that context, but he had never mentioned the word… father.

Perhaps it was the coldness of the tent and his still-damp body… perhaps it was a tinge of Fianth’s wrathful emotions leaking through to him… but he suddenly felt the beginnings of dread creeping into his chest. A father. Yes, that’s what he was. There was no escaping that fact, as strange as it felt. But a good one? He hadn’t even had a chance with Falienn. Maybe if he’d have been able to start from the beginning…

…His life would have been very, very different.

There were things… there were people… one in particular, whom he never wanted to erase from his past. And if he’d begun that journey with her…

He did turn then, just as she laughed, catching sight of that precious smile before it was gone. Olliah had the sweetest laugh, and the sweetest smile, when she was free with them. All too easily, he could picture her golden eyes glowing with love and that laugh ringing out in harmony with the joyful squeaks of a babe. She would have made such a wonderful m—

Stop it. Stop it! Yisketh snapped in his head. Stop finding new ways to torture us! Enough! The man was visibly startled by the bronze’s audible growl and the tooth-filled muzzle that appeared in the opening of the tent a moment before Yisketh’s swirling red eye came into view. He could feel Yisketh’s heartache at standing so close to Fianth, and his anger at being useless to do anything to please her. A feeling he understood well. We have a job to do, K’ienn! Thread is still falling.

Though she wouldn’t have heard Yisketh’s words, he knew Olliah would wonder what had transpired between the bronze pair. He looked back over his shoulder at her, a smirk of chagrin pulling at his mouth. “Yisketh says he’d really like to get back to work before there’s no thread left for him to burn. How's it looking back there?"