The day of threadfall had been...a near-nightmare for Zelaya. She'd wisely chosen to take an assignment that kept her indoors, hidden away from most of the drama, but not even the kitchens were free of worries. Knowing that the fall would pass directly over Balen Hold as well, the only home she'd ever known before the Weyr...with their vast tracts of forest, hardwoods and orchards, all so very vulnerable to the ravages of thread... When the first dragon had fallen, she'd known. Not which, or why, but she could tell from the frantic energy that suddenly took over everyone in the Weyr. She could hear distant shouts and running. She focused all the harder on making the seasoning in the huge cauldron of stew exactly right, as the cook had instructed her, rather than trying to find out who it was that'd come crashing down.

Hours later, the stew was done and cooling, when the mournful cry of those weyr-bound dragons went up. It was heartbreaking, and terrible...and there would be one more empty seat in the dining hall that night.

She'd had a moment of stark and unexpected panic when a few moments later she'd overheard someone claim that a wingleader had fallen. That Z'tir had fallen. Had...had he been the one the Weyr dragons mourned for? A breath later she'd registered that, no, in fact he was alive, but it had been a startling realization that had he fallen between, she genuinely would have mourned. Not as much as she'd mourned her mother, but still.

Finding time to visit him (and she insisted it was only a visit, and not at all a check in to reassure herself that he was in fact alive) was a task. Her free time wasn't common, and between the man's recovering and whatever work he'd have to do to make sure the next threadfall went well in the case of his absence...it was several days later when at last she came around, knocking gently at the doorway to his weyr. "Wingleader Z'tir? ...Father? Do you have time...?"

Hopefully he wouldn't mind her intrusion.

Mx Cherie